Chapter Seventeen: Beyond the Door

It seemed that not only was it impossible to leave the Blue Lotus Sect, but even this house, this very bed, he could never escape. Han Tanyi was by no means a foolish person; he understood their current situation all too well. After a few futile attempts to struggle, he gave up, lying quietly on the bed, his eyes slanting toward the direction of the door. Gradually, he drifted into a daze; he no longer knew what his mind or heart was pondering. In this state, he did not know how much time had passed until someone brought in his meal, pulling his thoughts back to reality.

The meal was far from sumptuous. On the small tray, there was just a plate of greens, a dish of yellow beans, and a bowl of rice—without even a trace of oil or meat. In the past, such a meal would have been utterly unpalatable for Han Tanyi. Life on Qilian Mountain might not have been extravagant, but the wild fowl and beasts in those woods, to him, were proper food. Regular meals had always been dispensable. But now, the feeling in his stomach could not be deceived. The aroma of the rice wafted through the air, making him almost unbearably hungry, as if he could devour everything in front of him. No wonder; since last night, he had not eaten a single grain of rice. Under such circumstances, his reaction was only natural.

The serving girl did not say a word, nor did she intend to linger. She placed the tray on a small stool by the bed and turned to leave. Han Tanyi struggled to move himself closer to the food. Just as he was about to pick up the chopsticks with his right hand, a sudden thought struck him. He quickly called out to the maid, “Where is your young mistress now?”

Upon being questioned, the maid halted at once. She was just a minor figure within the Blue Lotus Sect; even an outsider like Han Tanyi was not someone she could afford to offend. When she turned around, her face showed a trace of difficulty. Her lips moved as if she wanted to speak, but the words would not come. When she finally spoke, her tone was calm and measured. Clearly, what she was about to say was either inconsequential or not entirely truthful. “The Saintess only instructed me to bring you food. If you find the meal unsatisfactory, you may tell me. As for where she is now, I truly do not know. Please, young sir, do not make it hard for me.”

Her words were not brief, and there was no hint of servility in her demeanor. She referred to herself as “I,” quite different from the customs of noble households or orthodox sects. Of course, now was not the time to dwell on such details. Since she had made her position clear, Han Tanyi could not press further. He nodded in agreement, signaling her to leave. Once again, he was alone in the room. Food, when placed before a hungry person, is always tempting. All the more so now, when his hunger had reached its peak. Without further hesitation, he began to eat in large mouthfuls. After all, he was no different from a fish or fowl laid out on a chopping board; he could do nothing to change his fate, so why bother with pointless resistance?

Hurriedly, he finished off the two dishes. His stomach felt bloated, and as he looked at the empty bowls and plates, a wave of confusion washed over him. He stared at them in disbelief, as if unwilling to accept that he had truly eaten everything. But the fact was undeniable. After a while, he broke into a laugh at himself—how overly fastidious he had once been! For such plain fare, there were many who would have longed for even a morsel.

After eating, the hunger vanished quickly, and his body felt much more at ease. He shifted his legs slightly; even the numbness in his thighs had lessened. With a bit of effort, he could just barely sit up on the bed, though walking was still awkward. After two or three steps, he needed to steady himself against the wall. Fortunately, the room was small, so it did not take long to get around. Beyond the door was a straight corridor, narrow and somewhat long, with a wall on one side blocking the view. It made for a convenient handhold. Han Tanyi had expected that someone would be watching outside, but to his surprise, the corridor was utterly empty. Whether they trusted their sedatives or simply did not care if the young man tried to escape, he could not tell.

Along the corridor, the scenery was obscured by bamboo and trees, making it hard to see clearly. But once he left the corridor, his view opened up. There were pavilions and flowing water—one beneath a bridge, another at the bridge’s end—intertwining with the sound of the stream. It seemed like a paradise hidden from the world. A zither was set upon a stone table, chairs arranged around, tendrils of incense coiling upward. Though no one was present, the scene, with green leaves and clusters of unknown red flowers, was picturesque and poetic, so beautiful that he could only gaze in wonder. At that moment, though fatigue still weighed on his limbs, Han Tanyi felt a new surge of strength well up from nowhere and was compelled to make his way to the pavilion.

This was not a particularly difficult feat. Though his face flushed from the exertion, he managed to sit on the stone stool. The view from within the pavilion was wholly different from viewing it from afar—something only those who had experienced it could truly appreciate. He placed his hand lightly on the zither strings, caressing them as if feeling for something intangible. His gaze rested on the water’s surface. The current was not swift, but as it struck the small stones, it formed countless tiny eddies. The breeze, timely as ever, brushed across the boy’s face, stirring his stray hair and lending him an air of quiet elegance. The freshness of the moment—fragrant flowers, rippling water, gentle wind, darting fish—was far more soothing than lying on a bed.

“You haven’t fully recovered from the drug yet. How can you be outside? What if—?” A voice, tinged with anxiety, sounded behind him. But she cut herself off, as if realizing her words were inappropriate. Han Tanyi did not turn around. That voice had haunted him for hours; he could never forget it. Yet fear gripped his heart—he dared not even look at her, afraid that doing so would make it impossible to ever forget. Shui Linglong did not seem bothered by his reaction. She walked slowly to the zither, laying her hand upon it as well, as though seeking to feel what he did. “I did not expect you to be a lover of the zither as well. That is rather uncharacteristic of men of the martial world.”

“The martial world,” Han Tanyi replied, “is just so—killing and fighting are commonplace. One’s life is not even one’s own. Who has time for such refined pursuits? The time spent on music would be better used mastering a new technique. Truly, perhaps men like me are the ones neglecting our proper duties. I am no master of the zither or flute, after all, it’s just—” At this point, he suddenly fell silent. Something in his thoughts made him pause, and he could not finish what he wished to say. He lowered his head, his mind in turmoil, and after a long moment, he sighed softly: “Could you play ‘Longing Beneath the Bright Moon’ for me?”

Who was the ‘longing’ for in that piece? Han Tanyi could not say. But Shui Linglong did not hesitate or refuse. She turned slightly, seating herself in front of the zither. Her hand gently plucked the strings, and in an instant, a clear, crisp note rose into the air, making Han Tanyi’s thoughts leap with its music. His gaze fixed upon her hands, and a look of surprise surfaced on his face.

They were, without question, the hands of a rare beauty—fair and delicate, with the finest of pores, almost invisible unless one looked closely. Her slender fingers could only be described as scallion-like perfection. Yet on the back of her left hand, a streak of red marred the flawless skin—conspicuous and unsettling, causing the young man’s heart to tremble inexplicably. That was no birthmark; it was clearly man-made. But in the Blue Lotus Sect, who could possibly have done such a thing to her?