Chapter 2

Chapter 2 A Startling Dream in the Pear Garden (1): Like a Silly Cat The central story of this world revolved around a young master named Song Qing. He was a new-school figure who had returned from studying abroad. His family ran a vast textile business, and he was a true favored son of Heaven, born with a golden spoon in his mouth. The other protagonist was an opera performer who made a living in the opera garden under the stage name Jixueya. His real name was Bai Qi. One stood above the clouds, honored and pampered; the other was trapped in the mud, relying on a melodious voice and an exquisite figure to please others. With identities so worlds apart, the road between them was destined to be covered in thorns and hardship from the very beginning. The role Guan Zhi had received this time was that of an opera performer who made a living in the same opera garden as Protagonist Shou Bai Qi. His stage name was Xiao Meihua. This Xiao Meihua happened to have fallen hopelessly in love with the young master Song Qing as well. He was utterly infatuated and regarded Bai Qi as a thorn in his side and a splinter in his flesh. The Young Master Di played by Di Gui, meanwhile, was a wealthy young man from a family of equal standing to Song Qing’s who had studied abroad with him. The feelings of this Young Master Di, however, were fixed on Bai Qi, whose nature was cold and unyielding. Four people, several entangled romances, circling through the old shadows of the Republic of China—going round and round in love, hatred, and infatuation, they were destined to brew a melodramatic and thoroughly conventional vat of dog blood. Of course, neither of the two ultimately met with a good ending. One had his heart and lungs devoured by jealousy that grew increasingly wild. He completely lost his reason and, in the end, was killed in a spray of blood on the very day he was supposed to enter into a marriage alliance with Song Qing. The other could not escape either. After his secret collusion with foreign enemies was exposed, he was pressed down on the execution ground. One gunshot ended all his ambition and unwillingness. Guan Zhi occasionally let his thoughts wander aimlessly and wondered: There were truly a thousand ways for a Villain Role to die. He and Di Gui had each gotten half of them. When all was said and done, they had not committed any unforgivable, Heaven-defying sins. In all those years, they had merely disliked each other and tormented each other. So how had it come to this, with both of them being subjected to such torment after death? What was more, the System was particularly sly. The background of each world was never provided all at once. A subsequent mission point would only be triggered after the previous one had been completed. Guan Zhi was currently facing the most practical—and most troublesome—problem. He frowned, his tone carrying a hint of disbelieving absurdity. “...Wait. This character is an opera performer? But I don’t know how to sing opera at all!” Di Gui, sitting beside him, raised his brows. His tone was full of the sort of teasing that clearly enjoyed watching someone else suffer. “...What else can you do? Weren’t you once known as the karaoke king, howling louder than anyone else in KTV? How come you can’t properly sing a few lines of opera?” Guan Zhi was so choked by his words that he nearly lost his breath. “Di Gui, you’d better not force me to curse you right now.” The Northern Opera Garden where they currently found themselves was enormous, with carved beams and painted rafters, magnificent and imposing. It was ordinarily a favorite haunt of high officials, nobles, and wealthy young masters who fancied themselves refined. They called it an appreciation of art, but in truth, most of them had come looking for some unusual pleasure. The attendants wore matching jackets and moved back and forth through the garden carrying tea and refreshments. The mingled voices and faint strains of silk and bamboo music created an atmosphere of prosperity and vitality. Song Qing had come today in response to Di Gui’s invitation. He actually did not much like places that were so noisy and full of the scent of cosmetics. Recently, however, his father had been pressing him hard, insisting that he settle down as soon as possible, take over the family’s enormous textile business, and marry a young lady from a family of equal standing so that the family line could continue. He was vexed and had no interest whatsoever in these arrangements. For the past several days, he had simply been wandering around outside, too lazy even to return home. Di Gui, as the Second Young Master of the Di family, was also a well-known figure in the Northern region. The Di family was a prominent local clan. One elder sister and one younger sister had both married into official families and held lofty positions. Although he ranked second, he was the youngest among the sons, so the family naturally indulged him somewhat more. In practice, his treatment was nearly the same as that of the most favored youngest son. He himself was happy to enjoy his leisure. He did nothing productive all day long and most loved frequenting brothels, opera gardens, taverns, and wine houses. He was a famous playboy and wastrel. When he had studied in Britain, Di Gui had been just as willful and flamboyant. Now that he had returned home, he had not restrained himself in the slightest. As Song Qing watched him, he felt an inexplicable trace of envy. He envied how this man seemed always able to be himself so frankly, unrestrained by those invisible shackles. Song Qing sat down in a carved wooden chair, lifted a celadon teacup, and took a sip. The faintly bitter fragrance of tea spread across his tongue. He set down the cup and spoke with some helplessness. “Brother Di, I’ve told you many times. I truly don’t like coming to such noisy places.” Di Gui’s clothes clashed with all the long robes and mandarin jackets filling the room. His hair had been combed meticulously with pomade, and his perfectly tailored dark suit accentuated his broad shoulders and long legs. In this antique, traditional setting, he possessed an almost jarringly handsome air. At that, he smiled and idly turned the empty cup on the table with his fingers. “Brother Song, you can’t put it that way. All those years abroad, our ears were filled with the gibberish of foreign devils. Now that we’re back, we have to properly reacquaint ourselves with the essence of our own country’s culture. Don’t you agree?” He leaned slightly forward and lowered his voice, his manner carrying the air of someone sharing a secret. “I’ve heard that the most popular performer in this garden right now is that Jixueya. I went to great lengths to get seats this close to the front. Brother Song, don’t spoil my fun.” Song Qing’s gaze passed over the spectators below, who were calling out their praise with infatuated expressions. He shook his head, his tone indifferent and faintly dismissive. “They’re nothing but decadent tunes that serve only to disturb the mind.” Guan Zhi sat backstage in that legendary opera garden filled with the fragrance of cosmetics, facing a blurry bronze mirror as he clumsily smeared thick greasepaint across his face. The true Protagonist Shou, Bai Qi—whose stage name was Little White Lotus—was sitting not far away. His expression was cool and composed, and he did indeed possess an aloof air that warned others to keep their distance. Guan Zhi complained inwardly. What kind of terrible name was this? Xiao Meihua? Unable to restrain himself, he grumbled to the System Ling in his mind. “When you issue missions, do you really not consider the executor’s innate conditions and existing skills? Is singing opera something you can learn at the last minute by hurriedly embracing the Buddha’s feet?” The System Ling’s response was cold and mechanical. “If we had to consider individual differences and skill compatibility for every mission executor, the plot-maintenance work of the multiverse would be unable to proceed efficiently. Please overcome the difficulties and adapt on your own.” Guan Zhi felt that this System was practically engaging in workplace psychological manipulation. It was overbearing and completely unreasonable. He continued struggling with the makeup brush, which refused to obey him. By the time he was done, his face was a mess of red and white, and he looked thoroughly disheveled. After Bai Qi finished straightening his clothes and passed by him, his footsteps paused. His cool gaze lingered on Guan Zhi’s face for a moment before he unexpectedly offered a reminder. “Your makeup... seems to have run a little.” How could Guan Zhi possibly know how to apply such complicated opera makeup? At those words, he seemed to have seized a lifeline. He hurriedly reached out and caught Bai Qi by the sleeve, his voice deliberately pitiful and pleading. “Little Bai... Senior Brother Bai, could I ask you for a favor? Could you help me with my makeup? My wrist has been hurting terribly since yesterday for some reason, and I don’t have any strength in it.” Bai Qi was startled by this sudden closeness and soft plea for help. He looked at Guan Zhi suspiciously. According to his past memories, whenever this Xiao Meihua saw him, he would always glare coldly at him with eyes full of hostility and jealousy, then turn his head away with a cold snort. He had never voluntarily spoken to him. Yet now, all the familiar hatred and sharpness had vanished from Guan Zhi’s eyes. What remained was a pure request, tinged with embarrassment. Bai Qi silently watched him for several seconds before finally nodding lightly. His voice remained as cool as ever. “...All right.” Guan Zhi sat there and let Bai Qi’s slightly cool fingers guide delicate powder and paste across his face, outlining his features. He felt that this mission was making things impossibly difficult for him. After Bai Qi finished applying the elaborate opera makeup, someone backstage shouted for Little White Lotus to prepare to go onstage. Few opera performers in this garden had no patron supporting them from behind the scenes. Put plainly, they were not very different from celebrities in later generations. Some were genuine professionals who made a living through their voices and figures, while others were elevated into the spotlight through money, power, and connections. Bai Qi softly replied, “All right,” then rose to make the final adjustments to his complicated costume. His water sleeves were layered one over another, like a mass of gathered clouds and mist. The moment Bai Qi left, a short man with squashed-together features slipped in furtively. He leaned close to Guan Zhi’s ear and hurriedly whispered several things. Even the thick greasepaint could not conceal the hesitation in Guan Zhi’s eyes. He lowered his voice to confirm, “...Will this really work?” The short man rubbed his hands together, looking extremely shrewd. He chuckled and spoke with certainty. “What’s so difficult about it? You sing onstage, while he provides your voice from backstage. Young Master Di has arranged everything. We’ll release some smoke onstage later, too. With everything hazy and indistinct, drifting in and out of sight, who among the spectators below will be able to see clearly or hear properly?” Song Qing sat in an elegant box below the stage, originally looking bored and listless. That changed when Bai Qi stepped onto the stage with graceful movements timed to the gongs and drums. He was performing the classic The Peony Pavilion: “It turns out all the flowers, bright and beautiful, bloom for nothing, like this, for broken wells and ruined walls...” His movements were supple as a willow. Every turn carried just the right amount of charm. His singing was clear and melodious, like jade pearls falling onto a plate, striking directly at the heart. After only a few passages onstage, it was obvious that he had devoted immense effort to his craft and relied on genuine skill to make a living. His fame was certainly not undeserved. Di Gui leisurely took a sip of tea. His gaze shifted from the stage to Song Qing beside him. The Young Master Song who had just been loudly declaring that he “didn’t like coming here” and that these were merely “decadent tunes” now looked as if his eyes had been nailed to the stage, staring so intently that he was nearly dazed. The corner of Di Gui’s lips lifted in a knowing smile. He set down his teacup and lightly called out in a teasing tone. “Brother Song?” Song Qing was brought back to his senses by Di Gui’s teasing “Brother Song.” He coughed awkwardly, as if to cover his embarrassment, and lifted his teacup. Yet his gaze still seemed drawn by invisible threads, drifting toward the elegant figure onstage. Di Gui was far too sharp not to catch that subtle lapse. He immediately began acting as a commentator. “This Jixueya is said to be Mr. He’s last disciple, the one who received his true teachings. Last year, he shook the entire opera garden with a single performance of The Drunken Concubine. That voice, that figure—tsk, tsk... Since then, countless people have come here because of his reputation, throwing down a thousand pieces of gold just for a seat. That’s why our seats today were so difficult to obtain.” He observed Song Qing’s expression. “If you’re truly interested, Brother Song, I can take you backstage after the show to meet him. What do you say? It would be a good opportunity to make his acquaintance.” Song Qing was silent for a moment before declining in a low voice, though there was not much firmness in it. “...That wouldn’t be very appropriate, would it? It would be rather presumptuous to disturb him without warning.” Di Gui waved his hand, not caring in the slightest. His smile deepened. “What’s inappropriate about it? Since you enjoy listening to him sing, I’ll introduce you. It’s only natural.” Song Qing said, “...I really... won’t be coming to places like this often.” Seeing that Song Qing still remained hesitant, Di Gui stopped while he was ahead and did not press him further. He merely smiled and turned his gaze back toward the stage. At the same time, two cold System notification sounds rang out in Guan Zhi’s and Di Gui’s minds almost simultaneously. 【Ding—the first-meeting plot point between protagonist Song Qing and Bai Qi has been completed.】 At the same time, a mission directive sounded on Guan Zhi’s side. 【Next-stage mission issued: The character “Xiao Meihua” must achieve the emotional state of “Love at First Sight” toward protagonist Song Qing.】 Before long, it was Guan Zhi’s turn to go onstage. He had hurriedly studied a few flashy movements overnight, while Di Gui’s mind was indeed quick. He had actually come up with the lousy idea of finding a substitute singer to provide Guan Zhi’s voice from backstage. An indistinct, ethereal effect was created onstage. Within the confused white mist, Guan Zhi imitated what he had seen and awkwardly performed the stiff movements. Every sweep of his sleeves radiated deliberate, unnatural discordance. Below the stage, Song Qing frowned slightly and unconsciously leaned backward. His voice carried a trace of confusion. “...The movements of the performer onstage seem... somewhat stiff and unnatural?” Di Gui pressed a hand to his forehead. He could hardly bear to look. “This one? Ahem, his skill is still somewhat lacking. There’s no need to mention him, no need to mention him.” Guan Zhi gritted his teeth and endured until the performance was over. When he returned backstage, he found that Bai Qi had already removed his makeup and was combing his hair before the mirror. After Di Gui’s eloquent persuasion, Song Qing had ultimately agreed, half-reluctantly, to go backstage and meet the Jixueya whose singing and movements had left such a deep impression on him. Guan Zhi had been waiting early beside the moon gate leading backstage. The moment he saw Song Qing appear, he immediately adjusted his expression according to the System’s instructions, producing the most “enthusiastic” look he could manage. He rushed forward and stared straight at the other man. “Young Master Song! Hello! You’re really handsome! I like you very much!” Di Gui, following behind him, stopped abruptly. The corner of his mouth twitched uncontrollably as he looked at Guan Zhi. Song Qing was stunned by this sudden and excessively straightforward “confession.” A clear flash of shock and awkwardness crossed his face, and he instinctively took half a step back. “...Uh, this gentleman... excuse me, but who are you?” Guan Zhi had been born with a face that made it difficult for anyone to truly hate him. His features were the particularly favored work of the Creator, with smooth, full bone structure. His eyes were exceptionally fine, the pupils black and bright, their rounded shape lending him an air of innocence. Yet the outer corners narrowed slightly, naturally forming an upward curve. His nose was high and straight without being excessive, supporting the contours of his entire face. When he made exaggerated expressions, his brows and eyes flew upward, and his entire face radiated a bold arrogance that seemed utterly unconcerned with anyone else’s feelings. But whenever he restrained his expression and sat quietly, his lashes lowered and the sharpness brought by his narrow, elongated eye corners disappeared. All that remained was an unworldly purity, innocent and guileless enough to be deeply deceptive. Di Gui still remembered how, shortly after they had married, Guan Zhi had indeed reined in all his claws and behaved with extraordinary docility and gentleness. He came home on time, spoke softly, and had even changed his clothing style to something plain and clean. That obedient facade, however, lasted only a very short while. Once he had completely established himself within the marriage and figured out Di Gui’s limits, he tore off that gentle outer skin without the slightest reluctance, revealing the unruly nature underneath. He had gone directly from a seemingly harmless pet cat kept at home to a carnivorous feline racing across the grasslands and looking down on everything. The wildness and predatory instinct in his bones were laid bare, and he had become impossible to tame. Guan Zhi, however, seemed not to have received Song Qing’s awkward signal at all. He continued maintaining his “deeply enamored” expression and waved his hand grandly. “You don’t need to know my name! You only need to know that I—like—you!” Before his words had even fully left his mouth, he had already turned and run away, vanishing without a trace. At the same time, the cold notification sound announcing mission completion rang in his mind once again, right on schedule and utterly decisive. As Guan Zhi pulled apart the complicated ties of his opera costume, he sneered inwardly. He felt that this so-called System was far too easy to fool. It could judge a mission successful based on such superficial, almost childish interactions. The entire process was laughably careless. He was lowering his head and stripping the elaborate opera robe down to his waist, preparing to change into a bamboo-green casual robe, when the door to the dressing room creaked open without the slightest courtesy. Backlit by the doorway, Di Gui leaned against the frame and took his time studying him. The heavy makeup had already been removed from Guan Zhi’s face, revealing features that were almost excessively handsome. His upper body was still bare, and his supple waist and long, straight legs were fully exposed to the sunlight slanting in through the window. His skin was dazzlingly pale. There was a reason so many people had once pursued Guan Zhi relentlessly. He possessed an angelically innocent face paired with a body capable of luring people into ruin. Di Gui’s gaze paused meaningfully at his waist for an instant before he drawled, his voice revealing nothing of his emotions. “You were pretty smooth with that confession just now.” At that, Guan Zhi unhurriedly pulled on the bamboo-colored robe and draped it over himself. His fingers deftly tied the sash as he raised his eyes to meet Di Gui’s gaze. The corners of his lips curved into a half-smile, and his tone carried a hint of careless provocation. “What? Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” He deliberately paused before spitting out the final two words. “ex-husband.” Di Gui tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re overthinking it. I came to tell you that from now on, you’ll follow that... whatever-his-name-is, Bai.” Guan Zhi lifted his eyelids. “Bai Qi.” “I don’t care whether he’s a chess piece or an elephant,” Di Gui said, his tone carrying his habitual air of control. “This time, you’ll obediently follow my arrangements.” The rebellious spark in Guan Zhi’s heart flared at once. They had both died once and crossed over into this world, so why should he still have to listen to Di Gui? His physical body had perished, his soul had changed locations, and yet he still could not escape the instinctive urge to lecture that seemed to emanate from Di Gui. He inhaled. Perhaps because he had died once and arrived in a completely unfamiliar environment, that agitation had settled somewhat. He did not immediately lash out, merely swallowing the sarcasm that had risen to his lips. In the end, he replied without much inflection, “Got it.” Di Gui seemed somewhat surprised by his obedience. He scrutinized Guan Zhi for two seconds before reaching into the inner pocket of his suit and pulling out a brass key. He tossed it over. The key traced a short arc through the air before landing in Guan Zhi’s slightly cool palm, carrying a trace of warmth left behind by the other man’s fingertips. “Little Western Garden,” Di Gui said concisely. “There’s a small apartment. If something troublesome comes up, or if you need to meet and discuss something, go there.” After Song Qing and Bai Qi had spoken briefly backstage that day, Song Qing indeed found himself unable to forget Bai Qi. For the next several days, he kept coming to the opera garden—sometimes reserving an elegant box and listening quietly, sometimes finding an excuse to make a trip backstage. Guan Zhi had not been idle during that time either. His relationship with Bai Qi had gradually grown closer. He called him “Little Senior Brother Bai” at every opportunity, sweetly and naturally. Even the other people in the garden found it astonishing. They could not figure out why the Xiao Meihua who had always held his head so high had suddenly changed his ways and become so close to Bai Qi. After getting closer to him, Guan Zhi gradually learned that Bai Qi was actually a deeply unfortunate person. There had been too many children in his family, so he had been given away for adoption when he was young. His adoptive parents were only moderately well-off, and they had sent him into an opera troupe to study from childhood, where he had suffered through every kind of hardship. Now that he had finally been able to perform onstage and earn some money, his biological parents—who had long since severed contact with him—had shamelessly returned. They demanded money as though it were their right and even threatened him, saying that if he refused, they would spread word everywhere that he had become famous and then refused to acknowledge his biological parents, branding him as an unfilial ingrate. When the couple came to find him again and blocked the backstage passage to demand money, Guan Zhi happened to walk in on them. The man’s coarse scolding and the woman’s shrill sobbing mixed together. Bai Qi merely stood there in silence, his face pale. Guan Zhi could not stand watching any longer. He strode forward and vaguely shielded Bai Qi behind him, his cold gaze sweeping over the two faces twisted by greed. “You only gave birth to him—you never raised him. When he was suffering, you were nowhere to be found, but now you have the nerve to come demanding money? How can your faces be so thick?” Bai Qi’s parents trembled with rage. The man pointed at Guan Zhi’s nose. “W-What does this have to do with you?!” “With me?” Guan Zhi gave a cold laugh, his tone full of disgust. “Of course it has nothing directly to do with me. I’m merely an outsider with no blood relation to Senior Brother Bai Qi. But after hearing that brilliant speech of yours, even I feel chilled to the bone. You’re truly unworthy of being called parents.” Guan Zhi’s manner became brazen and shameless. “You want to spread the word? Go ahead. You want to see whose mouth is more vicious? What a coincidence—I’m far more vicious than either of you. I don’t mind publicizing your disgusting faces exactly as they are: clinging to your son to suck him dry, draining him down to the bone. Let’s see who ends up being more shameless.” Only after the couple left, furious enough to feel as if smoke were pouring from their seven orifices after being thoroughly humiliated and battered by his words, did Guan Zhi turn around. He looked at Bai Qi with some embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Little Senior Brother Bai. When I saw them acting like that just now... I got too angry and couldn’t hold myself back.” Bai Qi watched him quietly, his lips pressed together slightly. After a moment, he spoke very softly. “You... said every word exactly as I felt it.” The person who had been following Guan Zhi nearby and wore a short crew cut was named Qiao Yang. He had witnessed the entire scene. He was someone Di Gui had arranged to come over. He served both as an informant and as an assistant. To stabilize Guan Zhi’s identity as Xiao Meihua, Di Gui had privately hired the substitute singer. Supposedly, the man had cost quite a considerable sum. Guan Zhi himself had no better solution. Only by putting down roots in the opera garden could he legitimately get close to Bai Qi. The problem was that he had used poor health as an excuse to take sick leave for some time and had not appeared onstage in quite a while. As a result, not even two days later, Di Gui sent word asking Guan Zhi to meet him at the apartment in Little Western Garden. Guan Zhi opened the door with the key. The moment he entered, a wave of humid, warm steam met him. Di Gui had evidently just finished bathing. He wore only a loosely tied dark bathrobe, the sash knotted casually. The collar hung open, revealing a broad, firm chest. The hem of the bathrobe barely reached the middle of his thighs, leaving both legs exposed beneath the lamplight. Droplets of water still clung to his skin. One drop slid slowly along the line of his neck, followed the hollow of his collarbone, and disappeared into the deeper shadows beneath the fabric. It was undeniably a very pleasing sight. Guan Zhi’s eyelid twitched. He instinctively turned his gaze away and deliberately rubbed the bridge of his nose before looking toward the furnishings in the living room. He tried to keep his tone casual. “You called me over in such a hurry. What is it?” Di Gui did not answer. He rose from the sofa and walked toward him step by step. Carrying the damp heat of a recent shower and a trace of fresh, cool fragrance, he stopped in front of Guan Zhi. “I heard,” he said, his voice low and relaxed from his bath, “that you happened to help Bai Qi out of trouble too?” Guan Zhi nodded and admitted it readily. “Mm.” Di Gui lowered his eyes to look at him. “Have you forgotten what you’re supposed to do? You’re meant to infiltrate his side as the villain. How did you end up playing a little angel who rescues people from suffering?” Guan Zhi met his gaze. His explanation sounded perfectly reasonable. “I have to earn his trust first. Once we become close, I’ll be able to start acting like a villain in a perfectly legitimate way. I can’t suddenly change my attitude right after meeting him. That would be too deliberate and make people suspicious.” Di Gui seemed rendered speechless by his logic. Suddenly, he reached out and pinched Guan Zhi’s chin with his slightly cool fingertips. The force was not heavy, but it carried an unmistakable refusal to let him escape. He leaned forward slightly, narrowing the distance between them. His voice dropped lower, carrying a hint of commanding amusement. “Is that so? Then show me how bad you can be.” Guan Zhi froze for a moment. Then he quickly furrowed his brows and forced his eyes wide, trying to squeeze out what he thought was a fierce expression. Di Gui stared at him for two seconds before releasing his chin. He tugged at the corner of his mouth and delivered his assessment. “...You look just like a puffed-up silly cat.” Author’s Note: He is absolutely cat-like. As for his personality—well, he’s moody and unpredictable. Keep reading and you’ll understand. The gong should be the only one capable of holding him on a leash.