Chapter Ninety-Six: An Astounding Melody That Shakes Heaven and Earth

Sword Dance originally had melody but no lyrics; however, ever since Gongsun the Great Lady first performed it three years ago in Dengfeng, she would, when presenting her art in various counties and states, often accompany the dance with powerful and vigorous poetic verses. She would make slight modifications to the familiar sword dance melodies, altering the routines of various sword techniques with appropriate changes. Her mastery of sword dancing was already unparalleled, and the poetry she chose to accompany the dance was always stirring and soul-shaking. Aside from a handful who criticized her for deviating from tradition, the vast majority of guests could not praise her enough.

Thus, when the sound of the pipa suddenly rose, yet no lyrics accompanied it as before, all the guests were a little surprised. Among them, those skilled in music immediately listened attentively to the tune.

“It’s a new melody…”

“This tune—I faintly recall hearing it twenty years ago, but since then it vanished; it must be an ancient piece!”

“The pipa player’s technique is truly exquisite—I’ve never heard such skill before! That seems like the long horn of the army… Ah! Gongsun the Great Lady takes the stage!”

Though she still wore her martial attire, when Gongsun the Great Lady, alone and carrying her sword, leapt into the center amidst the majestic melody, everyone seemed to sense a tragic and desolate atmosphere. All discussion about the pipa ceased; especially as she drew her sword, her movements slow and grand in tune with the music, she resembled a general reviewing her troops before battle. Many unconsciously held their breath.

Watching her master’s agile form, Yue Wuniang’s palms grew damp with sweat. Yet, turning to see Wang Wei, who sat with the zitan pipa lost in concentration, unaware of the sheen on his brow, her heart leapt with anxiety. The next moment, the powerful music abruptly shifted, growing deep and tense. In her daze, she felt herself plunged into a world of low skies and dark clouds, autumn winds, and a night shrouded in murderous intent. As she regained her senses and looked again at Gongsun the Great Lady, she saw her swordplay, once assured and heroic, now faltering and weary, betraying a clear carelessness.

But in an instant, the taut melody soared—the sound of horns, war drums, swords drawn, horses neighing—all erupted together. Gongsun the Great Lady, sword in hand, leapt and struck as though in battle; her sword, unlike the light blades of ordinary women, displayed the army’s most brutal techniques—hacking, stabbing, cutting. Her armor, splashed with blood, and her reckless bravery made someone in the audience cry out, “Ambush!” with a child’s innocent voice, just as the pipa plunged from its peak into a valley, followed by a tumult of notes that seemed to conjure the clash of weapons.

Beside Wang Wei, Du Shiyi saw that after only a short time, Wang Wei was drenched in sweat, wholly absorbed. Especially now, his left hand’s technique, mimicking the sound of swords and blades striking, was masterful; even Du, who had witnessed many great performers, found himself awed. Yet he knew the most crucial section was his to follow. He took a deep breath and raised his pipa. As Wang Wei’s music ceased, Du seamlessly continued with a sweeping sound.

Except for a few in the audience, Gongsun the Great Lady in the center knew this was truly the turning point. Hearing Du Shiyi catch the melody perfectly, she felt a deep relief. Today’s “Chu-Han,” which she had prepared painstakingly for nearly two years, now swept over the hall like an army of hundreds of thousands, thundering like cavalry. She naturally relaxed; her swordplay, no longer desperate, became almost casual. The sword’s flashes formed lingering shadows about her, leaving all speechless, and at this moment, the song, which had not been heard since the start, began to echo faintly from afar.

“In late autumn’s ninth month, frost flies across the fields, the sky high, water dry, cold geese mourn. Most bitter is guarding the border, wandering day and night, clad in armor, spear in hand, standing alone on a sandy hill. Ten years from home, parted from parents by fate, how can wife and child bear it, alone in an empty bed? White-haired elders wait at the door, watching for autumn’s return; a child remembers, tears breaking the heart. Who will harvest the fields and bring food? The soul drifts, lost in longing, a few heroes commit themselves to folly. The King of Han is merciful, spares surrendered troops, vows to capture Yu, yet jade and stone both are destroyed. My song is no boast, Heaven’s warning to you; know fate, do not despair.”

The mournful lyrics echoed overhead; in the elegant seats, many women, moved by the music, quietly wiped their tears, like Du Shisanniang, who could not help but weep. Even the men, confronted with the same bleak, piercing music, sighed deeply. Yao Chong, whose heart was already weighed with sorrow, buried his face in his hands, sharing the hero’s desolation.

Even heroes like Xiang Yu cannot escape a tragic end. He himself had risen and fallen, struggled all his life, only to meet such a fate.

Though still young, the Golden Immortal Princess, who had witnessed much death and intrigue, could not help but dab her eyes with a handkerchief. She glanced at her companion and said, “No wonder you insisted on coming to see this. The music, the song, the sword dance—all unmatched in their time. I have never witnessed anything like this!”

Cui Jiuniang, long moved by the plaintive melody, was reminded of her recently departed grandmother; her eyes, swollen and reddened, her nose flushed, forgot entirely that she had sneaked out today to see whether Du Shiyi and Gongsun the Great Lady were perhaps entangled, whether he harbored feelings for another while still pursuing her sister. She took the cold cloth offered by her tearful maid and pressed it to her face, her voice choked with emotion.

“Gongsun’s sword dance is truly exquisite… Supreme Daoist, forgive me… I have lost my composure…”

The guests in front were deeply moved; Du Shiyi, behind, was wholly absorbed. Those techniques he had so carefully memorized—push, pull, pluck, shake—were forgotten, his hands guided as if by divine inspiration, the notes striking not only the hearts of others but resounding in his own. As the Chu song faded, the clangor of battle returned, his music growing ever more bleak, until the last note was struck. Beside him, Wang Wei resumed with slow, gentle chords; Du finally let out a long breath, his body nearly collapsing.

This rhythm, this performance—it was the most complete and intense piece he had ever played!

In the hall, Gongsun the Great Lady, amidst the hoofbeats of the music, suddenly lost her helmet, and her cloud-like hair tumbled down. Yet no one thought it a mistake; when she flung her sword, and its flash, like thunder, pierced the ground, silence reigned. Where once applause thundered three or five times per song, now not a sound was heard. As she staggered toward her sword, murmurs broke out. Meanwhile, the song resumed.

“Strength to move mountains, spirit unmatched; fate turns, the steed will not run. The steed will not run, what can be done? Yu, oh Yu, what is to become of you?”

Three times the song was sung; only then did Gongsun the Great Lady gently draw her sword, shake her wrist, and begin to dance again. Unlike her previous swift movements, this sword dance was slow and heavy, infused with a force uncommon to women’s sword dances, paired with the song’s heroic despair, intensifying the sense of a hero’s tragic end. The earlier Chu song made clear this finale was a reenactment of Chu-Han’s “Ten Sides Ambush.” Though all knew Xiang Yu’s farewell to Lady Yu came before his last stand, they could not help but sigh deeply.

Gradually, the sword dance quickened; Gongsun’s hair danced amid the sword’s light, adding weight to the sorrow. As she stopped, the sword gently poised against her neck, then drawn heavily, her body fell in defeat. The pipa issued a piercing cry, fierce and tragic, then abruptly fell silent. Around her, not a breath sounded; countless people, unawares, wept.

Gongsun the Great Lady lay still; Wang Wei, holding his childhood zitan pipa, did not return to himself; Yue Wuniang, her two junior sisters, and the three Feng sisters stared at one another in dazed silence; Du Shiyi gazed at his hands, lost in thought. After a long time, the thunderous applause pulled them from their reverie. Yue Wuniang, almost without thinking, led her sisters and the Fengs offstage; even the musicians, as if waking from a dream, slapped their cheeks and departed, save Du Shiyi and Wang Wei, who remained motionless, gazing at each other.

“What a truly wonderful piece! Never in my life have I heard anything so exquisite!” Wang Wei clenched his fist and stood, his eyes ablaze with excitement. “Though our strength fell short and only the two of us could finish the piece, to have played without missing a note—surely Heaven aided us!”

“You’re right, Brother Wang. Today was indeed as if guided by the gods.” Reaching the curtain and seeing the crowd’s adulation, Du Shiyi turned thoughtfully to Wang Wei. “Shall we return?”

Before Wang Wei could reply, Gongsun the Great Lady’s voice rang outside: “This finale, ‘Chu-Han,’ its story is well known to you all. I, a woman, am not a tenth of the old Overlord’s might, yet since childhood, I have learned swordplay and caught some of a man’s spirit. My frail figure, wandering life—these years many have asked for my hand, but today, with this finale, I declare my intent. In this life, I will live by sword dance, never speak of marriage! If any cannot accept this, though I am but a woman, I shall follow the old Overlord’s example, and pledge myself beneath the sword!”

Her resolute words brought silence to the hall; Du Shiyi, who had just relaxed, was stunned. He had thought “Chu-Han” as finale was meant only to make her reputation, but now realized she declared her resolve!

Gongsun the Great Lady swept her gaze over the crowd, as if unaware of their surprise, then smiled calmly: “To add, this ‘Chu-Han’ was originally prepared by myself and Master Kang over two years, but he fell ill and could not perform. Thanks to Du and Wang, who joined forces, the piece was completed. Now that the music and dance have ended, I cannot forget their great contribution.”