The chapter will be presented in an outline format due to review issues.
After finishing matters with Aunt Xue and Chen Feng, Aunt Xue mentioned a person, Hong Tianchao.
Hong Tianchao is the mayor of another directly administered municipality in China. He wants to compete with Chen Feng for the position of the highest leader in China, so he intends to strike at Chen Feng through Chen Feng's god-sister, Li Hongling.
There is a large conspiracy in this chapter. Due to review reasons, it will not be elaborated on, but will be gradually revealed in subsequent chapters…
Below is a poem copied to add to the word count and pass the review. You can skip it. It's a无奈之举, please forgive me.
At Xunyang River I bid farewell to a guest one night,
Maple leaves and reeds rustled in the autumn air.
The host dismounted, the guest was on the boat,
Raising wine, we wished to drink, but had no music.
Drunk, but not joyful, sadly we parted,
As we parted, the vast river mirrored the moon.
Suddenly, a pipa’s sound from the water,
The host forgot to return, the guest did not depart.
Seeking the sound, I quietly asked who played,
The pipa stopped, and she hesitated to speak.
We moved our boat closer, inviting her to meet,
Adding wine, relighting the lamp, we reopened the feast.
After countless calls, she finally emerged,
Still holding the pipa, half-veiling her face.
Turning the pegs, plucking the strings, a few notes,
Before the melody formed, there was emotion.
Each string suppressed, each sound a thought,
As if recounting a life of unfulfilled desires.
Lowering her brows, she played with nimble fingers,
Telling all the unspoken matters in her heart.
Lightly she strummed, slowly she twisted, then plucked,
First ‘Rainbow Skirt’, then ‘Six Tunes’.
The bass strings clamored like sudden rain,
The treble strings whispered like secret words.
The clamoring and whispering mingled in the playing,
Like large and small pearls falling on a jade plate.
Melodious warbling like orioles in flowers,
Then like a stream freezing, slow and difficult.
The frozen stream’s coldness made the strings still,
Stillness brought silence, momentarily pausing.
A different sorrow, a hidden resentment arose,
Silence at this moment was more profound than sound.
Suddenly, as if a silver vase burst, water gushed,
Or like iron cavalry charging, swords and spears clanged.
At the end of the song, she drew the pick across the strings,
The four strings sounded as if torn silk.
From the east and west boats, all was silent,
Only the white autumn moon on the river’s heart was seen.
She murmured, inserting the pick into the strings,
Adjusting her robes, her expression composed.
She said, “I was once a lady of the capital,
Living beneath the Toad Hill in the city.
At thirteen, I mastered the pipa,
My name was registered in the First Department of the Music Bureau.
After the performance, the skilled musicians were impressed,
After dressing up, I was envied by the other performers.
Young men from the Five Mausoleums vied to offer gifts,
A single song brought a hundred lengths of red silk.
The silver hairpin with inlaid jewels struck the beat, and broke,
The blood-red skirt was stained with wine.
This year we laughed, and next year too,
Autumn moon and spring breeze passed by idly.
My brother went to war, my aunt died,
With passing days and nights, my beauty faded.
The front of my house became desolate, with few horses,
Growing old, I married a merchant.
Merchants value profit, and lightly regard separation,
Last month he went to Fuliang to buy tea.
He came and went, leaving me to guard an empty boat by the river,
The moon shone brightly, the river water was cold around the boat.
Deep in the night, I often dreamt of youthful days,
Dreaming of tears, my makeup smudged by the crimson.
I heard the pipa’s lament and already sighed,
Hearing these words again, I felt even more sorrow.
We are both unfortunate souls on the ends of the earth,
Meeting now, why ask if we knew each other before!
Since last year I left the imperial capital,
Banished and ill, I lived in Xunyang city.
Xunyang is a remote place with no music,
For a whole year, I heard no string or wind instruments.
My dwelling is near the Pèn River, low and damp,
Yellow reeds and bitter bamboo grow around the house.
What can I hear from dawn till dusk?
The cries of cuckoos and mournful calls of apes.
On spring river mornings and autumn moon nights,
Often I take wine and drink alone.
Are there no mountain songs or village flutes?
Only harsh, grating sounds that are hard to listen to.
Tonight, hearing your pipa, my ears are momentarily brightened,
As if I heard celestial music.
Please do not refuse, sit and play another song,
For you, I will compose a new poem, ‘The Pipa’s Song’.
Touched by my words, she stood for a long time,
Then sat back, tightened the strings, and played faster.
The sound was mournful, unlike the previous one,
Everyone present wept, covering their faces.
Who in this audience cried the most?
The Sima of Jiangzhou, his blue robes wet with tears.
The Sima of Jiangzhou, his blue robes wet with tears.