Qingge could hardly believe her ears. She caressed the instrument, feigning delight, while internally panicking. ‘What do I do? How can I play it? How should I play it?!’
Was there any way to escape this? Could she pretend to faint? Fall and claim an injury? Should she just die right here?
Then she heard Ning Wang speak again, “Would my Wangfei grace me with a melody? Let me witness your skill with the zither.”
‘—Of course! What’s bound to happen has finally arrived!’
‘Should I just go ahead and die now?!’
Ning Wang raised an eyebrow, looking at her expectantly. The moment their eyes met, inspiration suddenly struck Qingge, who immediately said with a smile, “But I’ve heard that Your Highness is also well-versed in music. Would you grace me with your play instead?”
Seeing he was about to speak again, Qingge quickly added, “Your Highness, a zither is said to have a spirit and can recognize its master. This instrument has been by Your Highness’s side and must already resonate with you. This consort dares not presumptuously play such an extraordinary zither in the presence of its master. Tonight, let us revel in Your Highness’s performance, shall we?”
She spouted nonsense, but as she finished, she felt that her reasoning was impeccable. Once, when guarding Ning Wang on a trip to the capital, she had overheard the crown prince saying something similar. Since even the crown prince believed it, it must be very true!
Ning Wang listened, cast her a glance, and smiled. “Very well; this prince shall oblige my Wangfei’s request. However, I haven’t played in a long time, so you must excuse me if my skill is rusty.”
“Your Highness, what are you saying? We are here to appreciate the beauty of music together. What’s there to be excused?”
Ning Wang nodded. “Alright, then this prince shall play.”
So, surrounded by the incense smoke, Ning Wang began plucking the zither. Qingge didn’t understand music, but the sound was resonant, with a rhythmic flow that was both pleasing and captivating. But that’s all—she could tell it sounded lovely, but she couldn’t discern much beyond that.
Amid the flowing melody, Qingge’s mind raced. What kind of praise should she offer once he finishes? How should she handle the following conversation and how to respond? Most importantly, how could she avoid playing the zither herself without raising suspicion? She still had to impersonate Xiahou Jianxue for another four months—she couldn’t possibly keep dodging this forever, could she?
‘Does Mo Jingxi know how to play the zither?’ She wondered. ‘Could I bring him in to play in my place and fool Ning Wang? Would that even work?’
Drifted into her thoughts, Qingge’s gaze subconsciously fell on the view outside the open window. The splendid hues of the sunset had long vanished from the lake’s surface, and the lanterns on the pleasure boats were now all lit, their dazzling brilliance reflected on the water, blending seamlessly with it, as if creating another world entirely.
The night breeze rustled through the newly planted saplings by the lakeside, producing a soft, whispering sound. Nearby, white birds skimmed the water like slender, weightless strips of white silk, their feathers illuminated by the lantern light and tinged with a faint pink hue.
It was a bustling, vibrant evening, yet one imbued with an unusual sense of cold solitude. The bright moon hung high in the sky, while the shadows of the lanterns swayed. Qingge sat silently, listening to the music, a melody she couldn’t understand at all.
The sound of the zither was as cool and crisp as the tapping of ice flakes. In her reverie, Qingge seemed to hear the distant sound of snow falling gently and silently. The snowflakes descended one by one—cold, ethereal, heavy.
This brought Qingge back to many years ago, to the person she once was before entering Qianying Pavilion.
She remembered being alone, trudging through a snowstorm, running desperately forward, yet unable to find an end to the journey. Finally, she collapsed, pressing handfuls of snow into her mouth, trying to draw even a sliver of strength from it.
But it was futile. The snow melted into icy water, chilling her to the bone.
She trembled violently, thinking she was going to die.
Lost in these thoughts, Qingge was suddenly startled by a sharp vibration from the strings, followed by the abrupt cessation of the music.
Surprised, she looked up, her gaze meeting a pair of deep, dark eyes. Those eyes were silent, detached, and enigmatic.
Qingge froze, and in that moment of unguarded vulnerability, she found herself utterly unable to conceal the emotions spilling forth.
Even more, she was shocked—shocked at herself for getting lost in distant, irrelevant memories at such a critical moment, allowing sentimentality and melancholy to consume her while her very life was at stake.
“What were you just thinking about?” Meeting her gaze, Ning Wang slowly inquired. His voice was low and resonant, carrying a metallic timbre, like an extension of the zither’s melody.
Qingge parted her lips slightly but couldn’t bring herself to speak. Frustration welled within her—frustration at her wandering thoughts just moments earlier. ‘I should have been thinking of a solution! So why did I end up lost in a daydream?!’
Her thoughts were now completely blank; nothing came to mind.
Ning Wang stepped closer and reached out his hand. His slightly cool fingertips brushed her cheek.
Qingge stared blankly at his fingers, noticing the dampness on them. Only then did she realize—she had been crying.
Just now, she had actually cried while listening to the music…
How many years had it been since she last shed tears? She couldn’t even remember.
“Were you thinking of something sad?” The man repeated.
Qingge stared at him in a daze. His gaze was gentle yet distant, as cool as it was warm. The flickering lanterns, the soft moonlight, and the swaying curtains enveloped the cabin in an ethereal atmosphere.
Those deep, dark eyes seemed to hold an invisible hook, coaxing her to say things she shouldn’t.
Under his unwavering gaze, she found herself unable to lie. At last, she said softly, “I… was thinking about snow. Falling snow. So much of it.”
“Oh? And?” Ning Wang prompted.
Qingge pressed her lips together, her voice grew even softer. “For some reason, I felt as though I was walking through a snowstorm, endlessly moving forward but never reaching the end. My heart grew heavy, and I started crying.”
Lowering her gaze, she added quietly, “Perhaps Your Highness’s music was too moving, and it stirred my heart.”
Ning Wang fell silent at her words. After a while, he sighed softly. “This prince has heard that Xiahou Jianxue is a master of music and poetry, her artistic talent unmatched. I didn’t take it seriously at the time, but now it seems your reputation is well-deserved.”
Qingge froze, puzzled. ’What does he mean by that? Is he mocking me?’
Then she saw Ning Wang’s lips curved slightly into a faint smile. “Do you know the name of the piece this prince just played?”
At that moment, Qingge had no energy left to pretend. As a secret guard, she had failed to control herself, shedding tears during such a crucial mission. She felt both ashamed and defeated.
This overwhelming frustration left her unable to continue her act. She mentally surrendered and let things take their course, so she simply looked at him in silence.
Ning Wang’s smile faded. “I’ve been passionate about music since I was young and studied under renowned masters. Before I was enfeoffed at Yuning, I diligently practiced the arts of music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. This piece I played was something I composed myself at the age of ten. At the time, my teacher praised it highly, even lamenting how I, as a prince, couldn’t pursue this art as my career.”
Qingge was stunned. This was completely new to her—the Ning Wang she knew had never touched a zither. She suddenly realized how little she truly understood him.
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She’s smart but also extremely lucky.
I feel like this chapter is a really interesting reflection of her character! I wonder if knowing more about music would almost have gotten more in the way – after all, she expects herself to be so rigid and alert on her mission, if she could have broken it down into technicalities it may have let her stay in control. Instead the meaning and emotion in the music slips under her skin and stirs the emotions its meant to through a chink in her armour, even if she can’t talk about styles and inspiration and chords and rhythm. She tries to micromanage all stakes away (which I’m sure is an important skill in her job) but something slips in under her guard. And probably she will do the same for him as well.