The Song of White-Haired Sorrow

Now, the “Li Manor” was even more solemn and desolate. Though the lamps burned through the night, not a trace of life stirred within the stillness.

It was Mu Min’s first time entering the Li Manor. He kept his head bowed, following closely behind Beigong Qiyi. From time to time, squads of guards passed by, respectfully bowing to Beigong Qiyi, who merely nodded with a faint “En” before leading Mu Min straight toward the Residence of Leisure.

Since Beigong Juechen’s departure, all the serving maids and attendants in the Residence of Leisure had been dismissed. The rooms stood empty, and only the evening wind stirred the brocade curtains, causing them to flutter gently.

Beigong Qiyi seated himself on a low couch. The windows stood wide open, and a withered, dying flower pot rested on the sill. Mu Min stood by his side. Seeing that Beigong Qiyi had no intention of speaking, Mu Min could only ask, “Master, what would you have me do?”

Beigong Qiyi pointed to a guqin resting on a wooden stand and said softly, “Bring the qin here.”

Obediently, Mu Min moved the guqin beside Beigong Qiyi. With a slender, translucent finger, Beigong Qiyi gently plucked the strings and asked with a smile, “Do you know what instrument this is?”

Mu Min shook his head. “I do not, Master.”

“The love story of Sima Xiangru and Zhuo Wenjun is well known. The piece that bound them together was played on this very qin.” Beigong Qiyi lowered his eyes and began to play. His gaze was as black and bright as the night sky, like twin stars filled with unspeakable tenderness. Mu Min knew nothing of music, yet he seemed to hear the boundless affection woven into the youth’s melody.

It was an affection that should never have belonged to the Beigong Qiyi he knew—emotionless, cold, and detached.

Beigong Qiyi did not play for long before his hands fell still. He stroked the body of the qin and murmured, “This qin bears a beautiful name—‘Lüqi’—the color of that person’s eyes, and also its name.”

“What a pity…” Beigong Qiyi shook his head regretfully. “After Sima Xiangru rose to fame, he gradually indulged in pleasure, spending his days among courtesans and even seeking to take a woman from Maoling as a concubine, intent on casting aside his wife of humble origins once fortune smiled upon him.” He stood and returned the qin to its place, saying quietly, “Zhuo Wenjun once said, ‘May I find one heart, and grow old together, never to part.’ Now, looking back, it truly was a beautiful wish.”

“But Zhuo Wenjun did win Sima Xiangru back in the end,” Mu Min replied.

Beigong Qiyi glanced at him, then chuckled quietly. “So you know the story. That’s why I say it’s a pity. Once a mirror is broken, it is hard to make it whole again. Once a crack appears, it cannot be mended. If one wishes to have a perfect mirror again, the answer is not to painstakingly piece together the old one, but simply to replace it with a new.”

Mu Min frowned. “But then it is no longer the original mirror.”

Beigong Qiyi laughed softly. “True… Just as when a broken string is replaced—the instrument is whole, yet it is no longer as it once was. But sometimes, only the most extreme measures will yield what you desire.”

He looked at Mu Min, eyes half-lidded. “You wondered why I am unconcerned about my brother’s current predicament, did you not? It is because I know Qi Yong. In his love there is not only affection, but also awe. He desires the man who inspires both love and fear—Beigong Juechen. Thus, he cannot bring himself to do the unthinkable. But in my love, there is only love.”

Mu Min stared at him, but after a moment quickly lowered his head. In the depths of the youth’s dark eyes, he seemed to glimpse a swirling vortex, spinning so swiftly it threatened to consume all within.

Mu Min had once been an assassin, and still was. He did not understand the nature of love or affection, but he seemed to comprehend Beigong Qiyi’s love—it was love founded on destruction, and so he was fearless, leaving no path to retreat.

Beigong Qiyi returned to the couch. Gazing out at the myriad lights of the Li Manor, he said quietly, “Your task is simple: help my brother escape from the Palace of a Hundred Furies, and ensure he finds Fu Zhi without trouble.”

“Master?” Mu Min looked at him in surprise.

Beigong Qiyi did not turn his head. His gaze seemed to stretch far into the distance, beyond the shifting lamplight. “Do as you are told.”

Mu Min’s frown deepened. He looked at Beigong Qiyi, whose face was half-illuminated by the candlelight within, half-shrouded in the misty night beyond the window.

Mu Min bowed his head and nodded slowly. “Yes, Master.”

With the rising sun, night had passed.

Qi Yong rested his cheek on his hand, gazing at Beigong Juechen sleeping beside him. The man slept soundly, as if utterly unconcerned that the one at his side might break their agreement and do something unexpected. As Beigong Juechen’s closed eyelids twitched, his long lashes trembled slightly, and Qi Yong’s lips curved into a gentle smile.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Beigong Juechen’s smooth forehead, like a prince awakening his sleeping beauty.

Beigong Juechen’s eyes opened just a sliver, but his hand was already in motion. He pressed two fingers to the artery in Qi Yong’s neck, gently pushing him aside before opening his deep green phoenix eyes.

Within those eyes was a cold clarity, entirely devoid of sleep. He withdrew his hand and sat up, stating coolly, “Dawn has come. The Palace Master should take his leave.”

Qi Yong’s smile did not fade. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Beigong Juechen from behind. Beigong Juechen arched a brow, his elbow readied to jab Qi Yong in the side.

Qi Yong’s body tensed, and in the next moment, the beauty slipped from his embrace and stood aside.

Beigong Juechen was still unclothed. Qi Yong tilted his head, gazing at him with admiration and awe in his eyes. Beigong Juechen, unfazed, pulled a robe around his body and said coldly, “This gaze of yours, Palace Master, is one I cannot appreciate.” He lifted his eyes, meeting Qi Yong’s directly. Qi Yong, feigning nonchalance, looked away with a quiet laugh. “But I am quite fond of the Manor Lord’s eyes.”

Beigong Juechen sneered, opened the door wide, and the cold wind swept in, wrapping unceremoniously around Qi Yong’s bare body. Caught off guard, Qi Yong shivered. Beigong Juechen shot him a sidelong glance, remarking indifferently, “The wind is fine today.”

Using his inner strength to ward off the chill, Qi Yong casually pulled on some clothes, climbed out of bed, and walked over to Beigong Juechen, shutting the door behind him. Qi Yong shook his head. “You’re powerless now, and barely dressed. Why provoke me?”

Hearing the indulgent tone, Beigong Juechen’s face darkened. “Qi Yong, though you may have the upper hand for now, have you considered what comes next?”

Qi Yong’s smile faltered, but then he looked at Beigong Juechen and laughed lightly. “Let us drink today’s wine and leave tomorrow’s worries for tomorrow. With the Manor Lord standing before me, posing no threat at all, why concern myself with a future I cannot see or touch? Besides, to die beneath the peony’s shadow is a charming fate.” Grasping Beigong Juechen’s shoulders, he pressed a gentle kiss to his lips and burst out laughing. “Truly intoxicating! Hahaha…”

Beigong Juechen watched his retreating figure with an icy expression and, after a moment, let out a cold laugh.

“Palace Master.” As soon as Qi Yong stepped out of the Residence of Untainted Dust, Tian Qing appeared before him. “Palace Master, I have just received an invitation from the Pear Garden—someone has requested a performance by Xiao Lian’er. Congratulations on finally winning your beauty.”

Qi Yong paused, raising an eyebrow. “Beigong Qiyi?”

“The invitation did not specify, only that it will be delivered in three days. But I suspect it is the Young Manor Lord,” Tian Qing replied.

Qi Yong casually took the invitation and glanced at it, sneering. “What play do you suppose he’s chosen?”

Tian Qing shook his head. “I do not know, Master.”

With a flick, Qi Yong tossed the invitation aside and narrowed his eyes. “On that day, check everyone from the Pear Garden thoroughly. Keep a close watch on them for me.”

Tian Qing clasped his fists and bowed. “Yes, as you command.”

“Why does the Young Manor Lord want me to perform at the Palace of a Hundred Furies?” The youth in azure robes, frail and slender, questioned the man painting before him.

Beigong Qiyi glanced at him indifferently. “Why are you here?”

Xiao Lian’er bit his lip. “You asked me to perform at the Palace of a Hundred Furies—what is your true purpose?”

Beigong Qiyi’s brush stilled, and he frowned impatiently. “How did you get in?”

Xiao Lian’er’s face went pale, his proud, stubborn eyes rippling with uncertainty. “Am I not welcome here?”

“Of course not,” Beigong Qiyi replied with a cold smile. “This is my private domain. Only those I permit may enter—and you are not among them.”

Xiao Lian’er’s face turned even paler, as if unable to bear the blow, and he stumbled back two steps. The mockery on Beigong Qiyi’s face only deepened.

“You treat me…” Xiao Lian’er choked, his voice trembling, “…you treat me as nothing more than a cheap actor, a plaything for all?”

Beigong Qiyi looked him up and down, a faint, mocking smile on his lips. “And are you not?”

Xiao Lian’er’s whole body trembled; his already frail frame seemed on the verge of collapse.

In this moment, all of his former pride and arrogance had vanished. With tears welling in his eyes, he looked at Beigong Qiyi and whispered, “Is this truly how you see me?”

Beigong Qiyi, unsettled by his gaze, simply lowered his head and resumed painting.

Xiao Lian’er, seeing that Beigong Qiyi would not leave, finally let his tears fall. With reddened eyes, he looked at Beigong Qiyi. Suddenly, as if possessed by some unknown courage, he rushed forward, hugged Beigong Qiyi tightly around the waist, and pressed his lips fiercely to his.

Beigong Qiyi’s eyes narrowed. Without a hint of gentleness, he lifted Xiao Lian’er and tossed him aside. Xiao Lian’er staggered and fell to the ground, gazing up at Beigong Qiyi in disbelief. But Beigong Qiyi simply wiped his lips in disgust and resumed painting, not sparing him so much as a glance.

The figure on the painting slowly took shape. Beigong Qiyi meticulously traced each line, while Xiao Lian’er, his face streaked with tears, sat dazed on the floor and watched. Suddenly, he realized that the man who was always so indifferent to him was gazing at the painting with a gentle expression, even the faintest curve of a smile on his lips.

Xiao Lian’er’s eyes widened. The youth’s smile did not fade, but grew even more pronounced. A surge of bitter jealousy welled up within him. He rose from the floor and slowly approached Beigong Qiyi.

He looked at the painting. The man depicted was cold and solemn, beautiful beyond compare. Xiao Lian’er suddenly laughed hysterically. “Ha! And to think, I wondered who held your heart. You’re in love with your own brother! The one person you should never love!” He pointed at Beigong Qiyi, eyes red, and cried, “You look down on me, yet I pity you. For you have fallen for someone you can never have!”

His laughter grew shriller, more piercing. Beigong Qiyi watched him with an impassive expression, then suddenly smiled faintly. Xiao Lian’er’s laughter was abruptly silenced. He had always adored Beigong Qiyi’s smile, yet now found it chilling to the bone.

Beigong Qiyi stroked his face gently and said with a soft laugh, “Who said I cannot have him? Soon, he will belong to me forever.”

His grip tightened. Xiao Lian’er struggled free, shaking his head in terror, and fled.

Beigong Qiyi turned back to his table, picked up his brush, and continued outlining the painting, stroke by careful stroke.