"Honored guest"

Ding Songyan was puzzled and bewildered. He pointed toward the well at the mouth of the alley and asked:

"Miss Xiaoqing, did you just see mist rising over there, with figures walking through it?"

Xiaoqing and her maid looked where Ding Songyan pointed, then both shook their heads.

"No."

After a moment's thought, Xiaoqing's eyes brightened, and she said with considerable curiosity:

"Tell me exactly what you saw."

Ding Songyan described how the mist seemed to melt into the night, how some figures wore tattered clothes while others bore armor and weapons, and the other details. At last, he asked:

"It wasn't just my imagination, was it?"

A smile blossomed on Xiaoqing's face, bright and lovely.

"No, no, no. What you saw was netherworld scenery."

"Netherworld scenery?" Ding Songyan jumped.

Scenes from the Underworld?

Xiaoqing nodded with a murmured assent, circling Ding Songyan slowly as she looked him up and down.

"It should be, though I can't be certain yet. Once I find a rhinoceros horn imbued with spiritual power, I'll light it and take you to see the Netherworld. Then you can see whether it looks like what you saw today.

"So you were born with Yin-Yang Eyes! By day, they're yang eyes; at night, they're yin eyes."

Similar to Qu Sanlang, except the yin and yang are both concentrated in these eyes rather than separated? Ding Songyan glanced around, looking for wandering ghosts nearby.

"No, that isn't right either." Xiaoqing suddenly frowned again and stopped walking. "Once someone born with Yin-Yang Eyes can see netherworld scenery, they can always see it, unless someone with the appropriate cultivation art seals their eyes. How could you see it one moment and not the next?"

"I don't know why either." Ding Songyan was equally baffled.

He began to suspect that this stemmed from his having "returned from the dead," possessing characteristics of both the living world and the Netherworld. Perhaps this peculiarity would gradually disappear as he became more closely bound to this body and increasingly became a living person.

Xiaoqing murmured to herself:

"If you were born with Yin-Yang Eyes, you'd get twice the results for half the effort cultivating arts that connect to the Netherworld or draw on its power. Unfortunately, I don't know what's going on with you. If I meet anyone from the relevant sects someday, I'll ask for you."

"Thank you, Miss Xiaoqing, but there's no need to go out of your way." Ding Songyan actually did not want Xiaoqing asking sects connected to the Netherworld. That might well expose his greatest secret.

Just as Xiaoqing was about to speak, the watchman's drum sounded from a distant street.

"Midnight is here! The air is dry-beware of fire!"

"It's midnight already?" Xiaoqing started, then hastily told Ding Songyan, "Second Brother Ding, you'd better cool off in the courtyard. We have to hurry back."

She muttered an almost inaudible addition:

"Or we'll be found out..."

As Xiaoqing reached out her hand, Ding Songyan's vision went dark, then bright again. His body swayed slightly, and he was back in the courtyard, looking at his family's elm tree and the simple shed piled with firewood and coal.

The mosquitoes and moths that usually flew about with wild abandon had all vanished. Only moonlight flowed like water, dispelling the oppressive summer night.

Did Miss Xiaoqing cause this change? Having a snake demon at home is rather nice. No more worrying about mosquito bites... Can snake demons repel mosquitoes? Ding Songyan's wandering gaze abruptly froze again.

His eyes reflected the tightly shut door of the main house and the completely closed wooden window of the west wing.

"..." The corner of his mouth twitched.

Didn't this still mean he couldn't get back to his room to sleep?

Surely he couldn't knock on the door, wake his elder brother, and say he had somehow ended up in the courtyard?

Amid his tumbling thoughts, Ding Songyan tried to reassure himself that thousands of years had passed since the severance of heaven and earth. Snake demons presumably could no longer pass through walls or traverse space, and Miss Xiaoqing had most likely entered the wing through a normal "passage."

He went over to the wooden window on the west side and tried pushing it. It moved; the latch inside had not been fastened.

Phew... Ding Songyan breathed a sigh of relief.

The next day, since Xu Chang'an had to deal with his master Zhang Rui's "estate," Ding Songyan went alone to Dangkang Temple to tell stories out in the open.

Compared with the previous few days, several times as many people had come to hear his "Legend of the White Snake." They formed three full rings around him. As usual, Xiaoqing and her maid brought light embroidered stools and sat right at the front.

The flooding of Jinshan Temple was a scene brimming with dramatic tension, filled with the wonders of magical combat, eruptions of emotion, and the struggles of human nature. Many women in the audience gradually grew misty-eyed, while quite a few men occasionally pressed beneath their eyes or dabbed at the corners.

When he reached Lady White's violation of heavenly law and her eternal imprisonment beneath Leifeng Pagoda, Ding Songyan snapped his folding fan shut and smacked it against his palm.

"As the song goes, 'Waiting a thousand years, for this one meeting, ah, ah... Only for these words, ah, ah, even a broken heart holds no regrets...'" (See note 1 in the previous chapter.)

As his singing rose and the words "waiting a thousand years" sank into their minds, one listener after another burst into tears.

Xiaoqing had thought that, since she already knew the story and had been moved once yesterday, she would not lose her composure today. Yet when "Waiting a Thousand Years," which had been absent last night, rang out, the song and scene blended together and pierced her heart. She still could not control herself. Her eyes instantly reddened, and tears slipped down unbidden.

Her maid had already taken out a handkerchief during the earlier part and begun to sob.

After a while, Ding Songyan, who could not remember the rest of the song, stopped there and announced that another installment remained. The listeners were reassured, knowing the story would not end with eternal imprisonment beneath Leifeng Pagoda. They no longer held him back and let Second Brother Ding leave.

I nearly got trapped. Storytelling is quite dangerous... Ding Songyan waved at Miss Xiaoqing, who had once again given him a lavish tip, then turned toward North Water Street.

Having heard his plans for the rest of the story, Xiaoqing asked no further questions. Holding a green silk handkerchief, she dabbed at her eyes while looking for a restaurant.

After finishing a pork-filled bun, a vegetable-filled bun, and a red bean paste bun, Ding Songyan arrived at the Zhen Family's residence at an unhurried pace.

In this world, or at least in Dingjiang Prefecture, stuffed buns and steamed buns were lumped together under the same name. Those without fillings were called plain buns, while those with fillings were named after whatever was inside.

Ding Songyan had chosen a mixture of meat and vegetables, sweet and savory alike.

After entering the Zhen Estate, he did not go to pay his respects to his cousin Qin Nuangsheng. Instead, he met Mr. Yu at the Listening Water Pavilion, where the outer edges of the man's ears showed white and his arms and legs were unusually long.

"Have you made up your mind?" Mr. Yu asked.

"Yes, Mr. Yu. I've decided I'd like to tell stories to that honored guest," Ding Songyan said, cupping his hands.

Mr. Yu showed a rare trace of a smile.

"You have courage."

He motioned for Ding Songyan to follow him, winding through covered corridors and passing buildings and terraces as they headed deeper into the vast Zhen Estate.

Ding Songyan remained silent, observing his surroundings as he walked and memorizing things that could mark his location: the colors of flowers, the arrangement of rockeries, the words of couplets, bracketed eaves, and mica windows.

The farther they went, the quieter it became. Even the servants and maids disappeared.

At last, Mr. Yu stopped before a wooden building only two stories tall, half hidden among flowering trees.

Two men stood guard at the entrance with sabers in hand, both dressed in close-fitting dark blue outfits.

They stared straight ahead and did not stop Mr. Yu and Ding Songyan from entering.

Mr. Yu stopped in the hall, took out a thick strip of black cloth, and told Ding Songyan:

"Next, we have to blindfold you."

That honored guest doesn't even want anyone seeing his face? Isn't this far too suspicious? Ding Songyan asked no questions, allowing Mr. Yu to wrap the black cloth twice around his face and tie it.

His vision plunged into darkness.

Then he felt someone approach on either side and take his arms, guiding him around and around inside the wooden building, sometimes upward and sometimes downward.

Gradually, the air grew cooler.

This was a flight of stone steps leading down.

Before long, Ding Songyan heard a heavy iron door opening.

He was led inside.

How is this anything like a place for an honored guest to stay... If you ask me, isn't this a secret prison? As these thoughts stirred, Ding Songyan was settled into a wooden chair.

After the heavy iron door closed, an aged voice reached his ears, sounding like sand scraping against metal.

"Someone new?"

One of those who had supported Ding Songyan on the way here said in a low voice:

"Sir, this is Second Brother Ding. He tells stories outside Dangkang Temple and recently wrote a tale called 'Legend of the White Snake,' which has become quite popular. Our old master thought you hadn't heard it before and sent him over especially."

That grating voice sounded again:

"Second Brother Ding, what is your connection to the Zhen Family?"

"Sir, my cousin on my aunt's side is the second Zhen master's concubine. I count as half a member of the Zhen Family," Ding Songyan replied, elevating his standing a little.

"No wonder." The aged, hoarse voice gradually lowered. "Go ahead."

Ding Songyan gathered his wits and began with, "In ancient times, in the southwestern lands, at the foot of Mount Qingcheng..."

Compared with his first telling outside Dangkang Temple, he added more details, giving the story a more measured ebb and flow.

Although he could not see his listener's expression, the "honored guest" occasionally remarked, "Rather interesting," or, "Not bad." This feedback allowed him to grow increasingly at ease as he spoke.

When he reached Fahai's appearance and prepared to conclude, Ding Songyan inexplicably experienced a strange sensation.

The soft spot at the crown of his head seemed to open all at once. A coolness descended through it, reverberating into an aged, hoarse voice:

"Have you recently read the Secret Classic of Mountains and Seas?"

Ding Songyan's gaze instantly froze.

How did he know?

I've never told anyone this deadly secret!

Can he read minds?

But I wasn't even thinking about the Secret Classic of Mountains and Seas!

"Don't speak. Zhen Qianfan can hear you." The voice continued to echo inside Ding Songyan's mind.

"It" took on a hint of amusement:

"Throughout my life, the art of divination has been my greatest skill. Naturally, I can see through your secrets."

For now, he doesn't seem about to threaten me or reveal my secret... Is he secretly transmitting his voice, or is this some other technique? And he seems very wary of Old Master Zhen? Ding Songyan steadied himself, reached out to feel for the teacup offered beside him, and took a sip.

"Good. You possess a calm heart, young friend. You understood so quickly and began concealing your earlier lapse." The aged, hoarse voice offered a word of praise.

By the time Ding Songyan handed back the teacup, his emotions had begun to settle. He brought today's storytelling to a close as though nothing had happened.

The voice still echoed inside his mind:

"If you don't believe I excel at divination, go wait at the Perfume Shop on Hongxiu Street in Beili Ward before the hour of the rooster today. At two quarters past its beginning, an opportunity will surely come your way."

He's kindly giving me guidance? What will he want me to do afterward? Poor me, without even the strength to truss a goose-why do I keep running into trouble... Ding Songyan's eyebrows rose beneath the black cloth.