Chapter 95: Sounds of Past Years

Zhao Chiyun made the call without avoiding it.

Like Li Shutang, she didn’t like phone cases. The white body of the phone accentuated the veins on the back of her bloodstained hand, lending a fragile beauty.

While waiting for someone to pick up, she tilted her head slightly toward the phone, her gaze sweeping downward as she waited quietly.

The guqin music was soothing and melodious, neither too close nor too far from the private room. It was pleasant in moments of quiet and wouldn’t disrupt their conversation.

By the time they finished one meal, Li Shutang’s heart had calmed.

It felt like they had returned to their days in the Mirror Country, when she and Chiyun often enjoyed music and drank together.

When Gan Xun received the question, she was somewhat surprised on the other end of the line. “You’re asking for my consent?”

“Naturally. Is that strange?”

“I’m flattered. I’m happy. But it’s a small matter. I’m not annoyed, so you can decide for yourself. This commoner wouldn’t dare restrict the County Princess’s freedom.”

Zhao Chiyun laughed, then noticed Li Shutang’s gaze fixed on her. She looked up and cooed into the phone, “Don’t fuss. I’m hanging up now.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked after putting down the phone.

Li Shutang said, “Chiyun, you’ve changed a lot these days.”

“Changed how?”

Li Shutang shook her head. “Hard to say.”

The phone screen lit up then. She tapped it, and Gan Xun had sent a message: [Will you meet the Crown Prince? See if the real deal is worthy of the Prime Minister’s Mansion’s daughter.]

Zhao Chiyun replied to the gossip without changing expression: [Unfortunately, it’s said we won’t meet.]

She looked up again and smiled. “And those things you can’t quite put into words.”

The restaurant staff respectfully escorted them to the car.

Zhao Chiyun recalled her arrival here, when Gan Xun had ignored her status as County Princess and explained the hierarchy of classes to her—”Perhaps money can buy it.”

Now, that was undoubtedly true.

She could see they were simply doing their jobs—respectful but unafraid. Modern people had their own backbone, free from kneeling rituals and soul-crushing submission.

After one meal and one cup of tea, Zhao Chiyun relaxed considerably and grew more talkative.

Zhao Chiyun hadn’t tied her hair up that day. When she leaned in close to speak, Li Shutang couldn’t resist lifting a hand to stroke a strand of highlighted hair.

“What made you think of going to the salon?”

Li Shutang’s own hair was merely trimmed short, without any embellishments. She wouldn’t have appreciated it on anyone else.

“It looks good.”

Zhao Chiyun turned her head toward her, and the soft strands slipped from her hand.

Smiling, she asked, “Doesn’t it look good?”

Li Shutang paused, then smiled unconsciously. “It does. You suit curls. The day I came looking for you, I spotted you from afar and was shocked at first. But after a few more glances, I realized the color matching was ingenious—like a landscape painting.”

“I thought you’d call me rebellious.”

“If it were in the past, maybe. But here, with just the two of us, I support all your choices and preferences.”

Zhao Chiyun gazed at her. After a few seconds of silence, she said lightly, “Thanks. I felt a bit wronged when I first cut it—nearly cried.”

Li Shutang murmured, “It’s my fault. I didn’t find you in time. You suffered so much.”

When the conversation turned to such topics, Zhao Chiyun instinctively glanced at the driver. From what she knew, drivers here had excellent hearing.

Li Shutang shook her head firmly. “Say whatever you like. No harm.”

“It’s not your fault. You had no idea I’d come.”

“I did think about it. But I preferred to pray you wouldn’t.”

No one wanted to leave home.

At those words, Li Shutang could no longer feign calm. She choked almost inaudibly, all the pent-up endurance of the past months spilling out in that single sound.

Those words stirred Zhao Chiyun’s compassion. She reached out but hesitated to place her hand carelessly. Instead, she lightly patted Li Shutang’s forearm, which rested on the table. In a voice only they could hear, she said, “Shutang, now that we’ve met safely, it’s heaven’s blessing.”

“I understand. I won’t disappoint.”

Zhao Chiyun nodded. “You shouldn’t disappoint. Since we’ve come, then we’ll settle.”

Li Shutang stared ahead as they drove into the garage and said no more.

Zhao Chiyun had expected Li Shutang wouldn’t mistreat herself here. Sure enough, the home was spacious, blending classical aesthetics into the decor. The moment they entered, an air of elegance greeted them.

The guqin sat in the room.

Paulownia wood face, zither body of catalpa, gold studs in lacquer.

Zhao Chiyun drew near and bent down to examine it. “This is a fine guqin.”

“Its form and craftsmanship are all top-notch. It’s called Sounds of Past Years. The first time I heard it, it brought back memories of the past—endless nostalgia. If I didn’t claim it for myself, I feared I’d lie awake at night.” Li Shutang didn’t look at the guqin.

Zhao Chiyun kept her head lowered, deeply agreeing. As she closely inspected the ancient, noble instrument and the woman before her, the remnants of past years seemed to flood the strings.

She forgot when she sat down or when she began to play.

After months apart from the strings, the music flowed fluently and evocatively. She played a piece for herself.

When she finally stopped, content, the aftertaste lingered. She heard muffled applause and realized Li Shutang was no longer in her line of sight.

She turned slightly toward the sound and saw Li Shutang standing nearby, backlit as she watched.

She held her phone. “It was like hearing immortal music. I loved it so much—I recorded a 20-second video. Do you mind?”

Zhao Chiyun was generous. “Send me a copy. I wasn’t sure if my skills had rusted after so long without playing.”

“Not at all. More moving than the sounds of past years.”

Zhao Chiyun smiled proudly, though her words were humble. “Overpraise, overpraise.”

“I’ll gift you this guqin. Would that be alright?” Li Shutang asked.

Zhao Chiyun refused without hesitation. “A gentleman does not seize what others love. Since it’s fated for you, it belongs here.”

“Very well. If you want to play it, come anytime.”

“Want to see my home?”

“Sure.” Zhao Chiyun followed her on a tour.

She had no idea how large it was—rooms everywhere, easy to get lost in. Every detail showed thought and artistic intent. Zhao Chiyun wasn’t surprised. Such a place suited Li Shutang perfectly.

Li Shutang opened a south-facing suite and extended her arm. “See if you like it. This is the best guest room, prepared for you. Chiyun, you can come stay anytime from now on.”

Zhao Chiyun stood in the doorway and peered inside.

Minimalist wooden furniture, plain walls—elegant and spacious.

Autumn sunlight poured through the window lattice, softly illuminating the screen. The scene resembled ink diluted in a landscape painting.

“A few ancient paintings on the wall are ones I collected. They’re said to be by masters, but I think they’re not as good as yours.”

Zhao Chiyun glanced at her, unable to stifle a laugh. “Shutang, when did you get so good at talking?”

“Was I bad at it before?”

“You were fine. Just not this pleasant.” Zhao Chiyun was blunt.

“Do you like it?”

“I like the room, naturally.”

Li Shutang fell silent. She picked up a narrow-mouthed vase from the shelf, then set it down and smiled persuasively. “If you like it, why not move in? Live with me.”

“Otherwise, a house this big feels so empty. I don’t even have anyone to talk to.”

“You shouldn’t be alone. You could live with your foster parents or your husband.”

Li Shutang replied, “Would that give me someone to talk to? For self-preservation, I never opened my heart to them. They can’t truly understand me.”

Zhao Chiyun could only comfort her. “Don’t be sad. I’ll come see you often. Whatever you have to say in the future, you can tell me. But I can’t move in.”

“Because of Gan Xun?”

“Yes.”

Li Shutang didn’t mind. She said faintly, “She did you a favor. I understand. I’ll reward her, but you could…”

“It’s not just a simple favor. Our hearts are connected. Surely you know that principle?”

Zhao Chiyun knew she was thin-skinned and didn’t spell it out. She assumed Li Shutang’s relationship with her fiancé was the same as hers with Gan Xun.

Li Shutang looked at her and opened her mouth. “Very well. As you wish.”

That evening, Gan Xun served dinner and casually asked, “Did you go to her place today for tea and to chat about old times?”

“We didn’t talk much about the past. She just showed me an ancient guqin she’d recently acquired.”

Gan Xun knew she was proficient in guqin, chess, calligraphy, and painting. “You can play it, right?”

“Naturally.”

Zhao Chiyun remembered something. “Shutang recorded a video and sent it to me.”

Twenty seconds—not too short, not too long.

As the video played, Gan Xun felt as if she were seeing a figure step out of an ancient painting.

Though Zhao Chiyun wore modern clothes and had the trendiest hair, her poise brimmed with classical charm. Her expression was immersed, her features concealing a long-sealed story.

From start to finish, the camera was steady, capturing the protagonist clearly amid the play of light and shadow.

The videographer had meticulously recorded Zhao Chiyun’s beauty.

Fresh from the kitchen, Gan Xun had felt warm all over. But in that moment of watching the video, most of the warmth drained away.

It was like a window left ajar, with chilly autumn night winds pouring in.

Her own world held no such ancient guqin, so Gan Xun had never known or heard it. She hadn’t realized Zhao Chiyun played so beautifully. She wasn’t sure if it was the guqin’s nature or the tune’s depth, but she detected a thread of sorrow and regret.

The video’s background matched Zhao Chiyun’s preferred decor style.

And now, Zhao Chiyun sat right beside her. Gan Xun wondered if she truly understood the music.

She exited the video. Without meaning to, her peripheral vision caught the next message.

Li Shutang had sent, out of the blue: [If you ever change your mind, you’re welcome anytime.]

Gan Xun pretended not to see it.

Zhao Chiyun said to her, “After seeing Shutang, I’m even more grateful to have you and Cui Can by my side.”

“What about her?”

“At least here, there are people who know I’m the Qinghe County Princess from the Mirror Country, who mistakenly ended up in this place. I don’t have to worry about my sleep-talking being overheard. You often comfort and encourage me.”

“But Shutang is different. She’s not good at opening up to others. Maybe she’s bottled it up too long—there’s an indescribable loneliness about her. She said I’ve changed. I think she’s changed a lot too. But saying it would hurt, so I won’t.”

“Do you think she’s changed for the better or worse?”

“Not better, not worse. Just lonely. I can empathize, but there’s nothing I can do.” Zhao Chiyun sounded helpless. At first, she’d been overjoyed at Li Shutang’s presence. But their private time together always felt awkward and strange. She couldn’t pinpoint why—perhaps she simply couldn’t forget the past.

Gan Xun couldn’t help asking, “If she’s so lonely, she probably wants someone familiar to keep her company, right?”

“Yes, it’s only natural. In times like these, people want to cling to any connection they can.”

Zhao Chiyun didn’t deny it. “She wants me to move in with her.”

Gan Xun’s hand trembled unconsciously on her chopsticks. She didn’t want to ask, but she had to. “What do you think?”

“Everyone has their own situation. Why should I rashly step into hers? After all, I’m no bodhisattva.” Zhao Chiyun’s tone was calm. What she didn’t say was that she knew Li Shutang believed she was trapped in some scheme and wanted to rescue her—a complete misunderstanding.

Gan Xun felt like she’d dodged another crisis, but she knew she hated this constant tension. She joked, “Then who is?”

“My girlfriend, I suppose.” Zhao Chiyun reached over, pinched her chin, and examined her. “She’s just too beautiful to have a bodhisattva’s dignity.”

The topic veered off. They chatted from bodhisattvas to movies, cats to dogs, the dining table to the bed—endless conversation.

Their interaction was no different from any other day, providing Gan Xun with a powerful sedative. Yet the image of Zhao Chiyun playing the guqin in the video lingered in her mind.

The guqin tones sharpened into an autumn night’s crescent moon, slicing through a fleeting good dream.