The Exiled Immortal Plays the Zither

Qin Chuan ascended the steps to the high platform, his robe brushing aside the purple bamboo leaves that had settled on the stairs, and walked toward the grand hall’s open door. The doors stood wide, and not even a servant boy could be seen at the entrance. Qin Chuan grumbled inwardly—could it be that he had been summoned here merely to serve as a doorkeeper? The thought sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.

He lingered briefly at the threshold, and, seeing no sign of movement within, strode inside. From outside, the hall’s interior was indistinct, but once he entered, its full splendor lay before him. In the main chamber stood nine alchemical furnaces, aligned in a straight line like nine stars.

“Oh!” Qin Chuan uttered a soft exclamation, catching sight of flames flickering beneath the furnaces. The fire beneath them shifted—at times it resembled drifting clouds, then transformed into flowing water, and within a single breath, it became as solid as metal and stone. Wisps of white smoke curled upward from the furnaces, mingling and dispersing, lending the air an ethereal quality, as if one could reach out and pluck a strand of mist from the verdant spring meadows. Just as he tried to steady his mind to discern the mysteries within—

“Are you Qin Chuan?”

He looked up to find a girl of about sixteen surveying him with wide, inquisitive eyes.

Her voice was melodious, bright as moonlight spilling over a brimming wine cup. She wore her hair in two slender buns, her eyes shone bright, her smile revealed pearly teeth, and her gold-and-white dress was adorned with wine-red trinkets—she was adorable beyond words.

“Yes, yes, that’s me,” Qin Chuan stammered, feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment, which only made the girl giggle.

Liyue seized his hand and tugged him along. “Well, then, follow me! Don’t just stand there like a fool. From now on, just call me Liyue.” The two of them crossed past the nine furnaces, through the main hall, the side chamber, and into the rear quarters. “Master, Master! I’ve brought Qin Chuan!”

He had not yet seen anyone, but music greeted his ears—a zither’s melody lingered in the air, circling the beams and weaving itself into song.

Drawing aside a beaded curtain, he glimpsed the lady within, plucking the strings with delicate grace. The distant mountains seemed to lean upon the wind, their beauty captured on a living canvas.

When the curtain was fully parted, the figure before him was none other than the Mistress of Luan Palace—Liyue’s master. She was not the aged, yellow-eyed crone that Qin Chuan had imagined, but a young woman, her face veiled in cold water silk, full of the bloom of youth.

Qin Chuan bowed deeply and paid his respects, careful not to betray a hint of his earlier assumptions. “Chuan pays his respects to the Mistress.”

“I am Lady Su of Luan Palace. Henceforth, you may call me Master Su,” she said, her demeanor gentle as she spoke.

Qin Chuan accepted the gesture and stood at attention, knowing that Master Su had more to say. His suspicion was confirmed.

“Though you have not walked the immortal path for long, I have heard your destiny is extraordinary. Whether that is true, we shall soon see.” Without waiting for his reply, Master Su resumed her playing. The zither’s strings poured forth sorrow and joy, like pearls and stones cascading onto a jade plate, like a summer cicada trapped in a lonely valley.

He did not fully grasp the meaning behind her words—how could one test the measure of fate? “Oh, my head aches!” Suddenly his expression changed; the music was melodious yet carried a demonic undertone, as if it sought to drag him into an abyss. Whip-like waves of agony swept through him, leaving him powerless to resist.

“There is no fire beneath the furnace,” he thought, as if returned to the moment he first entered the hall—this time, however, no flames burned beneath the furnaces. In this world, truth and falsehood were cast aside in a desolate land—who could discern what was real? “There is no fire rising; what burns inside the furnace is...”

The music struck his heart like hammer blows, becoming hands that seized his tongue and throat, forcing him to utter strange, guttural sounds.

“Qin Chuan, are you all right?” Liyue, alarmed by the sudden turn, stepped forward to help, but Master Su’s gaze held her back. The playfulness vanished from Liyue’s face, replaced by grave concern.

With a sudden gasp, Qin Chuan forced out the words he had been unable to speak: “A skeleton!” His eyes flew open; ignoring his soaked collar, he gasped for breath like a drowning man rescued from the water.

“That was a Bone-Molding Pill left unfinished by your master,” Master Su said, changing her form of address, evidently pleased with his insight. “From today onward, you are an inner disciple of Luan Palace.” She straightened gracefully, ethereal as a deity, as if a banished immortal had descended to the mortal realm.

Qin Chuan was overjoyed. He straightened his robe and bowed deeply. “I came from dust, never expecting such favor from my master. I will never forget your kindness.”

Liyue had not expected the guest her master mentioned to become a disciple of Luan Palace, and for a moment, she was at a loss. “In that case, you can’t call me Liyue anymore! You have to call me Senior Sister.” She seemed delighted by the idea, her joy at Qin Chuan’s good fortune evident.

“Chuan greets Senior Sister.” Qin Chuan felt awkward at first, having to address a girl several years his junior in such a manner.

“Yue greets Junior Brother!” Liyue mimicked his formal bow, but as she bent at the waist, she couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “Why are you so serious all the time?” she chided, half laughing, half exasperated by Qin Chuan’s constant formality.

Qin Chuan reflected that Liyue had clearly never experienced any great hardships, but when spring passes, even the pear blossoms must fall. He rolled his eyes inwardly, thinking to himself that her mischievous spirit would surely be his greatest trial in the days to come.

“My time must be spent on alchemy,” Master Su said. “Here is the Arcane Pouch of Medical Arts—take it. The matter of cultivation methods is not to be taken lightly; we’ll discuss it tomorrow.” As if conjured from thin air, she produced an object from the void. The medical text was curious—not a book, but a white jade seal.

Qin Chuan accepted the seal, puzzled by its purpose. “May I ask, Master, what is this for?”

“With your destiny, the use of this text is not something you need to worry about. What you must concern yourself with is how to make the most of it, so its pearls do not go to waste.” Her words were enigmatic, leaving Qin Chuan none the wiser. “As for your lodging, Liyue will see to the arrangements. Tomorrow, at the hour of Si, come to the alchemy chamber.” With that, she drifted away, leaving only Qin Chuan and Liyue standing in the empty hall.

Noticing Liyue’s mischievous gaze fixed on him, Qin Chuan felt a chill. “It’s getting late; you’d best arrange a place for me to stay.”

“What are you afraid of? I’m not about to eat you. In fact, I was hoping you’d take me out to play,” Liyue blurted, accidentally voicing her true thoughts. “Oops, that slipped out,” she said, stamping her foot in mock annoyance.

Qin Chuan could only rub his forehead and shake his head in resignation. Now that his position was secure, he no longer needed to worry about Liyue’s playful ways interfering with serious matters. “First help me settle in, and another day, I’ll take you to visit Mount Qingyang. How about that?” Now that he had some leverage, he spoke with gentle persuasion.

“All right!” Liyue brightened at once, though she sensed the loophole in his words. “Another day” could mean tomorrow—or a far-off, uncertain future. “Come with me, then.” Having gained his promise, she turned to the task at hand.

With this back-and-forth, Qin Chuan gradually came to understand the girl’s nature.

Perhaps it was the long years spent in Luan Palace with little restraint that had fostered such a spirited character. Besides Master Su, Liyue had little contact with others, so she had never been deceived or caught in a verbal snare—and so, she was utterly without guile.