Chapter 21: The Qin Melody Moves the Weapons

Seeing Li Guanyi’s stunned expression, Murong Qiushui burst into laughter, tapping his forehead with a finger like white jade and scolding, “Little kitty, challenging your auntie? How…?”

“Hmm. Cute in your stupidity.”

She withdrew her finger, flicked it lightly, and let out a soft chuckle.

She handed Li Guanyi the vegetables she had bought, then stepped nimbly into the house; when she went out, she deliberately disguised herself—making her eyes appear smaller, her complexion dull and yellowish, like a poor, sickly woman.

But when she stood before Li Guanyi, her eyes brightened, her lips curved in a smile, and the disguise seemed to vanish entirely—anyone would instinctively sense she was a peerless beauty, like a pearl still shining through dust.

Li Guanyi lowered his head to look at the vegetables.

Cabbage, radishes, and some mustard greens.

These vegetables had been brought early by villagers and townsfolk near Guanyi City.

By afternoon, their appearance deteriorated, and after being picked over all day, they were often damaged; some shrewd old women would tear off the less fresh leaves and discard them, while farmers eager to return home would sell at lower prices at this hour.

They didn’t look good, but once chopped and boiled into porridge or stir-fried, they were no different.

Auntie always came at this time.

Li Guanyi carried the vegetables inside and saw Auntie’s light steps; her gaze swept over the upturned bowl, and her amber eyes brightened noticeably. She turned to the boy returning with the vegetables and asked, “So, what happened today?”

Li Guanyi briefly recounted what had occurred.

Murong Qiushui laughed: “They fired you? That spring clinic’s owner has no taste—but Xue’s little girl has sharp eyes. My little kitty is naturally the best among all the boys in Guanyi City.”

“What I didn’t expect is that my little kitty still remembers Auntie said she wanted roast goose—and bought it on the very first day.”

Her tone was teasing, playful.

Murong Qiushui’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

Li Guanyi’s temple twitched; he knew Auntie was in the mood to “play with a child.” He looked away and insisted,

“No, I didn’t buy it specially for you.”

“I just passed a braised meat stall and only the roast goose was left—I bought it reluctantly.”

“Oh? Really?”

Murong Qiushui stepped closer, hands behind her back, smiling sweetly: “Blushing?”

“Aaaahhh, are you going to eat it or not?!”

“Hahaha, of course I’ll eat it.”

The roast goose was still warm, the braised pork stewed long enough; the vegetables, blanched and tossed with oil, salt, and vinegar, were crisp and refreshing. On the small stone table, Li Guanyi sat opposite Murong Qiushui.

The roast goose tasted excellent.

But he felt that Auntie’s smile after eating it pleased him more than the goose itself.

Murong Qiushui’s gaze softened as she murmured,

“Today’s vegetables taste better than before.”

Li Guanyi grumbled, “You’re teasing me again.”

Murong Qiushui looked at the boy before her, her gaze tender, then smiled wryly: “My little kitty figured it out.”

After dinner, Li Guanyi cleared the dishes, but Auntie had already taken down the Jiaowei Qin, her slender fingers plucking the strings. Li Guanyi practiced the qin daily—Auntie had taught him qin, chess, calligraphy, and painting—but only the qin was mandatory every day.

Auntie, who spoiled him in every other way, never yielded an inch on this point.

But today, after tuning the strings, she began to play herself.

Li Guanyi was cleaning up the cooking residue, expecting the usual gentle, spring-breeze-autumn-moon melody—when suddenly, a sharp, metallic crack of sound pierced the air. In an instant, his spine tensed instinctively, his muscles flared as if exploding, and he felt the phantom surge of cavalry charging, swords and spears roaring.

Only after several breaths did he realize it was the sound of the qin.

The boy stepped forward slowly and saw Auntie seated still, the Jiaowei Qin laid across the table, her fingers white as jade, yet the music fierce—like ten thousand armies in battle. Li Guanyi, in a daze, seemed to see countless soldiers gathering behind her.

Somehow, the internal energy of the Po Zhen Qu within him felt more active than ever before.

When the piece ended, Li Guanyi’s internal energy had completed one full circuit.

And unlike when he forced it himself,

it felt smoother,

more natural.

Li Guanyi calmed his internal energy.

Auntie, in her plain green robe, smiled at him, her slender fingers caressing the strings like rolling clouds.

“Little kitty, how was it? Is Auntie impressive?”

Li Guanyi looked at the stunningly beautiful face before him, glowing with eager anticipation, as if begging for praise. He sighed. Sometimes Auntie was mature; sometimes, childishly naive. Helplessly, he said, “Impressive, very impressive. Auntie is the most impressive in the world.”

“Can the qin aid cultivation?” The woman plucked a string. “The qin is the voice of the heart. When the spirit commands the energy, of course it helps.”

“Though I don’t understand martial arts, I know playing the qin aids breathing and circulation—just as some cultivators choose to dwell in mountains and wilds to preserve their inner state and break through. Qin music can influence the heart’s state, then shape similar sounds.”

Li Guanyi recalled the earlier melody and felt a strange sense that this piece matched his internal art. Suddenly, he remembered Yue Qianfeng’s account of the Po Zhen Qu’s origins. He looked at Murong Qiushui, smug and pleased, and asked, “What’s this qin piece called? I never knew it before.”

Murong Qiushui propped her chin on her hand. “This? I composed it myself as a child. An old man passed by, stood there for a long time. I asked why he was staring—he said he loved the melody and asked if I’d teach it to him. He even named it ‘Po Zhen Qu.’”

Li Guanyi fell silent.

He could almost confirm: Auntie was the little girl that old master had met—“an eight-year-old girl playing the qin, radiating the aura of a master.” He grinned. “It’s the same name as my internal art.”

He told Auntie the origin of the Po Zhen Qu.

Murong Qiushui glanced at him, dismissively: “There are too many qin pieces describing armies breaking through formations.”

“Po Zhen Qu, Ru Zhen Yue—there are at least eighty or a hundred of them.”

“Even if your old master’s internal art was inspired by this piece, it’s only because he had enough accumulated insight. What does it have to do with my qin? If he’d seen trickling water that day, he could’ve awakened the same martial art.”

“Come.”

Murong Qiushui shifted aside, motioning for Li Guanyi to sit beside her.

Then, as always, she gently taught him to play.

As he played, his spirit grew clear and empty.

He faintly sensed his internal energy flowing within—naturally, the Po Zhen Qu prioritized energy, cultivating a core internal force before refining it outwardly, involving essence and energy. But as he played, his spirit moved with the music, engaging the spirit.

Now, as he played, essence, energy, and spirit shifted in harmony, following the same rhythm.

Exquisite beyond words.

As Li Guanyi learned, he asked curiously, “So, was that eight-year-old girl twenty-two years ago really you?”

“Of course not.”

Li Guanyi froze.

Murong Qiushui laughed, propping her chin, her black hair falling slightly, her smile sly: “That year, I was five.”

Li Guanyi stared: “But it said eight…”

Murong Qiushui looked at him, puzzled, her expression clearly saying, Why is my kitty so dumb? Then she said matter-of-factly: “I lied to him. When a white-bearded old man asks your age, do you tell him?”

She feigned concern: “Little kitty, don’t let pretty girls trick you.”

Li Guanyi’s lip twitched. He changed the subject:

“Then what’s this qin piece really called?”

Murong Qiushui frowned, thinking long and hard, then answered:

“Hmm. Probably… maybe…”

“Hmm. Jiachen Year, Eighth Month, Ninth Day, Practice Composition No. 3?”

Li Guanyi: “…………”

Murong Qiushui smiled warmly, her hand rubbing his head gently, her voice soft: “Of course, my little kitty can name it anything he likes. Call it Po Zhen Qu, or anything else—it’s all the same.”

“My little kitty can call it whatever he wants!”

“Whatever he thinks it is, it is.”

“No one in the world can tell him otherwise!”

Li Guanyi lowered his gaze and softly murmured, “Mm.” Then he pulled out his trump card: “Auntie, I got you a gift too.”

Murong Qiushui smiled, extending her hand: “Oh? What is it?”

Li Guanyi cupped her palm with one hand and placed the white jade pendant into it, then slowly withdrew. Murong Qiushui saw the jade, and her calm smile froze. Her eyes widened, and a trace of sorrow welled in them.

Li Guanyi whispered: “I bought it back.”

Murong Qiushui remained silent for a long time. The heavy emotion in her eyes piled like storm clouds. Li Guanyi didn’t understand. After a long while, she smiled faintly, nodded, and tucked the jade away. Li Guanyi, staring at the jade—unlike anything an ordinary person could possess—asked: “Can I ask you a question, Auntie?”

“Who were my parents and uncle? What happened to them?”

“Why are we being hunted?”

Murong Qiushui replied: “Didn’t I already tell you? When we leave Chen Guo, I’ll tell you everything.”

She looked at Li Guanyi—now skilled in supreme martial arts, his health improved—and thought of his contact with the Xue family. Her voice paused, then she revealed something new for the first time: “But remember this.”

She reached out, smoothed his clothes, and whispered:

“Stay far from the Chen imperial family.”

(End of Chapter)