The Whole House Vies for Yan Ji
Beyond the end of the side corridor stood a narrow door opening into one side of the main hall.
It was not fully open, only half a leaf left for people to pass through. Warm yellow light spilled through the gap and fell across the blue-brick floor, brightening and dimming under the constant press of footsteps. As Fang Yingjie came up carrying the gift chest, laughter was already floating out from inside, mixed with the clink of wine cups, the tuning of strings and reeds, and the ringing voices of house runners calling out the names of arriving patrons. Layer upon layer, the noise seemed almost to spill through the doorway.
A long-faced house runner stood watch by the door. His robe was fastened with meticulous neatness, and a smile hung at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes moved quickly.
When he saw Fang Yingjie with the chest, he lowered his voice and asked, "Where from?"
"The storeroom. For the gift registry."
The runner glanced at the slip tied to the chest, then stepped aside.
"Keep right once you're in. Don't cut through the middle."
Fang Yingjie answered with a brief assent and stepped over the threshold.
One step only, and it felt as though he had passed from Baoque Tower's hidden backside into the blazing heart of the place.
The main hall was vast.
The center of the three-story building had been opened into a soaring chamber. Looking up, one could see the galleries and private rooms of the second and third floors circling outward tier by tier. Strings of vermilion lanterns hung beneath the eaves; gauze draperies and little gold tassels dangled between the beams, swaying whenever a stir of wind passed through, so that lamplight and shadows seemed to quiver together. Dozens of low tables and long banquet boards filled the hall. Guests had already taken their seats at the nearer ones; farther back, attendants still moved busily among them, refilling cups, laying cushions, and changing out the incense.
On the waterside end of the hall stood a raised platform, not very high.
It was spread with dark crimson carpet. Behind it hung pale, water-colored drapes. To the left stood a qin table; to the right, an incense burner and a small side stand. No one was on the stage yet. Only a few maids were making their final adjustments to the lamps and curtains. Yet that empty platform drew the eye more powerfully than any other place in the hall. Many of the guests who had only just sat down could not help glancing toward it.
It was as though all the excitement of the night would, in the end, come to rest there.
Fang Yingjie did not look long.
Following the runner's instructions, he kept to the right-hand edge of the hall. The gift registry had been set behind a long table near the front. Several account books already lay piled upon it, along with name cards, two slender-necked jade bottles, and three or four curios whose wrapping cloths had just been removed. Two clerks were bent over the books in a low-voiced exchange, while a few attendants beside them handled the carrying, the calling out, and the transfer of gifts either back to the storeroom or onward to the second floor.
"Whose is this?" one of the clerks asked without looking up.
Fang Yingjie set the chest down carefully.
"From the storeroom."
The runner from the door added casually, "Sixth Master Huang of Huxi. He sent it over this afternoon. Said it was to lend some splendor to Miss Yan Ji's night."
Only then did the clerk unfold the slip and glance at it. He nodded.
"Open it."
An attendant stepped forward and untied the cord. When the lid came up, thick soft satin lay inside, and in the center of it rested a coral ornament. Its red was deep and rich, the branches spreading beautifully. Under the lantern light it seemed almost to hold water-glow within it.
A few guests happened to be passing by. Out of the corners of their eyes they caught sight of it and slowed.
"South Sea red coral?"
"So Sixth Master Huang has finally decided to be generous."
"He'd have to be. If all you brought tonight was some ordinary string of pearls, I doubt it would even make it onto the registry table."
The clerk ignored the chatter. He merely dipped his brush and wrote, saying aloud, "Sixth Master Huang of Huxi presents one branch of South Sea red coral."
At once the house runner in charge of announcements lifted his voice and cried it across the hall:
"Sixth Master Huang of Huxi—presents one branch of South Sea red coral—!"
The moment the words rang out, heads turned all through the hall.
A fat merchant seated near the stage burst out laughing and raised his cup. "Only an opening gesture, gentlemen. Don't laugh at me."
But for all his modest words, the satisfaction on his face was plain.
Someone beside him immediately flattered him, saying, "When Sixth Master Huang makes his move, when is it not a grand one?"
"If Miss Yan Ji notices that coral first tonight, that will be Master Huang's good omen."
The merchant's smile deepened. He still feigned a few humble protests, but his eyes had already drifted toward the empty stage by the water.
Fang Yingjie gave it one glance, then turned to withdraw.
He had just reached the door when the long-faced runner thrust a stack of name cards into his hands.
"Take these to Old Zhao—no, to the second-floor outer gallery. Someone will receive them there."
Fang Yingjie lowered his eyes and glanced at the top card. The paper was fine, the characters upright and handsome: respectfully presented to Miss Yan Ji by such-and-such a young master. The rest were much the same, only bearing different names. Some of the calligraphy slashed hard and sharp; some affected a studied elegance, as though even a simple card requesting an audience had to prove its refinement first.
He did not look closely. Turning down the side corridor, he went up a short flight of steps.
The stairs led only to the entrance of the second-floor outer gallery, not directly into the private rooms. A plainly dressed maid was already waiting there. When he handed her the cards, she took them and flipped through them.
"Leave them there."
She pointed to a small table at her side.
Fang Yingjie set them down. He was just about to step away when a burst of laughter came drifting from the other end of the gallery, and a small group of women passed by in conversation.
The one in front wore a goose-yellow skirt and jacket and carried a lute in her arms. Her features were bright and pretty, and the little silver bells in her hair chimed softly as she walked. Two maids followed with her shawl and music books, and a young girl behind them carried a tea cup.
A sharp-eyed guest downstairs looked up at once and called with a laugh, "Miss Qiutang, do you still remember me?"
The woman with the lute leaned slightly over the railing. Half hiding her smile behind her round fan, she answered with practiced warmth, "Third Master Zhou, you've come so early tonight. If I said I didn't remember you, would that not wound you?"
Laughter immediately rippled through the hall below.
Third Master Zhou slapped the table and laughed aloud, then hurried to order wine sent upstairs, saying it was for Miss Qiutang to moisten her throat. She answered with a smile, but her steps never slowed. Plainly, she had no intention of going down to drink with him just yet.
Fang Yingjie moved to the side of the gallery to let them pass.
Miss Qiutang's gaze brushed over him. She took him for nothing more than a newly arrived workhand and did not pause. The little maid carrying the tea cup, however, noticed his rough old clothes and unfamiliar face, looked at him a moment longer, then hurried on after the others.
When that party had gone by, another woman came from the opposite direction, supple as a willow branch, dressed like a dancer. Gold bells hung at her waist, and two maids followed behind, lifting the hem of her skirt. Unlike Qiutang, she did not laugh and trade banter with the familiar patrons below. She walked with her eyes lowered. Her face was delicate, but her weariness was plain enough beneath it. As she passed the gallery entrance, someone downstairs called her name. At once she changed her expression, bent down with a smile, and replied in a voice sweet as honey.
But the moment she turned away again, that brightness faded from her eyes almost at once.
Fang Yingjie saw it.
And saw nothing more.
He remembered what Old Zhao had said: if you saw something you ought not to see, pretend you had seen nothing at all.
So he moved his gaze aside and went back the way he had come.
When he reached the side door again, he found Old Zhao directing several men who were carrying a long brocade case toward the front hall. The case was narrow and very long. It might have held a painting, a qin, or some other precious object.
"Mu Qi."
Old Zhao spotted him and beckoned at once.
"Give them a hand."
Fang Yingjie stepped forward immediately and took the rear end of the case. An older workhand was already carrying the front. The man's shoulder muscles tightened as he muttered in a low voice, "Careful. If this thing gets damaged, nobody in the outer court is going to have an easy night."
Together they carried it through the back passage toward the main hall.
As they passed the gift registry, the announcer was already crying out more offerings in a high, ringing voice:
"Second Master Lu of Linjiang—presents twelve eastern pearls—!"
"Young Master Xie of Yuzhang—presents a handwritten scroll of seven-character quatrains—!"
"Master He of Hukou—presents one casket of agarwood incense—!"
Each announcement sent up a fresh murmur, light or heavy, through the hall.
Some remarked on how rare the pearls were.
Some laughed at the poet's offering as too slight.
Some stared at the box of agarwood and asked which sea route it had come by.
Others lounged with wine cups in hand as though none of it interested them in the least, yet at the sound of Yan Ji's name their eyes turned, without willing it, toward the stage by the water.
When the long brocade case reached the registry table, it was opened—and it proved to hold an antique qin.
Its body was dark and lustrous, its finish subdued rather than flashy, and at the tail there was inset a small piece of warm, luminous jade. The donor was a scholar in blue robes, no more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight, seated with proper composure. When the crowd looked his way, he only smiled faintly, without making a show of himself.
The clerk at the registry asked, "Does the instrument have a name?"
The young scholar replied, "It is only an old possession. I would not dare give it some grand title. I heard that Miss Yan Ji is skilled at the qin, so I took the liberty of presenting it. If she does not disdain it, perhaps she might try a tune on it tonight."
At once, low snorts of laughter rose around the hall.
"To send a qin and hope she'll use it on the spot—he's calculating, this one."
"If she truly does use it, that gift will eclipse all the pearls and jade that came before."
"That depends on whether Miss Yan Ji is willing."
The clerk entered it into the record as he did all the others, and the announcer cried out:
"Young Master Shen of Jiangzhou—presents one antique qin—!"
That announcement drew more attention than the last several had.
Compared with pearls and jade, the gift seemed aimed not at Yan Ji's beauty but at her art. It hinted at an intention to distinguish itself from the rest. Even Sixth Master Huang of Huxi turned his head to look, and some of the satisfaction thinned from his smile.
Fang Yingjie had just set down the case and was about to leave when an attendant beside him muttered under his breath, "These masters all talk about elegance, but when it comes to Miss Yan Ji, every last one of them wants into Yan Pavilion."
A runner nearby heard him and gave a short, contemptuous click of the tongue.
"Into Yan Pavilion? As if it were so easy."
"With gifts like these, there has to be some hope."
"There's hope, yes." The runner lowered his voice, but his tone held the seasoned knowingness of a man who had seen it all before. "But getting into Yan Pavilion is one thing. Whether you get to touch the lady is another."
The attendant's eyes lit up. "So there really are men who go in and do nothing but listen to music?"
"You think there aren't?" The runner shot him a sideways look. "Last month, that scholar from Jiangnan won Miss Yan Ji's favor with a piece called Night Rain at Mooring and was admitted into Yan Pavilion that night. Plenty of men waited outside the next morning, hoping for a joke. And what happened? He said himself that he spent the whole night listening to her play, drank two cups of tea, and never so much as brushed the edge of her sleeve."
"And he was content with that?"
"Whether he was or not, what did it matter?" The runner gave a dry little laugh. "If Miss Yan Ji is unwilling, you could pile a mountain of gold at the door and it still would not do."
Someone else at the registry added, "Silver has never been what truly moves her."
The words had barely fallen when a woman's voice sounded behind them—smiling, yet with unmistakable weight behind it.
"You lot seem to understand her very well."
Every face tightened at once.
Fang Yingjie turned as well.
The woman coming toward them from the center of the hall was in her forties. Her cosmetics were applied with perfect measure. Fine lines had appeared at the corners of her eyes, yet there was not the least trace of exhaustion in her. She wore a lotus-purple robe embroidered with gold; a sachet and a ring of keys brushed lightly together at her waist as she walked, and the movement of her skirts carried a faint fragrance with it. There was a smile in her eyes and on her lips, but it was not the shallow smile of an ordinary hostess. From her gaze to her tone, everything about her could change its weight in an instant.
Before honored guests, she smiled like spring wind.
Before the people who worked under her, a single sentence could make their backs go rigid.
This was the mama of Baoque Tower. Everyone in the house called her Mama Qi.
The runner and attendant who had been gossiping lowered their heads at once.
"Mama Qi."
She did not truly scold them. She only cast them a smiling glance.
"It is enough that you know it. No need to chew on it everywhere. The gentlemen who have come tonight are all important guests. If anyone overhears half-true, half-false nonsense and has his pleasure spoiled, who will answer for it?"
"Yes, Mama."
She turned toward the gift registry. One sweep of her eyes took in the table, the books, and the offerings upon them.
"Put away Sixth Master Huang's coral properly. Of Second Master Lu's twelve pearls, set the brightest one out first and box the rest. Don't leave Young Master Xie's poetry scroll under that incense casket. If the ink smudges, who am I supposed to settle accounts with?"
Her voice was unhurried, but nothing escaped her.
"Young Master Shen's qin stays here for now. If the lady is willing to try it tonight, someone will come fetch it. If not, see that it is stored with care."
The people nearby all answered yes in a chorus.
Only then did Mama Qi lift her skirts and move toward the center of the hall. She had gone no more than a few steps when a wealthy, richly dressed guest rose and cupped his hands.
"Mama Qi, when exactly is Miss Yan Ji coming out tonight? I've already had two pots of wine warmed."
At once Mama Qi put on a different smile.
"Do not be impatient, Master Hu. The finest flowers must bloom a little later, or else who remembers them long?"
Master Hu was coaxed into hearty laughter.
A young gentleman at another table, unwilling to be outdone, called out, "Mama Qi, you might as well repeat the rules. Otherwise some people will think that if they send a heavier gift, they can decide the lady's wishes for her."
It sounded like a jest, but the barb in it was obvious enough. He was clearly pricking at the wealthy men who knew only how to heap up silver.
Some in the hall laughed. Others wore more complicated expressions.
Mama Qi acted as though she had heard no sharpness in it at all. She moved with the flow of the moment, came to stand at the center of the hall, and lightly tapped her round fan against her palm.
"Since you gentlemen are all thinking of it, then I will repeat Miss Yan Ji's words for her."
The noise in the hall ebbed slightly.
Even a few men leaning over the railings on the second floor cast their eyes downward.
Mama Qi smiled and said, "Tonight we still keep to Baoque Tower's old rules. Any gentleman who wishes may offer gold or silver, pearls or jade, rare incense or curious objects. You may also offer poems, paintings, calligraphy, qin scores, or chess records. If something pleases the lady's eye, she will remember the sentiment. When Miss Yan Ji comes out a little later, she will personally choose one fated guest to enter Yan Pavilion and spend the night with her."
The instant the words spend the night together were spoken, laughter, cheers, and not a little ill-intentioned hooting rose together from the hall.
Mama Qi did not fluster. She merely lowered her fan slightly.
"But let me say this first as well. Admission to Yan Pavilion is a courtesy the lady may choose to give. Tea, music, conversation—whatever passes there is according to her own heart. Gentlemen who come to Baoque Tower come seeking her favor, not to set rules in her place."
Her smile deepened.
"Tonight, the one Miss Yan Ji chooses will not be determined by who shouts the loudest, nor only by whose gift is heaviest. It depends on one thing alone—whether the lady herself is willing to nod."
For a brief instant, the hall fell still.
Then applause broke out.
"Well said, Mama Qi!"
"If Miss Yan Ji cared only for silver, she would not be worth such a journey to contest for."
"Exactly so. If there is nothing difficult to obtain in matters of wind and moon, then all becomes vulgar."
Naturally, there were men who did not truly agree in their hearts, yet had no wish to show weakness at such a moment. So they laughed, and raised their cups with the rest.
Fang Yingjie stood off to the side of the registry table and listened to all of it.
He did not understand why men would travel so far for a single approving glance from one woman, why they would offer pearls and jade, rare treasures, poems and music for it. But he could see the gift chests being carried in one after another, the gold and silver glittering under the lanterns, the guests probing and measuring one another under cover of banter. One man's casual remark curved through three hidden turns. Another smiled with a blade behind it. Someone raised a sleeve and exposed a jade thumb-ring worth a fortune. Someone else, though his eyes burned whenever they strayed toward the high stage by the water, still arranged his features into an air of studied refinement.
And this very morning, Fang Yingjie had sold himself into this house for the price of a coffin.
One tael of silver.
In his hands, it had been the last scrap of dignity his father could carry into the earth.
Here, it might not be worth as much as the brass fittings on a single gift chest.
The thought flashed once through his mind, and he forced it down.
Someone up front shouted, "Two more jars of wine over here!"
Old Zhao had reached the side of the main hall at some point and was frowning over the assignments. The moment he saw Fang Yingjie standing there, he pointed sharply.
"Mu Qi. Go with him to the wine cellar. Bring the rack for the warmed wine pots. East Hall."
Fang Yingjie answered and turned at once.
Through that long stretch of time, he almost never truly stopped moving.
At one moment he was carrying newly warmed wine pots up from the cellar.
At another he was taking emptied gift chests back to the storeroom.
Then he was sent with fresh calling cards to the second-floor outer gallery.
Then again he was ordered to move a brazier half a foot farther from the waterside stage, lest the smoke drift into the place where the music would soon begin.
He moved back and forth between Baoque Tower's glittering face and the machinery behind it.
And in the course of all that running, he gradually began to see how the place truly worked.
At the main entrance, the house runners were forever quick with smiles. Which merchant came often, which young master loved to posture, which man from the martial world spent little but had a foul temper—they seemed to know every one of them. When they greeted regulars, they addressed them more warmly than kin. With strangers, a few easy sentences were enough to test whether the man merely wanted wine and an ordinary girl, or had come specifically for Yan Ji's choosing tonight.
The ordinary girls of the house were already seated among their guests.
Some leaned at men's sides, pouring wine with bright laughter.
Some could sing little songs and were surrounded by drunken tables urging them on.
Some were still young, their makeup still fresh, their smiles not yet scrubbed clean of all rawness.
Others had the fatigue at the corners of their eyes buried beneath heavy paint, yet still had to keep their voices soft and sweet.
A girl called Chuntao had only just finished pouring wine in the western section when a runner stopped her and sent her straight to the East Hall. Her steps slowed for a fraction of a moment. Mama Qi, standing several paces away, cast one slight lift of the brow in her direction, and at once Chuntao's smile bloomed again as she gathered her skirts and turned toward another table.
The house's better-known girls were another matter altogether.
Qiutang was settled in a private room on the second floor with her lute. Through the half-lowered curtain, she plucked only a few notes, and already familiar patrons below were calling for extra rewards to be sent up. Before long, the dancer with the gold bells at her waist appeared on a small stage in one of the side halls. The sweep of her sleeves brought immediate cries of approval. Compared with the ordinary girls, these women were more composed, and better at commanding the gaze of a room. Yet however lively their entrances, they were only the prelude to tonight's feast.
Because the one everyone was truly waiting for was still Yan Ji.
And the deeper the night grew, the clearer that became.
The gifts grew richer.
The announcements rang louder.
"Master Cheng of Nanchang—presents one jade ruyi scepter—!"
"Master Wu of Poyang—presents eight gold-thread sachets—!"
"Second Master Chen of Hukou—presents one pair of overseas glass cups—!"
"Scholar Gu of Linchuan—presents a new lyric, Slow Air of Lotus Gathering—!"
No sooner had the last line been called than someone in the hall laughed.
"Scholar Gu, Miss Yan Ji hasn't seen your lyric yet, but at least the rest of us have heard the title."
The man being teased was a lean scholar. His cheeks reddened, yet he still stiffened his neck and said, "Poetry ought to be shared among gentlemen. If Miss Yan Ji is willing to cast her eyes upon it, that alone would be my good fortune."
"That depends on whether it gets past her first glance."
"And if this lyric of yours fails, Scholar Gu, will you go home and burn all your books?"
A whole table burst into laughter.
Elsewhere, a man drew out a jade flute on the spot and declared that, since Miss Yan Ji was versed in music, he would offer her a tune and ask her opinion of it later. He had not yet played through half of it before someone beside him began praising him in a tone that sounded admiring, while in truth neatly pointing out every unstable turn in his melody. The table dissolved at once into another round of smothered laughter.
There were no flashing blades in Baoque Tower.
But once men began vying for Yan Ji, the words carried edges sharp enough all the same.
Merchants competed in wealth.
Scholars in talent.
Elegant gentlemen in taste.
Vulgar ones in noise and display.
Even the men from the martial world who seemed to sit so casually were not necessarily there just to watch. A tall man with a curved saber at his waist had barely spoken since entering the building, yet when he heard the words overseas glass cups, he lifted his lids and murmured something low to the companion beside him. Another lean swordsman appeared to care nothing for the gifts at all; his eyes remained fixed on the movement in and out of certain private rooms on the second floor, as though he were marking who had arrived, and who had been ushered where.
Fang Yingjie passed by carrying an empty wine jar and took all of it in.
Old Zhao had been right.
This house truly contained every kind of person.
And not all of them had come only for pleasure.
By the time the first night watch drew near, the main hall was nearly full. Shadows of people moved behind the curtains of the upstairs rooms. Every now and then someone would lift a curtain to show half a face, only to disappear again. The lanterns burned brighter than before, the incense smoke thicker. Wine had begun to ferment into the excitement of the room itself, and even the air seemed softened by heat.
Mama Qi still stood in the middle of it all, smiling without a single leak in her composure.
"Another pot of the new brew to Master Zhao's table."
"Take Young Master Hu's gift list for the lady to look over first."
"Don't rush Qiutang's room. Change the tea only after she finishes this piece."
"Who has left the wine cups empty in East Hall?"
"The incense burner beside Miss Yan Ji's place—remove it and change it for something heavier. She will be playing tonight. If the fragrance is too sweet, it will smother the sound."
As she spoke, it seemed the very breath of Baoque Tower rested in her hands.
When Fang Yingjie passed by her, he heard a house runner lean close and murmur a few words into her ear. Satisfaction flickered through her eyes. She gave a light nod.
"Everyone has arrived?"
"More or less. Those who are still late needn't be waited for."
"Then gather in the loose noise at the front." Mama Qi smiled. "Miss Yan Ji should come out now."
She had not spoken loudly.
Yet somehow, several nearby tables heard her all the same.
One table fell silent first.
Then the voices at another lowered.
The news spread outward like ripples on water. The lively back-and-forth that had filled the hall shifted course all at once. The men presenting gifts paused. Those pouring wine softened their steps. Even the curtains upstairs, which had been hanging half-drawn and indifferent, stirred at the same moment.
Fang Yingjie, carrying a wine jar fresh from the cellar, had just reached the place where the side corridor met the main hall.
He had not yet understood what had changed. He only sensed that the roar of Baoque Tower, as if pressed lightly by an invisible hand, was beginning to sink.
The voices that had swelled and heated the whole hall only moments earlier dropped lower and lower, until the noise thinned almost to nothing.
The last red lantern on the stage was lit.
Mama Qi withdrew to one side of the hall, the smile on her face deepening by a fraction.
And in the next moment, behind the beaded curtain on the second floor, a figure could just be seen standing still.
The whole house had vied for Yan Ji.
And now, at last, Yan Ji was about to appear.
Yan Ji Stuns the Tower
The bead curtain gave a soft chime.
Not from the wind.
A hand had lifted behind it.
In that instant, the last scraps of drifting noise in Baoque Tower seemed to sink beneath that faint, delicate sound. Guests who had been whispering to one another fell silent. The girls pouring wine for their patrons steadied their hands and drew back the mouths of their ewers. Even the half-screened shadows behind the curtains of the private rooms upstairs stilled, as though by unspoken agreement.
A slender white hand parted the curtain.
Then a blaze of color emerged slowly from behind it.
The woman stood at the far end of the second-floor gallery, not yet descending the stairs, and already the lights of the whole hall seemed to gather over her like a veil. She wore a long pomegranate-red gown woven with gold, the skirts falling in layered folds. The red was rich, but not muddy; dazzling, but never gaudy. Fine gold thread edged her flowing sleeves, and when she moved, the lamplight seemed to break into fragments along them. Her waist was drawn in so finely that it made her figure seem all the more exquisite, yet her shoulders and neck were held with effortless composure, without a trace of frivolity.
Her glossy black hair was piled high, adorned with slanting gold hairpins and red-jade ornaments. When she moved, the jewels swayed softly, scattering flecks of light across the loose wisps by her temples. They were more arresting than the carefully hung red lanterns filling the tower.
Above them was a face so vividly beautiful it was almost overwhelming.
Her brows were painted to perfection, and the corners of her eyes tilted upward with a natural touch of seduction. When she seemed half on the verge of smiling, it was like warm wine trembling in a shallow pool. Her lips were touched with crimson, bright beneath the lantern glow. She did not even bother to sweep her gaze around the room. She merely lifted her eyes once from behind the beads, and already no one knew how many breaths had caught in their throats.
She had not yet spoken.
But cups had already stopped halfway to mouths.
One man had raised his wine to drink and forgotten to finish the motion. Another loosened his grip and spilled a few drops across his robe without noticing. A wealthy merchant seated in front rose half out of his chair on instinct, then froze there, caught between eagerness and embarrassment. A scholar in blue, who had been affecting calm a moment before, unconsciously tightened his fingers around the poem in his hand until a crease formed in the paper.
Even the few martial men lounging in the corner, all careless ease a moment ago, straightened without realizing it.
Upstairs, curtains stirred all at once.
A few girls leaning by the rail to watch the fun found their eyes drawn to her as well. Some looked with the resigned admiration of those who had long been used to her brilliance; others could not hide the flash of envy in their eyes. Qiutang stood not far away, a pipa in her arms, smiling still, but even that smile had faded by half a shade.
Red lanterns filled the tower.
And yet she alone shone brighter than all of them.
Standing to one side of the hall, Mama Qi finally let the smile in her eyes bloom in earnest.
"My lords have been waiting long enough."
She did not raise her voice, yet the whole hall came back to itself at once.
"Miss Yan Ji has arrived."
Only after those words did the main hall seem to wake all at once, as though the moment had lagged by half a beat.
"Miss Yan Ji!"
"Miss Yan Ji is even more breathtaking than she was last month!"
"Mama Qi, that is no exaggeration. With someone like this in Luzin Town, no wonder boats from every direction make for this place."
"Someone open that purple sandalwood gift casket of mine again! The one I sent before does not count!"
"Has my poem been delivered to the lady yet?"
Guests who had, until then, been holding themselves with studied dignity suddenly lost much of it. Some called out greetings at the top of their voices. Some hurried to order more gifts brought forward. Others still tried to keep a cultivated expression on their faces, but their eyes had already fastened themselves to that red figure and could not be moved away.
Yan Ji seemed long accustomed to such gazes.
She stood beneath the second-floor lamps, listening to the rising clamor, and merely curved her lips ever so slightly. The smile was faint, but it gave everyone in the hall the same dangerous illusion—as though the glance she had just cast had fallen on him alone.
The heat in the room rose another degree.
Then she began to descend.
The staircase was carpeted in dark softness, so her footsteps made almost no sound. Her red skirts poured down the steps in rippling layers, the lamplight sliding along their hem. She did not walk quickly, yet neither did she move like some ornament to be displayed and fought over, nor like a proud beauty making a show of disdaining the room. Her composure felt instead like a kind of command forged by long years in the world of pleasure: she knew every eye was on her, and she knew exactly how to keep them following.
And half a step behind her walked a man.
Yan Ji's brilliance had been so overwhelming that hardly anyone noticed him at first. Only after she had descended several steps and he emerged in full from behind the bead curtain did low murmurs spread through the hall.
"Iron Mask came out too."
"When Miss Yan Ji takes the stage, when does he ever fail to follow?"
"Tch. Still wearing that same dead-man face."
He wore a dark short robe and had the solid build of a man planted firmly on the earth. An iron mask covered his face. It was not fearsome in design, merely cold and plain, stripping every trace of expression from him. His hands hung at his sides. He did not walk fast. He remained half a step behind Yan Ji the entire time.
Not close.
Not far.
Like a silent shadow trailing at her back.
The noise and splendor of the hall seemed to have nothing to do with him. The red lanterns, the scent of wine, the flattering voices, the dazzled longing, the hidden desires—everything slid past him without leaving a mark on that iron face. Judging only from his posture and manner, he might even have seemed a little dull, like a man poor at thought and utterly unfit for society.
But from the side corridor, Fang Yingjie found himself thinking otherwise.
The man was not truly dull.
He had merely stripped away everything unnecessary.
At that moment Fang Yingjie was standing at the point where the side corridor met the main hall, a freshly delivered jar of wine in his arms.
He had not meant to look.
Old Zhao had just told him to take the wine to the eastern tables, and someone ahead was already calling for their cups to be refilled. He had only been passing through. But the entire Baoque Tower had suddenly gone quiet, then erupted into a frenzy at the appearance of a single woman. The change in the air was too sharp, too unmistakable, and it drew his gaze upward before he could stop himself.
One glance.
And his steps slowed by half a beat.
She was too bright.
And too far away.
So bright that she seemed to belong to a different world entirely from the ruined shrine, the wet earth, and the thin coffin through which he had passed that day.
Only that morning he had knelt before a nameless new grave, shoveling earth with his own hands, mud and blood packed into the cracks of his fingers. Yet now, returning to this tower at dusk, he saw a woman descend beneath a blaze of red lanterns and the heat of countless eyes. Pearls and jade adorned her. Gold and silver competed for her. It was as though Baoque Tower itself existed for no other purpose than to bear up her appearance tonight.
The collision was too violent.
So violent that for a moment Fang Yingjie forgot to look away.
Yan Ji had already reached the last few steps of the staircase.
A drunken guest seated near the front had plainly been dizzied by the single glance she had cast upon appearing. Now that she was closer, he snatched up a brocade box from the table and lurched a step forward, grinning from ear to ear.
"Miss Yan Ji, this gift of mine—I should like to present it to you with my own hands..."
His companions started in alarm and tried to grab him, but too late.
Mama Qi's smile did not change, but a trace of frost had entered her eyes.
A house runner had only just begun to move.
Iron Mask was already there.
He did not shout.
Nor did he display any startling feat of movement.
He merely stepped soundlessly across from behind Yan Ji and pressed a hand over the drunkard's outstretched wrist.
The motion was simple.
It was not even especially fast.
Yet the hand that had been reaching forward stopped at once under that touch. The brocade box shuddered in the man's grip and nearly slipped free. The smile on his face stiffened. Only then did he seem to realize that the hand clamped over his wrist was far heavier than it looked.
"Ah—ah, easy now, easy..."
Sobriety returned to him by half a measure. He did not dare take another step.
Iron Mask did not say a word.
He simply released him and retreated to Yan Ji's back again.
Still half a step away.
Still silent, as though he had never moved at all.
Only then did Mama Qi come forward with graceful calm and accept the brocade box herself.
"Master Yuan's thoughtfulness will of course be seen by Miss Yan Ji. But the rules of Baoque Tower are clear—gifts are received through the house. My lords must not let a moment's excitement put the lady in an awkward position."
The drunken man hastened to smile apologetically.
"Yes, yes, of course. I was out of line."
A few low laughs sounded through the hall. Some mocked him for drinking too fast. Others glanced sideways at Iron Mask, and there was now a wary note in their expressions.
Yan Ji never said a word.
She did not even spare the drunk a proper glance.
Only when Iron Mask stepped back behind her did her gaze drift lightly across his shoulder, as if confirming something that had never truly been in doubt. Then, without altering her pace, she continued toward the waterside dais.
At last, the crimson stage that had stood empty so long received its mistress.
The maidservants at the side had already set the qin table straight. Fresh incense had been lit, and the smoke was indeed cleaner than before, a thin pale thread rising slowly through the lamplight. The old qin that Young Master Shen of Jiangzhou had presented earlier was nowhere to be seen. Resting on the table was still Yan Ji's own well-worn scorched-tail qin, its plain lacquer glowing softly, clearly an instrument that had followed her for years.
Young Master Shen's expression tightened for the briefest instant at the sight, but he recovered at once and lifted his wine cup with an easy smile.
Yan Ji took her seat behind the qin table.
One broad sleeve slid down an inch from her wrist, revealing a section of pale bone so fair it almost dazzled the eye. She did not touch the strings at once. Instead she lifted her gaze and looked lightly across the hall.
After that single look, even the low murmur that still lingered in the room died away a great deal more.
With a smile, Mama Qi said, "Miss Yan Ji has seen the sincerity of all my lords tonight. She will first offer a tune in thanks to her guests. Afterward, she will consider what each of you has presented."
A chorus of approval rose at once.
But even the applause lasted only a moment before it subsided of its own accord. No one wished to sound coarser than anyone else before Yan Ji's fingers truly fell to the strings.
Still holding the wine jar, Fang Yingjie remained by the side corridor.
The errand boy beside him gave him a shove and muttered under his breath, "What are you staring at? The eastern tables are still waiting on that wine."
Only then did Fang Yingjie come back to himself. His fingers tightened slightly against the rim of the jar.
"Mm."
He answered and turned to go.
And just then, Yan Ji lifted her eyes from behind the qin table.
Everyone in the hall was looking at her.
But her gaze did not fall upon the wealthy merchants in the front rows, nor upon the scholars and elegant guests clutching poem scrolls and jade flutes, their faces full of expectation.
Her eyes passed beyond the lamplight.
Beyond the rows of heated, yearning faces turned toward her.
Beyond the piled brocade cases, pearls, incense smoke, and wine fumes at the gift table.
And with the lightest touch, they came to rest at the end of the side corridor.
There stood Mu Qi, a wine jar in his arms, only just awakened from that brief spell of distraction, not yet having quite managed to turn his eyes away.
Yan Ji saw him.
Deep in her eyes, something so faint it was almost impossible to detect went still for a breath.
Her fingertips touched the strings.
And paused there for half a beat.
No one noticed.
Not even Mama Qi.
Only Iron Mask behind her seemed to tilt his head ever so slightly.
Then, in the next instant, Yan Ji's fingers moved.
The first note fell clear and clean.
Like rain from a southern river night tapping against the eaves of a black awning boat.
Or like deep water slipping quietly beneath a stone bridge.
It was soft—soft enough to seem unwilling to contend with anything. Yet within that softness was hidden a thread of chill from nowhere anyone could name. The moment it entered the ear, the feverish noise that had been burning through the hall began little by little to sink away.
In Baoque Tower, the red lanterns were still warm.
Gold and silver still shone.
But in that moment, every mind in the room was caught by that single note.
And at the far end of the side corridor, Fang Yingjie finally turned with the wine jar in his arms and walked toward the eastern tables.
Behind the qin, Yan Ji's gaze rested on his retreating back for the briefest instant.
Then the music spread through the tower, and no other sound remained.
Poetic Coda
The earth on the nameless grave was not yet dry,
Yet dusk had kindled red lanterns against the cold upon his robe.
Mu Qi lowered his eyes and returned to the outer court;
One smile from Yan Ji outshone the vermilion rails.
Ten thousand in gold were offered for a spring night near at hand;
One silent face stopped a drunken hand mid-reach.
Before the first true strain had even sounded,
The hearts of the whole hall were already ensnared.
(End of Chapter Thirty-Seven)