Chapter 755: Green Plums Over a Single Stove Fire
An Hua noticed something unusual about the father-daughter street performers from certain details.
The qin master's clothes were old, without signs of frequent washing, yet they were exceptionally clean. Strangely, even though light snow drifted both inside and outside Gaoyang Town, making the streets muddy and difficult to traverse, his cloth shoes bore not a single speck of mud, looking as good as new.
Then there was the clear-eyed little girl. She lacked the timidity or self-pity typical of young street performers. She simply sat quietly in the corner of the room, her head slightly raised, her gaze somewhat dull. Because of the indifference in her brows and eyes, this could also be interpreted as disdain for everything around her—in short, there was an otherworldly detachment about her.
These were not an ordinary pair of street performers, at least not the common sort.
Just as An Hua thought this, a crisp, moving note rang out from the middle-aged scholar's fingers, and then the melody continued without pause, flowing like a stream.
The little girl's voice rose in song. Her voice was very pleasant, but her pronunciation was somewhat peculiar. At the end of each syllable, the tip of her tongue would curl slightly, as if she were swallowing part of the sound back. Yet it didn't sound muddled or tiresome; instead, it was like glimpsing a peerless beauty behind a half-rolled pearl curtain.
An Hua had lived long in the capital and heard many famous musicians' exquisite tunes, but she had never heard a melody like this. She unconsciously sank into it, temporarily forgetting the strange feeling she'd had earlier.
When the song ended, the second floor of the inn was silent for a long time before applause and praise arose. The applause and praise weren't particularly enthusiastic—not because the audience thought the pair performed poorly, but because everyone, like An Hua, found the lingering resonance unforgettable and couldn't bear to interrupt it with clapping.
The father and daughter didn't rise to acknowledge the applause, nor did they express thanks. They didn't even make a move to collect money. They simply sat quietly in the corner.
The father adjusted his qin strings, while the little girl remained expressionless.
An Hua instructed her maid to bring the little girl over, wanting to ask her a few questions.
The little girl paid no attention, still gazing out the window, her eyes slightly unfocused, looking at nothing in particular.
An Hua was a bit frustrated, but she had a gentle temperament and didn't take offense. She called over the inn's waiter and asked a few questions, learning that this father-daughter pair had only arrived in Gaoyang Town the day before. The father was mute, and the daughter also had some issues, seemingly afflicted by a strange illness.
An Hua rose and walked toward the corner. She smiled politely at the mute qin master, then crouched down in front of the little girl and reached out to take her hand.
As a teacher of the Thirteen Divisions of Qing Yao, she was highly skilled in both Holy Light Technique and medicine. With just a simple handhold, her fingers had already completed a pulse diagnosis. Feeling the pulse beneath her fingertips, she frowned slightly, sensing that the little girl's body indeed had problems—complex ones, very likely causing significant damage to her sea of consciousness.
She looked up at the little girl.
The little girl still gazed out the window.
An Hua's gaze fell on the girl's profile.
Aside from her eyes being slightly wide-set, the little girl was flawless in appearance, very pretty—even beautiful, one might say.
—Such a beautiful little thing, yet somewhat simple-minded. What a pity.
An Hua felt great sympathy for the little girl. She took a small pouch from her sleeve, intending to secretly slip it to her.
The pouch contained some loose silver.
Just then, the little girl withdrew her gaze from the window and looked at An Hua.
Several breaths had passed since An Hua had taken her hand. The little girl's reaction did seem somewhat slow.
But An Hua would never think that way again—or rather, she dared not think so.
Because she saw the little girl's eyes.
At such close range, she finally understood: the little girl's gaze wasn't vacant—it was calm.
Her aura wasn't detachment—it was an arrogance rooted deep in her bones.
Between heaven and earth, aside from the drifting snow, no person or thing could disturb the lake of her heart or break her composure.
Seeing the little girl's eyes, An Hua suddenly felt as if all the snow outside the window had rushed in, piercing through her clothes and flesh, landing directly on her own sea of consciousness.
It was like a blade of grass facing an endless blizzard, like an ant gazing upon a giant.
Her body became unbearably cold, unbearably stiff. She couldn't even move a single finger.
She felt that in the next moment, her sea of consciousness would freeze into ice, and she would die silently.
Just then, the little girl noticed the pouch in her hand.
The little girl nodded very slowly, the movement so subtle that without careful observation, it would go unnoticed.
Then, she turned her head and looked out the window again.
The raging blizzard ceased. The giant's indifferent gaze vanished. An Hua finally felt the warmth of the real world.
Her body was no longer stiff; she could move. She dared not linger any longer and hurried downstairs with her maid.
When she reached the ground floor, she realized her clothes were completely soaked with sweat.
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An Hua told no one about this incident—not the commanding general, not the manager of the Holy Medical Hall surnamed Yang. Because she had a strong conviction: she had nearly died for probing a secret, and now that she had survived, she should keep this matter as a secret.
That was the little girl's silent demand of her.
Because of her fear, when she returned to the rear courtyard and heard the general say they should set out immediately, she raised no objections, only asking some questions.
"Has the exact location been confirmed?"
"The military prefecture sent people ahead to investigate the flow of medicinal herbs for two days. There shouldn't be any mistake."
There was a pharmacy in Gaoyang Town. According to scout reports, many herbs were transported to this pharmacy, then in the dead of night, moved out of town to an unknown destination. Clearly, the master of Cinnabar Pill had chosen Gaoyang Town because of its convenient transportation—they could obtain any herb they needed.
That afternoon, the general, An Hua, Mr. Yang, and dozens of soldiers, along with the maid and the young formation master on a stretcher, set out on the path to seek the physician.
Leaving Gaoyang Town, they deviated from the official road and military road, heading deeper into the cold mountains to the north. The snow on the path grew deeper, no longer muddy, but equally difficult to traverse.
The deeper they went into the mountains, the quieter and more beautiful it became. Among the cold pines, faint wisps of steam from hot springs were hidden.
If not for the war, this place might have long become a scenic attraction.
The warm red glow of dusk faded completely. Night fell. Shrouded in starlight, the group trudged forward with difficulty. At some unknown hour, they finally reached their destination.
Deep in the cold mountains stood a small courtyard, surrounded by flowing water with steam rising—clearly diverted from a hot spring.
Because of the geothermal heat, even in the depths of winter, the area around the courtyard was full of life. Depending on the distance from the hot spring water, it naturally formed the appearance of the four seasons.
By the courtyard wall was a patch of verdant bamboo. In front of the courtyard, flowers were in bloom. Beneath the half-arched window, a tree was shedding its leaves.
But most places were still frozen and cold. For example, the small lake was covered in snow.
In the snow-covered lake stood a pavilion, surrounded by gauze curtains, with two faint figures visible inside.
A sudden wind arose, lifting a corner of the curtain.
Inside the pavilion was a stove fire and several branches of plum blossoms.
A man and a little girl sat facing each other across the stove.
The girl had a childish face, dressed in black, exuding coldness.
The man was not old, with clear eyes.
Neither the snow nor the plum blossoms could compare.
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(Last year's New Year's Eve update was just for fun, to avoid the awkwardness of watching TV. That chapter was impressive—Chen Changsheng in Xunyang City's spring light, shouting "Su Li is here!" This year's chapter is also interesting, featuring the two most terrifying little girls in Ze Tian Ji, and the male protagonist finally reappears... The chapter title I didn't use "Playing House" because it wasn't mentioned, but it would have been a good one. Also, I sincerely wish everyone a Happy New Year and good health for your families. I'm starting my annual leave tomorrow, ten days as usual. I love you all. P.S.: This chapter title isn't particularly fitting, but it's been ten years since I last wrote that, and I miss it a bit. I really will write that again—not a continuation, but a rewrite.)