Bǎihé stepped into the Plum House, where the air was already steeped in music, sweet and delicate, spilling from the entrance like liquid gold. Lanterns swayed gently above, their light dancing over carved wooden panels and embroidered silk curtains. The scent of plum blossoms mingled with the faint tang of incense, drifting lazily through the hall. The polished floors gleamed under the lantern glow, reflecting ripples of light that seemed to sway in rhythm with the music.
She took her familiar seat, high enough to overlook the stage, yet tucked away so she could observe unnoticed. The performance was only just beginning.
Below, a young girl in flowing pale robes raised her flute. Each note floated into the hushed audience, a delicate thread weaving through the warm air. Bǎihé ordered a pot of jasmine tea, though she had already eaten her fill, and settled in. Her fingers tapped lightly on the lacquered table, her thoughts wandering.
Should I have brought Haoyu? But either way, General Kōng will arrive for our meeting...
A ripple of movement at the entrance drew her gaze. A man strode in, radiating an aura far above that of a mere prince's assistant. His gaze lifted, meeting Bǎihé's, hesitation flickering across his face as though he were deciding whether to retreat. Instead, he continued, ascending the stairs with measured grace. When he reached her, he bowed. Bǎihé inclined her head and beckoned him to sit.
"Thank you for coming. You must have told Wángzǐ Fēng you had to be here."
Yíchén remained silent. He seated himself gracefully, the rustle of his robes soft against the polished floor, and poured a drink with precise, deliberate movements.
"Why didn't you tell him about this arrangement? He would have loved to watch the performance," Yíchén asked gently.
She took a sip of her tea, inhaling the subtle fragrance of jasmine that lingered in the air.
"The performance has only just begun," she said, more interested in the performers. "So far, it is only a girl playing the flute."
Yíchén nodded, his gaze sweeping over the audience below.
"I am most moved by poems played on the zither," he murmured. "But this... this is the song of mortals. It speaks of the body—its form alone, without the soul, only appearance."
The flute, once delicate and gentle, swelled with intensity. In the distance, deep, rhythmic drums joined, echoing like the faint toll of war over the soft glow of lanterns. The sounds intertwined, creating a tapestry of music that felt alive, as though the hall itself were breathing in harmony with the notes.
"The flute represents the sweetness of the body, the physical," Yíchén said softly, "and the drums mark the eternal struggle of the mind, the unseen, the soul. Yet only the bearer of the body truly experiences this war within."
"The mind, the body, and the soul... they are connected," Bǎihé whispered, leaning closer.
"The three states," he confirmed.
He pointed subtly at the audience. "See him? With a keg of wine. Appears wise, yet his mind is clouded, lost in drink."
Then he gestured to a woman draped in mourning black, her face hidden behind a delicate handkerchief. "And her—she seems sad, yet see the crease of her eye? A hidden smile. Her hand grips a black pouch, heavy with silver coins."
"Appearance, reality... the mortal states... and the subconscious that binds all," he said softly.
Bǎihé felt her chest tighten. His insight, the depth of the performance, the way he read the audience—it was overwhelming. Such understanding revealed a mind intricate and formidable, almost frightening in its precision.
The music ceased. Applause erupted throughout the hall, yet at their table, silence lingered.
"Uhm..." Bǎihé cleared her throat. "Sorry about today. You had to see all that."
"You and Wángzǐ Fēng?" Yíchén asked, shifting slightly.
"It is good to see you both have resolved your differences," he remarked simply.
"Yes... he does love me, doesn't he?"
"He has said so. Do you trust him?"
Bǎihé nodded slowly.
"And do you love him?"
"I do... There was a time when I needed him most, and he was there. But it still hurts that he pretended—because he was conflicted. He could have spoken to me then."
"My princess, he was young. Few know how to bare their hearts at that age," Yíchén said gently.
"I am not angry," she replied softly. "I realize most of his actions were shaped by his father's counsel. He seems... overshadowed in thought at times."
"You are only saddened because you cannot help him," Yíchén observed.
"Yes. Perhaps the military camp helped him, even if he was sent there by his father's command," she said, her voice tinged with quiet hope.
Yíchén was silent.
Bǎihé shifted, changing the subject lightly. "Do you wish for anything other than jasmine tea? You must be hungry, having watched Haoyu and me eat all day. Order anything you wish—it is on me."
"Thank you, my princess," Yíchén replied, his appreciation quiet but sincere.