Chapter 164: Is The Heart At Peace

Chapter 164: Is the Heart Calm?

Zhao Changhe suppressed that momentary ripple, lowering his head to drink the lotus seed soup as well: “I won’t bow to you as a master… How is it I recall you used to avoid this matter too, but now you don’t mind?”

“Martial arts are different from chess, calligraphy, painting, and music…” Tang Wanzhuang said softly: “In martial arts, taking you as a disciple would be overstepping, and I lack the qualifications… But in chess, calligraphy, painting, and music, it’s fine. Why are you unwilling?”

“I was calling Tang Buqi ‘nephew,’ and suddenly I’d be of the same generation as him—that pisses me off.”

Seeing Tang Wanzhuang’s suddenly widened eyes, Zhao Changhe snapped to his senses and quickly tried to salvage: “No, I was just taking verbal advantage, not trying to be his uncle by marriage… After becoming a disciple, I wouldn’t even have that verbal edge, and I’m younger than him, so I’d have to call him ‘big brother.’ I… ah…”

Baoqin turned her head away.

Wasn’t this just a child? Even more childish than Baoqin.

Zhao Changhe’s face flushed red under Baoqin’s strange gaze, and he said awkwardly: “I say, Chief, your whole starting point is that I’m a prince, and you’re getting less and less subtle about it. But when you find out I’m really not, what will you feel?”

Tang Wanzhuang smiled: “What does it matter? I just don’t want to see a junior in the martial world grow more and more impatient, following in my footsteps… Besides, you’ve done the Tang family a favor; helping you out a bit—what’s wrong with that?”

“Your footsteps… doesn’t that mean chess, calligraphy, painting, and music are actually useless? When you rush to break through, you still damage your lung meridian.”

“But have you considered that if not for that, the damage I’d suffer wouldn’t be limited to the lung meridian?”

“Hmm…”

Tang Wanzhuang’s expression grew somewhat wistful: “Perhaps chess, calligraphy, painting, and music are indeed useless… But as I said, they only serve to calm your heart and stop this restlessness. If you’d rather chant Buddhist sutras, that’s also a method.”

“…Then I’ll learn chess, calligraphy, painting, and music.” Zhao Changhe hesitated for a moment, suddenly at a loss for what to call her in such a situation.

How strange. Yue Hongling was two months younger than him, yet “Sister Yue” slipped out without any mental block. Tang Wanzhuang was a full eight years older, but that natural “big sister” simply wouldn’t come out, for reasons unknown.

Perhaps it was because their interactions always carried a formal, businesslike air, with no personal friendship to speak of. Even teaching him chess, calligraphy, painting, and music was, in her eyes, “official business.” She said it was for “a junior in the martial world” or “the Tang family’s benefactor,” but everyone knew that was an excuse—she was merely cultivating the prince in her mind.

Zhao Changhe still felt no sense of belonging to Daxia whatsoever; in fact, based on his experiences along the way, he rather resented it. He didn’t know what Tang Wanzhuang would feel if one day he chose to overthrow this nation.

They had never really been on the same path, entirely unlike the mutual understanding and partnership he shared with Yue Hongling.

Perhaps it was also because… seeing her pale complexion, as if a gust of wind could knock her over, always made one forget she was a formidable martial artist. A sense of pity outweighed respect, making her seem more like a younger sister in need of care.

This feeling was deeply complex and contradictory.

Tang Wanzhuang fixed her beautiful eyes on him for a long while, as if guessing his thoughts, but she did not ask. Instead, she turned to Baoqin: “Give me the qin.”

Baoqin made a slight bow and placed the qin on the table before Tang Wanzhuang.

Tang Wanzhuang lightly stroked the strings and said softly: “They say Wanzhuang exhausts herself with worry, her thoughts tangled, hindering the Way. But the turmoil in your heart, young master, seems even greater than Wanzhuang’s… That is not the path of cultivation. Let this melody calm your heart.”

A single note of qin music rose unhurriedly, gentle and soothing.

Like this sweltering afternoon, a breeze drifting in, brushing over the pond, carrying fragrance.

As if a dragonfly touched the water, silently departing, leaving a faint ripple that gradually spread, undulating rhythmically amid the buzzing of insects and cicadas.

A lotus leaf tilted slightly; a water droplet fell slowly, slowly, into the water with a single plink.

Thus, in the stillness, liveliness emerged, the view expanding. The refreshing splash of water on the face, the verdant shade above shielding the blazing sun. A beautiful woman stood beneath the vines, smiling faintly; in the distance, a little girl giggled, running to catch that dragonfly. Then one saw the clear sky and drifting white clouds, the laughter seeming to come from far, far away, like a distant scene or a dreamy melody.

A person reclined in a lounge chair in the courtyard, dozing, listening to the crisp laughter from afar, a fond smile unconsciously spreading across their lips.

The martial world faded, the bloody clamor, the howl of blades, all drifting away with the children’s laughter, rising with the distant kite into the clouds, no longer discernible.

The qin music gently ceased.

Zhao Changhe found himself leaning back in his chair, nearly asleep.

He rubbed his eyes dazedly, his mind still blank, so completely relaxed that he couldn’t even gather his thoughts for a moment.

Tang Wanzhuang looked at him, a hint of pity in her eyes: “You… are too tired. I see you’re always thinking even when you sleep, at least last night.”

Zhao Changhe: “Uh…”

Last night, indeed… That kind of communication with the blind man entering his dreams—had he actually slept or not?

Tang Wanzhuang continued: “It’s not just daily rest; your cultivation has been too tense. Your qi and blood have been squeezed to the limit. The other day beneath the Sword Emperor’s tomb, did you activate a state where baleful qi flooded your mind? It’s still seething, eroding your flesh and blood, yet you’re unaware of it… If this continues… like overdrawing your body in youth, you’ll be ruined before middle age.”

Zhao Changhe twitched the corner of his mouth: “That sounds a bit ambiguous, like something else.”

“Is it different?” Tang Wanzhuang said calmly: “The human body, in the end, is all the same… You need to consolidate your foundation and nurture your essence now, stop blindly pursuing breakthroughs.”

Zhao Changhe briefly looked inward and indeed felt the baleful qi in his flesh receding. Previously, it had lurked in his skin, muscles, and bones, silently eroding him without his notice, but under that melody, the baleful qi vanished completely, as if by some immortal art.

Tang Wanzhuang read his thoughts and sighed: “This is no immortal art. Of course, qin music is itself a form of martial art with special effects… But what I suggest you learn is not this aspect.”

Zhao Changhe nodded: “Understood.”

“Is your heart calm?”

“Yes.”

“Do you wish to learn?”

Zhao Changhe stood up and made a sincere bow: “Please guide me, Miss Tang.”

Miss Tang…

So this was the title you agonized over, the answer you finally delivered?

Tang Wanzhuang savored it for a moment, then suddenly smiled: “Come here. I’ll first teach you the basics—the sound of each string and the fundamental fingering.”

Baoqin’s eyes widened: “M-Miss…”

Tang Wanzhuang shot her a glare: “What’s that look for? Young Master Zhao is a prodigy; he can learn others’ blade intent and sword intent just by looking. Playing the qin is merely a matter of finger coordination—does it require hand-holding? A demonstration or two, and he’ll naturally get it.”

Baoqin: “Oh…”

She watched carefully as Zhao Changhe sat beside Tang Wanzhuang, their shoulders almost touching, and thought to herself: What I find improper is this sitting side by side, looking too intimate. My mind hadn’t even gotten to the idea of hand-holding and finger-guiding. Miss, you must have been overthinking this yourself…

At that moment, Zhao Changhe sat close to Tang Wanzhuang, the fragrance of her presence around him, yet he felt not a single ripple.

The qin melody had calmed his heart so thoroughly that he was in a state of pure tranquility, no stray thoughts arising. All he wanted now was to learn the qin, knowing it would be immensely beneficial to him.

Throughout his journey, he had been steeped in baleful qi and bloodlust. Long ago, Zhao Changhe had worried that this might turn him into a bloodthirsty madman. But previously, he had dismissed chess, calligraphy, painting, and music as useless trifles. Today, he realized they truly had value.

They could make the gleam of blades and shadows of swords gradually fade, the bloody madness seem like another dimension, leaving only the beauty of Jiangnan, the stillness of summer.

In this world, music was itself a martial art. Even if Tang Wanzhuang wanted him to learn a different aspect, the principle was the same.

Tang Wanzhuang’s jade-like hand was demonstrating the fingering before him. It looked simple… just limb movements, far simpler than her difficult Spring Water Sword Intent.

It was also beautiful. Zhao Changhe realized for the first time that just looking at a hand could convey the meaning of beauty.

And elegant, making him involuntarily imagine himself playing the qin with the flair of Linghu Chong, and then a rendition of “The Sea Laughs”—that would be utterly cool.

“It doesn’t look hard. Let me try?” Zhao Changhe made his request.

Tang Wanzhuang moved aside with some anticipation: “Young Master Zhao’s insight, Wanzhuang trusts…”

Before she finished, Zhao Changhe extended his claws like a zombie and, with a “twang,” snapped the qin strings.

Tang Wanzhuang: “…”

Baoqin covered her face and crouched down: “Wuwuwu, I spent three hours tuning those strings yesterday… Wuwuwu, this is the prodigy you spoke of, Miss? Why force a bear to embroider flowers…”