Chapter 5: The Great Song Dynasty
Three more characters appeared on the paper—his name, written neatly next to Xie Huailing's:
Su Mengzhen.
Few men would use such a name; it carries a melancholic, dreamlike quality, suggesting a life as fleeting as a dream, a world as empty as a pillow. Regret precedes any good wishes, as if life is inherently flawed and incomplete. Yet, it is also a name that perfectly suits him. A glimpse into his loneliness and frail health reveals the emptiness of all things, a life hanging by a thread.
He wrote again: This place is called Jinfeng Xiyu Tower.
As a place name, it's quite sophisticated, coldly conveying his supreme power, but it's no ordinary place name. Xie Huailing clearly remembers that everyone coming and going from this building had sharp eyes, silent footsteps, and a restrained sharpness in their movements. Even the maids who served medicine were exceptionally skilled. Coupled with the name "Golden Wind and Fine Rain Pavilion," the air of the martial arts world was palpable.
Before she could think further, Su Mengzhen continued writing. He began with a flourish: Three days ago, on the Mid-Autumn Festival full moon, the young lady fell from the sky into the spring pool in the building. Does the young lady have any clues about this matter?
Xie Huailing reluctantly picked up the brush she had rubbed until it was bristling, and dragged the ink across his cold, sharp characters, writing: "Falling from the sky? Then I'm quite something."
The implication was that she herself was clueless, and coupled with her ugly yet self-righteous handwriting, she could remain indifferent even though it concerned her. Su Mengzhen looked at her, wondering where her indifference came from. He continued writing, while Xie Huailing, who always suffered when writing, laid her pen down and rolled it around in front of Su Mengzhen.
If you do not know, then I, Su, will ask you where you are from.
That's interesting. Since I said I descended from the sky, I'm obviously not from this place. If I'm not from here, asking further is pointless.
She was utterly unyielding, and after finishing writing, she even had the leisure to dab the inkstone with her pen, a few drops of ink flying out and staining her fingertips, as if defiling a beautiful jade. Only then did she make some other movements, taking out a handkerchief from her person and slowly wiping herself. The handkerchief was probably obtained from a maid, and the pattern of the Golden Wind and Fine Rain Pavilion was still embroidered on it.
Su Mengzhen's gaze lingered on her face, but he couldn't discern anything further, so he didn't press the matter further.
Su would send someone to teach the girl the official language of the time, and then tell her about the situation in the Song Dynasty.
The Great Song Dynasty?
Xie Huailing's finger-wiping motion seemed to pause as she wrote the words "Great Song Dynasty," and a scene from "Along the River During the Qingming Festival" appeared before her eyes: the whispering lights of the marketplace, the timeless fragrance of poetry, the figures of scholars dedicated to serving the people... all burned away by the flames of the Jingkang Incident, leaving nothing behind. She suddenly wanted to gaze into the distance, perhaps to see a boat from Zhang Zeduan's painting, or perhaps someone she would only encounter unexpectedly in history books. However, she was too careful to miss anything, and managed to suppress her thoughts and nod to Su Mengzhen.
Having received her response, Su Mengzhen considered the matter in his mind and began to deliberate on suitable candidates. There was nothing more to write, so he put his pen back on the pen holder, straightened his back, and prepared to leave.
As her robe brushed against the table, it was tugged. Xie Huailing tapped a blank spot on the Xuan paper, then pointed at him, clearly indicating that she still had something to write. Su Mengzhen paused, his cold, gray eyes meeting her strokes, waiting silently.
Xie Huailing drew characters below "Great Song Dynasty," this time writing even more characters, making them look like a blob of ink. Su Mengzhen read each character carefully, recognizing them even slower than Xie Huailing drew them. When he finally looked up, all sound in the room had vanished, and amidst the lingering scent of ink, Xie Huailing wore a thoughtful expression.
I stayed here for three days, and spent two of those days peering out the window at the Golden Wind and Drizzle Pavilion. In those two short days, I saw at least a hundred different faces and a hundred people coming and going in a hurry.
Those who can command hundreds or thousands of people and reside in such magnificent buildings are naturally the cream of the crop. And those who are the cream of the crop and hold great power... Master Su, you can tell me directly what you want from me.
After all, I fell from the sky and had nothing to rely on, right?
She wrote the key points very clearly, like a newly sharpened knife, keenly piercing through a layer of paper.
Su Mengzhen didn't pick up a pen, nor did he make any other movements. He remained completely calm, turning his face away and coughing softly, his mouth covered, as the sun began to glow with a hazy glow. Xie Huailing received no answer amidst the muffled coughing.
He had his own deep thoughts. As his cough subsided, he picked up the paper Xie Huailing had written on, and picked up the pen with the same steady hand, as if her astonishing question had never happened:
I will come again.
After finishing writing, Su Mengzhen didn't linger for a moment, ignoring Xie Huailing's reaction, and walked straight out the door. Her still slender figure quickly disappeared into the shadows of the corridor outside the door.
Only a sheet of Xuan paper with still-wet ink remained on the wooden table, the room was chilly, and Xie Huailing slumped back onto the bed, yawning.
She seemed to be thinking about something, but it didn't matter. Her mind raced for a moment, and then she suddenly sprang up and sat up, pushing away the dirty corner that was almost covered, before lying back down.
.
It has to be said that men are naturally adept at using emotional abuse.
For the next day or two, Xie Huailing didn't see a single hair of Su Mengzhen. She didn't know how to pronounce Su Mengzhen's name, so she tried to gesture to the maids, but was quickly defeated by their heads.
Then let's wait. He's already died once, so he can afford to wait longer than him.
Besides Su Mengzhen, Xie Huailing did see the others. One was an old man in his sixties or seventies, with a venerable, otherworldly appearance, like an old immortal. She guessed, but wasn't entirely sure, since it had been mentioned above, and she couldn't understand it. The old man carried a box, which he placed on the table. As soon as he opened it, the strong smell of medicine wafted out. Xie Huailing quietly moved back, and he noticed her. The old man snorted but said nothing.
The medicine box didn't contain the deadly medicine; instead, there was a small box containing a dozen or so round, smooth pills, each about the size of a longan seed, neatly arranged inside. They even smelled sweet, almost like licorice. Xie Huailing picked one up with two fingers, understanding that this was a compromise after Su Mengzhen had given his permission. She looked at it against the light, then expressionlessly popped it into her mouth. The slightly sweet outer layer melted away, but the bitterness inside stubbornly seeped out, though it was a world of difference compared to that murderous potion.
She swallowed the pill with tea, the lingering bitterness on her tongue making her frown slightly, but she quickly regained her listless and unmotivated demeanor. She regretted that they couldn't communicate, otherwise she was sure she could have gotten some information from the doctor.
The old man surnamed Shu watched her take the medicine and then left. The maids carefully put away the pills as if they were treasures. They chatted amongst themselves, looking as if they had just survived a disaster.
In the afternoon, the door to the room was pushed open again. Entering was an old man wearing a faded blue cotton long gown, as thin as a bamboo pole, holding several scrolls in his hands. His face was as stern as a coffin lid, his eyes cloudy yet carrying a rigid scrutiny. Behind him followed a meek young maid, holding a writing brush, ink, paper, and inkstone, timidly avoiding looking at anyone.
The old man coughed lightly, trying to put on a show of teacherly dignity: "Young lady, I have been ordered by the master to teach you Mandarin and elegant speech, and to also describe the customs and culture of the Song Dynasty."
I don't understand. Xie Huailing lifted her eyelids, listened to a few "@#&*..." sounds, and then lowered her head again.
The old man then remembered that he was supposed to teach the student in Mandarin. Embarrassed, he asked the young girl to spread out some paper, neatly wrote down his words, and then read them aloud to Xie Huailing, word by word. He drew out the sounds, as if afraid that Xie Huailing might not have matched the syllables with the words correctly.
So, on the fifth day after Xie Huailing arrived in this world, he finally understood the first sentence.
However, this pleasant period didn't last long. The teaching became as dull as an old woman's foot-binding cloth. The old man shook his head and spoke in classical Chinese, while the young girl ground ink and laid out paper beside him, barely daring to breathe. Xie Huailing listened, feeling drowsy, one hand supporting her chin, the other unconsciously drawing circles on the paper. Occasionally, the old man would try to communicate with her through writing, only to find her handwriting crooked and grotesque, like earthworms crawling. He would talk until his throat was dry, and then have to decipher her scribbles. Even with all his learning, he couldn't understand them, making his beard bristle with anger. But he dared not lash out because of the master's orders, gritting his teeth and swallowing his anger.
Xie Huailing had grown tired of seeing such expressions on the faces of her teachers since she was a child, and since she had no say in the matter of poor handwriting, she simply pretended not to see anything.
After teaching some common Mandarin phrases, how to pronounce Su Mengzhen's name, and how to pronounce "Jin Feng Xi Yu Lou" (Golden Wind and Fine Rain Pavilion), the old man turned to talk about the customs and culture of the Song Dynasty. He brought a very thick book and read it aloud to Xie Huailing.
If we were to go into detail about the dynasties, the first thing to mention would be the current emperor. The old man looked at the first page and read, "The current imperial surname is Zhao, and the emperor's given name is Ji."
Xie Huailing thought she had misheard, but she couldn't have misread it; it was written in black and white in the book. She regained her composure and tried to speak, confirming, "Zhao Ji?"
The old man immediately jumped like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. His cloudy eyes widened as he looked around in a panic, and he said in a low voice, "Young lady! His Majesty's name cannot be spoken directly! You should address him as Your Majesty, Your Majesty!"
Calling him a complete idiot is more accurate. Xie Huailing thought to himself, "So that's how it is. No wonder I was able to time travel. I've lived in vain."
She's always been the type to kick someone when they're down. Traveling to the Three Kingdoms period sounds like a chance to make a name for oneself, traveling to the Tang Dynasty sounds like a life of leisure, but traveling to the reign of Emperor Huizong of Song sounds like a death wish. As for Emperor Huizong of Song, who could contend for third or fifth place in the anthropomorphic emperor's cup of eternal sins (no typo), and his family—his two sons, in her view, were standing on the shoulders of giants—Xie Huailing has always held a completely negative attitude. She's indifferent to theories like "garbage is a resource in the wrong place," because in her view, garbage is garbage. The only thing that can be used to evaluate an emperor is his merits and demerits, and Emperor Huizong of Song was undoubtedly the worst of the worst.
The more you think about it, the more you want to die; it makes you just want to find a branch and hang yourself.
But thinking about it again, is she the one who should hang herself?
Now that she's in this meat grinder, it seems she's still more interested in doing things herself.
The old man was still rambling on about the "Emperor." That's the downside of being an old scholar; even though he knew what kind of person was sitting on the throne, he never mentioned the negative aspects. He didn't mince words at all, just talked about how the Emperor was a master of both calligraphy and painting, and how cheerful and straightforward he was. Then he went on to talk about the situation outside the court, introducing the concept of the Jianghu (江湖, the martial arts world) that didn't fit her historical memory. He kept talking until his throat was dry, and then he realized that Xie Huailing was no longer looking at him.
Just then, the time came, and the old man, feeling frustrated and lamenting how hard it was to earn money, muttered, "This child is hopeless," and led the little girl away.
After class, Xie Huailing snuggled back into bed. Despite her carefree attitude, she had learned far more than the old man thought he had taught her. She had memorized every syllable the old man read aloud. Now she could understand what the maids were saying about when to tell Su Mengzhen about today's events.
She wasn't surprised; she knew perfectly well what was going on. Just as she had written to Su Mengzhen, his imposing presence and the way he exuded authority meant that his rescue of her wasn't out of pity—that would be naive. The way he looked at her was like he was scrutinizing a suddenly appearing, incomprehensible object, assessing its value and risks. Everything that followed—changing the dressing, sending someone to teach her Mandarin, introducing her to local customs—was a necessary investment. There must be something he wanted in her, or perhaps, she herself was what he wanted.
In truth, Su Mengzhen didn't need to overthink it. A relationship with clear mutual interests was more stable for Xie Huailing. A life-saving grace? It didn't hold that much weight for her. An equal exchange was only natural. He saved her, and she worked for him—it was fair. Besides, fortune and misfortune are intertwined. Before Su Mengzhen explicitly stated what he wanted, she still had a period of carefree enjoyment in this treacherous Golden Wind and Drizzle Pavilion. After all, who would criticize a "rare commodity" waiting to be sold? She would slowly probe Su Mengzhen's bottom line, and then she could do whatever she wanted, probably without any consequences.
Thinking of this, the dark humor that had welled up when she thought of Emperor Huizong of Song and the humiliation of the Jingkang Incident seemed to be replaced by a more realistic, somewhat nonchalant ease. She turned over, buried her face in the sun-scented brocade quilt, and let out a muffled, comfortable murmur.
In short, until she's fully prepared, Su Mengzhen will be there to hold the sky up even if it falls. If she's not so willing to do what he wants her to do, she has plenty of ways to run away. With a wicked sense of anticipation, Xie Huailing thought, let's just play along for now and see what tricks this Master Su is up to... and while we're at it, let's think about how to slap that idiot emperor in the face.
She really wanted to do this.
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