Part 18 – The Music Man

Lan Sizhui set down his bowl with a cheery clack. “Not bad, is it, Young Master Jin?”

Jin Ling humphed. Crossing his arms, he slumped back into his seat. For a while, he and Lan Sizhui drank and chatted while the working girls kept a respectful distance—and their flirtatious hands to themselves. But as the mood grew amiable and the hour grew late, they began to close in on the two young men once again.

Jin Ling shifted, uneasy. He felt stifled in this place. Yet Lan Sizhui’s manner couldn’t be more relaxed.

“Aiya!” one of the girls cried, clutching at the Lan disciple’s arm in mock terror. “That demon sounds so fierce!”

Lan Sizhui grinned widely. “Oh, there are ones in the mountain reaches far worse than that. Are there not, Young Master Jin?”

Jin Ling scoffed, turning up his chin. “Of course there are! That one was nothing. But it was a yao beast, not a demon. If you ask me, Lan Sizhui, you’re wasting your breath on heads as empty as these.”

The women shot him ugly looks. But Jin Ling didn’t care. They were all like baying dogs to him. Between their licentiousness and the liquor they’d plied him with, he had full license to be rude in his opinion.

Giving Jin Ling the cold shoulder, the whore sitting beside him crooned to Lan Sizhui, “Tell me, young master, are all the men from Gusu as pretty as you?”

“I couldn’t say,” Lan Sizhui replied with easy charm. His dark gaze was shining as it flicked to Jin Ling. “But Sect Leader Jin is handsomer, wouldn’t you agree?”

Jin Ling stiffened. His flushed cheeks heated anew. The girls giggled behind their fans, but their glittering glances were cold and mean.

“Maybe,” one teased, “if he didn’t scowl so much!”

“Or open his mouth at all!”

“Or glare and stamp like a spoiled mistress!”

This insult in particular made Jin Ling’s blood boil. “Shut up! Who cares what you think?!”

The ladies giggled cruelly again. Jin Ling stewed in his seat. The liquor had made Lan Sizhui far too accommodating. The whore pawing at his arm had grown bolder and bolder. Rubbing slyly at his shoulder, she pretended to be interested in the instrument slung across his back.

“What’s this?” she asked, feigning innocent wonder. Jin Ling rolled his eyes.

“A guqin,” Lan Sizhui answered, smiling.

“Oh, you must play for us—you must!”

The rest of the whores clapped in assent. To Jin Ling’s annoyance, Lan Sizhui complied. Laying the zither on the table, he strummed a few clear and silvery notes, and the ladies cried out in genuine delight. Even for Jin Ling it was difficult to remain irritable in the presence of such a beautiful, soothing sound. Several bowls in or not, Lan Sizhui’s playing was divine. To hear such music in this tawdry place seemed nothing short of sacrilege.

But Lan Sizhui didn’t seem to think anything of it. He strummed on, his melodies as lofty and elegant as if he were playing on the majestic slopes of the Cloud Recesses. The music from the stage sounded like a wailing cat in comparison. Seeming to realize this, the other musicians stopped playing. They drew close to listen instead. Meanwhile, more and more whores continued to flock like birds to their table. While Lan Sizhui played, they fed him sips of liquor from the bowl, and his music grew bawdier by degrees.

To Jin Ling, it was clear the night had gone from bad to worse.

Winking saucily at him, Lan Sizhui laughed as he drank and played. With liquor spilling from the corners of his mouth, he performed tricks like plucking the strings with chopsticks or strumming the zither upside-down. Even the other patrons of the teahouse gathered round to join in the show, tossing coins at Lan Sizhui like he was one of the workers here!

Jin Ling was beside himself. In his fury he’d gone almost sober. It was all he could do not to start shouting and stamping his feet. As Lan Sizhui’s performance drew to its dramatic finale, Jin Ling reached his breaking point. Through the cheering throng, he spied the handsy whore from earlier trying to lead Lan Sizhui off somewhere.

This was the final straw.

Chucking a handful of stray coins at her—many of which fell right into her cleavage—Jin Ling grabbed his drunken, chuckling friend and hauled him stumbling toward the exit.

Mo Dao Zu Shi © Mo Xiang Tong Xiu