Chapter Ninety-Three: Beauty Like Jade, Sword Aura Like a Rainbow

As much as Wang Wei had not yet warned him, Du Shiyi had already seen, from the moment Zhang Xu and Wu Daozi came over and, with utter disregard for everyone else, boldly took two seats, that it would be unwise to rush forward in the hope of cultivating acquaintance with these masters of wild cursive and divine painting. More likely than not, such familiarity would bring no benefit at all, and might even leave him disgraced. Besides, he had studied painting for a few days under Lu Hong. Lu Hong excelled in landscape, favoring mood and ease, whereas Wu Daozi’s manner was altogether different; and the calligraphy of both his former life and this one had begun with regular script, then moved on to running and clerical hands. Since the temperament was so utterly unlike Zhang Xu’s, it was doubtful that even after decades he could write cursive as unrestrained and exuberant as Zhang Xu’s.

So, seeing no need to force an acquaintance, he let go of all worldly calculation, waved over the little attendant by Wang Wei’s side, and borrowed the half-gourd-shaped, curved-neck pipa.

Seeing Du Shiyi examining his pipa, Wang Wei brought Wang Jin over and sat down beside him, smiling. “This rosewood pipa was handed down from my grandfather. In all these years, the strings have been replaced only once. The pickguard is made of oxhide, and the ancient tanning method is said to have been lost, which is why it has remained sound to this day. I brought it with me when I left home. Whenever I play it, the landscape of my homeland and my mother and brothers seem to stand before my eyes, and so I am somewhat eased of homesickness. By the way, that piece you played earlier, ‘Metamorphosis Into Butterflies,’ I have performed it one by one in the mansions of the Two Princes and won much acclaim. I did make a few slight changes to it; I shall copy out the score for you later.”

Once music was mentioned, Wang Wei immediately grew animated. Du Shiyi smiled at this, and could not help thinking that if his third senior brother, Pei Ning, were here, they would surely have much to say to each other. Although he was a little inferior to Wang Wei in pipa skill, he had considerable insight into musical interpretation. At that moment the sword dance had not yet begun, and Wang Wei first spoke of the elegant and the vulgar; he in turn talked of investing music with feeling. As their conversation grew more fervent, they moved on to landscape entering music, and before they knew it they were discussing the many marvelous qualities of Lu Hong’s ink landscape painting. Du Shisan-niang beside them listened in rapt attention, while Wang Jin kept glancing, now at Du Shiyi, now at his elder brother, equally full of interest. In the end, Du Shiyi said with a smile, “When I first saw Master Lu’s landscapes, I felt that the best way to describe what makes a landscape scene just right was this: whether richly adorned or plainly touched, it is always fitting.”

“What a fine line, richly adorned or plainly touched, it is always fitting!”

This sudden cry of praise interrupted them. Du Shiyi and Wang Wei almost simultaneously turned toward the speaker, only to see Zhang Xu tip back his head and drain the last of his wine. He then casually flung away the now clearly empty gourd flask, belched loudly, and said, “Exactly. Whether in writing or in painting, it should be richly adorned or plainly touched, always fitting... hic... splendid, truly splendid. It is roasting hot!”

He yanked at his collar with such force that, with a rip, the already open-fronted garment tore wide. Yet he paid it no mind, exhaling instead with relief. “How cool!”

Just then, while Du Shiyi and Wang Wei exchanged glances, a man in fine robes, in his thirties, with a genial smile, came to the front of their elegant seat. He cupped his hands toward Zhang Xu and said, “I did not expect Master Zhang to come today as well to admire Lady Gongsun’s sword dance. This seat is crowded and cramped, whereas the host’s quarters are spacious indeed. Might I trouble Master Zhang to step over and speak with him? The host has recently acquired excellent brush and ink, but lacks someone to test their edge. To meet Master Zhang today is our good fortune...”

Before he could finish his stiffly courteous speech, Zhang Xu interrupted brusquely. “Do you know who I am?”

“Master Zhang is joking. In the Eastern Capital, who does not know that Master Zhang is peerless in cursive...”

“Peerless in cursive? Heh. In the Eastern Capital, perhaps not everyone knows I am peerless in cursive, but everyone knows that Zhang Dian hates two things most: first, false politeness; second, people who cannot recognize what is in front of their own eyes!”

Suddenly he opened his mouth, and in an instant a stream of wine shot from it, splattering the hem of the middle-aged man’s robe. Only then did he belch again and say, half smiling and half not, “Well? Do you still wish to invite me to visit your host?”

The middle-aged man’s face went pale, then red. Just as he stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do, a loud clash of brass cymbals rang out from the other side. In an instant, the conversational murmur among the elegant seats fell silent. Taking advantage of this moment, the middle-aged man managed a strained remark that he would come again another time, then retreated in embarrassment. Zhang Xu paid him no further heed, instead listening intently to the cymbals and the strings and winds that followed, the red wine flush on his face showing no trace of drunkenness at all. Beside him, Wu Daozi, who had earlier smiled and asked Du Shiyi how he came to know Yue Wuniang, now also watched the performance with utter concentration, his eyes seeming unable to hold anything else. Confronted with these two masters, so different in manner from before, Du Shiyi could not help setting down the rosewood pipa in his hands and fixing his gaze on the stage.

As a flute seemed to rise slowly from a far distance, like a breath of spring wind rushing toward them, the guests in the elegant seats, though they had almost grown impatient waiting for Lady Gongsun’s entrance, found their expressions unconsciously softening. And as everyone gradually relaxed, a slightly hoarse singing voice began to rise with the music.

“In May, snow still lies on Heavenly Mountain;
No blossoms, only cold.
From the flute, I hear the willow-bending tune;
Yet spring’s colors I have not seen.”

As if one could hear, amid that flute line, a few oriole cries, and the sound of melting mountain snow running through the ravines, two agile figures suddenly vaulted into the arena, sword ornaments in their hands trailing yellow-green ribbons. As those ribbons flew up and down with their turning leaps, even Du Shiyi, who had himself written this famous cycle of Frontier Songs for Lady Gongsun, could not take his eyes off them.

Then, in an instant, the gentle, flowing music acquired a note of metal and stone, followed at once by the deep muffled beat of war drums.

“By dawn we fight with gold drums;
At night we sleep clutching jade saddles.
I would wield the sword at my waist,
Only to cut down Loulan.”

As two female voices joined the singing in harmony, there came the neigh of a warhorse, and Lady Gongsun herself, with one horse, seemed to descend from the sky into the arena. On her head was a golden helmet, on her body a gleaming breastplate, and in her hands she held twin swords. Bathed in the high-risen red sun, those pair of blades burst forth as though with endless radiance, flashing up and down through the field, now hurled from the hand to strike the ground, now flung heavenward as if shooting the sun. Their brilliance dazzled so many that they had to shield their eyes, while Zhang Xu, as though he noticed nothing at all, stared wide-eyed, his fists clenched tight, muttering constantly under his breath.

“So it is not the Sword Style of the West River; so it is not the old pattern at all... good, good! A sword dance can be without fixed form—why not calligraphy? Exactly, exactly!”

As he spoke, Zhang Xu rose abruptly in excitement, entirely unaware that his standing almost blocked the view for Du Shiyi and the others behind him. Fortunately, he quickly sat back down. Wu Daozi beside him was no better. At some point the brush he had been holding in his right hand had fallen to the ground, yet he seemed not to notice, tracing and sketching on the floor with his right forefinger, muttering softly now and then. And apart from these two men already drunk with fascination, Wang Wei unconsciously plucked at the strings twice, though his eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the figure, from head to toe and even on the swords themselves, all reflecting the fierce sunlight, as though he had momentarily stopped breathing. Du Shisan-niang clutched Du Shiyi’s arm tightly with both hands, too tense and agitated to utter a single word.

As for Du Shiyi himself, faced with this sword dance that made the fullest possible use of reflected sunlight, he could only marvel. And yet he suddenly recalled Gongye Jue’s comment on Lady Gongsun’s sword dance: that if he were to bring the Shock-Rainbow Sword to true mastery, he would come to feel that Lady Gongsun’s dance, like mercury pouring over the ground, was nothing much. He could not help but smile wryly.

Gongye Jue had overestimated him, and underestimated Lady Gongsun as well. In three years, one can be transformed beyond recognition; how much more so after three whole years! In those three years, Lady Gongsun seemed to have shed her old skin and made immense progress.

“The heavenly host descends from the northern wastes;
The barbarian horses long to drink in the south.
I have crossed my spear through countless battles,
Only to repay a debt of gratitude.”

The lyrics changed in a flash. In the arena, where only Lady Gongsun had been dancing the sword dance alone, three more figures suddenly appeared. This time among the three, a tall young guardswoman in a silver helmet wore a hideous ghost mask, the gold rings at her ears gleaming brilliantly in the fierce sunlight. Wielding a curved saber, she fought the other two into a tight knot. Saber light circled like the full moon, sword light flashed like banners of silk, their interplay blinding to the eye. Lady Gongsun, having finished her set, drew her horse slowly backward. As a suddenly higher, sharply different song joined in, she crossed her pair of swords before her chest, then clamped her horse’s belly with her legs and leapt toward the two opponents, who had just determined the outcome of their struggle and now lay bleeding on the ground, as though a divine weapon had descended from heaven.

“With snow in my hands I feast upon the sea’s edge;
With sand brushed from my clothes I sleep by the border hills.
When shall I break the Yuezhi?
Only then may I rest with ease.”

Just as the silver-helmeted young guard, wearing the ferocious mask, narrowly evaded that downward strike from horseback and then vanished from everyone’s sight after several somersaults, the first reaction of all was not relief or cold sweat, but a chorus of regretful sighs. At that moment the once subdued, muffled drums rose sharply again, while the flute and pipa likewise swelled into heroic sound. The solo singing was once more joined by the harmony of two voices.

“Swift horse like a windstorm,
Whip ringing, we ride from the Wei Bridge.
Bending bows, we part from the Han moon;
Feathered arrows shatter the proud heavens.”

As the song was sung three times, each repetition more soaring than the last, Du Shiyi suddenly frowned in thought, sensing that something in the music, singing, and dance that should have been perfectly harmonious was nonetheless slightly out of place. Just then, Wang Wei beside him rose with a face like water. “The pipa is wrong!”