The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

Lian'er, who had been waiting nearby, immediately responded obediently, "Young Master Liu, the wine is warm on the charcoal stove. It's your favorite 'Drunken Eight Immortals,' and I've added two preserved plums to help with the greasiness and sobering up." As she spoke, she deftly gathered up the scattered manuscripts, weighed them down with a paperweight, and added softly, "Young Master, the ink on this manuscript is still wet; be careful not to stain your sleeves."

She was observant and knew that although Liu Sanbian was unrestrained, he cherished his writing. Her words were both considerate and subtle. Liu Sanbian opened his mouth, but ultimately didn't press the matter further. He muttered to himself, took a swig of wine, and considered himself to have found a way out.

Li Jingniang led Wang Zhonghua to a tea table by the window and personally poured him a cup of tea. Her hand movements were extremely steady, the water flowing as fine as silver threads into the Jian kiln rabbit fur teacup without making a sound. The tea was fragrant and refreshing, a pre-Qingming West Lake Longjing.

"Did you enjoy yourself today, young master?" Her eyes flickered, seemingly with a deeper meaning.

"Jingniang's song lingers for three days, how dare I say I've enjoyed it to the fullest?" Wang Zhonghua responded calmly. As he took the teacup, his fingertips inadvertently touched her slightly cool fingertips. Both of them paused for a moment, then casually moved away.

Li Jingniang's lips curled up slightly, then she suddenly changed the subject: "Speaking of today's song 'Partridge Sky - I am a Gentleman of Qingdu Mountain and Water,' does the young master know that Brother Liu also wrote a poem of the same tune?" She looked at Liu Sanbian, her gaze carrying just the right amount of teasing.

Upon hearing this, Liu Sanbian perked up, staggered to his feet, grabbed a manuscript, and loudly recited: "Last year on the Lantern Festival, the flower market was as bright as day, the moon rose above the willow tips, and we made our rendezvous after dusk. This year on the Lantern Festival, the moon and lanterns are still the same. But the person from last year is gone, and tears wet my spring robe sleeves... Wait, something's not right, this is Ouyang Xiu's..."

He was a bit tipsy and searched for a while before finally finding it. He slapped his forehead: "It's this one! 'How deep the courtyard is, how many layers of willows and curtains. Where the jade-bridled saddle roams, the tower is so high that the road to Zhangtai is not visible.' -- Oh, no, that's not right either, it's Ouyang Xiu's again..."

Lian'er couldn't help but chuckle softly, quickly covering her mouth with her handkerchief and whispering a reminder: "Young Master Liu, the first line of your poem 'Partridge Sky - Blowing Away the Lingering Smoke into the Night Wind' is 'Blowing away the lingering smoke into the night wind, a bright moon shines on the curtain...'"

Liu Sanbian slapped his thigh: "Yes, yes, yes! Lian'er understands me best! The night wind blows away the lingering smoke. A bright moon shines through the curtains. I am startled by the distance between us, though our hearts are together, we cannot sleep together."

Tender feelings, deep longing. The blue clouds have vanished without a trace. Perhaps in a past life, we loved to keep two mandarin ducks in separate cages.

He began to recite the poem, swaying his head. The words were indeed exquisite, vividly depicting the sorrow of being away from home and the frustration of being unappreciated. In particular, the line "The blue clouds have returned, but there is no trace of them" showed great skill.

Li Jingniang listened quietly and nodded: "Brother Liu's lyrics are full of tears and heartbreak, but..." She paused, her tone gentle yet to the point, "but he is too immersed in his own joys and sorrows. While his lamentations about autumn and the moon are moving, he is ultimately trapped in personal gains and losses, lacking a transcendent spirit."

Liu Sanbian was stunned for a moment, his drunkenness sobering up somewhat, and stared blankly at Li Jingniang.

Li Jingniang turned to Wang Zhonghua, her eyes gleaming: "And your words during the day, 'I am a carefree wanderer of Qingdu's mountains and rivers, destined by Heaven to be unrestrained and eccentric,' were also unrestrained, but unrestrained in a free and easy manner, unrestrained in a forthright manner. Especially the line 'How often have I paid attention to princes and kings,' the ending tone suddenly rises, unconventional, directly expressing one's feelings. Such a spirit could only be achieved by someone with profound knowledge and a vast inner world. Young master, am I right?"

Wang Zhonghua was secretly astonished. This woman had not only discerned the subtle differences in his singing style but also grasped the underlying meaning of the lyrics. He smiled slightly: "Jingniang, you flatter me. It's merely youthful exuberance; how can it compare to the genuine sentiment in Brother Liu's lyrics?"

Li Jingniang shook her head, and said seriously, "That's not true. In the art of poetry, while temperament is important, style is even more fundamental. Brother Liu's poetry is in the 'realm of self,' while your poetry has entered the 'realm of no-self.' No-self does not mean being emotionless, but rather placing one's personal joys and sorrows amidst the mountains and rivers of heaven and earth, which makes them all the more genuine. This is what I mean by—" She paused, her slender hand lightly plucking the strings of the zither, producing a clear and melodious harmonic, "...the music resonates with the heart."

Liu Sanbian listened intently, initially showing resentment, but becoming increasingly absorbed as he listened. Finally, he slumped down, picked up his wine jug, and sighed deeply: "Jingniang's words are like a wake-up call. I, Liu Sanbian, have been indulging in wine and women because I couldn't let go of that obsession in my heart. Enough, enough. After hearing your words today, I realize that I have been wrong all these past ten years."

He collapsed drunkenly onto the embroidered stool, truly drunk and convinced of his defeat.

Wang Zhonghua was secretly surprised. This woman not only noticed the subtle differences in his singing style, but also appreciated the underlying meaning of the lyrics. He was about to say a few words of modesty when Li Jingniang waved her hand.

"Young master, there's no need for you to be so modest." She rose and walked to the zither table, her slender hands gently caressing the strings, producing a series of flowing arpeggios. "I have been learning the zither since I was a child. My master once said: 'The zither is the heart. Techniques can be learned, and melodies can be practiced, but the realm within one's heart cannot be faked.'"

She looked up at Wang Zhonghua, her gaze clear as water yet unfathomable: "Young master just said, 'How dare I say I've had my fill?' I dare to ask—in your life, young master, have you ever truly had your fill?"

This question came suddenly, but it hits the nail on the head.

Wang Zhonghua was stunned.

In his past life, he was a writer who wrote about all the joys and sorrows of human life, yet he remained an outsider, observing with detached indifference. In this life, he has transmigrated and now fights against bullies, runs restaurants, kills bandits, and battles the powerful. He is cautious and deliberate in every step he takes, but every step is for the sake of "survival" and "ensuring the survival of those around him."

He picked up his teacup, took a sip, and slowly said, "The word 'enjoy life to the fullest' is easier said than done. I have a friend who once said: 'In this life, if one can accomplish something so that future generations can say, "This person once lived," then one has lived life to the fullest.'"

Li Jingniang's eyes lit up: "To accomplish something so that future generations will remember that you were here—is this your ambition, young master?"

"I suppose so." Wang Zhonghua put down his teacup and looked out at the hazy night. "But what to do, how to do it, and to what extent, I'm still figuring it out."

Li Jingniang was silent for a moment, then suddenly smiled.

That smile was different from her previous gentleness; it carried a hint of relief and a sense of mutual appreciation.

"My lord, do you know that I was entrusted with advising you to 'be discerning and know when to advance and retreat,' but your insight is far superior to mine, leaving me speechless. My lord, do you know why I have fallen into prostitution?"

Wang Zhonghua shook his head with a smile.

"When I was young, my family was quite well-off. My father was a scholar who never passed the imperial examination, so he placed all his hopes on me." She spoke calmly, as if she were telling someone else's story. "He taught me to read and write, and to play the zither, chess, calligraphy and painting. He said that the idea that a woman's virtue lies in her lack of talent was nonsense, and that if I could make a living through my talents, I wouldn't have to depend on a man."

She paused, a bitter smile playing on her lips: "Later, our family suffered a tragedy. Before he died, my father held my hand and said: 'Jingniang, I'm sorry, I couldn't leave you a good path. But remember, no matter where you are, your heart should always be high.'"

Wang Zhonghua was deeply shaken.

These words, spoken by a failed scholar, contain insights that transcend time.

"So Jingniang registered as a courtesan, but she didn't sell herself." Li Jingniang looked up at him, her gaze frank. "Some laugh at my foolishness, some scold me for pretending, but I don't care. Because I know I'm doing something—"

She said, word by word, "Let there be integrity even in this brothel; let there be purity even in this place of debauchery."

After he finished speaking, the room fell silent.

The sound of the night watchman's clapper came from outside the window, tap, tap, tap, each sound striking the heart.

Liu Sanbian had sat up straight without anyone noticing, his drunkenness completely gone, and stared blankly at Li Jingniang.

He spent half his life writing lyrics, all about his own joys and sorrows, his own frustrations and unfulfilled ambitions. But this woman before him, though mired in hardship, aspired to great heights. What she did was far more profound than any of his lyric writings.

Wang Zhonghua remained silent for a long time, then suddenly stood up and walked to the zither table.

"Jingniang, may I borrow your zither?"

Li Jingniang was slightly taken aback, then stepped aside.

Wang Zhonghua sat down and placed his hands on the strings. In his previous life, he had studied the guqin for several months in order to write the role of a guqin player. Although his technique was rusty, he still remembered the basic plucking and strumming.

He took a deep breath and sprang up.