Chapter 79: Two Stories

After making some preparations, Yang Lian set off alone for the Xiaoxiang Pavilion. What exactly was Zeng Yiling up to? What was she really hiding?

He boarded a boat on the Qinhuai River. The boatman looked honest and simple, steadying the vessel with a bamboo pole. Inside the cabin, his wife busied herself cooking; a few still-flapping fish lay nearby, clearly destined for the meal.

The summer heat was intense, and the river was increasingly crowded with boats. Many were adorned with bright lanterns and filled with revelry, the laughter of men and women spilling into the night. The small boat weaved swiftly through the crowd and soon arrived outside the Xiaoxiang Pavilion.

When paying, Yang Lian deliberately gave the boatman five extra coins, earning heartfelt gratitude. “Making a living these days is no easy task,” the boatman said, “taxes here, taxes there—it’s enough to tax even our very breath.” His wife came over to thank him as well.

Watching the weathered couple, Yang Lian shook his head and walked away. At that moment, a thought stirred in his mind: how wonderful it was to have wealth, or better yet, power. After walking another hundred paces, he arrived at the entrance of Xiaoxiang Pavilion. Looking up at the place he hadn’t visited for months, he felt a pang of sentiment.

The pavilion was crowded as usual; the guests seemed ordinary. Yang Lian swaggered inside, scanning the scene: couples dressed in vibrant colors were exchanging tender words, seemingly deeply enamored. A faint smile played on his lips as he headed upstairs. Suddenly, a woman wearing a high veil approached and asked, “Are you Young Master Yang Lian?”

“That’s me,” he replied. The voice was somewhat familiar, but the veil obscured her features.

Without a word, she turned and led him upstairs, turning three times through the corridors before stopping outside a secluded room. Yang Lian barely had time to steady himself when he looked up in surprise.

“Ah, it’s Lord Dongping. I didn’t expect to see you here again,” Yang Lian said with a faint smile, bowing slightly.

Li Hongji narrowed his eyes, replying with a question, “What, are you here to see Zeng Yiling as well?”

“She’s the one who wishes to see me, not the other way around,” Yang Lian said with a knowing smile, reading the gloom on Li Hongji’s face. As expected, Li Hongji was momentarily stunned before displaying a hint of frustration.

“Is Lord Dongping interested in seeing Zeng Yiling too? If you don’t mind, why not come in with me?” Yang Lian offered cheerfully.

Li Hongji was about to agree when the veiled woman spoke loudly, “Young Master Yang, my master has requested to see you alone. If you intend to bring company, then there’s no need to come at all.”

Yang Lian shrugged helplessly at Li Hongji, who sighed deeply and strode away.

“Please, Young Master Yang, come inside,” the woman invited.

Yang Lian nodded and entered. The woman closed the door behind him. Inside, a few red candles burned low, their wax pooling over the holders. The room was designed with two entrances and exits, decorated with potted plants that brought a lively spring ambiance.

The interior was warm and simple. As Yang Lian examined the space, a soft, melodious voice sounded, “Young Master Yang, please come in.”

It was Zeng Yiling’s voice—he remembered it. She sat by a zither, veiled, her hands hovering over the strings as if to play but not quite pressing. Rising upon his arrival, she bowed gracefully. “Since we parted last year, it seems Young Master Yang has forgotten me.”

Yang Lian chuckled gently. “Miss Zeng, you are as beautiful as a blooming flower. Even Xishi would pale in comparison. How could I ever forget you?”

“Is that so?” Zeng Yiling leaned in, her breath fragrant, yet her eyes filled with sorrow. “But you haven’t visited in half a year, and that has truly broken my heart.”

A subtle scent enveloped him, and Yang Lian felt a slight intoxication. Was she trying to seduce him? Yet he could not discern her true intentions—there was little about himself to attract her. Smiling faintly, he replied, “Though absent in person, my heart is ever present.”

“You speak with your lips but not your heart,” she murmured plaintively.

Yang Lian scrutinized her more closely. He had never seen her face before; now, with her veil, it was still hidden. Judging from her voice, she was undoubtedly a woman of extraordinary beauty. Yet why would she choose to make a living in a brothel?

Zeng Yiling frowned slightly and asked, “Do you still keep the hairpin I gave you last time?”

Yang Lian was startled. The hairpin had been carefully stored in a box. He had examined it many times searching for secrets but found none, assuming it was ordinary. Now that she mentioned it again, it seemed there was indeed something unusual.

Without hesitation, he produced the hairpin with a smile. “Is it this one?”

Zeng Yiling smiled faintly. “It sounds as if Young Master Yang has many hairpins.”

“I do have several, but only this one is truly precious,” Yang Lian replied, tucking it back into his pocket.

She did not object, still smiling softly as she bowed slightly. “Have you uncovered the secret of this jade hairpin, Young Master?”

Her question was direct, catching Yang Lian off guard. He looked at her intently. “Secret? What secret does this hairpin hold?”

Zeng Yiling remained silent, slowly sitting down, her brows furrowing. “If you don’t know, perhaps you should look more closely.”

Yang Lian suppressed a smile. “Miss Zeng wouldn’t have invited me here just to discuss a hairpin, would she?”

Her slender fingers gently brushed the zither strings, producing a few notes. The melody was sharp and intense, reminiscent in part of the famed “Ambush from Ten Sides.” Yang Lian was momentarily surprised. He knew the “Ambush” well but had never heard this piece.

After playing for a while, she paused and asked, “Young Master Yang, this piece called ‘Chu-Han’ came into my possession by chance. Does it please your ear?”

Yang Lian nodded, smiling. “Miss Zeng’s skill is indeed exquisite.”

“Since you are well-versed in music, can you discern what this piece means?” Zeng Yiling smiled again, rising slowly to pour tea for him with delicate hands.

Yang Lian understood the story behind “Chu-Han.” The “Ambush from Ten Sides” was based on Xiang Yu’s tale, and “Chu-Han” was its predecessor. Yet he was unaware of when “Chu-Han” first appeared, and it differed considerably from the “Ambush.”

“Xiang Yu, the Hegemon-King of Western Chu, was courageous and bold. Alas, at the Battle of Gaixia, he was trapped like a tiger in open plains and eventually took his own life by the Wu River. Truly a tragic fate,” Yang Lian said calmly.

Zeng Yiling looked at him with a faint, enigmatic smile. “What if you were to compare yourself to the Hegemon-King?”

Yang Lian's heart skipped. Her expression and words unsettled him. What did she mean by that? Yet he maintained his composure. “Xiang Yu was a hero of his age. What merit or talent does Yang Lian possess to compare himself to him?”

“Though the ancients were formidable, one need not belittle oneself,” she replied. Then suddenly, “Young Master Yang, I have a story here. Would you care to hear it?”

“I am all ears,” Yang Lian said, knowing she was getting to the point. But what story would she tell?

“Once upon a time, there was an orphan whose parents died early due to war. When he was seven, a hero saved him and took him as his godson. The hero treated him well, but his own son grew jealous. The hero, helpless, sent the orphan to a close friend as a godson. This friend cared for him deeply, educating him in both letters and martial arts, even better than his own son. As he grew stronger, the orphan began to covet his foster father’s wealth.”

“To seize the fortune, he even killed his foster brother, nearly annihilating his whole family. With vast riches in hand, his ambitions grew; he sought to seize the hero’s legacy. In truth, he succeeded and even passed on this inheritance to his own son.”

Zeng Yiling’s story was concise but clear. Yang Lian was struck. The tale was all too familiar. The hero resembled Yang Xingmi, the founder of Yang Wu; the friend like Xu Wen. Though Xu Wen seized Yang Xingmi’s legacy, his descendants failed to hold power, which eventually passed to Xu Zhigao, also known as Li Bian. He established the Qi state, restored the Li surname, took the name Bian, claimed descent from Tang Emperor Xianzong’s son Li Ke, and renamed the realm Tang, enshrining the founding emperors of Tang and honoring Xu Wen as his adoptive father. Some of Xu Wen’s descendants received titles.

This story naturally brought to mind the history of Yang Wu and Southern Tang. Yet Yang Lian was unsettled. Why would Zeng Yiling choose such a pointed story?

“Do you think this orphan is a hero or a villain?” she asked, her bright eyes fixed on him.

Yang Lian looked at her. The veil’s tassels obscured her face, but he was nearly certain she was no ordinary woman. Smiling, he replied, “I have a story too.”

He told her the fable of the Wolf of Zhongshan and Mr. Dongguo. Though popular in later times, it was unfamiliar in their present day. Yang Lian’s eloquence captivated Zeng Yiling, who listened intently, despising the wolf’s ingratitude and greed, yet pitying Mr. Dongguo’s foolishness.

When he finished, he smiled and asked, “Throughout history, stories like the Wolf of Zhongshan are common. Do you think the wolf was a good wolf, Miss Zeng?”

She came back to herself and replied, “Wolves hardly have anything to do with humans, do they?”

“How could they not? Wolves are naturally cold and patient. Mr. Dongguo should never have saved it. Some people are like that—unworthy of rescue. But the facts are clear. Regret will not undo what’s done. One must find a way to slay the wolf,” Yang Lian said decisively.

Zeng Yiling seemed thoughtful. “Indeed, that is just.”

“Yet from another perspective, the wolf’s nature is what it is. Mr. Dongguo’s poor judgment in saving it is his tragedy,” Yang Lian added.

She nodded. “Your words are profound, Young Master Yang. I am honored.” She bowed sincerely.

P.S. Apologies for the late reply; I worked until 9 p.m. today.