HIS DECLARATION was met with shocked silence. The mere sight of Duan Yihan stepping out with her pipa in her arms cost extravagant sums of silk and coin. That celestial goddess of music was Mo Ran's mother?
"My mom happened to cross paths with Nangong Yan, the ninth city lord of Rufeng Sect, in the entertainment houses. He had some skill at poetry and song, as well as a silver tongue and good looks to boot." Mo Ran paused. "My mom made the mistake of falling for him."
Xue Meng shook his head. "How could this be…?" he murmured.
"In what world would Nangong Yan refuse a beauty falling into his lap? But he was mindful of his rank and status, and didn't dare reveal his true identity to a songstress. He told my mom he was a businessman from Linyi who was visiting Xiangtan."
"Um…they were lovers, after all. If they spent their days together, how did your mom not find out?"
Mo Ran scoffed. "If she did, many things would've been different. Nangong Yan was a consummate liar, and he was only in Xiangtan for a short while. My mom had no time to discover the truth. While he was there, a letter came from Linyi. As soon as Nangong Yan received this mysterious note, he left Xiangtan in a rush."
"Did your mom not ask where he was going?"
"He left in the middle of the night without even saying goodbye. They'd been together for months, yet Nangong Yan merely left a stack of silver leaves and a slip of paper with the words Yearn not for me before disappearing into thin air."
A female cultivator sighed. "Dancers and singers at these places are always hoping for true love. How pitiable." Unable to contain her curiosity, she inquired, "What then? Did his abandonment leave your mother so devastated she sent someone after him?"
Mo Ran shook his head. "My mom was kind, gentle, and timid. She kept her suffering to herself even after being abandoned." He paused. "But soon, she found she was with child."
Madam Wang gasped. Her eyes were filled with grief; she had no idea what to say to Mo Ran.
"The entertainment house was willing to keep her on the condition that she get rid of the child. A mother did not dance as beautifully as a maiden, and they were not in the business of losing money."
Mo Ran closed his eyes. "My mom refused, but the madam asked for a huge sum for her freedom. She took all the savings she had, every valuable thing she owned down to the embroidered slippers on her feet, and bought herself the freedom to seek my dad in Linyi."
"How did a penniless woman travel all the way from Xiangtan to Linyi?" whispered Madam Wang.
"Someone helped her," Mo Ran said.
"Who?"
"Xun Fengruo. When Xun-jiejie heard my mom had left the entertainment house, she rushed out in the dead of night. She gave my mom all the coin she had and said that if she couldn't find my dad, my mom should come to the House of Drunken Jade in search of her, and they'd live happily together."
Master Xuanjing sighed. "Such tender sisterhood. I underestimated these women."
"What then?" asked Jiang Xi. "Did your mom find Nangong Yan?"
After a beat of silence, Mo Ran burst into laughter. "She did. Nangong Yan had faked his name and identity, but my mom still found him with no trouble at all."
"Huh?" someone gasped. "No way!"
"Yep," answered Mo Ran. "Through pure coincidence."
The audience members exchanged confused glances. "How can that be?" someone asked. "The city lords of Rufeng rarely show themselves in public."
"That's true." Mo Ran's features took on a darker cast. "But…at weddings, and at the first-month celebrations for their children, Rufeng Sect always hosts a banquet and accepts well-wishes upon the city towers, do they not?"
Comprehension dawned upon the crowd. "Was the letter Nangong Yan received a command for him to return home to be married?"
Someone else burst out, "I remember now! Nangong Yan's wife was the daughter of a rich family—was he forced to give up the songstress he'd pledged himself to and go home to marry the rich maiden?"
Apathy was written all over Mo Ran's face. "He wasn't forced to give her up, nor did he go home to be wed. The mysterious letter he received was actually a piece of good news—the leader of Rufeng Sect had informed him that his wife was about to give birth, and he should hurry home to be at her side."
Xue Zhengyong had been listening in pale-faced silence, but at this, he couldn't help blurting, "So, when Nangong Yan was having his fun in Xiangtan—he was already married?!"
"Mn." Mo Ran lowered his lashes. Surprisingly, he didn't seem remotely upset. "Nangong Yan had gone traveling to take his mind off the fact his wife was pregnant yet so sickly she stood to lose the child. When he met my mom, he liked her, so he lied and said he was unmarried to win her over."
Someone stomped a foot in fury. "What a beast!"
"Going off to have his fun with his pregnant wife at home, and getting a child on another woman too!"
"Poor Duan Yihan. Did Nangong Yan even acknowledge her?"
Of course, the answer to this final question hardly needed to be said. After the waves of castigation, the eyes on Mo Ran were growing more sympathetic.
Mo Ran didn't care what they thought of him. He continued his mother's sad tale. One secret, kept across two lifetimes. This was the first time he was speaking these words out loud, and there was relief in the telling amidst the pain.
"A banquet was held in Linyi to celebrate the birth of the city lord's son. When my mom arrived at the ninth city, she saw Nangong Yan atop that richly decorated tower with his arm around his wife, giving his thanks to the people below and tossing out treats. My mom…never sought him out. She'd spent every coin she'd had to get there—she couldn't even make her way back to Xiangtan. After a few months, she gave birth to me alone, in an abandoned woodshed in Linyi."
"Did she take you back to the House of Drunken Jade?" asked Jiang Xi.
Mo Ran shook his head. "When I was born, I was weak. I fell terribly ill before I was even a month old. There was no way she could travel with me. She went begging at the door of every doctor in the city, but no one would help her. Eventually, she had no choice but to go to Rufeng Sect with me in her arms in search of Nangong Yan."
Thus had that frail mother and her kitten-like newborn appeared, travel-worn and weary, before her bygone lover.
That man had felt no joy upon seeing them—only endless shock and fear that soon turned to anger. He had a wife and son of his own, and his bride was the distinguished daughter of a powerful family. His son was a cute and chubby baby; their family was peaceful and whole. In his eyes, Duan Yihan was like rat droppings on his doorstep, an unwelcome sight that threatened his reputation and family. Surely this woman had come with some motive in mind. Why on earth would he acknowledge them?
Afraid she'd make a scene, Nangong Yan gave her sufficient coin and told her to get the hell out of Rufeng Sect. Clutching at the last of her hopes, Duan Yihan spoke through her tears: "The child doesn't yet have a name. Could you—"
Nangong Yan's face was gray with fury. "Get out! Get the hell out! This child is no son of mine. You'd better figure out what's good for you and get the hell away from here!"
She was crudely shoved out the door. Yet she had no time to grieve—the babe in her arms could barely whimper, and his hands and feet were freezing cold. He lay curled in her arms like a dying kitten. When she called to him, he squinted one eye open and gazed at her blankly. He wasn't mischievous at all; he was well-behaved and very quiet.
Blinking back tears, she brought her child again to a healer's hall. The doctor cried out at the sight of her. "How many times have I told you? We're not a charity, we don't take patients for free! If you have no money—"
She hastily dug out the dirty cash Nangong Yan had shoved at her to pay her off, terrified the doctor would frighten the baby in her arms. Misery shone in her eyes; she bowed and scraped before the doctor. "I do have money, Doctor, I do. Please, please do a good deed and help my son. Look, he's…he's still so small…"
The doctor wasn't cruel. His harsh manner was only because children's medicines were expensive, and this woman had bothered him too many times before. Now that she could afford treatment, his attitude changed.
So began weeks of herbal concoctions, acupuncture treatments, and an extended stay in the healer's hall. Mo Ran was sick on and off for months before he finally began to grow stronger. By then, Duan Yihan hadn't much coin left. She thanked the doctor and took her leave, carrying her child in her arms.
By this time, winter was coming to Linyi. Fearing the babe would take ill once again, she used the last of her money to buy a small cotton jacket and a set of blankets. She had nothing left with which to return to Xiangtan, but as Duan Yihan sat in that abandoned woodshed and looked at the little rascal sucking his thumb and gurgling up at her, she was happy and serene. She had an easy nature, content with small joys.
"What should I call you?"
The baby gurgled again. Duan Yihan started a fire, teasing him as they warmed themselves by its glow. When the child laughed, so did she. The flames flickered brightly. Though the shed was dilapidated, the fire warmed her to her core. She pinched the baby's small cheeks, playing with him until he kicked his chubby feet and laughed with joy.
After some thought, she said, "Why don't I call you Ran-er?"
Sucking on his fingers, Mo Ran watched her with his dark eyes shining.
"I don't know what your last name should be." Sadness stole over Duan Yihan's face. "You can't be a Nangong, but you can't take my surname either. Mine was chosen by the madam at the entertainment house; it'd be strange if you took it… I'll just call you Ran-er, after the flames, okay?"
Mo Ran released his finger with a wet smack. He looked up at her calmly.
"Little Ran-er, once spring comes, we'll go back to Xiangtan." Duan Yihan stroked his downy hair. "Mama knows how to play the pipa, and to dance. Miss Xun is there, and Miss Xun is Mama's best friend. I'm sure she'll love you. You should be good, and quickly learn to call her Aunt… Mm, forget it. With her temper, you're better off calling her Jiejie. Say 'Xun-jiejie' as soon as you see her, or you won't get any candy. Okay?"
Holding his soft hands, Duan Yihan whispered, "Ran-er, wait a little longer. When winter is over, when the flowers bloom, we'll go home."
But that winter lasted far too long. It was a year of disasters; the lower cultivation realm was overrun by demons, and Linyi reinforced its defenses by putting severe restrictions on the movements of commoners. Duan Yihan couldn't leave the city. She sought out work at a bun stall, trying to earn enough money to live on—but nothing stayed secret forever. Someone must have whispered to Nangong Yan's wife about her husband's misbehavior, and soon after, the stall Duan Yihan worked at drove her off for no reason at all. Afterward, Duan Yihan was given no more chances. She could find no work, no matter how little it paid, and was reduced to begging for scraps and performing on the street with her child at her side.
Often, she'd be singing softly as Nangong Yan rode past, garbed in finery and followed by his entire retinue. He avoided her out of shame, though there was no real need. Although Duan Yihan was weak, she was proud. She merely sang her songs of Xiangtan; she wouldn't spare her past lover a glance, let alone cry out to him on the street and ask why she'd been abandoned. Nangong Yan had never understood how proud this pipa-girl really was.
"Look how she cries; dressed in tattered cloth, unrecognizable to her kin—so why does she stare?"9 she sang.
When someone threw a copper coin her way, she again became that beautiful goddess of music. Lowering her lashes, she'd bow and murmur, "Thank you for the kindness, good sir."
Months passed in this manner, then years. Ghosts and fiends continued to devastate the lower cultivation realm, while Linyi watched and did nothing. The evil-repelling walls stayed erected for five full years.
Mo Ran was now five.
One day, after arguing with his wife, Nangong Yan left in a huff to wander the city and clear his head. It was a beautiful day at the west market; he stood dispirited with his hands behind his back, looking down streets lined with bakeries and jewelry stores. Beneath a banyan tree, two old men played chess.
Linyi had always been a land of riches. No matter how many perished in the lower cultivation realm, what did it have to do with them? Here, cheer and prosperity had reigned for centuries.
Nangong Yan watched the chess match with interest. He had stepped out in casual clothes, unrecognizable to strangers. He stood there chuckling and throwing out suggestions until the men grew annoyed and shooed him off.
Miffed, Nangong Yan strolled along until he found himself under the shade of a great tree. A golden birdcage hung from its branches, holding a chirping canary.
Perhaps the sunlight was so beautiful it cleared his heart. As Nangong Yan stood beneath the tree, lost in his own thoughts, he remembered that gentle girl who'd sung in Xiangtan. Cocking his head, he teased the canary. "My dear, do you know any Xiangtan melodies?"
The bird trilled its song, heedless of Nangong Yan's request. He sighed, humming under his breath the song Duan Yihan had sung countless times as she sat beside him.
A clear voice cut through his daydream. Someone behind him was singing: "Clouds gather low as the winter storm approaches; a world of snow freezes the well." That voice was like the tinkling of jade or pearls, transporting him to another time.
Nangong Yan whirled around. He'd avoided her for so long, yet out of nowhere—through the bustle of the city and the rushing passersby—he caught sight of that delicate woman, just as he had in those dreams he never dared mention to his wife.
They met once more.
Duan Yihan stood on the street with a fragile child by her side. Eyes lowered, she sang those songs that had once been impossibly dear, hoping to garner some little sympathy from the gentlemen walking past. Enough, at least, for a meal.
"Whether the broad road before the mountain or the narrow path through the backwoods, thousands pass by this way…"
People streamed past in droves. No one stopped for her. The song was beautiful, but it was only a pleasant sound. She was singing of her own free will; no one wanted to pay her for it.
"…Farewell is easy but reunion is hard; I look into the empty distance alone."
Shoes inlaid with jade and embroidered in gilt thread appeared in her vision. A man's voice finished the verse: "Countless letters left unsent, my sorrows gathering as I wait for you to read them."
Duan Yihan slowly lifted her eyes.
She saw Nangong Yan again, as handsome and refined as he'd been five years ago. He seemed not to have aged at all; time had left no trace of its passage on his face.
In his eyes, Duan Yihan saw her own reflection. That beauty from five years ago had grown miserably faded and worn. But Nangong Yan's gaze on her was soft. He'd been married for years, stuck with a woman who'd found out what he'd done and, not daring to voice her displeasure outright, had taken to expressing it in other ways. She lost her temper at the drop of a hat, and his son was likewise spoiled and ill-behaved. Now as he stood before Duan Yihan and saw her sorry state, guilt and compassion surged in his heart.
Duan Yihan fell silent. She lowered her lashes. The song was over.
"Mom?" Confused, Mo Ran turned to look at her.
"Mom's tired," she said. "Let's go home."
Mo Ran nodded, smiling. "Let's go back. I'll figure out how to get dinner."
Hand in hand, mother and son turned to leave.
"You…" Nangong Yan called after her. His gaze fell upon Mo Ran. This boy was skinny and his clothes were tattered, but he was clever and handsome. Nangong Yan realized—this was his son. His own flesh and blood.
He reached out to touch Mo Ran's head. Bewildered, Mo Ran squinted, allowing this stranger to muss his hair. "Hm?"
Nangong Yan recalled then how Duan Yihan had come to his door with a sickly babe in her arms, begging for help, telling him the child was not yet named.
"What's your name?" Nangong Yan asked.
"Ran-er."
"What's your surname?"
"I don't have one."
Nangong Yan turned a heartsick gaze upon Duan Yihan. Something compelled him to say: "Why don't you both—"
Before he could finish, he caught sight of a group of Rufeng Sect cultivators. He flinched as if woken from a trance. Nangong Yan met Duan Yihan's gaze once more. Those eyes that had once curved in sweet smiles for him were now hard, with no hint of girlish fantasy. Her gaze was cold and clear, even in the moment he'd nearly acknowledged them. She'd taken the measure of this man a long time ago.
In this light, Nangong Yan seemed pathetic, even disgraceful. He cleared his throat and magnanimously reached for his wallet, stuffing the bag full of gold and silver and precious baubles into Mo Ran's hands in an attempt to hide his own churning emotions. He patted the boy's head once more. "Your mom sings beautifully. These jewels should be hers."
A slender hand took the pouch from Mo Ran. Duan Yihan removed one copper coin and placed it in the bowl Mo Ran held, then gave the hefty pouch full of treasures back to Nangong Yan. She said nothing else. All she offered was a gentle bow, the same she'd make to any passerby who gave her coin. "Thank you for the kindness," she said in tones of perfect cordiality. "Good sir." With that, she turned to leave.
She'd been the music goddess of Xiangtan; her admirers had been as numerous as stars to her luminous moon when she danced. She had not been haughty when the masses gathered for a glimpse of her, and now that her shine had faded and she was reduced to singing by the street, she did not feel shame.
But her behavior that day made Mo Ran suspicious, and after all sorts of questioning and his own small investigations, he discovered the truth of his birth.
"I'm telling you this because I don't want to lie to you," Duan Yihan had said when she finally explained. "But—little Ran-er, you must remember not to hate, yet nor should you beg before him." She poked his little head. "Once the crisis in the lower cultivation realm passes and Linyi lets commoners through the walls, we'll go back to Xiangtan."
Mo Ran was silent for a very long time. "I won't beg him for anything," he said with a nod. "I'll go to Xiangtan with Mom."
Duan Yihan smiled. "I don't know if Xun-meimei will even recognize me. I'm not pretty anymore."
This comment deeply upset Mo Ran. "Mom is pretty."
"Hm?"
"Mom is the prettiest."
A smile bloomed over Duan Yihan's face, and that faded beauty did indeed reappear once more. "What a charmer," she teased. "You'll make your future wife happy for sure."
Embarrassed, Mo Ran pouted and fell silent. Yet those sharp little canines reappeared in his grin as he said, "When I grow up, I'll marry a wife as beautiful as a goddess, and then we'll stay with Mom forever."
"Aiya, keep dreaming. What kind of goddess would marry you?"
Twin chimes of laughter spilled into the shed as the firewood crackled beside mother and son. Wrapped in such perfect warmth, it was easy to imagine that every day that followed would be just as peaceful. The fire in the night conjured a beautiful illusion for the penniless pair; neither could have imagined that Duan Yihan was already running out of time.
"It was in the autumn of the year I turned five," Mo Ran continued. "The Mid-Autumn Festival had just passed. Rufeng Sect had closed itself off for so long there wasn't enough food for everyone in Linyi, so they put out an order to raise the prices. In truth, they meant to have the poorest among them fasting instead of fighting the rich for food."
The tale thus far had already wreaked havoc on Xue Zhengyong's heart, but at these words, he sunk into thought. He nodded. "Yes, I remember. Rufeng Sect only lowered the prices after the starving citizens rose in revolt. It lasted…maybe a year?"
"Six months or so," said Jiang Xi.
Mo Ran closed his eyes. "It wasn't that long. Just over a month—it was only thirty-five days."