Do not lament the rarity of kindred spirits; it is merely that you have yet to discover them.

Afternoon at Listening Rain Pavilion, Prince Jun's Residence

In the rear gardens of Prince Jun’s residence, all manner of flowers bloomed, contending for beauty even in autumn. That afternoon, a gentle autumn rain had fallen, and Zhao Chengxian invited his mother and his three secondary consorts to the Listening Rain Pavilion to admire the unique autumn scenery. He was truly a man who knew how to enjoy life; for the sake of appreciating the changing seasons, he had especially built this pavilion in the garden. On a sudden whim, Zhao Chengxian remarked to the gathering, “If we could listen to music as we watch the rain and admire the view, it would be the height of pleasure!”

Consort Yu immediately called for a servant to bring the guzheng and placed it across from them. She herself played “Autumn Moon Over the Han Palace.” Her skill was evident, yet she failed to convey the sorrow and melancholy that defined the piece—her performance lacked true emotion.

If Consort Yu could humble herself as the pitiable Yue’er did, quietly serving tea and water at the side, perhaps she might then evoke the real mood of “Autumn Moon Over the Han Palace.” Hui Yue’er truly felt miserable; not only did she have to wait on others, she also had to endure their scornful glances. Each time she passed before Consort Yu and Consort Qin, she was met with their glares, and the old Princess Dowager kept a constant eye on her. Such days were truly unbearable. She wished she could become invisible. Yet that wretched Zhao Chengxian simply would not leave her be; now he wanted water, now tea. Whenever someone glared at her, Hui Yue’er would glare back at Zhao Chengxian tenfold in retaliation.

Consort Qin, with the intent to make things difficult for Yue’er, thought to herself that, as a mere maid, Yue’er could hardly have read more than a handful of books, much less know how to play an instrument. Looking at Hui Yue’er, who stood beside Zhao Chengxian, Consort Qin raised her chin and ordered, “Yueya, you’re supposed to be skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, aren’t you? Play something for your masters!” Her tone brooked no refusal.

Not in the mood, Yue’er smiled and declined, “My humble skills are not worthy of comparison with the esteemed ladies here. I wouldn’t dare offend your noble ears.” Her refusal was artful—clear enough to express her reluctance, yet leaving no one embarrassed.

Consort Qin said nothing, but Consort Yu, who had just risen, feigned graciousness. “Miss Yueya, why not try? It’s just a friendly exchange of skills, and you’ll improve faster by playing for others than practicing alone.” The Princess Dowager nodded her approval. They all wanted Zhao Chengxian to see for himself that Hui Yue’er was nothing more than an ignorant little maid, wholly unfit to be a prince’s woman. They were overthinking things.

Zhao Chengxian joined in with a laugh, “Little Yueya, just try. If it’s not good, we’ll pretend we didn’t hear it!” To Hui Yue’er, his words were patronizing, but to the others, they seemed protective. In truth, he was using reverse psychology; from their first meeting, he knew Hui Yue’er couldn’t bear being looked down upon.

Yue’er looked at those waiting to see her make a fool of herself, and her fighting spirit was roused. Still, she did not rush to perform. Instead, she said slowly, “How about this, Consort Qin? Why don’t you play first, so I may learn from you, and then I will try to follow your example. Would that be alright?” Yue’er was quite confident in her own skills. She wanted Consort Qin to set the tone so that their performances could be compared—with comparison, her own would shine brighter.

Consort Qin readily agreed, “Very well, learn carefully!” She sat before the guzheng and played “High Mountains and Flowing Water.” Her performance was smooth and skillful, yet lacked the sense of immersion, perhaps because she had never truly experienced such grand landscapes or the joy of meeting a kindred spirit. It was pleasant enough, but failed to evoke a deeper resonance. After all, young women in ancient times seldom left their homes, and within the deep courtyards, it was hard to feel the spirit of “High Mountains and Flowing Water.” So, although Consort Qin’s technique was impressive, her playing was devoid of emotion.

Still, to those who had never experienced such scenery themselves, it seemed flawless. Consort Qin, proud and competitive, glanced at Yue’er. Yue’er merely smiled serenely, walked to the guzheng, and sat down. Her fingers danced lightly across the strings, and a lively melody began to flow. She did not play “High Mountains and Flowing Water,” but instead chose another famous piece, “Moon Over the Spring River.” Accompanying the melody, she sang Zhang Ruoxu’s poem of the same name with the gentlest voice:

“The spring river flows level with the sea,
The bright moon rises with the tide.
Shimmering waves roll for miles and miles,
Where on the spring river is the moon not found?
The river winds through fragrant meadows,
Moonlight shines on the blossom-filled woods like frost.
In the empty sky, drifting frost seems to fly,
On the sandbanks, white sands are invisible.
The river and sky blend—no speck of dust,
Alone in the sky, the bright moon wheel.
Who first saw the moon on the riverbank?
In what year did the moon first shine on man?
Generation after generation, life passes unendingly,
Year after year, the river moon is much the same.
Who knows for whom the river moon waits?
Only watching the endless river carry the flowing water away.
A patch of white cloud drifts leisurely,
On the maple bank, sorrow is unending.
Whose lone boat tonight floats on the river?
Where, in a moonlit tower, does longing dwell?
Pitiful that above the tower, the moon tarries,
Shining on the mirror table of one separated.
Behind the jade screen, it cannot be rolled away,
On the stone block where clothes are beaten, it returns again.
At this moment, though we gaze, we cannot hear each other,
I wish to follow the moonlight to shine upon you.
Wild geese fly long, but the light does not reach,
Fish and dragons dive, the water forms patterns.
Last night, on the pool, I dreamed of falling flowers,
Pity that mid-spring finds me far from home.
The river flows, taking spring with it—almost gone,
The moon over the river pool slants westward.
The slanting moon sinks into the sea mist,
From Mount Jieshi to the Xiao and Xiang rivers, the road is endless.
Who knows how many return by moonlight,
As the setting moon stirs feelings among the river trees.”

Her singing and playing mesmerized all present. Then Zhao Chengxian joined in on the flute, their perfect harmony elevating “Moon Over the Spring River” to sublime heights, allowing the audience to savor the beauty within. As they performed, they forgot everyone else; only the two of them existed in that moment, seeing only each other, lost in the music.

Ladies and gentlemen, old and young, not too old and not too young, shower me with gold medals, red envelopes, and gifts! Hold nothing back—let the storm grow even wilder!