Chapter 130: A Stunning Performance (Part II)

"A pot of wine among the flowers."

The stout barbarian burst into raucous laughter, pointing at Yang Yaozong. "A pot of wine among the flowers! Ha! A pot of wine among the flowers!"

Some in the hall wanted to laugh as well, but they restrained themselves. Most, however, merely shook their heads and sighed. Only Zhang Lie and A-Yi remained filled with anticipation for the rest of Yang Yaozong’s poem.

Yang Yaozong slowly rose. With his sword in one hand and a wine cup in the other, he walked toward the entrance of the hall. He took a small sip and recited, "Drinking alone, with no one near."

Every eye in the hall was fixed upon him. They watched as he raised his cup toward the full moon in the night sky and declared loudly, "I raise my cup to invite the bright moon." He then poured the remaining wine onto the ground and added, "With my shadow, we become three."

Yang Yaozong held his sword level, balanced the empty cup on its tip, and with a steady hand, maneuvered the blade to place the cup gently onto a side table. He sighed softly. As his body moved with the sword, he began to dance. Every thrust, pierce, slash, chop, and flick was elegant and graceful, yet devoid of neither agility nor power.

Dancing from the entrance to the center of the hall, he directed his blade toward Zhishi Sili and the stout barbarian. The swordplay was sharp and unpredictable, with many strikes threatening their lives. At times, the blade would dart directly toward their throats, forcing them to lean back in their seats to avoid it. They could only glare at Yang Yaozong, scowling and constrained by their posture, yet because he was merely performing to enliven the banquet, they could not openly retaliate.

As he danced, Yang Yaozong recited in a clear, ringing voice, "The moon does not understand drinking; my shadow merely follows my form. Briefly, I accompany the moon and my shadow; to enjoy life, one must seize the spring. I sing, and the moon wanders; I dance, and my shadow scatters. Awake, we share the joy; drunk, we each go our separate ways. Let us bind ourselves to a bond of emotionless wandering, and meet again in the distant Milky Way."

As the poem concluded, Yang Yaozong swept the sword behind his back and stood tall at the hall entrance, gazing up at the full moon hanging in the night sky. By chance, he caught sight of a familiar figure standing under the moonlight on the roof opposite.

The hall had fallen into a deathly silence, everyone staring at Yang Yaozong in astonishment, still savoring the verses he had just recited.

Zhang Lie took a small sip of wine and nodded, as if the current outcome had been within his expectations.

A-Yi’s eyes seemed to flicker with fire, looking at Yang Yaozong with fervor and admiration.

Zhishi Sili and the stout barbarian, whether they truly understood the poem or were simply caught up in the atmosphere created by the others, also stared at Yang Yaozong with furrowed brows.

Prince Qin, too, frowned as he watched Yang Yaozong, seemingly deep in thought, yet unable to grasp the essence of what he saw.

Yang Yaozong paid no mind to the scene in the hall. His gaze was locked firmly on the familiar, graceful figure on the roof opposite. He knew that the owner of that figure must be watching him as well. When she had been by his side, he had felt nothing particular; when she left, he still felt nothing. Yet now, in Shangjing City, thousands of miles from Tianjing, the sight of her caused his heart to race.

Yang Yaozong suddenly realized that the owner of that graceful figure had walked into his heart. His spirits soared, and with a flourish of his sword, he began to dance again. "The Zhao guest wears a loose barbarian sash; his Wu hook shines like frost and snow. His silver saddle gleams on a white horse; he moves like a shooting star. He kills a man every ten steps; he travels a thousand miles without leaving a trace. Once the deed is done, he shakes his sleeves and departs; hiding his body and his name. Idly, he drinks at Xinling; he lays his sword across his knees. He shares roasted meat with Zhu Hai; he holds a cup to toast Hou Ying. Three cups and the promise is sworn; the Five Peaks seem light by comparison. After the eyes blur and the ears grow hot, his spirit rises like a rainbow. He strikes with a golden mallet to save Zhao; Handan is the first to be shaken. For a thousand years, these two heroes have shone brilliantly in Daliang City. Even in death, their chivalrous bones remain fragrant; they do not shame the heroes of the world. Who could ever write, beneath a library shelf, the 'Classic of the Great Mystery' until their hair turns white?"

In this second dance, Yang Yaozong was bold and spirited, his swordplay even sharper than before. Combined with the heroic imagery of the poem, the guests in the hall were left stunned into silence.

As the dance ended, Yang Yaozong held the hilt with both hands, the blade pointing downward, and stood motionless in the center of the hall.

Prince Qin, who had been staring at him the entire time, finally gestured for a maid to retrieve the sword.

Only when the maid took the weapon did the guests awaken from the exhilarating atmosphere Yang Yaozong had conjured. Zhang Lie was the first to applaud, and soon, everyone in the hall—save for Zhishi Sili and the stout barbarian—joined in.

When the applause faded, Prince Qin fixed a stern gaze on him. "Yang Guo, you give this Prince a sense of familiarity. Have we met before?"

Yang Yaozong knew the Prince had never seen him; the question likely stemmed from rumors or descriptions he had heard. Yang Yaozong smiled. "I have only just arrived in Shangjing. Today is my first time having the honor of meeting Your Highness, thanks to Brother Zhang. I have never met you before."

Seeing the Prince still frowning in doubt, fearing that some slip might reveal Yang Yaozong's true identity, Zhang Lie rose and bowed. "Yang Guo is a close friend of mine, a fellow scholar, and he traveled to Shangjing with me. Our purpose here is primarily to study."

The Prince nodded and told the maid, "Grant Master Yang a seat." There were no spaces left on the side where Yang Yaozong had originally sat—which was why he had been placed near the potted plants—so the Prince arranged for him to sit next to A-Yi.

Seeing the favor granted to Yang Yaozong, the guests began to praise him and his two poems, and the atmosphere in the hall grew lively once more.

A-Yi was delighted to have him seated beside her. She leaned in, her eyes curving into crescents, and whispered, "The seat you’re in is where the Prince entertains us Turks."

Yang Yaozong glanced at her. "The seat I occupy belongs to the Great Zhou. Your seats are the same."

A-Yi huffed softly. "Are you angry?"

Yang Yaozong looked at her with curiosity. "Angry about what?"

"I didn’t tell you we were coming to visit the Prince. Seeing us here, do you not have suspicions about our identities?" She watched him with a complex expression.

"If I were to ask, would you tell me who you really are?" Yang Yaozong asked casually.

A-Yi pondered for a moment and smiled. "If you come back to the Turkic lands with me, I will tell you."

"I fear that once I arrive, I would know your identity without you having to tell me," Yang Yaozong replied, watching her intently. Seeing her expression remain unchanged, he raised an eyebrow and laughed. "I have many things I haven't told you either. For instance, you didn't know I could wield a sword."

A-Yi nodded, her beautiful eyes fixed on him with a seductive intensity. "I am very curious about you!" Her expression then dimmed, her voice softening. "It is a pity that I must set off for the Turkic lands tomorrow."

Yang Yaozong frowned and nodded. "I will see you off tomorrow." After all, they were friends who had shared life-and-death experiences; he knew that if they parted now, they might never meet again. The talk of studying in the Turkic lands was merely a comfort to their friendship. Parting always brought a sense of sorrow, and that was exactly how Yang Yaozong felt.

A-Yi nodded. "The second poem you recited... it made me feel a bit afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Yang Yaozong asked curiously.

"Afraid that you will end up on the battlefield," she said, watching him with concern.

"Perhaps," Yang Yaozong replied. "But if there were no war, there would be no battlefield."

A-Yi avoided his intense gaze. "If you and I were to meet on the battlefield, what would you do?"

Yang Yaozong laughed helplessly. "How would a young girl like you end up on the battlefield? Do the Turks send their women to war?"

A-Yi looked at him cunningly, thinking to herself: *If I find out you are on the battlefield, I will surely abduct you to the Turkic lands!*