Work Text:
The biggest misfortune of Ye Meifeng’s life was that she was not born a man.
Had she been born a man, she could have become a renowned singer — or at least she could earn more. Cultivators would commission heroic songs about slaying demons and dangerous beasts, about putting a mountain over the head of Tianlang Jun himself, things like that. Officials would ask her to sing about rugged bromance, bitter separation, pines by an outpost, bobbled hats and wine.
Nothing to write home about, but at least it paid good money.
But Ye Meifeng was born a woman, and thus she was always asked to sing dreary love ballads, liked only by servant girls and sensitive daughters from good families who dreamed of disguised princes to whisk them away from embroidery. Neither daughters nor servant girls had any money.
Such was her cruel fate, but Ye Meifeng had already resigned to it. Which is probably why she gawked so much at her latest patron.
Strictly speaking, the patron was worth the gawking. He was very young and very handsome, dressed in rich clothes of Huan Hua Palace, and had a mark on his forehead and a fire in his eyes.
«Should he call me to join him upstairs, I’d go in a heartbeat,» — Ye Meifeng thought, but she wasn’t called to go anywhere.
— I, — the young man told her confidentially, — would like you, esteemed madam, to write me a ballad.
Say no more, Ye Meifeng thought and stifled a yawn. Yet another run-off-the-mill song about rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, dedicated to the bride-to-be chosen by either his parents or his teacher.
— About you and your fiancee, — she gave him an obligatory smile. — As you wish, sir. I can use elegant literary expressions to describe her beauty and liken it to that of Xi Shi or Yang Guifei. Xi Shi will cost extra.
— No, — he said. — It’s not about a fiancee.
— Then is it about you and your forbidden love?
The young master lowered his eyes. Aha .
— About a mature, beautiful lady belonging to another man, — Ye Meifeng gave him an understanding nod.
— About a mature, beautiful man, — the young master corrected. — And he belonged to himself. Used to.
— Used to?
— Doesn’t matter. So, will you write it?
The young master dropped a few coin bundles on the table. That much could last you two years if you were wise about spending, but Ye Meifeng only nodded with restraint.
Be professional, she reminded herself.
— About you and… your esteemed senior brother, I presume?
Only gods knew what kind of debauchery went down in those cultivator sects. Ye Meifeng had never been to any, but people talked. And — she stole a glance at her patron — with good reason, it seemed.
The patron caught her gaze, smiled back, and his smile gave Ye Meifeng chills.
— No. It will be about me and my master.
— And of course, it will be anonymous.
— Of course it will not. I want it to be known and sung throughout the three realms. And, — several more coin bundles fell on the table, — I’m ready to pay for it. Should you sing it on Tian Gong Mountain, I’ll fork up more.
Be professional, be professional . Ye Meifeng licked her lips with agitation. Oh, to hell with professionalism: that was an obscene amount of money!
— I already know what to name it, — she smiled, dropping her eyelashes to hide the greedy glint in her eyes.
— So do I. «The eternal woe of Chunshan».
— Certainly. — Ye Meifeng put a few lines down. — Do you have any special requests?
— Oh yes. It has to be a tragedy featuring papapa . About a fifty-fifty ratio.
— And what would be the name of your esteemed master?
— Shen Qingqiu.
Without thinking, Ye Meifeng reached up to smooth her hair that stood on end. Everyone knew the name of Shen Qingqiu: he was slandered, denounced, and condemned before finally giving up his life to protect his ungrateful disciple. Such was the official story of the Cang Qiong sect, and not many dared to dispute it.
And assuming that it was the same ungrateful disciple sitting before her…
«Poor Shen Qingqiu — Ye Meifeng thought. — He would probably turn over in his grave».
Still, Ye Meifeng cared little about a stranger’s afterlife: the amount of money she was offered to compose that ballad was that obscene.
— Qingqiu? Qiu as in “autumn” or as in “crane”? — was all she asked, and the young master — Luo Binghe, if her guess was right — smiled in satisfaction. — Is there anything else you’d like in this… ballad?
Luo Binghe started on the list, ticking it off his fingers: a bamboo house for two and papapa, a hunt for two and papapa, various misunderstandings and papapa, papapa and death, papapa after death, a miraculous resurrection — and more papapa …
— And… um… What would be the tragedy? — Ye Meifeng asked, taking detailed notes.
— The eternal woe that is the desire between a master and his disciple, never put into words, forever forbidden and judged, — Luo Binghe said, and she could only applaud him. Ye Meifeng herself, older as she was, would have never been able to recite that with a straight face.
— Just so.
They smoothed out a few small details, and Luo Binghe left.
***
It took Ye Meifeng about a month to compose «The eternal woe of Chunshan». On the whole, there was little to compose, really — she just wrote papapa every other word. But papapa came in different flavors, and she bent over backwards to make the ballad into a (papapa) masterpiece. It turned out quite lively, with a great number of various poses and techniques. As soon as «The eternal woe of Chunshan» got out into the world, sons and daughters of respectable families would steer clear of Cang Qiong Mountain. Dubious folk, on the other hand, would flock to it in droves. Then again, she wasn’t paid to worry about righteous cultivators and their sects.
To test the waters, Ye Meifeng went to a joy house. Clientele didn’t visit it to listen to the music, so she would have all the chances to finish singing her ballad.
Ye Meifeng sat on the designated bench with her pipa, and as her opening act sang a few unremarkable songs about first love, broken hearts and unwanted marriage. No one paid her any attention. Girls in translucent clothes and open red shirts weaved through the hall, either joining people at tables, or rushing off upstairs with a client in tow, or bursting into sensual and immodest dance.
Ye Meifeng took a deep breath — and began «The eternal woe». The effect it had on the noisy crowd was nothing short of magical.
Only the nearest couple of tables took notice of the first verse: both the girls and the patrons turned to face the podium, like puppets on a string. The wine lavishly spilled, missing the cup entirely. Mouths opened only to remain that way. One patron was so entranced he dropped the girl sitting on his lap.
— You’ll have the sun on yonder Chunshan,
with papapa and papapa… [1]
Her voice was strained, but Ye Meifeng bravely moved onto the next verse.
Second verse was heard by more people, and the third verse filled the whole hall. All was silent, eerily so. The pipa was playing quietly and Ye Meifeng sang softly, while girls and patrons were barely breathing. Making not a sound, the madam owner was fidgeting with her fan, and her hawkish, appraising eyes never left Ye Meifeng. It was certain that as soon as «The eternal woe» ended, they would talk big money, but Ye Meifeng couldn’t tell whether the madam would offer payment or demand interest.
«The eternal woe of Chunshan» was a long one, and at first Ye Meifeng expected her listeners to get tired and disperse — but on the contrary, she sang it to the end, accompanied by the same eerie silence.
— With papapa and papapa… — she breathed out the last words dolefully, pressed her fingers down on the pipa strings and bowed, numb with anxiety.
The moment really was dubious, if not provocative, but no one threw a half-finished wine cup at Ye Meifeng — no one threw anything at all, in fact. Then she heard the first claps, sparse and uncertain, but they grew in numbers and magnitude, and soon the whole audience was giving her an ovation.
— Can you sing that again? — one of the patrons asked once the applause quieted down. A buzz of agreement supported him, which meant a resounding success.
Even if Luo Binghe was less generous, after her debut performance Ye Meifeng had no need to worry about money anymore. She sang at the joy house almost every night, and each and every time the house was full. «The eternal woe of Chunshan» had a catchy tune, the lyrics were easy to remember, and in no time at all it was sung on every turn. Traveling singers who passed through town carried it with them, and half a year later «The eternal woe of Chunshan» might not have spread throughout the three worlds, but was widely known in the mortal realm.
And it was then that Ye Meifeng was found by a new patron.
***
He was also very young and very handsome, and wore the white garments of the Cang Qiong sect; he had an immaculate face, an immaculate posture, and manners of a sharp blade that knew no obstacles.
— Yes, young master? — Ye Meifeng said carefully. She had expected the retribution of Tian Gong Mountain to fall upon her much sooner, but when none came she dropped her guard down. Should have known better, Ye Meifeng thought morosely, but it was too late to regret that.
There was a sword on the back of the young man, and perhaps that would have made for a good enough death — over in an instant, with one slash from shoulder to navel.
— I want you to write me a ballad, — the young man said in a jerky tone.
Ye Meifeng blinked.
— I’m sorry? — she must have heard wrong. There was no way she heard that right.
— You’re the one who wrote «The eternal woe of Chunshan», right?
Ye Meifeng nodded.
— Then write another one like it. But make it better.
— Is it about you and… ummm… your teacher?
Bloodlust flared in the young man.
— About me and my senior martial brother.
— Whose name would be?..
— Shen Qingqiu.
Shen Qingqiu again. But of course.
— And you would be? — Ye Meifeng asked weakly.
— The War God of Bai Zhan Peak.
— Uh, should I write exactly that?
— Liu Qingge, — the war god of Bai Zhan Peak, Liu Qingge, uttered through gritted teeth.
Liu Qingge then, she could work with that.
— Do you have any special requests?
— I want it to be more popular than the ballad with Luo Binghe, — Liu Qingge threw several coin bundles on the table, and the number was twice as much as what Luo Binghe threw before.
«Be professional, —Ye Meifeng told herself, — be professional, and he just might add a couple more bundles».
— Would you like it to focus on the tragedy or on the papapa? — Ye Meifeng asked, taking out a clean sheet of paper.
— Don’t write tragedy.
— Should I leave only papapa then? Quite daring.
— Not only that. Make him… make him happy.
— Shen Qingqiu?
— Yes.
It was much harder to work with Liu Qingge than Luo Binghe: he had no idea about any kind of literature (classics or otherwise). On the other hand, vague and extremely evasive terms of the commission meant more creative freedom, and Ye Meifeng used up said freedom to the utmost extent.
Once again she decided to debut her new ballad at the joy house: regulars were already familiar with her and would be unlikely to throw anything in her direction.
Ye Meifeng was anxious when she went on the podium, and the trusty pipa felt like a lead weight in her hands. Starting off with a short and lively bridge, she sang the first verse: about the quiet and familiar hometown, dreams of military glory and first papapa, getting into the Cang Qiong sect and having a meeting, perhaps not quite life-changing, but very close to that.
— … burning sunlight was suffocating,
While his gaze itself was the sun.
I felt but a shiver: this one, this one
Is the man to papapa me…[2]
This ballad was titled «The eternal joy of Chunshan» and celebrated the spring of one’s life, flowers and willows, as well as the never-ending hunt for beasts and demons, which forced the main characters to papapa. By the end of the tenth verse they were made to do it by succubi, man-eating flowers, monsters with tentacles, monsters without tentacles, and so on and so forth…
Ye Meifeng herself thought she might have gone a little overboard, but the regulars of the joy house listened to her in trance. The madam owner even took some notes every now and then: it was certain that from that night on the brothel will have a new selection of services to offer.
— … is the man to papapa me…
The song ended. The vibration of the strings faded away and dead silence engulfed the whole hall. Ye Meifeng shrank back.
— Say, it sounds like jolly fun up there, on that Cang Qiong Mountain of theirs, — one of the regulars said thoughtfully. — I never thought that being a cultivator was so exciting. You can papapa all day long, and you don’t even pay for it.
— We must give it another listen, — somebody else said. — The part with tentacles in particular.
— And the part with pollen.
— Let her sing the whole thing, that’ll do it!
— Encore! Encore! — the hall roared like a tormented sea.
Ye Meifeng straightened her back with pride. That was also a kind of resounding success.
«The eternal joy of Chunshan» sold throughout the mortal realm like hot baozi. Newlyweds received scrolls with the lyrics on their wedding night instead of Canons of Plain and Dark Girls.[3]
Adepts flocked to the Cang Qiong sect, and upon getting in they wanted to know when they could go hunting. Money rained on Ye Meifeng once again. Life was wonderful and amazing...
And then something else happened to her.
***
That night Ye Meifeng was at her usual eatery, sitting in her usual corner and leafing through cheap novels by Liusu Mianhua[4] — she had to get inspiration from somewhere — when a shadow fell over her.
Ye Meifeng lifted her head. There was a man before her, with pleasant features and intelligent eyes. He smiled, and Ye Meifeng found herself smiling back.
— The rumors of the esteemed madam Ye’s craftsmanship has reached even the most distant corners of the realm, — the man said by a way of greeting. — I would like to invite you to sing for my master.
He reached out to give her a coin bundle, and a multitude of small snakes poured on the table. One of the snakes gave Ye Meifeng’s finger a gentle bite.
The man smiled awkwardly, and the snakes slithered back into his sleeves.
Ye Meifeng didn’t scream, but only because she had lost her voice.
— What would your answer be? — the man («A demon! It’s a real demon!») asked when the silence stretched out too long for comfort.
— What if I refuse? — Ye Meifeng squeaked.
— You can’t refuse.
The man’s smile remained just as pleasant, but for some reason Ye Meifeng recalled Luo Binghe and the deadly gleam in his eyes. A fear of death washed over her, and it was such a familiar feeling Ye Meifeng found herself relaxing.
— Somehow I expected this, — she sighed. — Fine, I’ll go. Just let me fetch my pipa.
Ye Meifeng knew about demons about as much as the next person — meaning, next to nothing — and so she expected that… — «Please call me Zhuzhi Lang» — would bring her to some ravine strewn with bones, or some desert strewn with bones, or some bloody riverbank strewn with bones…
But he brought her to a mausoleum.
***
Honestly speaking, the mausoleum looked nothing short of magnificent — made of marble, decorated with statues, carvings, and rich mosaics. If it wasn’t for the horde of walking dead and grotesque demonic beasts, Ye Meifeng would have liked a tour of the place.
Both the walking dead and the demonic beasts did little to impress Zhuzhi Lang — probably because all of them scattered after a single wave of his sleeve. The man guided Ye Meifeng through dark corridors filled with the scent of death, and engaged her in light talk about the weather. Ye Meifeng felt like she was dreaming — and that she was just one step away from a nightmare.
Just when she thought they were going to walk forever and never arrive anywhere, Zhuzhi Lang led Ye Meifeng up to an unremarkable sarcophagus and bowed to it.
— Master, I brought Ye Meifeng.
— Splendid, — the sarcophagus replied. — Madam Ye, I beg your pardon for such a humble welcome, but I hope that you would still be able to perform your famous ballad about the lord of Qing Jing Peak.
— Which ballad exactly? — Ye Meifeng asked dryly.
— Why, are there more than one? — the sarcophagus sounded surprised.
— Two of them. Both have papapa .
— Then I would like you to perform both. — the anticipation was clear in the voice of the sarcophagus.
Ye Meifeng shrugged and touched the pipa strings.
— Just as I imagined, that was absolutely marvelous, — the sarcophagus said as soon and she stopped singing and the pipa sounds faded away. — Such passion, such unpredictable plot twists, such vivid characterization! Zhuzhi Lang.
Zhuzhi Lang immediately pushed the lid of the sarcophagus aside and helped the person inside to sit up. If Ye Meifeng had any expectations to see infernality incarnate, she’d have to be disappointed: Zhuzhi Lang’s master turned out to be a nice looking young man (if only a little bit rotten). Only the eyes betrayed him — because Luo Binghe had the same eyes.
Ye Meifeng couldn’t help backing away.
— Do not be afraid, — Zhuzhi Lang’s master smiled. — I wish you no harm. I only wish…
«No, — Ye Meifeng even shut her eyes tightly, — please don’t say what I think you’re about to say».
— … for you to write me a ballad.
«I knew it, — Ye Meifeng thought bitterly. — I just knew it».
— Would it be about you and Shen Qingqiu?
— Oh no. About Shen Qingqiu and Zhuzhi Lang.
Ye Meifeng blinked. Zhuzhi Lang blinked as well.
— But master, I must say that I have no such feelings towards…
Zhuzhi Lang’s master raised his hand.
— Say no more, — he told his retainer. — I know what it is that you desire. — He turned to Ye Meifeng next. — Please, add a lot of papapa.
***
That ballad only took Ye Meifeng a mere couple of days. Not to mention, the theme was fresh and original: a righteous cultivator and a demon who could turn into a snake. Ye Meifeng went big on the contrasting mindsets, different physiology and clashing beliefs. It was love that had no place under the sun, it was love and papapa… papapa… papapa…
Ye Meifeng thought that she would have to perform this ballad on every corner as well (and even wondered if Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge would team up against the new loverboy), but her audience actually consisted of only Zhuzhi Lang and his master.
— When a patterned stuff will so flutter.
And a burning flame is so white,
No need now to smile or to utter:
Stay with me and let’s papapa![5]
They listened to the ballad in silence: for one of them it was contemplation, while for the other it was shock.
— It was beautiful, — Zhuzhi Lang’s master said when Ye Meifeng finished singing. — Take this as your payment.
He reached out a hand with a massive golden bracelet gleaming on it. Ye Meifeng pulled… and it was in her hand, along with the arm of her esteemed patron.
That was just the right time to scream. Or faint.
Ye Meifeng did neither of those, and instead took the bracelet off and returned the detached arm to its owner.
— Such talent, such wit, such remarkable composure. Do you have a husband? — her patron smiled, and dread enveloped Ye Meifeng.
***
She expected to be brought to the demon realm every now and then, but nothing came out of it. The life of Ye Meifeng made an attempt to fall into a boring, pedestrian routine…
But then Luo Binghe found her again.
Ye Meifeng recognized him as soon as the man entered the joy house. The girls rushed to greet him and offer their company, trying to outsmile each other, but Luo Binghe made a beeline to the corner she occupied.
«I could have retired, — Ye Meifeng thought with despondence. — I could have retired to settle… somewhere. I could have been teaching music, peacefully aging, and die a natural death. You can’t earn all the money in the world anyway, and yet...»
— I heard your ballad about the joy, — Luo Binghe was not beating around the bush. He was smiling, and Ye Meifeng was certain she would be seeing that smile in her nightmares till the day she died
— Was it to the young master’s liking? — Ye Meifeng asked, and no matter how she tried, her voice wavered at the end.
— It does have a couple of amusing parts, — Luo Binghe said with the same smile. — I do hope that when you'll be writing a new ballad — the correct ballad — you shall demonstrate the same ingenuity and talent.
— A new ballad?
The soul which left Ye Meifeng’s body made a u-turn. A new ballad sounded just splendid. At least she would be alive for as long as she’d be writing it.
— «The woeful woe of Chunshan», — Luo Binghe nodded.
— Would it be the same as the last one? — Ye Meifeng asked in a strained tone. Last time she wore her fingers to the bone, so it would be hard to come up with something new.
— Yes, but add more papapa. About seventy to thirty.
— Certainly. — Ye Meifeng smiled.
Luo Binghe gave her another lingering look, put several coin bundles on the table and went back where he came from.
Watching the door that closed behind him, Ye Meifeng heaved a sigh of relief, but then remembered «The woeful woe of Chunshan» and heaved another one.
***
For the next few days Ye Meifeng was chatting up the courtesans. All poses and papapa techniques she knew went into the previous two ballads, and now she hadn’t a clue what to describe in the new one. The papapa-to-tragedy ratio was supposed to be seventy to thirty percent, but Ye Meifeng was finding it hard to put together even ten.
— What did you want in the first place then? — the madam owner asked her when Ye Meifeng rejected yet another idea for being too tame.
— Well… — Ye Meifeng recalled the handsome face of Luo Binghe, his cold eyes and the ill fame Huan Hua Palace was getting as of late. — Extremes, — she said with resolve.
— You mean deviations?
— But done with love.
— Very well, — the madam owner smiled. — Why not start with asphyxiation then? An obedient disciple, entrusting his master with his life, where one wrong move could turn out fatal… I think it’s quite romantic.
— That works, — Ye Meifeng said.
She did start with asphyxiation, and after that simply went down the list of the most licentious perversities. Shen Qingqiu was dead so he wouldn’t have cared, but Luo Binghe had to be satisfied.
Ye Meifeng labored over the ballad for two months: it was next to impossible to find new and original words that rhymed with «papapa», but the memory of the deadly gleam in Luo Binghe’s eyes did wonders to her imagination.
To debut her ballad Ye Meifeng went — as per the established tradition — to the familiar joy house.
— If anyone happens to throw anything at me… — she told the madam owner before going up the podium.
— That would probably be money, — the madam snorted, giving her back a push.
Clutching pipa to her chest, Ye Meifeng went up the podium, looked around the hall and shuddered. There was twice as many visitors, and all of them (including the girls working at the house) watched Ye Meifeng with hungry eyes.
Ye Meifeng began her performance by singing «The eternal woe of Chunshan» first, then the no less famous «The eternal joy of Chunshan» second. The audience received that well enough, but just barely. There were no approving shouts, no salty jokes, no whistling, nothing.
— And now, — Ye Meifeng cleared her throat, — I would like to present you a new song…
— Finally! — came from the someone in the first row.
— Is it about Shen Qingqiu again? — somebody shouted in the back.
— It is about Shen Qingqiu again, — Ye Meifeng admitted.
— And is he gonna… — somebody else started, and went on to describe a scene so lewd and immodest Ye Meifeng found herself reaching out for a piece of paper to write that down.
— No, — she said with regret. — He will not.
— Alright then, — the person asking let out a disappointed sigh. — Maybe next ballad.
— No, — Ye Meifeng said with resolution. — There will be no next ballad.
She touched the pipa strings and, after a heart wrenching intro, sang the first verse. If you didn’t know there was nothing but papapa after that, it did sound very moving.
— You Powers that smile on virtuous love,
O, sweetly smile on Somebody!
Papapa ’s sweetest when it’s with him,
So send me safe my Somebody![6]
One of the listeners reached to wipe away a manly tear and froze with his hand raised: the seventy percent she had promised Luo Binghe began.
Ye Meifeng’s lips moved as if by their own accord, and every other word was a mention of either jade stems, or yang peaks, or split peaches, or narrow bird paths, or fishermen’s poles, and so on and so forth. Very few people could have sung it with a straight face, but Ye Meifeng was quite experienced thanks to the eternal woes and the eternal joys of the Cang Qiong Mountain.
As soon as the last notes died out and she gave her audience a bow, Ye Meifeng was almost deafened by the thundering ovation. Money and flowers were thrown on the stage, and one patron who had time to write the lyrics down asked her to sign it.
It was a success, undeniable and overwhelming, but was it not for the silent agreement between her and Luo Binghe to sing «The woeful woe of Chunshan» for as long as it took to redress the damage done by «The joy of Chunshan», Ye Meifeng would have wasted no time to pack her stuff and head for the remotest boonies she could find in the mortal realm.
***
Nothing in particular happened in the two months that followed, if you didn’t count Zhao Hua Temple and Ba Qi Sect, both worried about the loss of new (and even some old) disciples, commissioning a few ballads about their elders. There was almost no papapa in the lyrics, and so they were lost on the general public.
The noble Cang Qiong sect itself gave no response to «The woeful woe of Chunshan», which wasn’t surprising in the least: whatever it was that they really practiced up there on that mountain of theirs, whether it was cultivation or papapa, the rare visits they paid to the mortal realm were few and far between.
Ye Meifeng diligently sang «The woeful woe of Chunshan» on every turn and counted down to the day when her obligations towards Luo Binghe would be delivered in full. She had but a week and some left, but the war god of Bai Zhan Peak found her again.
Ye Meifeng was on the fifth verse when the audience parted and out of the crowd, like a dragon emerging from the waters, advanced Liu Qingge. One of the strings on Ye Meifeng’s pipa thrummed and snapped in half.
Liu Qingge was just the way she remembered him — just the way he appeared in her nightmares once «The woeful woe of Chunshan» was out in the world — just the way he was… but also more…
«Of everything, — Ye Meifeng thought. Her legs were rooted on the spot and wouldn’t move. — He’s more of everything. More threatening, more dangerous, more frightening. — She fought against her honesty for a while, but grudgingly added: — More handsome».
There, now she could die with a clear conscience.
Where chill crept from Liu Binghe, Liu Qingge had sparks of lightning. One of his hands went into one of his sleeves… Ye Meifeng closed her eyes shut and recited a short prayer.
Something jingled by her sides. Then something jingled again.
She opened her eyes: there were several heavy coin bundles on the table before her.
— For the new ballad, — Liu Qingge uttered icily. — I want it sung in place of that… the one just now.
— About you and Shen Qingqiu? — Ye Meifeng squeaked. Relief that flooded her also made it hard to control her voice.
— Yes.
— Same as before?
— Put succubi in, — Liu Qingge said after a long, tense pause.
— But the previous one already had succubi.
— Put succubi in again.
He gave Ye Meifeng one last heavy look, and with a wave of his sleeve was on the way to the exit. Ye Meifeng caught her breath. Well then, somehow the storm had passed. She looked at the money on the table and poked the nearest bundle with disgust. People really did die for metal. If it wasn’t for her greed…
She couldn’t finish that thought. The crowd parted again, and another cultivator stood before her, wearing the same garments of the Cang Qiong sect. That was the first time Ye Meifeng saw him, but it was clear at a glance that the man was no ordinary cultivator. His face was pleasant and his smile benign, but Ye Meifeng almost sank into the floor under the spiritual pressure of his.
— How… how can I be of service, esteemed sir? — Ye Meifeng croaked with difficulty.
In lieu of an answer the cultivator put several coin bundles next to the pile before her.
— Here. In addition to the new ballad about Shen Qingqiu. He would be happier with junior brother Liu. And… make sure he eats well.
«Eats well? — Ye Meifeng thought, dumbfounded. — In a ballad about papapa? What would he even eat? Surely not...».
— Certainly, — she said out loud.
The unfamiliar cultivator nodded and retreated after Liu Qingge. Eyes full of tears, Ye Meifeng went on to pick up the coin bundles. If she were lucky, Luo Binghe would be secluded in that Huan Hua Palace of his for cultivation (or whatever it was that cultivators did), and she would have time to escape before «The joyous joy of Chunshan» reached his ears.
***
It was much easier to write «The joyous joy» than the previous ballad for Luo Binghe: she just included all the “what if they…” suggestions from the audience. The succubi scene was the culmination of the whole ballad: having been abducted by them, Shen Qingqiu valiantly resisted all temptations (including the concupiscence-inducing pollen). For even seductive forms of succubi paled in comparison to the manly charm of Liu Qingge, and when the latter rescued him a few verses later, he generously rewarded Shen Qingqiu for his perseverance in a pool of rose petals.
«There, a shade’s softly pressed to a shade,
And such wonderful minute there hovers,
Where as if, through the beams by eyes sent,
We papapa with bodies and souls.».[7]
Despite the fact the ratio of papapa to the rest of it was a whooping eighty-to-twenty, somehow the ballad didn’t end up a complete debauchery — thanks to the lyrical musings of Shen Qingqiu — and even helped to clear his much blackened image to some extent.
***
After a while Ye Meifeng’s life settled into a routine: every few months she was found by either Luo Binghe or Liu Qingge (the latter always sneakily followed by several elders of the Cang Qiong sect) who commissioned her new ballads. Very soon the ratio of papapa to everything else became a hundred to nil, and any woe, along with any joy, of Chunshan was only nominal.
Ye Meifeng thought that would be how she spent the rest of her life — laboring over pipa and a clean sheet of paper, and nothing exciting (other than the constant fear of death) would happen to her ever again.
But all of a sudden, everything stopped: no new ballads were commissioned.
A month passed, and after that another one. Ye Meifeng waited, but neither Luo Binghe nor Liu Qingge came. Ye Meifeng sang the ballads she composed with diligence, and the rest of the mortal realm sang along with her.
Life was calm and quiet. People said that over there, in the world of cultivators, a rift happened, and Tianlang Jun escaped from the Bailu Mountain to sow death and destruction again, but all was peaceful in her little town.
The ultimate victory of the Four Sects also barely affected the lives of common folk. The tavern bards started to crank out heroic ballads about heroic deeds, but even the accounts of the bloodiest battles or the noblest achievements couldn’t obscure the fame of «Poems of Cang Qiong Mountain». Ye Meifeng did go down in history, albeit not in the way she would have wanted.
She had money, she had fame, she had a renowned name — and she considered her story to end on a happy note.
And then it turned out that nothing had ended.
***
The man who found her that hot summer was definitely a cultivator. He was young and handsome in the reserved way scholars were handsome. There was a fan with an intricate pattern in his hand, and his pale green garments were those of the Cang Qiong Sect. Ye Meifeng had already forgotten when she saw those last.
— What would the esteemed sir like? — she forced out a smile. No escaping the past, it seemed. Just as well. It wasn't like she had an unhappy life.
— I am Shen Qingqiu, — the esteemed sir said plainly, and Ye Meifeng nearly choked.
— But you had died! — she exclaimed.
— Of shame, perhaps, — Shen Qingqiu sighed, and Ye Meifeng took a first real look at him. He was handsome, that much was true, but at the same time he was also strangely human and warm. No other cultivator ever looked like him.
«Is that really the villain of the piece?»
— I assume that you… have heard «Poems of Cang Qiong Mountain»? — Ye Meifeng asked.
— Each and every one of them, — Shen Qingqiu confirmed. — It was… very insightful.
Both of them heaved a sigh.
— I would like you to write me a ballad, — Shen Qingqiu said, and Ye Meifeng nodded. She owed him this much at least.
— About Luo Binghe? Or Liu Qingge? — she pulled a clean sheet of paper closer, — How much papapa would you like?
— None, — Shen Qingqiu smiled, and his was the smile of a man who had returned from the dead only to regret it, — No papapa. No Luo Binghe and no Liu Qingge.
Ye Meifeng blinked in confusion.
— But then what do you want the ballad to be about?
— O-o-oh, — Shen Qingqiu said.
Ye Meifeng worked on his ballad for weeks, grooming line after line, then striking some out to groom the others. It had to become her swan song, the peak of her career. Ye Meifeng didn’t know what it would become for Shen Qingqiu, and she dared not ask.
She debuted her other ballads in the joy house, but she took this one straight to the town square. Taking a place by the wall, Ye Meifeng gently touched the strings of her trusty pipa.
— Let’s not raise our voice at all, let’s say it in undertone
Let our farewell come out light…
A week and one more will pass, and then peace will come to us,
Let the past stay like that, in the past.[8]
That was the final song of the Cang Qiong Mountain: Shen Qingqiu has attained the ultimate Dao, renounced worldly life and became a monk, taking a vow of eternal celibacy.
Ye Meifeng sang it all day long, and after that she paid off all of her debts, sold off everything she had to sell off, sewn the money into the hem of a plain dress and escaped into the back of beyond.
***
Ye Meifeng’s new name was common and unremarkable: Lee Meili. Both Lee and Meili were a dime a dozen in the mortal realm. The town where she found her new home was also quite ordinary. Ye Meifeng introduced herself as a widow of humble origins and in a humble station and rented a room in the local inn. She was learning to respond to her new name, took up embroidery, and even found favor in the eyes of two aged silk merchants.
Sometimes those two commissioned the traveling bards ballads about mature, consummate love, sparkling eyes and hair touched by silver, and Ye Meifeng — or rather, Lee Meili — listened to them like someone who was completely clueless about music.
Those were wonderful two months, blissful two months…
But then a new patron found her.
He was huge and imposing, with bluish skin and a blue mark on his forehead — a demon and no mistake. He came into her private room — without a knock, as if it was the common hall of the inn — pushed one of her suitors into the wall with a nonchalant swing of his hand and threw several coin bundles on the table.
— I want you, — he began, and Ye Meifeng could hear a howl of icy wind in his voice, — to write me a ballad.