[Fall in Love with Musician] Chapter 1: His way of playing the zither and blowing the flute was so damn breathtaking

 

Every night after dinner, I dedicate myself to squatting in front of the bamboo house and counting the stars in the sky. This is a habit left over from my days wandering the streets of Yun'an.

Back then, my life consisted of nothing but begging for food and eating; I was either sleeping or looking for a place to sleep. When I was too hungry to sleep, I would lie down and count the stars. The stars in Yun'an were so numerous they were uncountable, and I could always drift off after counting for a while.

I was picked up from Yun'an and brought to Liuzhou by the great literary master of our dynasty, Mr. Rong Qingye. Although I have lived in Liuzhou for six years now, I still cannot get used to the stars here.

Sometimes I wonder: is my inability to sleep because I can't adapt to the stars, or because I can't adapt to life without that person?

I let out a long sigh. Having squatted for too long, my legs felt numb. I tried to stand up and reflexively called out "A-Sheng." Usually, she would be sitting on a small stool accompanying me in my counting. Only after the cry left my lips did I remember she had left Liuzhou several days ago for the prosperous Imperial City.

At this thought, I squatted back down, planning to give myself another half-hour to reminisce and be melancholy for a while.

This was mostly because the place closest to the Imperial City was Yun'an—the place where I lived for nearly seventeen years. Out of those seventeen years, I spent seven of them loving that man.

I met him in Yun'an when I was ten, left him at seventeen to come to Liuzhou, and have been away for six years since. Now, I am twenty-three.

He was a brothel musician. He was fair-skinned and handsome, with a tall, slender build and delicate, clean fingers. These are the traits that left the deepest impression on me after six years of separation. Come to think of it, these three characteristics are enough to describe his entire being clearly.

It is evident that even after six years, I still cannot forget him. In fact, except for certain parts I kept trying to peek at but never had the chance to see, I remember everything about him vividly.

The entire brothel knew of my admiration for the musician. No one dared to compete with me—not because I was too formidable, nor because he wasn't outstanding, but because for famous courtesans of their status to fight over a man with someone like me would be an insult to their reputations as Yun'an's celebrated performers.

The women of the demimonde lectured me on the concept of "reputation." As a professional beggar at the time, I found their logic sound and felt lucky they never competed with me. This allowed me to always believe I was in the best position and that I still had a chance.

Later, I referred to these thoughts as the "Ten Great Delusions of Life."

Among these delusions, another major one was my belief that the difficulty of capturing him fluctuated between high and low. It took seven years of chasing to realize that he truly didn't like me; it wasn't fluctuating, it was just high.

When I finally recognized this fact, I didn't have a breakdown; instead, I felt very calm—so calm that I even considered leaving him a note saying something like "Take care of yourself, until we meet again."

However, after spending all my savings—five copper coins—to buy paper and ink, I discovered that I didn't even know how to write the characters for "take care" or "again." After a sigh, I decided it was better not to make a fool of myself.

If I ever have the chance to see him again, I must pretentiously show off the fine calligraphy I can now produce.

Every Qixi Festival when A-Sheng was around, I would tell her: "It's been such-and-such many years since I left him, and I've already forgotten him completely."

Each time, A-Sheng would shake her little head while gnawing on a corn cob: "It's been such-and-such many years since you left him, and you still haven't managed to forget him completely."

Little A-Sheng said that only when I stop thinking of him on Qixi will I have truly forgotten him.

She made a lot of sense, but the truth is, I don't just think of him on Qixi. To this day, he remains omnipresent in my life.

Now, as I gaze at the stars on the horizon, I think of the way he looked while plucking the zither strings back then. Those stars are forced by my imagination into the shape of his face; I lose myself in the sight as I gaze.

The stars in the sky seem to be spinning, pulling me back to many, many years ago. Gradually, the cheers of young, wealthy patrons in Jieyu Tower begin to ring in my ears...

How on earth did I fall for him?

I just thought the way he played the zither and blew the flute was so damn breathtaking.

He was two years older than me. He sat with his master behind the curtain next to the drum stage, providing music for the performing dancers.

I had been hanging around various pleasure quarters for some years by then, and it was the first time I saw a boy who looked even better than the dancing courtesans. He wore a plain robe that didn't quite fit, but his features were delicate and handsome. He stared at the strings in his hands with extreme earnestness, fearing he might play a wrong note.

And I was huddled below the drum stage, a mouth full of leftover pastries from others, staring up at him with longing eyes.

"Bravo!" A synchronized roar of applause startled me, causing the cake I had just scavenged from the floor to fall and pulling me back to reality. I hurriedly fumbled for my dropped date-paste cake.

I saw the oily, rich young master sitting in front of me throw out a stack of banknotes without hesitation, practically slamming them into the madam's face. "The one dancing up there—this lord is taking her!"

I was ten years old then, at an age of sharp wit and eager learning.

I unhesitatingly pulled out the only two cold buns in my pocket—which were supposed to be my rations for the next five days. I practically knelt before the madam and said urgently, "The one playing the zither on the side—I'm taking him too."

That was the second time I had been severely beaten since I stopped fighting dogs for food.

If they wouldn't let me take him, fine, but they didn't even plan to return my cold buns.

To bankrupt oneself for a man at such a young age—I sat in the drafty, leaky Flower God Temple sighing. My beggar friend, Little Spring Swallow, used an egg he had stolen from somewhere to soothe my bruises while mocking me for being a toad lusting after swan meat.

Little Spring Swallow was a "hard" boy—I say "hard" because he was exceptionally sturdy and strong among our generation of beggars. I never thought a boy with his physique would be a beggar.

Consequently, when I later learned of his true identity, it didn't seem strange at all.

His build was far better than that of the bitter scholar who made a living by storytelling under the overpass.

The bitter scholar I knew, though a fallen literatus, had a girl from a good family named Minmin who provided him with relief. Minmin would usually bring him some eggs to nourish his body.

At first, I thought Minmin gave him eggs as a reward for his good storytelling. However, on second thought, Little Spring Swallow and I did nothing, yet we always received precious eggs from Minmin as well.

Minmin said she gave eggs to me and Little Spring Swallow because she liked us.

After my first awakening of love, I realized that if you like someone, you must find ways to give them eggs. Therefore, Minmin giving the bitter scholar eggs for all those years was also because of love.

But from the time I met Minmin and the bitter scholar until I left Yun'an, they always maintained a relationship of giving and receiving eggs, without a single bit of substantial progress.

In my second year in Liuzhou, Minmin sent me a letter saying she was marrying into the distant Jinling.

This business of giving eggs simply ended without a result.

Actually, before I left Yun'an, Little Spring Swallow had told me that the bitter scholar didn't like Minmin. Every time he received her eggs and couldn't refuse, he would secretly shove them to that brat Spring Swallow.

At the time, all I could think about was that Little Spring Swallow had eaten so many more eggs than me, and yet he had the nerve to explain it so clearly to me now.

Only when I no longer lacked eggs to eat did I grasp the essence of this matter.

Minmin taught me that even if the person you like doesn't like you back, you shouldn't be angry with him. Because while you are liking him of your own volition, he is also disliking you of his own volition. Both of you are very miserable because you cannot achieve your goals.

The bitter scholar was miserable for so many years; I sympathize with him.

At that time, having just been pummeled by the thugs of Jieyu Tower, I didn't realize that I was about to plunge another man into the misery of "voluntarily disliking me" for many years to come.

The egg used for my bruises was eaten bit by bit by Little Spring Swallow. As he ate, he said, "Tomorrow is the day to worship the Flower Goddess. The new Flower God Temple built by the Chun Manor will surely have many offerings. If we head over early, we can swipe a lot of good food."

I gladly agreed.

Waking up early and working late had always been my specialty. Thus, when I crawled up, the stars hadn't even finished scattering. Little Spring Swallow was still sleeping beside me, snoring softly. In the dead of night, I could only sit opposite the stars, waiting for the morning sun to rise.

When Little Spring Swallow woke up, he blamed me for not waking him while it was dark. I was too lazy to argue; he truly didn't realize that once he fell into a deep sleep, no one could wake him up.

Consequently, when we reached the Flower God Temple, the day was already bright. Fortunately, we were wearing tattered clothes that "only allowed us to crawl through the dog hole in the back yard," so we didn't have to compete for the main entrance bathed in divine light with those well-dressed people.

It was a crowded and chaotic scene. I told Little Spring Swallow to protect our rations at all costs and not let others covet them; after all, I believed we weren't the only two people there for the fruits and pastries among the offerings.

Little Spring Swallow told me he felt it was probably just us.

The situation at the time was truly too chaotic. People outside the temple were rushing in like they had been injected with chicken blood, while those inside were rushing out the same way. My thin, small body was squeezed and pushed around in the middle. No adult lent me a hand just because I was young; in fact, I reckon they might have wanted to, but were repelled by my beggar outfit of indeterminate color.

This phenomenon was far too real and caused me intense discomfort. In the end, I only managed to rescue one delicate rose cake after a desperate struggle.

I felt that taking a single rose cake to find Little Spring Swallow would be meaningless, so the moment I stepped out of the temple gate, I resolutely stuffed that rose cake into my stomach.

Perhaps even the Flower Goddess felt my trip wasn't easy and thought I must take something away to make it worthwhile. She sent a local disciple from the temple to give me a push from behind. The threshold I was about to step over happened to trip my foot. I lunged forward and crashed into someone. That person pushed me away, and as I fell, I grabbed onto something—

When I looked up again, what met my eyes were two pale, youthful legs.

Only when the thing in my hand was pulled hard did I come to my senses and look down: The Flower Goddess truly favored me; it was the first time in my life I had ever touched a boy's waistband.

"Let go...!"

Those were the first words he ever said to me. They were also the first words he said to me when we met again later.

Reckless as I am, I always like to dive headfirst into his arms; indifferent as he is, he always likes to push me away.

But the version of him after our reunion had changed. Back then, after pushing me away, he perhaps recognized me again. He suddenly gripped my arm tightly; even though I cried out in pain, he didn't let go. He stared at me, skipping a thousand words, and gritted his teeth as he shouted my name: "...Hua Guan!"