The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

Li Jingniang secretly contacted several musicians from the Jiaofangsi who were frustrated because of their upright nature and inability to flatter. They were all masters of music and had long yearned for innovation.

She brought in several dancers and zaju (traditional Chinese opera) "fumo" (supporting male lead) and "yinxi" (leading male lead) who, despite their advanced age, had retired from the front lines but possessed exceptionally solid skills;

They even managed to contact a down-on-his-luck writer who had been marginalized for writing satirical plays.

She established a "rehearsal space" in an extremely secluded estate outside the city, under the name of Tianxiang Tower, used for rehearsing secret programs. She publicly claimed that Li Dajia was going into seclusion to develop a set of "new music and dance" to present to the nobles in the palace.

Wang Zhonghua became the "chief planner" and "art director".

Drawing on his "writer's" knowledge as a time traveler, he explained "stage direction," "character arc," "dramatic conflict," and "emotional build-up." He might not understand specific vocal design, but he knew where tension should be present, where pathos should be felt, and where there should be an outburst. He cleverly combined classic scenes from "The Injustice to Dou E" with the real experiences of Liu and Qin, creating core lyrics and key dialogue outlines.

Li Jingniang and her team then filled these skeletons with the essence of art with amazing talent and passion.

That down-on-his-luck writer stayed up all night writing, polishing the lines to be both elegant and sassy, ​​combining classical and vernacular Chinese.

The musicians secluded themselves to study and fuse elements of Central Plains Bangzi, folk tunes, and even Buddhist chants and Taoist music into one, creating a new melody that is both high-pitched and passionate, yet also poignant and moving.

The dancers and performers pondered how to use their figures, eyes, and gait to portray Liu E's fragility and fierceness, Chen Shimei's refinement and malice, and the corrupt official's incompetence and cruelty...

Inside the rehearsal hall, the rehearsal continued day and night. The instruments were tested, sometimes mournful and sobbing, sometimes indignant and impassioned; the singing was refined, and the line "Earth, you do not distinguish between good and bad, what kind of earth are you! Heaven, you have wrongly judged the wise and foolish, what kind of heaven are you!" was repeatedly practiced, striving to make every word shed blood and tears; the dancer playing Liu E rehearsed her movements, kneeling, tossing her hair, and leaping back again and again, her knees bruised and her clothes soaked with sweat, all to express that injustice and resistance to the fullest extent.

Li Jingniang was completely immersed in the experience. Sometimes she would try singing herself, sometimes she would instruct the dancers on their movements, and sometimes she would argue with the musicians about the strength of a particular note. She seemed to have returned to the state of her youth, when she was most passionately pursuing art; her eyes were no longer clouded, only burning with passion and creative brilliance. Watching Wang Zhonghua intently observing from the sidelines of the rehearsal, occasionally offering insightful comments, she felt an indescribable sense of gratitude and admiration. This man had not only brought about a shocking injustice, but also an artistic revolution!

Wang Zhonghua watched all this with a sense of感慨 (gǎnkǎi, mixed feelings). He had ignited two fires: one in the marketplace, already spreading like wildfire; the other in the halls of art, forging its sharpest sword. All that remained was for the opportune moment for the two swords to combine, and then a storm of public opinion would sweep through Bianjing!

The first wave of this storm will soon quietly crash onto the shore of the key "audience" who can influence public opinion, under the guise of "new art auditions".

The sky over Bianjing still seemed as prosperous as ever, but the prelude to the thunderous din, played by the storyteller's gavel and Li Jingniang's zither, could already be faintly heard.

March 8th, Tianbo Yang Mansion.

This mansion, located in the northwest corner of Bianjing's inner city, is unlike the usual ornate and luxurious residences of princes and nobles. Instead, it possesses a solemn and expansive atmosphere, reminiscent of a military review. The plaque above the gate, inscribed with "Tianbo Yang Mansion," was personally written by the late emperor, its ink as deep and powerful as iron. The two stone lions in front of the gate are not the usual endearing figures; instead, they stand with their heads held high and eyes glaring, their manes like spears, as if ready to leap at any moment.

The main hall of the mansion, the "Hall of Loyalty and Martyrdom," is quite different. Instead of an altar and shrine, it features a massive elm wood screen wall, its surface intricately engraved with countless names—a register of Yang family members and retainers who have sacrificed their lives for the country over the past century. Each name tells a blood-stained legend. Hanging in the hall are not paintings or calligraphy by famous artists, but rather worn-out battle flags and tattered armor bearing the marks of swords and arrows. The air seems perpetually filled with a unique aroma, a blend of rust, leather, and sandalwood—the very scent of a military family.

The matriarch of the Yang family lived a long life, but only three of her daughters-in-law are still alive. Although there are many grandsons, most, except for Yang Zongbao, are ordinary military officers with little renown. To make matters worse, Yang Zongbao died in battle in Yanzhou a few years prior, leading later generations to portray Di Qing as a villainous white-faced figure who allegedly persecuted the Yang family generals. Now, the Yang family is in decline, relying solely on the matriarch, Mu Guiying, and Yang Wenguang to maintain its standing.

These past few days, as Yang Jinhua returned to Beijing to visit relatives on imperial orders, this usually solemn and somewhat lonely mansion has been unusually warm and bustling.

Inside the Yi'an Hall in the inner courtyard, the charcoal fire burned brightly. The centenarian Madam Zhe, dressed in a dark brown robe embroidered with longevity patterns, her white hair meticulously combed, sat regally in the main seat, holding the coiled dragon iron crutch bestowed upon her by the late emperor. Her face was gaunt, her wrinkles deep and etched, yet her eyes, instead of being cloudy, possessed a sharp, hawk-like edge forged through the vicissitudes of life.

Seated at the lower end of the table was Mu Guiying, the Marquis of Hun Tian. She was nearly sixty years old, with graying temples, but her posture remained as straight as a pine tree, and the heroic spirit unique to the battlefield between her brows was undiminished. At this moment, she was peeling a tangerine with her own hands, carefully removing the white pith from the segments, and handing it to her grandmother, Lady Zhe, with practiced ease.

Yang Jinhua changed out of her riding and archery uniform and into a pale yellow ruqun embroidered with plum blossoms. She sat beside her mother, Mu Guiying, listening with a smile as her aunts and sisters-in-law inquired about the customs of Yunnan and interesting stories from the border region. The room was filled with laughter and chatter, the charcoal fire crackled, and the delicate fragrance of plum blossoms wafted from the incense burner—a rare scene of family bliss.

Somehow, the conversation turned to Qin Tiehua, who was temporarily residing in the mansion.

"That Miss Qin is also a woman with a tragic fate," sighed the Third Madam (Yang Sanlang's widow). "These past few days, I've noticed that she's recovered somewhat, but the worry in her eyes just won't go away. She often stares out the window lost in thought, probably worried about her father and that Miss Liu."

"Indeed," Fifth Madam interjected, "Jin Hua (Yang Jinhua's nickname) brought back news that Miss Liu used the secret technique of feigning death by breathing to protect herself, and now her life hangs by a thread... Alas, they are all good children, how could they suffer such a calamity!"

Yang Jinhua put down her teacup and her smile faded. "Miss Liu is strong-willed, and this method is dangerous, but it is precisely because of this that Chen Shimei and the Prince of Xiangyang's mansion are hesitant to act rashly, thus delaying the situation. However, if a solution cannot be found in time..." She frowned slightly and did not continue.

Lady Zhe slowly chewed on an orange segment, then suddenly spoke, her voice not loud, but enough to silence the entire room: "The young man Qin Tiehua values ​​most, named Wang Zhonghua, wasn't he supposed to have arrived in Bianjing? Why haven't I seen him come to the manor to look for Miss Qin these past few days? He hasn't even sent a message."

The question was abrupt, and the atmosphere in the hall froze.

Mu Guiying glanced at her daughter and said, "Yes, Hua'er. According to what you said, Wang Zhonghua is deeply devoted to Miss Qin. He risked his life to save her, even fighting Qiu Laohu. It's said he abandoned his military achievements and traveled day and night to reach Bianjing, almost ruining his prized horse, 'Ta Xue.' Now that he's in the capital and knows Miss Qin is here, it's only right and proper for him to come and visit her immediately. Could it be... that something has happened?"

Yang Jinhua pondered, "Mother, Grandmother, I also find this matter strange. The commotion I caused when I entered the city was quite significant. If he were in the city, he would surely know that the iron painting is with me. I originally thought he would come to our door at most the next day, but now..." She shook her head, "I had my trusted servants secretly keep an eye out for him in the city. They reported that there have been some rumors circulating in the streets these past few days about 'Chen Shimei,' and the methods used are quite clever, unlike ordinary gossip. However... we still haven't found any trace of Wang Zhonghua."

The group exchanged bewildered glances. They had all witnessed Qin Tiehua's daily eager anticipation. Wang Zhonghua's actions were truly perplexing, even somewhat...inhumane.

Just as the silence became slightly awkward, a clear child's voice rang out from under the eaves:

"If you ask me, that guy named Wang something-or-other, could it be that he heard Aunt Tiehua got into a huge lawsuit and ended up in our family's 'trouble spot,' and he's afraid of getting involved, so he doesn't dare to come? Maybe... he's found a new lover in the capital, just like... just like 'Chen Shimei' in that story!"

A boy of about twelve or thirteen years old rushed in like a gust of wind. He wore a brocade robe with arrow-sleeved sleeves, a mink vest over it, and a small hat embroidered with a tiger's head in gold thread. His face was rosy, and his large, bright eyes, like those of a leopard, shone with cleverness and a fearless spirit. He was Yang Wenguang's only son and the great-grandson of Lady Zhe—Yang Huayu (later known as Yang Huayu in folklore).

He had just returned from practicing shooting at the manor's drill ground, covered in sweat, and couldn't help but chime in when he heard the discussion inside the hall.

"Yu'er! Stop talking nonsense!" Mu Guiying scolded softly, but there was little anger in her eyes. This child was the only son of the Yang family's eldest branch, and had been pampered by the whole family since childhood, so it was inevitable that he would be a bit unruly.