Chapter 7: A Midnight Encounter with the Banished Immortal Amidst the Melancholy Strings

Han Chu could not understand why she fled in such panic. Even if she had stumbled upon Shen Yu and Cha Cha’s intimacy, at most she ought to feel embarrassed. Yet she ran all the way back to her room without stopping.

Her feet throbbed with pain—she must have twisted her ankle in her fall—but her right hand hurt even more. The silk handkerchief she clutched seemed like a ball of fire, scorching her palm. Wrapped within was Cha Cha’s earring. Yet Han Chu knew that this earring could now be discarded.

But what needed to be thrown away was not only an earring. Han Chu gazed at the ancient zither atop the table. Suddenly, with a rush of heat to her head, she gathered it into her arms and slipped out of the courtyard once more.

She wandered aimlessly, not knowing how many twists and turns she had taken, until her feet ached unbearably. Only then did she faintly hear the sound of water. Lost and disoriented, clutching the zither, she looked upon a shimmering pool and, unexpectedly, laughed in silence.

She should have understood long ago: women of the pleasure house were never worthy of genuine affection from men.

As Shen Yu had once said, it was nothing more than consorting with courtesans! How absurd that he merely gifted her a zither, and she foolishly thought it reflected respect and sincere feeling.

In the end, he valued only her beauty.

From dusk to dawn, from beginning to end—it was true. She had never placed herself in her proper station, always chasing after illusory fidelity and love. In the end, it was nothing but flowers in a mirror, moonlight in water.

Shen Yu’s words from the bed still echoed in her ears, slicing away at her innocence and vain hopes, one wound after another.

Consorting with courtesans, no more...

A sudden splash broke the silence—her arms were abruptly empty. She had flung the ancient zither into the water, as if discarding a blood-stained blade, fleeing as the culprit of a crime.

The surface rippled and shimmered, seductive under the moonlight, but the strange beauty was soon interrupted by a beam of light.

“Who’s there?” a sharp voice called. The tone was wary and harsh, chilling to the bone.

Han Chu turned towards the source. Not far away, a man was holding up a lantern. He looked young, with a long sword at his waist—he seemed to be a... guard?

Then Han Chu saw another man in front of the guard.

Dressed in white, the man’s robe glowed softly beneath the lantern, creating a stark contrast against the darkness. Clear yet hazy, like a star in the night sky, he seemed distant and celestial.

Han Chu could not discern his features, only that he was likely a young gentleman. His aura was serene yet imposing, contradictory and impossible to ignore.

Moreover, he sat in a wheelchair.

Han Chu was momentarily dazed. These two, master and servant, had appeared so silently—it was uncanny and mysterious. This was Shen Yu’s private residence, home to several beauties; how could such strangers appear out of nowhere?

If not for the wheelchair suggesting his legs were impaired, Han Chu might have believed the pair to be immortals passing through.

After all, such a night, such scenery, brimmed with endless, bewildering beauty—easy to spark endless illusions.

Perhaps Han Chu was lost in thought for too long. The guard raised the lantern higher, as if to see her face more clearly: “Who are you? Why are you here?”

Startled by the cold interrogation, Han Chu returned to herself, only then realizing she had been staring at the two strangers for an extended time. To ordinary eyes, a woman gazing at men was shameless; in the deep of night, it was not only shameless but also improper.

With this realization, Han Chu felt shy and abashed. She wished to explain, but could not utter a word. She could only bow respectfully, indicating her throat and waving her hand gently.

“You cannot speak?” the young guard asked again.

Han Chu nodded in affirmation.

The guard was surprised; evidently, he did not expect Han Chu to be mute. He glanced awkwardly at the gentleman in the wheelchair, seemingly awaiting his master’s instruction.

“Drowning a zither at midnight, how refined your taste must be,” said the gentleman in white, his voice calm and magnetic, soothing Han Chu’s chaotic emotions.

He brought her peace and comfort.

Yet she could not answer his question. She had no midnight refinement; it was merely self-pity and self-harm.

Though she knew the darkness and dim lanterns would obscure her features and expression, Han Chu still restrained her emotions, unwilling to let the gentleman see her turmoil.

“Are you from the Western Courtyard?” he asked again, no longer praising but inquiring. Unable to speak, Han Chu could only nod.

“So it is you,” the gentleman said with a faint smile, as if in sudden realization.

Who was she, exactly? Han Chu was puzzled. From his tone, did he recognize her?

But Han Chu was certain she had never met him. As the famed courtesan thought to be nothing but ashes, how could she know him? None of her past patrons matched his ethereal presence.

If there had been, she would surely remember, given her remarkable memory.

Han Chu wished to ask his identity, but her voice was lost, and he showed no intention of introducing himself, so she let it be.

“Return to the Western Courtyard, miss, lest Zi Feng become anxious,” he added.

Zi Feng? Who was Zi Feng? The conversation grew ever more bizarre. Were she not clear-headed, Han Chu might think herself in a dream, mistaken by the gentleman for someone else.

Strangely, though separated by distance and dim light, he seemed able to discern her expression, addressing her doubts directly: “You do not know who Zi Feng is?”

Regardless, Han Chu nodded.

It was odd. She stood by the spring, exchanging silent gestures with two strangers, yet felt no fear or anxiety, only calm acceptance.

Han Chu sensed she was being scrutinized. Though she knew it was her own imagination—nothing could be seen clearly in such darkness—she still felt a pair of cool eyes quietly observing her, devoid of emotion.

She forced herself not to dwell on it, remembering their conversation about Zi Feng’s identity. She waited for the gentleman’s reply, but he remained silent.

At last, when she was about to give up, he spoke again, gently but distantly: “Shen Yu, courtesy name Zi Feng.”

So ‘Zi Feng’ was Shen Yu’s courtesy name—Han Chu understood instantly. Recalling the earlier question about being from the Western Courtyard, she finally realized—

These two, master and servant, were the ‘distinguished guests from the Eastern Courtyard’ Shen Yu had mentioned.

No wonder the gentleman said, “So it is you.” He must have mistaken her for one of Shen Yu’s favored concubines. Though Han Chu wished to deny it, in time she would likely succumb to such a fate.

With this thought, she made no effort to explain, especially since she could not speak.

Being Shen Yu’s honored guest was not a status she could aspire to. It was a chance encounter, and there was no need for further conversation.

Han Chu glanced about and realized they were not in the Eastern Courtyard, but behind the rockery near the main gate. She breathed a sigh of relief; she had not trespassed, and even if Shen Yu brought it up later, he could not blame her.

As she pondered her escape route, the gentleman asked, “You did not know your lord’s courtesy name?”

Embarrassed, she gestured randomly to show her ignorance.

The gentleman’s eyes were indeed sharp; he seemed to understand her meaning despite the darkness. He paused in thought, then spoke slowly: “Tonight’s drowning of the zither—I will pretend I never saw. Farewell.”

With that, he raised his hand, and the young guard pushed the wheelchair away.

Han Chu watched him go, feeling a sudden kinship.

She and he—one mute, one crippled—she wondered if the gentleman, like herself, harbored hidden pride and insecurity.

She had only lost her voice for two days and already found it unbearable. Yet the gentleman sat in his wheelchair with calm composure, hinting at remarkable strength and resolve.

Such a man was worthy of her respect. Not only for his poise and dignity, but for his noble conduct and penetrating insight.

But it was merely a fleeting encounter; she would never cross paths with him again. Respect and awe were useless.

Han Chu smiled wryly, then turned back toward the Western Courtyard.

Tonight’s drowning of the zither, and her chance meeting with the celestial gentleman, she would treat as nothing more than a dream.