Autumn in the Old Court (Part 2)

At this moment, an extra character dressed as an old woodcutter, wearing a straw raincoat and bamboo hat, carrying firewood and holding a wood handle, walks up, pretending to watch a game of chess, and sings:

"An old woodcutter at the Kunlun Mountain"

The axe handle is rotten, and the white clouds are lonely.

Where do the immortals go after they finish playing chess?

Only a few marks remain on the stone.

In this world, who is truly divine, and who truly governs?

The man in red frowned almost imperceptibly, then clapped his hands and laughed:

"This has enlightened me. The woodcutter watched the game of chess, and before it was over, his axe handle had rotted. Immortals played the game, and mortals were the pieces. But I wonder if that woodcutter was either the spectator or a piece in the game?"

The man in dark blue didn't reply, but instead shifted his gaze from the stage to the dark red hue on the distant horizon.

The old man in the scholar's robe said softly:

"The pieces in the game, the spectators, and the players—all are ultimately part of the game."

The old man in black suddenly spoke:

"What's the difference between being in the game and being out of it? A wave of the immortal's hand, and the world changes. A woodcutter descends the mountain, and old friends are gone. All our struggles and strife are nothing more than an unfinished game of chess in the eyes of the immortal."

As the words fell, the most somber act began on stage. All the characters came on stage, each wielding their old instruments, and sang in unison:

"Don't mention that, the family business is hard to give up."

This is the will of Heaven.

Look there, the flames haven't died down yet.

In the blink of an eye, the landscape has changed.

In the end, what's the point of arguing over blood, tears, and achievements?

All of this is given to the laughter and chatter of fishermen and woodcutters.

The elderly man in the scholar's robe slowly rose, tucked the bamboo slips behind his back, and gazed at the stage, saying softly:

"What a brilliant 'change of landscape'!"

The man in red said:

"It's easy to appear genuine, but difficult to understand the inner workings. It all depends on whether someone is willing to be the one who makes the appearance."

The man in dark blue spoke slowly and deliberately:

What if I don't want to?

The man in red did not turn around, but whispered:

"Then let's wait for fate and change it ourselves."

Silence fell for a moment.

Only the tunes from the stage resonated like a cold wind blowing through the audience of elegantly dressed people.

Just then, the old actor on stage suddenly threw off his opera robe, revealing himself in only a plain undergarment. He bowed to the audience and began to sing, his voice as clear as a crane's cry in the heavens:

I have seen the incense burning brightly in spring.

Who knew that today, the fiery sunset would illuminate the tall buildings?

I have seen clouds and rain nourish the fields.

Who would have thought that today, the scorched earth would be cracked like ravines?

These few lines in history,

Words cannot fully express the sorrow of rise and fall.

Seeing him build a tall building,

Watching him entertain guests,

He watched as the building collapsed.

At this point in the song, the old performer's voice suddenly rose, his gaze sweeping over the audience with a half-smile, and he continued singing:

"Do You Not See,

The phoenix sings at Mount Qi, the green ox Hangu.

There are immortals living in the Yunzhong.

Though the Nine Cauldrons have sunk, the Pillar of Heaven remains unburied.

Do You Not See,

The moon shines cold over Kunlun, and the jade grass grows in solitude.

Without the Xuanqiong Yuyu Palace

Whose incense doesn't flow eastward with its offerings?

In the annals of history, a few lines will be left.

They do not remember immortals, but kings and nobles.

This stage was originally located at the very top of the green hill.

People at the foot of the mountain perform tales of rise and fall.

The mountain dweller watches the water flow eastward.

After finishing his performance, the old actor turned around, flicked his sleeves, and slowly retreated behind the curtain, never to reappear.

The audience remained silent for a long time.

After a long while, the man in red finally came to his senses and forced a laugh:

"This old actor can sing better than any of the previous performers."

The old man in the scholar's robe gripped the bamboo slips tightly, his knuckles turning white:

"The words of immortals are ultimately different."

The man in dark blue coldly said:

"No matter how unique the immortal's words are, they still need someone to listen."

The man in red said:

Whether they listen or not is another matter. But the line "The mountain dweller watches the water flow eastward" seems to suggest that whatever happens to us is of no concern to them.

The old man in black sighed and continued:

"It's alright? If it were truly alright, you wouldn't have come to see us today."

On the stage, the gongs and drums sounded softly again, and a minor character returned, pretending to carry a load, and sang slowly:

"What are you talking about, the mountain dweller, watching the water flow eastward?"

The water carries the sorrows of countless families.

The immortals watch the show without stopping.

"Leave an empty platform until old age."

The man in dark blue picked up his teacup, took a sip, and said calmly:

"Whether I'm filled with sorrow or emptiness, the stage is still beneath my feet. As long as I live, this stage will never be dismantled."

The man in red said:

But the audience was almost completely dispersed.

The man in dark blue said:

"It's over, but we can come again. As long as the incense burns, the people will remain."

The old man in the scholar's robe said:

"The incense remains, but people's hearts are gone; what can be done?"

The man in dark blue said:

Whether people's hearts are with the people or not is not for you to decide.

The man in red suddenly laughed:

"So, it seems today's performance was all for nothing?"

The man in dark blue said:

"This performance wasn't in vain. At least it lets me know that this is what your 'decency' really looks like."

The man in red slowly suppressed his smile, stood up, and said:

"In that case, there's nothing more to say."

The old man in the scholar's robe said nothing more, but put the bamboo slip into his sleeve and nodded almost imperceptibly in the direction of the man in red.

The old man in black remained seated throughout, gazing at the empty stage, and murmured:

"I should have known... I should have known..."

The man in red straightened his clothes, didn't even glance at the three people beside him, and strode away.

The elderly man in the scholar's robe followed closely behind, taking a few steps before turning back to glance at the man in black and blue, and whispering:

"If the king changes his mind, I will remain in the capital for the next three days."

After saying that, he left.

At this moment, many spectators quietly got up and retreated to the sidelines under the cover of night. The once full stands were soon mostly empty.

The old man in black was the last to rise. He bowed to the man in dark blue and said in a hoarse voice:

"Many thanks for the incense stick offered back then. But I fear I will never be able to repay the debt of incense offerings to the Witch Hall."

After saying that, he hunched over, like a withered leaf, and then disappeared.

As the old man left, in no time, the huge theater was left with only empty chairs and a mess of teacups and fruit peels on the floor.

Just then, a night breeze swept through the hall, causing the scattered playbills to swirl all over the stage.

Only the man in dark blue sat there alone, finishing the last sip of cold tea.

The fragrance of camellias gradually dissipated in the night breeze.

At this moment, night had fallen, the stage was empty, and the lights were dim.

Just then, a solo singing suddenly came from behind the curtain, without gongs or drums, only a sanxian (a three-stringed plucked instrument), its sound like night rain tapping on a window, each word cold and indifferent:

"Even where the golden goblet is broken, the blood remains warm; those seated, dressed in their finest attire, are all distinct. Do not say this game is simply black and white; victory and defeat have always been determined by fate. The incense is cold, the court is dim, yet today we are discussing ruler and subject. It is lamentable that all these wise men are self-assured, unaware that true understanding lies within the mountains and rivers."

At this point in the music, the sanxian paused briefly, then resumed, the melody becoming lighter, yet adding a touch of coolness.

"The true gate does not open to the mundane world, but lies only on the moonlit terrace deep in the clouds. If you wait until the sky collapses and there is nowhere to stand, then bring your old bamboo slips up the mountain. The old bamboo slips can be burned or exchanged; I ask you, are you willing to remove your official hat?"

After the song ended, the sound of the sanxian abruptly ceased.

A night rain fell silently over the city.

That is:

The stage, the sounds of songs and pipes fade as dusk falls. The rise and fall of dynasties, all consigned to the smoke and dust.

Disaster struck; crimson flames burned the heavens and earth. The people suffered; where could they find solace?

Returning home, the clouds lock the green mountains, the moon locks the door. In this mortal world, a dream, a few slanting rays of sunlight.

After a long while, the night rain gradually stopped, and the city lights became even more dim. Suddenly, the northern sky darkened without warning. A large amount of gray-purple Profound Qi surged silently from the end of the sky like a tide, and in a short while, it had covered the entire northern sky.