Nan Yan waited patiently outside the meditation hall, thinking the prince was being too pompous. She was about to leave when she heard the prince speak from inside.
“Since you’re a master of the ‘True’ generation, I’ll allow three-quarters of an hour.”
“Thank you,” Nan Yan sighed in relief. Fortunately, Master Chiku’s seniority was high. The ‘True’ generation belonged to the third generation of direct disciples from Chou Mountain and Brahma Sea, giving her request some weight.
As she entered the hall, she didn’t notice Song Zhu’s face contorting.
“What am I saying? Three-quarters of an hour? Why didn’t I say three days and nights?” he thought to himself.
Nan Yan felt the prince’s overwhelming presence, causing her to tread carefully. Passing by him, she noticed his unwavering gaze. She bowed slightly, lifted her robes, and knelt beside the wooden fish near the incense altar. As she grasped the mallet, the prince suddenly raised his sword, startling her.
Nan Yan thought her second brother was right about Weizhou’s famed sword cultivators. The prince’s eyes never left his sword, and his aloof expression suggested he was wholly devoted to the Dao and unlikely to pay her any attention.
She began reciting the Heart Sutra in a low voice.
Seven steps away, Song Zhu was rigid with tension. Despite having formed his core years ago, cold sweat ran down his back. He appeared to be staring at his beloved sword but was watching the Buddhist nun through its reflection.
“She’s so beautiful,” he thought.
Two-quarters of an hour passed quickly. Seeing the incense nearly burnt out, Song Zhu felt anxious and flustered. After adjusting his internal energy, he spoke stiffly.
“When are you leaving?”
Song Zhu froze after speaking.
“Didn’t I want to ask if she’d like to stay longer? What am I saying?!”
Nan Yan stopped striking the wooden fish, thinking the prince was difficult to converse with. But she wasn’t one to give up easily. After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “I’ve overstayed my welcome and should leave. However, this humble nun is here on my master’s request to understand the qin’s past. Despite listening for so long, I still don’t grasp its meaning. Since the prince has been meditating here for a while, may I boldly ask if you could explain the qin’s meaning that puzzles me?”
Since becoming a Buddhist cultivator, Nan Yan’s cultivation path didn’t seek to break through the void and ascend to immortality. Instead, she aimed to cut through worldly obstacles. Thus, Buddhist precepts didn’t greatly restrict her. As the Blood-Handed Guanyin, she wasn’t above using deception when necessary, and her words were a fabrication.
The qin conveys emotions, but Song Zhu misheard her words.
“Your feelings?” he thought.
Song Zhu’s face turned red. He closed his eyes and said, “Say that again.”
“…”
From Nan Yan’s perspective, Song Zhu started frowning when she asked her question. His expression even became somewhat fierce, and his face reddened with anger. His request to repeat herself seemed to be said through gritted teeth.
“Did I say something wrong? Is this prince’s temper so volatile?” she wondered.
Nan Yan was undefeated against demon cultivators of her level or slightly above, but she wasn’t without self-awareness. The princes of various realms were the cream of the crop, nurtured by the upper realms. She dared not provoke him too much.
Left with no choice, she stood to leave. “This humble nun has offended you. I’ll take my leave now.”
Perhaps it was her imagination, but Song Zhu’s face seemed to pale after she spoke.
Nan Yan quickly stepped out of the hall. Remembering that Qi Yang had wanted to see the qin, she added, “This humble nun is staying at Panyin Temple. If the prince wishes to meet, I’ll be waiting with tea on the back mountain.”
Fearing his angry expression, she hurried away.
As the last incense stick burned out, Song Zhu put down his sword and placed both hands on the ground. His mood was… quite elated.
“I managed to get a date with such a beautiful female cultivator. Master, it seems I performed well.”
…
Most of the meditation rooms on Panyin Temple’s back mountain were empty, as many monks were on pilgrimages.
Nan Yan encountered a few monks on her way. Opening the door to a meditation room, she found Qi Yang waiting. He put down the Buddhist scripture he had been casually reading and looked her up and down. “Were you rejected?” he asked.
“That prince was terrifying,” Nan Yan sat down, still somewhat scared. “I should have listened to Second Brother. Just being near him for two-quarters of an hour, I felt like I was affecting his sword-drawing speed.”
“Oh? How did he react?”
Nan Yan replied shamefully, “I was afraid he might hit me if I stayed longer, so I excused myself… Shao Cang, there’s a barrier protecting Panyin Temple. I didn’t see you enter through the main gate. How did you get in?”
Qi Yang explained, “I claimed to be a disciple of Daosheng Heaven and acquainted with you. They let me in.”
Nan Yan often suspected he hadn’t lost his memory, but whenever she asked, he revealed nothing. She wanted to question him further but remembered that she had insisted he join them on this journey. She decided to wait until they parted ways to resolve her doubts.
“Anyway,” Nan Yan continued, “the abbot knows my Master Chiku and was quite accommodating. He said the sacred qin was a gift from Zizhou and didn’t belong to the temple. In the past, people have come asking for it, and the temple doesn’t necessarily forbid it. However, the sacred qin has a spirit, and those who move it carelessly will suffer a backlash.”
Qi Yang nodded, picking up the Buddhist scripture again. “Both ‘Listening to Madness’ and ‘Drunken Illness’ belonged to qin masters. Even without an owner, ‘Drunken Illness’ won’t submit to mediocre hands. To claim it, one would likely need to pass some tests.”
Nan Yan suggested, “Since you say that, why not give it a try? I can accompany you on the wooden fish.”
“…”
The Dao of the qin wasn’t Qi Yang’s forte, but his former status had required him to master all six arts of a gentleman. He wasn’t afraid of the ‘Drunken Illness’ test because he had played this qin before when someone taught him.
Back then, his teacher had not yet lost their heart.
“Shao Cang?”
Qi Yang pulled back his wandering thoughts and said, “The temple has an agreement with the Weizhou prince, allowing him to monopolize the sacred qin for three months of meditation. While the monks are accommodating, persuading the prince won’t be easy.”
Nan Yan, upon hearing this, said, “We can’t wait three months. I’ll invite the prince for tea to discuss the Way and build a friendship. If he doesn’t come tonight, I’ll persuade him again tomorrow. If that fails, I’ll try once more the day after.”
Qi Yang listened intently to her chatter, then suddenly reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Ah Yan,” he said softly.
“Yes?” Nan Yan looked up.
“You’re no longer a child. You’ve disciplined yourself through Buddhist practices, but how many worldly men could withstand such persistent persuasion?”
Nan Yan fell silent, suddenly aware of Qi Yang leaning in closer, his voice low near her ear.