The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

The same scene unfolded quietly in the "Sihailou" in the south of the city, the "Huixianlou" in the north, and even in some bustling inns outside the city, with different versions (slight differences in details, but the core plot remained the same) and different storytellers (some young and impetuous, some mature and steady). Wang Zhonghua carefully changed his attire and rhetoric, sometimes playing a traveling scholar, sometimes a merchant, and sometimes just a "passerby who heard it." He didn't care whether the story was completely based on the facts of Chenzhou; what he cared about was that name—Chen Shimei—and that most basic human injustice trampled by power—the murder of his wife and children, the false accusation of the female doctor—whether it could take root and ferment in the hearts of millions of ordinary people in Bianjing like a virus.

The power of money, combined with the story's inherent strong moral impact, creates a stunning effect.

In just five or six days, the name "Chen Shimei" had become the object of vengeful curses from patrons in many teahouses and taverns in Bianjing.

"Hey, have you heard? That 'Chen Shimei' guy, Old Zhang told us a new story yesterday. That bastard would even kill his own flesh and blood for wealth and power!"

"That's not all! I heard that the daughter of the high-ranking official he climbed up to is also a vicious woman; the two of them conspired to harm the Qin mother and son!"

"Qin Xianglian is truly pitiful and admirable! Carrying two children, she traveled thousands of miles to find her husband, only to encounter such a wolf in sheep's clothing..."

"Miss Liu is even more pitiful. She treated and saved lives, yet was driven to suicide. Chen Shimei, he truly deserves to be torn to pieces!"

"This beast, worse than an animal, is fit to study and become an official? Heaven has no eyes!"

"Keep your voice down... I've heard that name sound familiar, like..."

"Who cares who he is! This kind of thing makes my lungs ache just hearing about it! He deserves to die! He deserves to be torn apart!"

A torrent of public opinion began to surge. Wang Zhonghua walked the streets, listening to the overt and covert discussions, feeling little pleasure, only a cold, resolute resolve. This was merely the first step. Stories circulating in teahouses and taverns were ultimately confined to the common people and easily suppressed by the government under the pretext of "discussing politics" or "slandering officials and gentry." He needed a more persuasive medium, one that could reach deeper into the lives of ordinary people and was more "legitimate."

He thought of Li Jingniang.

That woman from the family of a musician in Chenzhou, who, with a pipa melody and a heart full of indignation, sang and burned alongside him in "Man Jiang Hong." She was the most beautiful courtesan in the capital, possessing exceptional skills and extensive connections. More importantly, she had a strong sense of justice and a keen eye for injustice.

On the third day of the third lunar month, as the lanterns were lit, Wang Zhonghua arrived at the famous Tianxiang Tower on the west side of the Imperial Street, where Li Jingniang lived.

Unlike the exquisite elegance of the Lixiang Garden in Chenzhou, the Tianxiang Tower in Bianjing possessed a grand and imposing presence. Three vermilion pavilions with carved beams and pillars rose into the sky, their flying eaves adorned with thousands of glazed lanterns. By day, the sunlight reflected off them like stars falling from the eaves, and by night, the moonlight blazed across the azure sky, almost eclipsing the stars and moon themselves. Carriages flowed like water and horses moved like dragons before the tower, with the fine horses of the Western Regions and the fragrant carriages of Jiangnan leaving deep ruts on the bluestone of the imperial street. The canopies and banners blocked out the sun, and princes, nobles, and wealthy merchants flocked to the tower.

Inside the gate lay a completely different world: amidst the golden nanmu beams and pillars, the chirping of swallows and orioles mingled with the sounds of the jiegu drum and huqin, creating a symphony of sounds; deep within the silk and beaded curtains, the fragrance of ambergris mingled with the scent of women's cosmetics, forming clouds of mist. Newly appointed scholars could exchange their poems for fine wine, and wealthy merchants would spend lavishly just to catch a glimpse of a beautiful woman. Before the music had even ceased, laughter and chatter had already intoxicated them. The entire building resembled a heavenly palace suspended above the mortal world, overlooking the extravagance and illusions of Bianjing.

The gilded plaque that read "The First Music Pavilion in the Capital" exuded an aura of supreme authority under the sea of ​​lights.

Wang Zhonghua did not go through the main gate, but went around to the side alley and said to a pimp guarding the gate, "Please inform Master Li that my old friend Wang San has come from Chenzhou and has some old things to return." As he spoke, he handed over one tael of silver.

The pimp nodded with a smile and turned to go inside.

Wang Zhonghua waited in the shadows outside the side door for about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn. A night breeze began to rise, carrying the charm and sweet fragrance of spring.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of a pipa coming from inside the building. The sound was clear, melodious, and stirring. It was the poem "Yu Lou Chun: Spring Scenery" by the former Hanlin Academician Song Qi. The fingering was exquisite, perfectly capturing the vigor and liveliness of "red apricot blossoms on the branches, spring is in full bloom" in Song Qi's poem.

Immediately afterwards, a warm and deep male voice rang out, tapping a fan to keep time, and chanting along:

"...Life is short and joy is fleeting, who would value a thousand pieces of gold over a mere smile? I hold up my cup to the setting sun, urging it to linger a while longer among the flowers."

His voice carried a sense of composure born of long-standing authority, as well as a deep familiarity with musicality.

Wang Zhonghua's pupils constricted—who is this person? This person is no ordinary individual!

The pipa music stopped abruptly. Li Jingniang's gentle voice rang out, tinged with just the right amount of admiration: "Your Highness's interpretation is brilliant. The word '闹' (nao, meaning 'to make a fuss') perfectly captures the essence of spring, while Your Highness has revealed the true nature of human nature. I have learned a great deal."

"Jingniang, you are too modest." The Prince of Xiangyang's voice carried a smile, yet a hint of coldness lingered beneath. "I am curious, why did you make an exception for that peasant boy that night in Chenzhou?"

Wang Zhonghua froze – it was actually the Prince of Xiangyang, who had already “taken care” of him.

A moment of silence fell over the building. Li Jingniang's voice rang out again, still gentle, but with a hint of barely perceptible tension: "Your Highness is wise. That night, the Lixiang Garden was bustling with guests, and that prince... was indeed somewhat arrogant. I was merely using his rendition of 'Man Jiang Hong' at 'Xiange Renjia' to highlight the loyalty and bravery of the scholars of Chenzhou, so that Your Highness's favor would appear even more profound."

She smiled gently: "If Jingniang had given him a cold shoulder back then, it would have made the prince seem petty, unable to tolerate even a mere madman."

"Oh?" The Prince of Xiangyang's voice held a hint of amusement. "How come I heard that you sang the entire song for him?"

"Your Highness is too kind." Li Jingniang gently plucked the strings of her pipa, the sound like pearls falling onto a jade plate. "Jingniang's voice was improved by Your Highness spending a fortune to have a famous doctor treat it. Jingniang is merely... testing whether her newly healed voice can sing such a passionate tune."

"How did the trial go?"

"I've tried..." Li Jingniang's voice lowered, "I've tried and I understand that some songs are not for everyone to sing."

The Prince of Xiangyang remained silent for a long time. Wang Zhonghua stood outside the door, his hand already resting on the short sword at his waist.

"What a fine 'not everyone can sing'!" The Prince of Xiangyang suddenly laughed, but there was no warmth in his laughter. "Jingniang, you have a mouth that can talk the dead back to life. I'll believe you this time."

"Thank you for your understanding, Your Highness."

"You must attend the poetry gathering at my residence on the fifteenth of March."

"...It is my great honor to have you here, Jingniang."

Footsteps sounded, heading downstairs. Wang Zhonghua quickly disappeared into the shadows of the side alley.

A moment later, a small purple sedan chair carried by four men was carried out from the side door, escorted by eight guards, and disappeared silently into the depths of the lights on the Imperial Street.

Wang Zhonghua emerged from the shadows and was about to knock on the door when it opened silently.

Lian'er's delicate face was revealed. Her gaze lingered on his face for a moment, showing no surprise, only a knowing "I knew it" in her eyes.

"Young Master Wang, please follow me. Please walk quietly, as we have distinguished guests in the restaurant today, and there are many spies around."

She led Wang Zhonghua through a narrow corridor, barely wide enough for one person to pass through. Faint sounds of music and laughter drifted from the main hall outside, but the corridor itself was eerily silent. Lian'er moved with the lightness of a cat, constantly listening to her surroundings. Her route was clearly carefully planned, cleverly avoiding several intersections where people might pass by.

About an incense stick's time later, the two arrived at the secluded courtyard at the deepest part of Tianxiang Tower. Several old plum trees in the courtyard had lost all their blossoms, their bare branches stretching towards the night sky, casting faint shadows in the moonlight. Lian'er pushed open the half-closed moon gate, but did not rush in. She paused to listen for a moment, making sure no one was in the courtyard, before whispering, "Please wait a moment, young master."

She walked briskly towards the small building alone, stopped at the steps, and instead of climbing up, she spoke in a clear voice, just loud enough for the person upstairs to hear, towards the window on the second floor that emitted a warm yellow light: "Miss, my old friend from Chenzhou has arrived and brought back that old handkerchief."

The piano music upstairs stopped abruptly.

After a moment of silence, a gentle voice, tinged with a barely perceptible tremor, came from downstairs: "Please...please have a seat downstairs for a moment, and we'll serve you tea. I'll be right down."

Lian'er responded with a "Yes," turned and curtsied to Wang Zhonghua, then led him to an elegant little hall downstairs. The hall was simply furnished with a small table and two chairs, a painting of orchids in ink on the wall, and a faint scent of styrax burning in the burner. Lian'er deftly poured a cup of pre-Qingming Longjing tea at the perfect temperature; the tea soup was clear and green, and the aroma was fragrant.

"Please have some tea, sir. The young lady will be here shortly." Her voice was still soft, but it was no longer tense, but rather gentle. "This tea is what the young lady drinks herself, saying it can calm the mind." After saying that, she quietly retreated to the porch outside the door, but did not go far away, quietly keeping watch, so that she could be ready to be ordered at any time, while also leaving just the right amount of privacy inside the room.

Wang Zhonghua did not sit.

He stood before the painting of orchids, gazing at the ink-black orchid blooming on the edge of a cliff. The orchid was painted with extreme simplicity, just a few strokes, yet a stubborn strength emanated from the paper.