Elio’s Notes: The chapter title echoes Die Lian Hua: Spring’s End, a lyric transmitted with variant wording and under several attributions. The novel uses the variant “Peach and plum blossoms linger as spring passes unseen,” followed by the image of someone on a swing speaking softly through laughter.
That trace of red sandalwood fragrance refused to disperse.
As though struck by sudden clarity, A-Shui sobered a little and looked up at the person he had collided with. The fine gauze robe immediately revealed extraordinary status. Beside him stood a page of seventeen or eighteen. Seeing someone crash into his master, Piaopeng hurried over and shoved A-Shui aside.
“Ah…” A-Shui had just opened his mouth to apologize when his stomach lurched. He had truly drunk too much today. The wine now sat heavily inside him, making him miserable.
Piaopeng saw a staggering drunk reeking of alcohol and immediately understood that he was some street drunkard being chased over unpaid debt. He stepped protectively in front of Li Congjia. “Master, let us go. This man is filthy. Do not let him soil your clothes.”
Li Congjia showed no displeasure whatsoever. Even when Piaopeng tried to dust off his robe, Li Congjia waved him away. “Let us go. It is nothing.”
A group of tavern thugs came running after A-Shui, cursing the entire way. Seeing him half collapsed on the ground, one of them moved to kick him. “Still daring to drink without money! When are you paying what you owe from three days ago?” The abuse continued without end. “Otherwise hand over that box. We can still sell it for something!”
Such things could happen anywhere. Li Congjia was thinking only of Resounding Spring and had begun turning toward Shengding House when he suddenly noticed that the man on the ground was still clutching something.
A wooden box. Its color was deep and dark.
One glance was enough for Li Congjia to know it was red sandalwood.
Instinct made him stop. He turned toward A-Shui again. Piaopeng hurried to urge him onward. “Master, there is no end to this sort of thing. We should go…”
Li Congjia raised a hand to silence him. He bent down and carefully examined the box in A-Shui’s arms.
The debt collectors saw the unusually dressed gentleman and froze, uncertain what he intended. Everyone’s attention shifted to the wooden box.
Piaopeng had not noticed anything strange at first. But once everyone grew still and A-Shui stopped struggling, Piaopeng had the chance to inspect it closely. “Ah…” he exclaimed softly. Wasn’t that…? His memory had grown vague, yet he still recognized the long red-sandalwood box brought to the residence by the Crown Prince many years earlier. It had been crafted specifically to hold a guqin string, which explained its narrow, elongated shape. Piaopeng had been young at the time, but the Crown Prince’s fury upon learning that the Duke of Anding had withdrawn into the mountains without sending word had left an especially deep impression.
A-Shui’s clothes had been torn and dirtied from being shoved around. His face carried all the dishevelment of drunkenness. When he saw the young page pointing at his box, mouth open in shock, he clutched it even more tightly.
“An…” Piaopeng nearly blurted out the title. “Young Master, that box is…” He suddenly did not know how to continue. He could not casually mention the Crown Prince before strangers, yet desperately wanted to tell his master how important the object was.
Li Congjia gave Piaopeng one calm glance, clearly telling him to be silent. Then he bent down again and extended a hand toward A-Shui. “Might I have the honor of examining it?” His slender, elegant wrist hung in midair, waiting for A-Shui to hand over the box.
Li Congjia’s graceful bearing contrasted painfully with A-Shui sprawled filthy upon the ground. Curious eyes began gathering from both sides. The debt collectors could see that this refined stranger was likely someone important, but greed outweighed caution. Hearing that Li Congjia also wanted the box convinced them it must be valuable. Their leader seized A-Shui from the ground and shouted fiercely at Li Congjia, “Hey! He owes us money. That means his things belong to us. You want to see that box? Pay his debt first!”
Li Congjia showed no concern for the crude face in front of him. He smiled faintly and inclined his head. His double-pupiled eye looked impossibly deep against the backlight. He stepped backward, and Piaopeng immediately tossed a piece of gold toward the men.
The tavern thugs scrambled after the gold as though their lives depended on it. No one cared about A-Shui anymore. Someone kicked him aside.
Already dizzy, A-Shui became even more confused from the blow. His hands finally lost their grip. The red-sandalwood box fell directly onto the ground.
Piaopeng understood its importance and hurried forward to catch it, but Li Congjia ordered him to support A-Shui instead. Li Congjia personally picked up the box. It was heavy and seemed to have been soaked in water. Although the color remained deep, Li Congjia loved red sandalwood almost obsessively and immediately saw that the box had once been thrown into water. Red sandalwood was said to take a thousand years to mature. A box carved carefully from a whole piece would have been almost beyond price. Though badly neglected, the carved patterns upon it remained distinct.
Piaopeng helped the drunken A-Shui to the foot of a wall at the street corner. Through his blurred vision, A-Shui saw a pale blue-green figure approach slowly. Li Congjia smiled kindly at him in greeting.
Like bathing in a spring breeze. So there truly were people like this. A-Shui could smell the red sandalwood more clearly now, though he could not tell whether it came from the box or from the man before him. His head gradually cleared. When he realized someone else was holding his box, madness instantly entered his eyes.
“Give it back!”
Li Congjia stood opposite him, brows calm as distant mountains. “Shh.” He gestured for A-Shui to lower his voice and stop drawing attention. “I do not intend to take it from you. I only want to know how you obtained it.”
A-Shui struggled to sober himself. He brushed the messy hair from his face, revealing features that were actually rather clean-cut. Li Congjia looked surprised. “You are… one of the night patrolmen from the yamen?” Now that he could see A-Shui’s face clearly, he recognized the drunk who had once stepped over the edge of Li Congjia’s robe without noticing him.
Li Congjia truly ought to thank him. Had the patrol seen Li Congjia hiding beside a blood-covered Zhao Kuangyin that night, even stranger trouble might have followed.
Recognition made Li Congjia’s smile warmer. A-Shui thought the man’s almost supernatural eyes unlike anyone else’s, yet his entire bearing seemed to have absorbed every trace of spirit from a Jiangnan spring. Detached and untouched by dust, he naturally inspired admiration. A-Shui did not immediately connect him with any particular identity. He only thought those eyes strange. When the man spoke, his voice inexplicably calmed people, until A-Shui found himself able to breathe properly again.
A-Shui stopped trying to seize the box. He looked hesitant. “I… this box…”
“It is all right. Take your time.” Li Congjia’s voice was light, almost soothing. He was clearly the one holding A-Shui’s possession, yet somehow the situation had changed completely. Li Congjia could make people yield to him with remarkable ease, even while remaining only a pale, quiet outline whose very voice held a trace of coolness.
A-Shui listened obediently and slowly calmed his hurried breathing. Looking at the box, he remembered Hongxiu.
I wonder whether she came to the streets today. He had drunk so much that he no longer even knew the hour. A-Shui blamed himself silently. After a while, he lifted his face and answered, “Hong’er threw this away.”
Li Congjia frowned slightly. “Hong’er? Who is Hong’er?”
“Hong’er is Hong’er from Green Willow Lane.” In A-Shui’s mind, Hongxiu would always be Hong’er. Whether she liked it or not, she was his Hong’er.
“Green Willow Lane?” Piaopeng’s expression showed distaste. It was among the poorest and lowest streets in the city, home almost entirely to people of the lowest standing. This could not possibly be the answer his master needed. Piaopeng stepped forward urgently. “What do you mean, Green Willow Lane? How could someone from Green Willow Lane possess such a valuable box? Speak honestly. You left the yamen without permission and came here drinking. Aren’t you afraid someone will report you?”
The warning frightened A-Shui badly. Hong’er had quietly used connections to obtain this job for him not long ago. If he lost it because of drinking, not only would his mother scold him, Hong’er would surely be even less willing to see him. Panicking, he grabbed Li Congjia’s sleeve and begged him not to tell the officials, his eyes still full of attachment when they fell upon the box.
“I will not tell anyone. You once helped me, though you probably do not remember it.” Li Congjia showed no disgust at the smell of alcohol. He patted A-Shui’s shoulder reassuringly. “Can you tell me in more detail how you obtained this box? It may be something important that someone lost.”
A-Shui leaned against the wall and murmured blankly, “The box was Hong’er’s… Hong’er… Don’t go to the Crown Prince’s residence anymore… none of them are worthy…” By the end, tears had appeared in the eyes of the grown man.
Piaopeng could no longer stand it. Lowering his voice, he said to Li Congjia, “Master, I think he is confused. Perhaps drinking has damaged his mind. Why not take the box and leave him some money as compensation?”
“You wait over there. I will speak with him.”
Piaopeng had no choice but to move aside and watch from a distance.
“To tell you the truth, this wooden box was lost many years ago by a friend of mine. I encountered it by chance today. Would you sell it to me? Name your price.”
A-Shui shook his head violently. Of course he could not casually sell something belonging to Hongxiu.
Li Congjia knew A-Shui must have some attachment of his own. Forcing another person had never been Li Congjia’s way. Yet this was something the Crown Prince had intended for him years ago. He had to take it back. “Then perhaps you have some wish. If it is within my power, I will help you fulfill it.”
Only then did A-Shui look carefully at his eyes. They were not merely unusual. They were double pupils.
The realization sobered him completely. “You will help me? You are… you are the Duke of Anding, Li Chongguang?”
Elio’s Notes: Chongguang (重光) is Li Congjia’s courtesy name. A-Shui recognizes his identity but, as an educated man, avoids rudely addressing him by his personal name.
A-Shui had studied enough to differ from rough laborers even though years of effort had never won him official status. Instinctively using the Duke of Anding’s courtesy name rather than his personal name showed that he understood etiquette, and even Li Congjia was somewhat surprised.
“You probably were never meant for work such as patrolling the streets. Perhaps circumstances forced you to struggle merely to survive. Then let us be frank with one another. I am indeed the Duke of Anding. Tell me your wish. If I can assist you, I will do everything within my ability. In exchange, sell me this box. Will that do?”
For a failed scholar who had struggled desperately for recognition, this was an enormous opportunity. A-Shui might drink too much and often muddle his thoughts, but he had not forgotten the desire governing his entire life. If one day his name appeared on the examination rolls and he rose to high office, would he still need to fear being unable to free Hongxiu from the hands of powerful men?
Looking at the box in Li Congjia’s hands, A-Shui finally nodded. “I want official success.”
“When you sit this year’s examinations, I will help where I properly can.”
A-Shui sighed. “Then you may take it.”
Li Congjia smiled and summoned Piaopeng to give him a bag of money. The young page’s expression clearly showed disdain as he handed it over, only for A-Shui to push it away. “I do not want money. I only ask that the Duke of Anding remember today’s promise.”
That was a scholar’s pride, perhaps the last pride he possessed.
Admiration showed openly in Li Congjia’s eyes. “Very well. There is one other matter. Please tell no one about what happened today.”
A-Shui nodded. To his shock, Li Congjia actually bowed in thanks. A-Shui quickly returned the courtesy and then straightened, slowly arranging his disordered hair. His eyes remained fixed upon the translucent blue-green robe. “The Duke of Anding truly deserves his reputation.”
He really was extraordinary, yet not someone burdened by fame. In person he inspired far more admiration than rumor suggested. No wonder every woman in Jinling carried the name Li Chongguang somewhere in her heart.
Piaopeng urged him again, and Li Congjia had no choice but to carefully carry the box away.
Just as Li Congjia turned to leave, A-Shui called after him. “May I ask how the person you mentioned lost this box all those years ago?”
The blue-green cloud-patterned shoes stopped. Old memories stirred. The person in that story had believed that keeping his distance would earn another’s trust. Li Congjia had once believed that exiling himself into the mountains would allow Li Hongji to forget his fear of those eyes.
No matter how desperately the koi from that year leapt, it could never escape that blue pond, nor the depth of Li Congjia’s ink-dark double pupils.
Li Congjia laughed softly without turning around. He continued walking, leaving one sentence drifting through red sandalwood fragrance. “That person was the greatest fool beneath Heaven. He forgot he was not a demon and could not truly control another person’s heart.”
It was true. Li Congjia had believed withdrawing could change Li Hongji’s mind. How foolish he had been. Looking back at his younger self, he saw all the reckless confidence of youth. After losing this box for so many years, today he had finally been allowed to see that heart again.
Brother Hongji. It had been so long since he could call him that.
Flowing Wind and Resounding Spring. At sixteen or seventeen, they had occupied his every thought. After all these years, only one box remained. Li Congjia walked slowly, hesitating over whether to open it.
He already knew there would be no miracle, yet expectation remained. He lifted the heavy lid. Empty.
How could there have been a miracle? Only a bitter smile remained.
Still, what had to be done had to be done.
When Li Congjia arrived at Shengding House, the proprietor naturally had not dared touch anything forgotten by the Duke of Anding. Resounding Spring remained exactly where it had been left in the private room at the top of the building.
Perhaps the staff feared that the Duke of Anding might return at any moment, so nothing on the highest floor had been disturbed. The top room had always belonged exclusively to Li Congjia, and no one casually allowed another guest to use it. Who could have known that Li Congjia now wanted nothing less than to see the place where everything had happened the night before? That small tower could hardly contain memories so intimate.
In the end, he thanked the proprietor and left Piaopeng downstairs while he went up alone to retrieve the guqin.
The incense burner in the corner had long since gone cold. Resounding Spring sat before the couch beside the window. Marks left by years of use remained clear upon the ancient instrument. Only one string differed from the rest, still bright and new.
Li Congjia had never managed to use the string Brother Hongji had given him.
Han Xizai had once said it was among the rarest things he had ever witnessed: Li Hongji had painstakingly chosen just the right one, all to replace a single broken string for his Sixth Brother.
Li Hongji had stored it carefully in a box carved from thousand-year-old red sandalwood because he knew how deeply Li Congjia loved sandalwood and had chosen accordingly.
And now?
Spring air filled the room, yet everything visible was desolate.
The wine cup thrown aside yesterday still lay on the floor. Li Congjia leaned slightly out the window. The wind now was warmer than it had been at night.
He lifted his head toward the distance. Ten thousand li of mountains and rivers, palace towers brilliant beneath the sky. Who could know whether, once tomorrow passed, their brows and eyes would still remain unchanged?
Slowly Li Congjia leaned against the window frame, his cheek touching the cool wood. He found himself missing the reckless feeling of falling through open air.
When Li Congjia was with Zhao Kuangyin, he always became strangely fascinated by dangerous things.
For example, suddenly wanting to fall directly before Zhao Kuangyin’s eyes.
Li Congjia liked that feeling. To look upon heaven, earth, sun, and moon and believe there was nothing left worth holding, to cast himself down and still find someone stubbornly refusing to release him. No matter what happened, Zhao Kuangyin would hold him securely. They could still drink in midair as though nothing mattered. Li Congjia admitted now how safe he had felt during that descent while held in Zhao Kuangyin’s arms.
Li Congjia could bring peace to everyone else, yet no one had ever been able to bring peace to him.
Until Zhao Kuangyin. He was the first person who had truly allowed Li Congjia to live without restraint.
When Li Congjia carried Resounding Spring downstairs, the man in pale blue-green was smiling with warm ease.
Others wore human skins beaten from gold, envy and false kindness melting into blades upon which Li Congjia had rested his head night after night. They wrapped themselves in the skin of a flourishing age and imagined song and music would last forever. Only Zhao Kuangyin drew a sword against him openly, and somehow Li Congjia found the honesty almost sweet.
Sometimes Li Congjia genuinely wondered whether some part of him expected to die by Zhao Kuangyin’s hand.
The dangerous thought swayed beautifully somewhere inside his heart.
Whose warm, gentle hand was it that had said, “What am I supposed to do with you…?”