Yuzhou Bangzi Beyond the Pass / Red Hot Chili Pepper

Author: Liewenzi Tang

Heaven's Door could replace some of the effects of Spirit Summoning and Sending Off Generals and Twin Hands. The effects of Star Platinum and The World far surpassed Chaos Golden Taper.

Throw in Dragon's Dream, and Hermit Purple would have the effects of Qimen Dunjia.

When it came to transformation and healing, Crazy Diamond and Gold Experience were not necessarily inferior to Feng Hou Qimen and Twin Hands...

A Daoist with fifteen Stands could swagger across the entire server.

That year, a true immortal emerged from the false Daoist schools, a truly invincible man emerged from the Celestial Master Mansion, and a true sage emerged from the Villain's Den.

This year, a Qing Half-Immortal grew out of the Black Soil.

If I possessed all the divine abilities and lacked for nothing, how would any of you know I wasn't a true immortal?

Current worlds: The Outcast, The Ravages of Time, Chinese Mystery Man...

Chapter 1: Yuzhou Bangzi Beyond the Pass

The breeze was gentle, the moon bright, and starlight soaked the night.

"Woo~ la—!"

A piercing high note ripped through the dead silence like tearing silk, like a silver vase bursting apart or a crane crying through the nine heavens. Birds roosting beneath the eaves took fright and fluttered away.

The sound of a suona surged and swirled through a corner of the village in the dead of night, laced with a muffled thudding like a hide drum. It was like a steel needle wrapped in copper, boring again and again into the crowns of its listeners' heads.

Only on closer listening could one tell that the suona and drum sounds did not seem to come from instruments. Though not loud, every note rang in the ears.

At times, the melody rang with the stirring clash of weapons and thunder of warhorses; at others, it lingered like the sobbing of a hidden spring.

Following the eerie rhythm with one's gaze, one would find a lonely abandoned house at the end of the village road. Faint traces of slogans half a century old still marked its peeling walls.

"To get rich, build roads first. Have fewer children and plant more trees."

Midnight had passed, the hour when yin and yang met.

The old house's wooden door stood ajar. Figures could dimly be seen moving inside, yet there was not a single light.

The singing drifting through the dilapidated window lattice grew ever clearer. Beyond the door, dozens of rectangular wooden benches stood in neat rows, every seat waiting empty.

Cobwebs swayed among the high-hanging beams and pillars. On the stage, where gongs and drums should have thundered, a lone shadow swayed like a reed.

Its brows and eyes could not be made out, yet it rocked gently to the rhythm, looking for all the world like a devoted spectator.

The one actually making the sound was a seven-chi-tall youth perched on a long wooden table in the first row below the stage.

He used the old, worm-eaten, rat-gnawed table as his stage, one leg dangling and swinging. In his left hand, he held a mottled King Wen Drum, tapping it lightly against his knee, while suona notes burst from his throat, piercing clouds and splitting stone.

When the moonlight, too, followed the sound and shone through the broken window, it illuminated his composed profile and cast a slender shadow across the dust-covered floor.

With a shadow, he suddenly seemed a little more alive.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock..."

The drumming suddenly quickened.

The youth abruptly broke into song. His voice carried the icy clarity of the wind and snow Beyond the Pass and the heroic boldness of a hero galloping on horseback, every word bursting in the ear.

"Yang Yanzhao heard these words and burst into laughter!"

At that very instant, the continuous suona music came to an abrupt halt.

The melody that had made scalps tingle had all along been an imitation produced entirely by the youth's lips and teeth.

For someone his age, that alone qualified as a small but remarkable skill.

In earlier days, he could have drawn applause and cheers performing it on a street corner.

The youth's improvised spoken lines were as crisp as pearls falling onto a jade plate, while the beat of his drum was like hooves trampling a frozen river to pieces.

"With all due respect, Eighth Prince, please listen well. Back in those days, before Golden Sand Beach, there was a great battle~"

As he sang "a great battle before Golden Sand Beach," his head moved with the rhythm, and his hair caught the dim light with a glimmer like shards of silver.

"We Yang fathers and sons lost our lives. My eldest brother disguised himself as you, the Song King, and went to his death; my second brother impersonated you, Your Highness, and went to the underworld..."

In its countless twists and turns, his voice conveyed all the desolation of a hero at the end of his road. When bright and playful, it revealed the unrestrained spirit peculiar to a young man.

"Good!"

As the final passage ended, while its echoes still lingered, a clear, ringing cheer suddenly burst from the shadow standing on the stage:

"Your tone rises straight and tall like a green pine above a mountain stream, and the meaning of the song is as direct as a sharp blade cutting through hemp. The spirit and charm are in harmony—an excellent piece for warming up the crowd and drawing an audience to a show."

As the saying went, outsiders watched for the spectacle; insiders watched for the craft.

After all, she had once been a properly trained Lead Dan of some renown, and her words carried the discernment of a master.

The boy had studied with her for less than two years, yet the moment he opened his mouth, his voice revealed his skill. He was already beginning to show his edge.

Though she could hear that the youth had altered some of her school's singing style and lyrics, she was even more struck by the inspired quality of his unconventional approach.

People usually called a fondness they could not describe a "feeling."

And there was just such an indescribable feeling about the youth.

Hearing her, the youth rose unhurriedly and stood on the table, then performed an ancient salute toward the stage.

"Master, you flatter me."

He thought that he had incorporated the singing style of short videos from later generations into his rhythm just now.

It had been created precisely to suit the fast-paced, fragmented lifestyles of people in later times.

Compared with the old style of singing a piece from beginning to end, how could it not be more appealing?

As Qing He Miao rose, his gaze swept over the empty stage ahead.

It stood about fifty centimeters high, with two or three small steps beneath it.

Standing on the tabletop, he faced the figure on the stage in silence, yet he was still a head shorter than her.

"How many times have I told you? You needn't call me Master."

Faced with Qing He Miao's exceedingly respectful salute, the drifting black shadow on the stage swayed gently. Black qi poured down like mercury, gradually outlining an elegant figure.

Her features finally took on a faint outline, and two long opera sleeves hung silently from where her pitch-black arms should have been.

"You are the most gifted person I have ever met. It would be no exaggeration to call you the Star of Literary Excellence descended to the mortal world."

Her voice was clear and cool, like jade fragments striking a chime.

"What could a mere performer like me teach you? Two years ago, you barged into these broken bricks and tiles yourself, saying you wanted to learn Yuzhou Bangzi.

"All I taught you was some lyrics and techniques, melodies and tunes. It was your own intelligence and daily hard practice that brought you to where you are today. Now you've even built on the old to create something new. You truly are a great talent."

If anything, she ought to thank him for keeping her company these past two years, so that things had not been too dull after she regained consciousness.

"One who imparts the Dao, teaches skills, and resolves doubts may be called a teacher."

Qing He Miao maintained his respectful salute.

"Master, you taught me a skill I can use to earn a living and support a family someday. Of course you deserve to be called that."

"Young man..."

A hint of helplessness entered the woman's voice.

"You can study properly now. That is already the right path. Why distract yourself learning this lowly trade of mine?"

"Master, that's where you're mistaken."

At the mention of it, Qing He Miao's face immediately fell.

"Once everyone on the streets has an education, the competition will be fierce. On the other hand, crafts like singing bangzi won't be looked down on anymore. And once something called the 'internet' takes off, anyone with a skill will be able to make money without even leaving home!"

Holding the King Wen Drum upside down, he cupped one hand in the other.

"I might even have to rely on the craft you taught me to make a living someday, Master. Either way, I ought to call you Master, shouldn't I?"

The figure on the stage was also moved to reflect upon hearing this.

After a moment's silence, she still couldn't imagine such a scene, no matter how she tried. Giving up, she abruptly spoke with a soft sigh.

"What a pity."

"What is?"

"It's a pity your ambitions don't lie here. You've achieved something in both cultivating Qi and studying, and you have a bright future ahead of you. You're an Outcast through and through."

Her plain sleeves fluttered. Though the person on the stage had no distinct features, she seemed to roll her eyes as she said meaningfully:

"Otherwise, I might really have trained a performer whose name would shake the world."

The kind whose fame surpassed the opera itself, a pillar who could hold up an entire theatrical tradition.

Without waiting for the youth to answer, she swept a wide sleeve.

"All right, today's lesson is over. It's getting late. If there's nothing else, go home early."

"I can't help it. The craft you taught me can earn me a living, Master, but it isn't enough to let me live in peace without being bothered."

Qing He Miao, however, smiled and sat back down on the table.

"I haven't had my fill of singing today, Master. Why don't you tell me some more stories about your life?"

"I've told them over and over until they're worn out. What else is there to tell?"

The figure on the stage paused, then spoke with a wistful sigh.

Qing He Miao remained seated on the old table, both legs dangling and swinging gently, putting on a stubborn show of refusing to leave until he heard them.

Seeing him so insistent, the figure had no choice but to recount once more the past she had spoken of countless times.

Chapter 2: Red Hot Chili Pepper

As it turned out, the figure on the stage of the dilapidated house had once followed the head of an opera troupe from Yuzhou, enduring hardship and displacement all the way Beyond the Pass as part of Chuang Guandong.

The troupe leader and her seniors had taught her everything they knew, word by word and line by line, drilling her in every beat and movement.

The troupe gradually put down roots amid the ice and snow, and even made a name for itself, becoming the talk of the town for a time.

At the height of their success, even Marshal Zhang's Residence invited them to perform at a private gathering.

Unfortunately...

Later, war raged, and in those troubled times, human life was cheaper than grass.