Autumn in the Old Court (Part One)

Since last year, Nanzhao has been plagued by frequent disasters. Even the Nanzhao Royal City, which is usually blessed with spring-like weather and favorable weather, is now showing signs of decline, with the city becoming desolate and the population dwindling.

Although the city's fireworks still burn, they are no longer as vibrant as they once were, and the city exudes an indescribable air of decline.

Moreover, last year, just a few hundred miles south of the capital, there was a region where fiery rays would fall from the sky every day.

At first, the flames were just a few scattered spots, like occasional drops of night rain; but now, they have been burning day and night, with crimson flames raining down, igniting the ground as soon as they hit it. Within a radius of a hundred miles, the grass and trees have withered, the rivers and canals have dried up, and the earth has been scorched into a cracked, scorched wasteland.

During the day, the sky was filled with rolling red light and thick smoke that obscured the sun; after nightfall, the area became as bright as day, with the firelight illuminating half the sky in a dark red hue, making it look like an ever-burning furnace from afar.

Today, in front of a stage in the southern part of the Nanzhao Royal City capital, there was a great deal of noise, and actors were singing their songs.

On this day, those who can watch the play here are all either rich or noble.

Below, however, there are four places that are particularly special. On the left, in the chief seat, is a middle-aged man with a thin face and neatly trimmed eyebrows. He is dressed in a dark blue robe, with a face as handsome as jade, exuding an air of nobility. However, this nobility is mixed with a few traces of gloom. He is Orthodox Unity by a faint fragrance of camellias and is tapping the table next to him.

To the right was a square-faced man dressed in red, holding a teacup, watching the stage above with interest, occasionally glancing at the man in dark blue to his left.

To the left of the man in dark blue robes stood an old man dressed in black, his face ashen, his head bowed, and his aura somber.

To the right of the man in red was an elderly man in a scholar's robe, with white beard and hair. Even while watching the play, he always held a scroll of bamboo slips in his hand, and his whole body exuded a very faint fragrance of books.

The four had completely different personalities, but the only thing they had in common was that no one around them could remember their faces.

At this moment, a play called "Autumn in the Old Court" was being performed on the stage, its melody mournful and plaintive.

First, a minor character, dressed as an old man, staggers up with a cane, gazes at the sky, sighs, and sings:

"The former prince, alone before the evening breeze,"

Sigh, the garden has changed so much in just a few days.

Overgrown moss buries the stone horse, and the ruined palace is shrouded in autumn mist.

This land, all given to shepherds and woodcutters."

After the performance, the man in red, holding his teacup, looked away from the stage and said with a smile:

"The lyrics are quite fitting for the occasion. Back in the day, when the Yu's Cauldrons was first completed, during the Battle of Mingtiao, Muye soared over Muye, which dynasty didn't sing this song? The garden is overgrown, so naturally a new master will come in."

The man in dark blue seemed not to hear, but simply stopped tapping, picked up a cup of tea and drank it all before slowly saying:

"The new master has come in, but where has the old master gone?"

The old man in the scholar's robe gently tapped the bamboo slips in his palm and sighed:

"After the Xia dynasty came the state of Qi, after the Yin dynasty came the state of Song. To preserve the extinct and continue the interrupted is an ancient custom."

The elderly man in black on the far left, who had been keeping his head down the whole time, suddenly whispered upon hearing this:

"Qi and Song still have a small piece of land. If even that small piece of land is not given, what is the point of preserving and continuing the lineage?"

Upon hearing this, the man in red burst into laughter:

"Old man, you worry too much. Jie was banished to Nanchao, Wugeng was enfeoffed in Yin. It's not that the old people have nowhere to go, but their destinations must be in accordance with the rules of the new dynasty."

As soon as he finished speaking, the melody on the stage suddenly became urgent.

A painted-face actor, dressed as a prime minister, wearing a wide robe and flowing sleeves, steps forward, mimicking the action of serving a spoon, and sings:

"The Nine Cauldrons tripods are cold and sharp; carrying the chopping board and stirring the soup, he eventually becomes a prime minister."

The smoke from the Deer Terrace has dissipated; he poured out his blood and heart to remonstrate with loyal officials.

Then an elderly man, dressed as a recluse, with disheveled hair and bare feet, climbed the mountain, pretending to gather wild herbs, and continued singing:

"Gathering fragrant wild herbs at the foot of Mount Shouyang"

I ask Heaven, what will become of my broken heart?

"The rise and fall of dynasties, all are but songs sung by actors on stage."

Upon hearing this, the man in dark blue frowned slightly, put down his teacup, and tapped his finger heavily on the table:

"He poured out his blood and heart, and his loyalty has been praised throughout the ages. What, do you want me to tear my heart out and show it to you all today?"

The other three were all taken aback.

A moment later, the old man in the Confucian robe stood up, took two steps forward, turned to the side, and cupped his hands to the man in black and blue, saying:

"Descendants of the Orthodox God, how dare we?"

He paused, then changed his tone:

"Even after the heart is ripped out, there are still ministers who retain their talents. To do what is impossible is loyalty; to avoid disaster despite knowing it is impossible is wisdom. Between loyalty and wisdom, survival is paramount."

After saying that, he returned to his seat and continued sitting.

At this moment, the man in dark blue sneered:

"He returned to Zhou with his ritual vessels, but the ancestral temples were ultimately destroyed."

As he finished speaking, the old man in black slowly raised his head, his cloudy old eyes sweeping over the three of them, his voice hoarse:

"Even those who carry ritual implements have a title, but shamans and sorcerers don't even have that title. The Xia shrine has been moved, and the Yin shrine has been built; when it comes to us, I fear even the few remaining wisps of incense will be trampled out."

After he finished speaking, the other three remained silent, and then the performance resumed on stage.

A clown dressed as a scribe, with a hunched neck and shrugged shoulders, shuffles forward, looks around blankly, and sings:

"What talk of survival and continuation of the lineage?"

It's nothing more than changing the flag.

Old ancestral vessels, new ritual implements

Everything's done; dust settles on the desk.

Then, once dressed as a shrine maiden, in plain clothes and without makeup, holding an empty plate, she slowly ascends and begins to sing:

"How laughable is that Zhu Shi Wuxian!"

Facing the empty sky, the gods of the homeland,

Where can I send a few lines of sacrificial offerings?

Upon hearing this, the old man in black's withered hand, which was resting on his knee, trembled slightly before finally falling back down.

Seeing this, the man in black said coldly:

"The lyrics are a bit too sarcastic."

The man in red put down his teacup and said slowly:

"On stage, actors perform; off stage, audiences watch. If the performance is good, people will listen; if it's not good enough, nobody will come. It's just a way of making a living."

The old man in the scholar's robe nodded and continued:

"To continue the ancestral worship, there must first be incense to burn. If there's nowhere to even place the ancestral tablet, what is there to continue?"

The man in dark blue turned his head and said coldly:

"Whose fault is it that there's nowhere to put the ancestral tablet? If I approve, can you accept this incense offering, and would you dare to accept it?"

The man in the red robe and the old man in the scholar's robe were both taken aback upon hearing this, while the old man in black sneered.

At this moment, the drumbeats on the stage gradually intensified, and the singing suddenly rose in pitch.

A young nobleman, dressed in fine clothes and a jade belt, with a sword at his side, ascends to the heavens, looks around in grief and indignation, and sings:

"Look at the royal city, where crows fly at dusk."

The incense of yesteryear has all turned to dust.

The grass grows tall in front of the palace, and the marketplace is deserted.

Laughing at the fleeting glory, only the afterglow remains.

This land, as fragile as paper, is about to crumble.

"My lord, have you ever truly shed tears for your people?"

After he finished singing, the veins on the back of the dark blue man's hand became visible, as if Subterranean Water was about to gush out from the earth's veins.

The man in red sighed softly upon seeing this, his tone softening slightly:

"Once the paper is torn, it can't be pieced back together. Better to save yourself while you're ahead."

Upon hearing this, the man in black sneered:

"The whole body? You've pressed on relentlessly, but have you ever given us the chance to go all the way?"

The old man in the scholar's robe shook his head:

"On the contrary. The difference between 'active' and 'passive'—a single word—leads to vastly different results."

The old man in black suddenly laughed, his laughter dry and hoarse, like the cawing of a crow at night.

"A world of difference? By then, heaven and earth will probably have turned into scorched earth."

As soon as he finished speaking, the music on the stage gradually slowed down.