Chapter 89: Watching the Show

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“Golden Hall” is a theatrical troupe that recently took over from the Xiangsi Troupe and has been quite popular in Yanjing City. The most successful troupes all seem eager to earn the approval of Duke Su; they always perform a special show for him first. If Ji Heng deems a performance good, then that troupe is undoubtedly excellent. Just like the Xiangsi Troupe before, Ji Heng appears to hold the power to make or break theatrical troupes in Yanjing City; he can elevate a troupe to fame or cause it to vanish swiftly.

To Jiang Li, this seemed somewhat unbelievable. Here was a Duke, descended from the Golden Guard General, yet he acted like a manager of theatre troupes. Yet sometimes, considering Ji Heng’s background, it made sense that he would have some connection to the stage. He was strikingly beautiful, even more radiant than the actors on stage, seemingly born to shine before the crowd. However, he was ill-suited to perform himself; he lived too clearly and coldly, unable to immerse himself in the earthly struggles portrayed on stage. Such a favored child of heaven was perhaps only fit to watch from the sidelines, observing others’ false joys and sorrows, refusing even to shed a tear.

He was merely a joke, as the mocking smile at his lips suggested.

The entire second floor was likely reserved by Ji Heng, with no one else present. Jiang Li stepped out from the tea room and reached the railing on the second floor, looking down upon the stage. From here, one could clearly see the actors, yet be a tier above the audience on the first floor. Jiang Li guessed this elevated perspective was Ji Heng’s preference. Undeniably, this way of watching a play created a certain detachment. Those too close to the actors might be absorbed into the drama, but those above, watching from a distance, could see clearly it was all just a play. No matter how brilliant the performance, one’s emotions would not be swept away.

The lead actress of Golden Hall was called Little Peach Red, a young woman whose face was heavily painted, obscuring her features. But from her graceful figure and soft singing, she was evidently a rare talent. No wonder the audience applauded and cheered so enthusiastically.

The play was titled “The Case of Jiu’er.”

“The Case of Jiu’er” was a well-known story from the previous dynasty about a young woman named Jiu’er. She married a scholar in her countryside village, and they lived in harmony, deeply in love. Later, the scholar went to the capital to take the imperial exam. He became the top scholar and a high-ranking official, catching the eye of a wealthy young lady. The wealthy lady’s father wanted the scholar as a son-in-law, so the scholar concealed his existing wife and child back home and married the wealthy lady.

Far away in her hometown, Jiu’er and her young son had no idea their husband had become another woman’s man; suddenly, the scholar stopped sending letters. Misfortune compounded when Jiu’er’s son became gravely ill. Poor and destitute, unable to afford treatment, Jiu’er took her child to the capital to find her husband, enduring countless hardships and cold stares from strangers. Eventually, she arrived in the city, only to see her husband behaving intimately with another woman on the street.

The scholar refused to acknowledge Jiu’er and even had her beaten and driven away. Only then did Jiu’er realize he had long abandoned his first family. Her son died soon after, unable to receive medical care in the capital. Grief-stricken, Jiu’er drowned herself in the river before the scholar’s residence. After her death, she transformed into a blue bird, crying mournfully at the scholar’s gate, drawing crowds.

The emperor was disturbed by the event and ordered an investigation, which revealed the scholar’s heartlessness. He was stripped of rank and responsibility, and the wealthy lady divorced him. The scholar ultimately died destitute during a harsh winter.

This story was fabricated by a storyteller of the former dynasty but was so poignant that audiences deeply sympathized with Jiu’er. It became a famous play, beloved by women who cried over Jiu’er’s tragic fate, and by men who lamented the scholar’s betrayal. Although polygamy was common, there was a saying that “a wife of humble origins should not be cast aside,” making the scholar’s betrayal all the more reprehensible.

Jiang Li first heard this story as a young girl in Tongxiang. Back then, she did not weep but was filled with outrage over Jiu’er’s injustice. She told Xue Zhao that if she knew her husband was such a heartless scoundrel, she would never have taken her own life before his door, but rather would have taken a knife and died with him. Xue Zhao said, “You will surely hesitate then.”

Jiang Li scoffed; what was there to hesitate over? He was worse than a beast, an ungrateful wretch. The story’s Jiu’er even reminisced about past kindness, which she thought was a flaw in the storyteller’s craft.

Back then, she did not understand. She never imagined that years later, this story would replay like a mirror in her own life. She became another Jiu’er. Her life turned upside down with lies, betrayal, rumors, and pain filling her final days.

Yet one thing never changed: even now, if asked again, she could say she had nothing to cling to.

When someone chooses betrayal, they sever all past ties cleanly. What others may not care to preserve, she guarded cautiously. That was not kindness; it was self-deprecation.

She would never allow anyone to look down on her.

On stage, Little Peach Red, playing Jiu’er, finally found her husband, who avoided recognizing her. The male role sang: “It’s not that I refuse to acknowledge you, but I fear one wrong step will bring disaster.”

Little Jiu’er replied: “What disaster? You have taken a new bride and forgotten old favors.

When you studied in Junzhou, your wife honored your parents at your side.

When you left for the exams in the capital, your wife wished you well a thousand times.

She told you to return early, no matter success or failure, since your parents were old and the children close.

But you disappeared for three years, no news, while drought struck Huguang, starving your parents.

Your parents died unburied; I carried our child to seek you.

You forgot all marital affection, ignored your own child.

Put your hand on your chest and think — are you truly heartless as iron?”

The sorrowful singing pierced Jiang Li’s heart like a knife. The lyrics evoked her own pain—how Jiu’er, like herself, could not fathom why her husband hid the truth and treated her coldly. Jiang Li longed to ask Shen Yurong if wealth and glory were truly worth forsaking humanity and everything else.

Especially her child.

Her child never had a chance to be born into this world, buried in this dirty conspiracy. Did Shen Yurong hesitate at all when sacrificing him, knowing the child bore his blood?

Jiang Li dared not think further.

Nearby, Lu Ji suddenly spoke: “Look, Miss Jiang is watching intently.”

The three others looked at Jiang Li.

She turned slightly, eyes lowered, but clearly watching closely. She gripped the carved railing tightly, knuckles whitening from the force.

She was completely absorbed in the play.

“That’s nothing,” Kong Liu said dismissively. “Miss Jiang hates injustice and sees good and evil clearly. This play is suffocatingly tragic; it makes people angry. It’s only natural that Miss Jiang be moved.”

“Being moved by this play is normal,” Lu Ji smiled softly, “but this is Miss Jiang.”

Miss Jiang was usually smiling, even when not smiling she was gentle and calm as a stream, rarely showing anger or anxiety. Some might see such a temperament as lukewarm, but those with insight could tell she did not fuss over trifles.

Or rather, most things were unimportant to her. Unimportant things need not be held to heart. Such a mindset arises only after great upheavals in life, usually in those who have weathered many storms.

Even though Miss Jiang once “killed her mother and brother” and was confined alone in a nunnery for eight years, she had now matured into a gentle tranquility born of hardship.

In short, Jiang Li did not dwell on small matters. Someone who did not care about things that could ruin her reputation would hardly be moved so deeply by a mere play.

Others might be, but not Miss Jiang. If she acted differently after this play, it meant it touched her; somewhere in her life, something overlapped with the story.

This was empathy.

Ji Heng’s fingers brushed the white fan handle. Suddenly, he stood and looked at Jiang Li with amusement, slowly approaching her side.

“He—” Kong Liu tried to speak, but Lu Ji pulled him down, shushing him: “Enjoy the play.”

Little Jiu’er continued singing:

“My husband was summoned to the capital to marry a noble’s daughter,

While I wandered the palace with my lute.

How hateful that once he gained wealth and honor,

He forgot his vows and abandoned me.

I was his lawful wife,

Remembering the day we parted at the exam hall,

He told me to return early or late,

But drought struck Huguang,

Poor families starved,

My parents died in the thatched cottage, no money for burial,

I cut strands of my hair to exchange for mats on the street,

Neighbors all said my husband was now a top scholar,

I carried my children to seek him,

But he kicked me at the palace gate,

I fell beside the gate…”

The term “lawful wife” struck Jiang Li with a strange poignancy, like Shen Yurong’s gentle touch long ago. She had endured many Mid-Autumn Nights filled with joy and satisfaction. Who would have thought that one day, recalling the past would feel like a blade stabbing through flesh and bone, driving one to unbearable pain?

She could hardly distinguish whether this was merely the play “The Case of Jiu’er” or her own reality. She seemed to become Jiu’er, only more tragic.

At that moment, a white silk handkerchief was passed to her—plain, smooth, softly glowing under the lantern light, clearly delicate and fine.

“Wipe your tears,” Ji Heng said calmly. “Miss Jiang’s teary eyes don’t suit her.”

Jiang Li ignored his less-than-kind words and hastily reached to touch her cheek, feeling it wet. She hadn’t noticed she was crying.

She actually cried.

Instinctively reaching for Ji Heng’s handkerchief, she stopped herself, smiled, and said, “Thank you, Duke, but I have my own.” She pulled out a pale green handkerchief from her bosom—less luxurious but elegant—and wiped away her tears as if brushing off dust.

Her smile, tinted with tears at the corner of her eyes, was strangely beautiful. Ji Heng paused, saying nothing, took back his handkerchief and said, “I did not expect Miss Jiang, so cold-hearted, would cry. I begin to think you’re a drama addict.”

“I watch good plays; if they’re not good, I don’t watch,” Jiang Li smiled. “Golden Hall is known as the top troupe in Yanjing. Today I’ve seen it for myself. That Little Peach Red’s singing is truly moving.”

“It’s not the singing that moves people, but the play itself,” Ji Heng said. “Miss Jiang has just immersed herself in the drama.”

“Me?” Jiang Li looked at him in surprise and smiled. “I’m not part of the play, how could I be immersed? You jest, Duke.”

“Miss Jiang is skilled at acting, but poor at lying,” Ji Heng said with a smile. “Your lies are clumsy.”

Jiang Li frowned, about to retort when Ji Heng suddenly lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

The gesture was brazen. Kong Liu almost shouted but was silenced by Lu Ji covering his mouth.

Jiang Li was caught off guard, unsure whether to feel embarrassed or shocked, and stared straight at Ji Heng.

Though she had seen him up close many times, each time he still amazed her. His faded red robe hung loosely, the peony embroidery at his collar exquisite and neat. Amid the mournful singing, he appeared even more striking—like a red lotus blooming in bleak winter, painfully bright; like a moon reflected in a deep abyss, beautiful enough to chill the soul.

His eyes were a translucent amber, their natural contours deep, like delicate brushstrokes, mesmerizing. His nose was perfectly shaped, and his thin red lips, even when smiling coldly, made one yearn to throw caution to the wind and steal a kiss.

His lips curled into a small smile as he leaned closer, the intimacy chilling. His eyes shimmered, making it hard to breathe. His voice was low and husky as he said, “The eyes are the seeds of feeling. Your eyes betray your heart.”

“I do not,” Jiang Li replied.

“You have someone in your heart,” he said.

“I do not,” she denied.

“That person is not loved, but deeply hated,” he smiled.

Jiang Li was stunned; she could no longer utter “I do not.”

This young man was like a demon who understood all hearts; nothing in the world could escape his gaze. She wondered if he could see through all lies and betrayals, for his enchanting eyes could captivate everyone but never himself.

He lived too clearly and was destined to be unhappy.

In that instant, Jiang Li strangely felt relieved. In all her encounters with Duke Su Ji Heng, she had never come out on top—though not beaten, the pressure was uncomfortable. But now she understood that people like Ji Heng could see everything clearly. Yet those who lived too clearly mostly suffered.

Sometimes, it was better to be blissfully ignorant.

It seemed that in at least one thing, Ji Heng could not surpass her. Jiang Li’s brows curved slightly, her tense body relaxed as she looked at Ji Heng and smiled, “Whatever the Duke says, so be it.”

Ji Heng showed a flicker of surprise at her sudden concession.

Jiang Li gently freed herself from his grasp; Ji Heng released his hold on her chin and returned to his polite demeanor, folding his fan and donning his mask.

“Duke, you love plays so much, aren’t you afraid that one day you’ll be so immersed you become a joke yourself?”

Ji Heng’s eyes darkened slightly, as if surprised that Jiang Li not only refused to back down but spoke provocatively.

“Does Miss Jiang think I am the type to become immersed?” He leisurely waved his fan. “I am far less merciful than you.”

He meant he was less compassionate, not shedding tears over trivial people’s joys and sorrows.

“A play is just a play; it cannot be real.” He spoke cruel words almost tenderly.

“Those in the play do not realize they are in it,” Jiang Li softly said. “Just as I was moved by this story here, perhaps one day you will be too.”

She spoke gently, but her eyes were stubborn. For once, she looked like a “young girl,” yet her words remained subtle and profound.

“Then ruin the play,” Ji Heng smiled kindly, “I will not be an actor.”

Such blunt words were typical of Ji Heng! Jiang Li felt a bit vexed. At his core, Ji Heng was a dictator, unconcerned with others’ opinions, weighing only his own balance.

No one could tip his scales, so he had no weaknesses and was feared by all.

Jiang Li said coldly, “Then I wish you always remain a mere spectator like today!”

She did not know why she was so stubbornly sparring with Ji Heng. People like him were best avoided.

Yet he somehow stirred her pride deep within, and she could not help but speak more. He was truly a master manipulator of hearts!

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Yet in this world, it was common for falconers to be pecked in the eye by their falcons.

Jiang Li said, “What fades must wither; what is subtle, often runs deep.” She hummed softly and turned toward Kong Liu.

Ji Heng stood stunned, then nearly laughed aloud after pondering.

Jiang Li was warning him that the faintest things might leave the deepest marks. The more he went too far, the more likely he would face retribution.

Kong Liu whispered to Lu Ji that it seemed Ji Heng and Jiang Li were about to argue, but then saw Jiang Li approaching. He forced a friendly smile and asked, “Miss Jiang, why come over? Not continuing to watch?”

“Nothing worth watching,” Jiang Li smiled gently, betraying none of her earlier tension. “I’ve seen this story many times, and it’s too sorrowful. It’s Mid-Autumn; I don’t want to be sad.”

Kong Liu nodded knowingly, “Yes, yes.”

Ji Heng crossed his arms, watching Jiang Li skillfully handle Kong Liu’s small talk. She was a girl adept at changing expressions and quick to adapt.

He glanced again at Little Peach Red still singing on stage, pondering whom she loved or hated.

Certainly not Zhou Yanbang.

...

Dealing with someone straightforward like Kong Liu was far easier than with Ji Heng. Even Lu Ji, with his ever-smiling face and attempts to draw out secrets, was easier to handle.

Ji Heng always revealed a side so different from his charming appearance—cruel, cold.

Kong Liu even asked Jiang Li if she wanted to join his elite light cavalry as an archer or cavalrywoman. Her archery and riding were excellent, comparable to men. Though the cavalry had no women, she could be the first.

Jiang Li was troubled.

Kong Liu had a big heart but seemed to forget that Jiang Li was the daughter of Jiang Yuanbo, the current prime minister—how could a noble lady leave her station to become a cavalrywoman? Even if she wished, her father would never approve, likely sending an official report accusing Kong Liu of abducting the prime minister’s daughter.

She politely declined.

Kong Liu was disappointed.

Lu Ji continued chatting with Jiang Li, occasionally asking about the Jiang household. Though his questions were trivial, Jiang Li sensed he was probing for information. She did not know Lu Ji well or his intentions. Even if he was Ji Heng’s man, she would remain cautious. Ji Heng was no saint; what if he planned to harm the Jiang family? She relied on the Jiang clan’s protection, and if it fell, she would have few prospects.

Jiang Li smiled and answered Lu Ji’s questions evasively. After several attempts, Lu Ji realized she was wary and stopped questioning, instead joking with Kong Liu.

Ji Heng did nothing but lean against the carved railing, watching “The Case of Jiu’er” with apparent disinterest, making one wonder if the entire scene was another of his performances.

After an unknown length of time—Jiang Li guessed about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn—she stood, saying, “Gentlemen, I must leave. Uncle and the others will be worried if I am not found. It is getting late.”

“Then let me escort you!” Kong Liu waved his hand.

“Wait,” Lu Ji stopped him, “We are Duke Su’s men. Escorting Miss Jiang like this might cause misunderstanding. Though we don’t mind, as a lady, to avoid trouble, we should escort her to her brother’s side. It’s easier to explain to him.”

Jiang Li understood: it was easier to placate Jiang Jingrui than the entire Lu family.

Ji Heng said, “Wen Ji.”

Wen Ji had been surrounded by Bai Xue and Tong’er like a curiosity. Since none of the Jiang household guards were so distinctive, Tong’er compared Wen Ji to Jiang Jingrui from eyebrows to eyes to nose and mouth, but with no clear verdict. Wen Ji blushed deeply, embarrassed.

Hearing Ji Heng’s order, Wen Ji finally escaped the two girls and promptly responded, “Yes.”

“Escort Miss Jiang back,” Ji Heng said.

Wen Ji nodded. Jiang Li bowed to Ji Heng: “Thank you for your hospitality, Duke.”

“You’re welcome,” Ji Heng smiled lightly. “Until we meet again.”

Jiang Li: “...”

She sincerely hoped that “again” would be a hundred years later—no, a thousand years later.

Finally stepping out of Wangxian Tower, Jiang Li exhaled lightly and glanced back. The tower stood in the bustling heart of Yanjing, its lights dazzling like an unreal dream.

She realized that what had begun as a Mid-Autumn night of nostalgia had been stirred and complicated by Ji Heng.

Though she had felt longing at first, their confrontation had left no room for pain or resentment to creep in, and now she felt relaxed.

A fortunate accident, one might say.

“Let’s go.”

Finding Jiang Jingrui, Wen Ji disappeared into the crowd. Jiang Jingrui immediately said, “Where did you go? I looked for you everywhere and almost told mother to find you!”

“I got pushed to a quiet spot by the crowd. It took effort to get back,” Jiang Li lied calmly. “It’s fine now.”

“Really?” Jiang Jingrui looked suspicious. “Why were you gone so long? Your makeup’s a bit messy...”

“It was hot; sweat messed it up,” Jiang Li said. “Let’s find Second Aunt now; it’s time to go back.”

Jiang Jingrui looked disappointed; he hadn’t gotten the white rabbit lantern after all.

Jiang Li sighed inwardly, now understanding why Lu Ji said that Jiang Jingrui was easily fooled.

——— Aside ———

Well, the chin’s lifted, so it’s practically a consummation, isn’t it? (* /ω *)