1 Exhibition

At the museum entrance, Shi Nian stood hesitantly, unable to move forward.

Zhou Xiaohui, having just bought the tickets, looped her arm around Shi Nian’s neck. “What’s wrong? You’re not planning to back out now, are you? You promised to come with me.”

Shi Nian took a deep breath and smiled. “Don’t worry. Even for the promised big meal, I won’t run away.”

Though it was a weekday, the museum was bustling. A large-scale relic exhibition was underway, drawing visitors from all over the country—including Zhou Xiaohui, who came willingly, and Shi Nian, lured by the promise of a feast.

Inside the exhibition hall, the crowd was even larger. Zhou Xiaohui explained, “This exhibition focuses mainly on a batch of tombs from the Sui and Tang dynasties. They were excavated several years ago and have undergone extensive restoration. This is their first public display. Many items are from the royal family, so they’re quite precious, which explains the large turnout.”

Shi Nian looked around. Jade-green porcelain vases, brass mirrors, women’s makeup boxes, and hairpins—all shrouded in an aura of mystery. These were relics from the distant era of the Tang Dynasty, having traversed the dusty corridors of history to appear before her.

Suddenly, Shi Nian felt a twinge of unease—an unsettling familiarity. She took a deep breath and forced the feeling down.

On the right side of the hall was a white jade paperweight, said to have belonged to a Tang-era top scholar. Zhou Xiaohui clasped her hands devoutly. “Darling, please grant me inspiration. Bless my new novel with great success!”

Shi Nian said, “You still haven’t given up, huh?”

“Of course not! How could I quit so easily after quitting my job for this?”

Shi Nian and Zhou Xiaohui had graduated from university less than a year ago and were both currently unemployed at home. Unlike Shi Nian, who passively admitted she was laid off, Zhou Xiaohui maintained she had resigned voluntarily. This was evident in the past few months—Shi Nian’s resume was flying everywhere, but Zhou Xiaohui remained steadfast, dedicated to writing novels on Jinjiang. Apparently, this was her long-held dream. She firmly believed that with her hard work and talent, she would become a great literary master.

Unfortunately, Zhou Xiaohui’s path to fame was rather rocky. Every novel she wrote flopped. It had been three months, and she had earned less than fifty yuan in total. Shi Nian seriously doubted which of them would starve first, given her own persistent joblessness.

What a sad question indeed.

Zhou Xiaohui was also here to gather material for her new novel and soon moved ahead, deeply engrossed. Shi Nian lagged behind a few steps, not eager to follow, instead exhaling in relief.

People came and went in the exhibition hall, all focused on the displays, accompanied by soft murmurs.

Maybe she was just too nervous.

Nothing had happened so far. Perhaps she was overthinking it.

Suddenly, a flash of light flickered—a reflection off the glass. Shi Nian followed the gleam and saw a display case at the center of the hall.

It stood alone, encased in crystal-clear glass, showcasing a pipa. Though its colors were faded from age, the instrument was relatively well preserved. Its slender neck, semi-circular body, and the slots for the strings were visible. This was a five-string pipa.

Shi Nian stepped closer. The plaque described it as a mid-Tang dynasty pipa unearthed in an archeological dig. Experts speculated it had originated from the imperial court.

An imperial Tang pipa—who might have owned it? Mid-Tang, huh? Could it have belonged to Yang Guifei?

“Do you know who owned this pipa?” a voice asked almost simultaneously from behind.

Shi Nian turned to see two young men standing there. Both looked around twenty-seven or twenty-eight. The one on the left was a foreigner—blond hair, blue eyes, sharp features—wearing a white shirt and black suit pants, with gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. His refined and gentle appearance was offset by a playful smile, his blue eyes sparkling with a natural charm.

Beside him stood a Chinese man. Though the blond man’s looks benefited from his Caucasian heritage, the Chinese man was tall and striking as well, about 1.87 meters, dressed in a white shirt and dark jeans. He was slim but upright, with slightly messy black hair and a somewhat lazy expression. If the blond was passionate, this one was indifferent, his dark eyes deep and detached, as if nothing interested him. His hands were in his pockets, his demeanor casual, as though the question was barely worth his attention.

The blond man smiled. “You’re asking me?” His Chinese was accented but carried an irresistible charm.

“What, don’t you know about the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove and the Three Heroes and Five Gallants? And this one stumps you?”

Shi Nian withdrew her gaze but couldn’t stop her heart from pounding.

Good heavens, these men were outrageously handsome. It was almost overwhelming.

She was barely holding herself together!

Forgive her excitement—after graduating half a year ago, she hadn’t seen a single decent man, let alone one this good-looking. Not even in that second-rate university. Today was truly a stroke of luck!

Two such handsome guys visiting the museum together, even dressed like a couple (?), if Zhou Xiaohui saw this, she’d surely let her imagination run wild… Oh, right, Zhou Xiaohui primarily writes BL fiction on Jinjiang.

Of course, if Shi Nian noticed their good looks, so did everyone else. Girls in the hall subtly drifted toward them, and the crowd near the display case grew thicker. Shi Nian thought this was the perfect setting for a staged accident. Maybe some starry-eyed drama-loving girl would throw herself in front of them, and he’d be captivated by her genuine simplicity…

As the saying goes, a girl who falls often has good luck.

Before she could finish the thought, a sudden shove from beside her caused Shi Nian to stumble to the right. Luckily, a hand caught her.

The scent of cologne filled her nose. She looked up and met a pair of deep blue eyes.

It was the blond man. She leaned against his chest as he steadied her, one hand on her shoulder and the other hovering at her waist.

Noticing her gaze, he smiled softly. “Hey, be careful, miss.”

Everyone around was watching. Shi Nian’s face flushed scarlet as she scrambled upright. How unlucky she was—who had bumped into her?

She awkwardly wanted to thank him, but the black-haired man suddenly scoffed. He scanned Shi Nian with a knowing look, raising an eyebrow as if seeing through her.

Shi Nian’s mind froze for a moment before she realized: he thought she did it on purpose!

To be fair, her actions did resemble a staged accident—especially since she was just thinking about that…

Still, Shi Nian bristled at his attitude, her irritation making even his handsome face seem unpleasant. She forced herself to remain polite. “Sorry, I was distracted and didn’t notice anyone coming.”

The blond man replied, “It’s alright. It’s crowded here, so you have to be careful.”

“Yeah, distracted,” the black-haired man said coolly.

What a conceited person.

Shi Nian scowled and said stiffly, “Yes, I was distracted. Is there a problem with that?”

Her sharp retort seemed to surprise him. He stared at her for a moment, and Shi Nian braced for a sarcastic comeback, but instead he looked away silently. His expression was calm, but it was clear he found her not worth the effort.

Shi Nian was furious.

This was supposed to be her lucky day—seeing two handsome men at once. She should have known such fortune wasn’t meant for her!

The atmosphere grew awkward. After a pause, the blond man said naturally, “I remember Professor Yang led the restoration of these relics. If you’re really curious, you could call him sometime. He should know about this pipa.”

The black-haired man countered coldly, “If even you don’t know, then he probably doesn’t either.”

That was a strange remark. Shi Nian pondered it.

Her eyes returned to the pipa, lying silently inside the case, its glass reflecting soft light. Precious, beautiful, yet lifeless. She wondered what it looked like in its prime.

As if sharing her thought.

The owner of this pipa…

Click.

Like a drop of water falling into a pond, ripples spread outward.

Shi Nian’s expression suddenly changed.

The bustling exhibition hall remained before her, but something was different.

The passing crowd was frozen, silent. No conversations, no noises. Everyone held their previous expressions and postures like statues.

Time seemed to stop at that moment.

Panicking, Shi Nian turned her head and found herself slowly floating. She thought she was flying, but looking down, her body was still standing firmly in place.

Her soul was hovering in midair.

Everything around her plunged into darkness. Widening her eyes, she saw only the pipa before her. The glass case had vanished, and like her, it floated in the dark void.

Its ancient patterns and faded colors bore the marks of a thousand years. Then, as a wind swept up yellow sands, time seemed to rewind. Its colors brightened—vivid red patterns, dark body, snow-white strings—so lively, so vivid.

Sandalwood precious, gold dust shimmering—the pipa of splendid Tang finally revealed its former glory.

It was held by a woman dressed in a pomegranate-red gown, her hair pinned back with jingling hair ornaments, seated amid blooming pear blossoms in a palace.

Her head bowed, her face unseen, only her slender fingers gently plucking the strings—once, twice.

The silence around her was so profound it evoked the primordial void before the universe’s birth. Yet Shi Nian felt she heard the music of the pipa.

Through the endless centuries, she heard its melody.

A powerful pull seized her, as if her soul was being yanked violently downward, thrust back into her body!

Losing balance, she fell heavily to the ground.

Dazed, she looked up to the lively chatter and orderly visitors. Some glanced curiously their way.

Everything was normal. The visions from moments ago felt like a solitary hallucination.

Shi Nian noticed her sweat-drenched forehead and pale face. Someone knelt beside her—it was the black-haired man. “Daydreaming again?”

She looked at him. “Cui Luhua.”

“What?”

“The owner of this pipa is named Cui Luhua…”

His expression changed abruptly.

Yes, Cui Luhua.

Not Yang Guifei, nor any woman recorded in history. The pipa’s owner was named Cui Luhua—a name she had never heard, and surely no one in this museum had either.

Yet she knew her life story clearly.

A native of Chang’an in the Tang Dynasty, Cui Luhua entered the palace in the sixth year of the Tianbao era as a musician in the Court Music Bureau. She earned the nickname “Pipa Cui” for her skillful playing. Once, during a performance, Yang Guifei noticed her and gifted her a five-string pipa brought as tribute from the Western Regions.

Later, when the imperial consort composed the “Rainbow Skirt and Feathered Coat” melody, Cui Luhua was part of the pipa ensemble.

In the fourteenth year of Tianbao, the An Lushan Rebellion erupted, and Chang’an fell. Palace servants fled in chaos, and Cui Luhua escaped with the crowd from the Daming Palace, where she had lived for nearly a decade.

The pipa was forgotten in the Music Bureau’s quarters and eventually buried with other instruments.

Dynasties changed, sands eroded—the millennium passed in a blink.

Its next daylight was here, in this museum.

Shi Nian suddenly snapped back to reality and pushed him away, trying to run. But the man was quicker—he grabbed her wrist firmly and pulled her back. “Wait!”