Nine Nights Owl Song

March 18th, the nineteenth year of Yong'an.

Luoyang, Prince Zhao's residence.

It was a peaceful afternoon, the sun was shining brightly, and it felt warm on my skin.

The old drunkard lay on a bamboo chair in the backyard, covered with a thin blanket, clutching his ever-present wine gourd. The gourd was empty; he hadn't bought any wine that day.

Su Jiuge was practicing her sword skills in the training ground.

The old drunkard lay alone on a bamboo chair in the backyard.

Sunlight shone on his wrinkled face, and his gray eyebrows swayed gently in the breeze.

He had his eyes closed, a slight smile playing on his lips.

He had a dream—he dreamt that more than forty years ago he was a young man practicing martial arts with his master on Cangwu Mountain.

His master praised him for his extraordinary talent, calling him a martial arts prodigy who appears only once in a century. His junior sister sat in front of the mountain gate, watching him and smiling, her eyes curving like crescent moons.

He was young then and didn't know what betrayal, escape, or hiding meant.

At that time, his name was Yin Wuji, and he was the eldest disciple of the Dark Pavilion Master. There was no need to feign death or hide.

wake up.

The old drunkard opened his eyes and looked at the blue sky above. White clouds drifted by slowly, and a breeze blew from the south, carrying the fragrance of osmanthus blossoms. He tried to turn over, but his body wouldn't obey him.

He wanted to call for help, but he couldn't open his mouth.

He knew the time had come.

He lay on the bamboo chair, covered with a thin blanket, bathed in the warm sunlight.

He had never been so comfortable in his life—sleeping on stone slabs when he was in the Dark Pavilion, sleeping in caves when he was on the run, and sleeping on the mud floor when he was in the abandoned residential area.

I've never slept in such a comfortable chair, nor have I ever been covered by such a warm blanket.

This chair was bought by Su Jiuge, and this blanket was hand-sewn by Shen Shi.

He has a family now.

The old drunkard closed his eyes.

The aroma of osmanthus cake wafted over.

Su Jiuge loves to eat, and she can eat several pieces each time.

The girl said, "It's enough that you're still alive."

He cried.

I've lived most of my life and rarely cried, but I cried that day.

Su Jiuge sheathed her sword in the training ground.

She was restless today and couldn't concentrate on her swordsmanship practice. She had a feeling that something was about to happen.

She sheathed her sword and walked out of the training ground toward the backyard.

Xiao Yan came out of the study and walked towards the backyard.

The two met at the moon gate.

Xiao Yan looked at Su Jiuge.

"You felt it too?"

Su Jiuge did not answer and quickened her pace.

The old drunkard lay on the bamboo chair, eyes closed, a slight smile on his lips.

Sunlight shone on him, a thin blanket was draped over his chest, and a gourd of wine lay beside him; he looked as if he were asleep.

It doesn't look like it's dead.

Su Jiuge stood in front of him, looked at his face, and called out, "Old Drunkard."

The old drunkard did not answer.

She called out again, but there was still no answer.

Su Jiuge squatted down and reached out to touch the old drunkard's face. It was ice-cold.

Her fingers were trembling.

Xiao Yan walked over and stood behind her.

"Su Jiuge..."

Su Jiuge did not hear it.

She knelt down in front of the old drunkard, placed her hand on his face, lowered her head, and her shoulders trembled slightly.

She didn't cry, but Xiao Yan knew she was.

Silent crying is more heartbreaking than loud crying.

Zhao Xiaohe peeked out from behind the pillar and saw the old drunkard lying motionless on the bamboo chair.

She covered her mouth, and tears fell.

Shen Qing reached out from behind her, covered her eyes, and pulled her into his arms.

Zhao Xiaohe leaned against his chest and cried silently.

Zhao Ying and Qian Shaoqing stood at the moon gate. Zhao Ying's eyes were red. Qian Shaoqing had only met the old drunkard a few times, but seeing Su Jiuge squatting in front of the old drunkard trembling, he gripped the cold iron knife at his waist tightly.

Ghost Hand was the last to arrive.

He rushed into the backyard and saw the old drunkard lying motionless on the bamboo chair.

He stopped.

He stood a few steps away from the old drunkard, looking at his senior brother's face.

That face was serene, much more serene than when he was alive. When he was alive, he always frowned, always drank, and always hid.

Now I don't wrinkle anymore, I don't drink anymore, and I don't hide anymore.

He left, quietly.

Ghost Hand knelt down.

He knelt on the bluestone slab with his head down, his shoulders trembling violently.

The old drunkard's funeral was very simple.

Su Jiuge didn't hold a big party, knowing that the old drunkard didn't like crowds.

Several people arrived—Xiao Yan, several elders from the Dark Pavilion, and people from the Marquis of Dingyuan's residence.

Su Zhentian bowed three times before the old drunkard's spirit tablet and said to the portrait, "Mr. Yin, thank you for saving my daughter."

Ms. Shen cried very sadly.

The old drunkard didn't stay at the Marquis's residence for long, but Madam Shen treated him like family.

She brings him meals, sews clothes for him, and makes him osmanthus cakes every day.

The old drunkard never said thank you and always finished the osmanthus cake.

Ghost Hand stood guard before the spirit tablet for three days and three nights, refusing to leave no matter who tried to persuade him.

He knelt there, his eyes fixed on his senior brother's portrait.

He had followed his senior brother for many years, ever since he was just a young boy.

His senior brother taught him martial arts, how to be a person, and how to survive in the Dark Pavilion.

Later, when his senior brother betrayed the Dark Pavilion, he did not follow him, not because he did not want to, but because he dared not.

He was afraid of death, and what he hated most in his life was his own cowardice.

He knelt before the coffin and spoke the words that had been weighing on his heart for many years to the portrait.

The old drunkard in the portrait had a smile on his lips; he didn't blame him.

On the last night, Su Jiuge stayed alone by the coffin.

It was late at night, and everyone had left.

She was the only one left in the mourning hall, the flickering candlelight casting an indistinct glow on the old drunkard's portrait.

Su Jiuge took out a letter from her bosom.

It was left to her by the old drunkard; she found it under his pillow.

The envelope had two words written on it: "Girl".

The old drunkard's handwriting was crooked and messy, but she recognized every single one of them.

"Girl, by the time you read this letter, I'll already be gone. Don't cry, I've lived a fulfilling life. In my youth, I killed in the Dark Pavilion; in middle age, I lived on the run; and in my old age, I enjoyed a few days of happiness. Heaven has been kind to me. Girl, you are the greatest blessing of my life. That winter, I found you in the mass grave. You were so small, barely bigger than a kitten, your face was purple from the cold. I thought you wouldn't survive, but you did. You're living better than anyone else. Girl, you're the Marquis of Zhennan now, and you'll be Empress and Empress Dowager in the future. You can be anything, and so can I, your girl. Girl, don't think of me. Live your life well, and be good to the Sixth Prince. He's a good man. Girl, I'm leaving. I'm leaving you the wine gourd; there's still a sip of wine in it, don't waste it. You old drunkard."

Su Jiuge pressed the letter to her chest, clutching it tightly.

She remembered the old drunkard's face—a face full of wrinkles, ravaged by time and pain.

She looked very kind in the candlelight.

She suddenly remembered when she was seven years old, in that dead-end alley in the south of the city, she found the old drunkard lying on the ground covered in blood.

She thought she was going to lose him and cried her eyes out. The old drunkard wasn't dead; he had been lying to her for almost ten years.

He's really gone this time, and he won't be coming back.

Su Jiuge's tears fell.

Tears streamed silently down her face, and she didn't wipe them away, letting them flow.

She had promised the old drunkard she wouldn't cry, but she hadn't kept her promise.

Xiao Yan walked in from outside and stood behind her.

He didn't say anything, but placed his hand on her shoulder and gently pressed it.

Su Jiuge did not move.

Xiao Yan stood there with her, the two of them standing before the old drunkard's spirit tablet.

On the 18th day of the third month of the 19th year of Yong'an, the old drunkard passed away.

Su Jiuge buried him next to the ancestral tomb of the Marquis of Dingyuan.

Su Zhentian said, "Mr. Yin was Jiuge's savior and the Su family's benefactor; he should be buried here." The tombstone was inscribed by Xiao Yan, the handwriting neat and orderly.

"The tomb of Duke Wuji of Yin, erected by Su Jiuge."

The old drunkard had no descendants, and Su Jiuge was his descendant.

Su Jiuge knelt before the tomb and kowtowed three times.

I stood up and looked at the old drunkard's name on the tombstone.

Yin Wuji.

She looked at the old drunkard's full name.

Wuji (无极) means limitless, endless, and without boundaries.

His life was indeed filled with boundless suffering, boundless difficulties, and boundless hiding and fleeing.

Su Jiuge turned and left.

Xiao Yan walked beside her, the two of them side by side on the veranda of the Marquis of Dingyuan's residence.

March 20th, the nineteenth year of Yong'an.

The Marquis of Dingyuan's Residence.

The seventh day after the old drunkard's death had just passed, and the atmosphere in the Dingyuan Marquis's mansion was still shrouded in a dull, suffocating silence.

While making osmanthus cake in the kitchen, tears started falling from her eyes. She wiped them away with her sleeve and continued kneading the dough.

The old drunkard loved her osmanthus cake the most when he was alive. Every time she brought it over, he would eat the whole plate clean, leaving not even a crumb.

Su Jiuge sat in the room where the old drunkard had lived before his death, holding the wine gourd in her hand.

Su Jiuge drank the last sip of wine with her head tilted back. It was very strong, so strong that her eyes turned red.

The gourd was empty, and she ran her fingertips along the marks left by time on its surface.

This is something the old drunkard has used for decades; it's been by his side since she was a baby.

She remembered how the old drunkard always looked when he drank—

He pulled out the stopper, took a swig, made a gurgling sound in his throat, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve and grinned at her.

There was a hint of intoxication, bitterness, and something she couldn't understand in that smile.

Now she understood; it was someone who had walked in darkness for too many years finally seeing the light.

She is that ray of light.