Chapter 55
Chapter 55: Ye Wan Lan’s Performance, Top-Grade Su Embroidery
The qin room went dead quiet.
Lin Qin froze.
She’d been about to smooth things over with a few polite lines, but Ye Wan Lan had answered without the slightest hesitation.
Lang Tao Sha—what was that?
One of Shen Zhou’s ten great classical masterpieces.
After the war with Wan Jun Zhi, only three complete pieces had survived and been passed down intact. Lang Tao Sha was one of them—and it was also the work that had made Lin Fan Yin, the sect master of Heavenly Music Workshop, famous.
The original score had always been kept by the Lin Family. It had never been released to the public.
Even the president of the Yun Jing Gu Qin Association had visited again and again, and still the Lin Family refused to loosen their grip and let the score out.
What circulated on the market now as Lang Tao Sha was a simplified version, not the true historical piece.
But even the simplified version was notoriously difficult. Without a decade of guqin fundamentals, you couldn’t play it all the way through.
Even people who knew nothing about the guqin had heard that much.
Yue Qin Hua pressed her anger down and spoke through her teeth. “You mean to tell me you’ve learned Lang Tao Sha?”
“Yes.”
Ye Wan Lan’s tone stayed unhurried. “It’s the piece I’m most familiar with.”
So far, she still hadn’t played Formation-Breaking Tune all the way through.
Formation-Breaking Tune lived up to its name—an actual battlefield piece. Once the notes rang out, no one walked away unscathed.
“Class is canceled today.”
Yue Qin Hua stood so abruptly the chair scraped. Her expression was colder than ice. “Qin Qin, I’ll come again next week.”
At the doorway, she paused and looked back. “Ambition is a good thing. But if you lie to climb, you’ll never amount to anything.”
Then she left—no hesitation, no second glance—furious enough to burn.
Even Lin Yue hadn’t expected it to end like this.
Ye Wan Lan stood as well.
So this was the teacher Lin Wo Yu had hired—mediocre at best.
There was no reason to waste time listening to someone like that.
“Wait.”
Ye Wan Lan turned.
Lin Qin called her back and, with a cool face, handed her a copy of The Gu Qin Basics. “If you want to learn, start with the fundamentals. Understand the finger techniques first. I wrote notes in it—read it this week.”
“Thank you.” Ye Wan Lan accepted the book. “Do you still like peach blossom pastries?”
Lin Qin blinked, caught off guard.
Before she could answer, Ye Wan Lan was already out the door.
“Sis, now you can relax.” Lin Yue whistled, grinning. “Ye Wan Lan rubbed Teacher Yue the wrong way. If she ever wants to get into the Gu Qin Association, she’s done for. Her guqin road is cut off.”
Lin Qin didn’t reply. Her brow tightened.
“She actually said she can play Lang Tao Sha!” Lin Yue burst into laughter. “Just running her mouth. You can tell she wanted to show off—and doesn’t understand a thing.”
Lin Qin still didn’t respond. Her gaze drifted to the guqin, distant and thoughtful.
Why did she feel like Ye Wan Lan was… different?
No—more precisely—
The Ye Wan Lan now resembled the one she’d met six years ago.
Not the Ye Wan Lan of the past two years—the one who’d clung to Zhou He Chen like a drowning woman to a plank, willing to throw away even her family just to be his stand-in.
What was this strange, nagging feeling?
Two hours later, Lin Wei Lan and Lin Wo Yu returned, and the family sat down together for lunch.
“Qin Qin, A Lan—how was today’s lesson?” Lin Wo Yu asked, handing her handbag to Steward Lin before taking her seat.
Lin Yue couldn’t wait to stir things up. “Mom, Grandma, there wasn’t even a lesson. Someone chased Teacher Yue off.”
“Chased her off?” Lin Wo Yu stared.
Old Madam Lin said nothing. Her eyes held only contempt.
Of course. A useless father raised a useless daughter. Lin Jia Yan was a nobody, and Ye Wan Lan—his daughter—was the same.
Now she could finally rest easy. Ye Wan Lan had no talent for the guqin at all.
Lin Wei Lan only smiled, unbothered. “How did she chase her off?”
“She asked what piece I’ve learned,” Ye Wan Lan said evenly. “I answered honestly.”
Lin Wei Lan’s eyes sharpened. “And what did you answer?”
She wasn’t close with Yue Qin Hua, but she remembered her as broad-minded. How could one answer send her storming out?
“I said I can play Lang Tao Sha,” Ye Wan Lan replied. “Then she left.”
She hadn’t even stayed one extra minute—hadn’t asked to hear a single phrase.
“Oh?” A glint flashed in Lin Wei Lan’s gaze. She seized Ye Wan Lan’s hand. “A Lan. Come with me.”
She pulled Ye Wan Lan upstairs at once.
At the table, silence lingered.
Lin Yue blurted, “Grandma isn’t seriously believing she can play Lang Tao Sha, is she? If she said she can play Formation-Breaking Tune too—would Grandma believe that?”
Anyone with eyes could see Ye Wan Lan had been talking nonsense.
Lin Qin had studied the guqin for fourteen years and still hadn’t performed Lang Tao Sha.
“Eat,” Lin Wo Yu snapped. “Do you need to instruct your grandma on her own business?”
She leveled a warning stare at him. “And don’t let me catch you sneaking out to race again.”
Lin Yue shut his mouth. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the mystery racer who’d pulled off Blade Pass at Little Gold Mountain.
Upstairs, in the study, Lin Wei Lan closed the door and cut off the noise of the house.
“A Lan.” She beckoned. “Look at this qin.”
Ye Wan Lan stepped closer—and her expression shifted at once. She recognized it immediately.
The Solitary Gloom Qin.
It was the instrument Lin Fan Yin, the sect master of Heavenly Music Workshop, used most often.
Ye Wan Lan had expected it to be in the Lin Family’s hands. She hadn’t expected Lin Wei Lan to bring it from the Yun Jing Lin Family to River City.
The strings bore unmistakable scars where they had snapped before, though they’d since been repaired.
Ye Wan Lan’s fingertips brushed the strings lightly, and a memory surfaced—three hundred years ago, her single meeting with Lin Fan Yin.
“Your Highness’s guqin attainments are extraordinary,” Lin Fan Yin had said. “The Supreme Elder asked me to present Your Highness with the Primordial Echo Zither.”
She’d smiled gently then, eyes bright. “May Your Highness live a long life. And may I remain by Your Highness’s side—Guardian God Zhou.”
But in her last life, she hadn’t lived past eighteen.
Six years after her death, Heavenly Music Workshop had been destroyed. Every last disciple fell in battle.
“Try it,” Lin Wei Lan said.
She pressed Ye Wan Lan into the seat before the Solitary Gloom Qin. “Lang Tao Sha.”
Ye Wan Lan nodded and set her fingers on the strings.
Zheng!
The first note struck like a blade—clean, powerful.
Zheng, zheng—
Her fingers rose and fell in a natural rhythm. The piece formed as if it had been waiting in the air all along.
In the music, Lin Wei Lan could almost see the sea itself—dark waves swelling, crashing onto shore, retreating, then returning without end.
Lang Tao Sha.
It truly was Lang Tao Sha.
Even Lin Wei Lan’s breath caught. She hadn’t heard this piece in a very, very long time.
Only Lang Tao Sha played on the Solitary Gloom Qin could conjure the unmatched splendor of Heavenly Music Workshop in its prime.
When the section ended, Lin Wei Lan stood at once, unable to hide her excitement. “A Lan. Take this qin. Only in your hands can it show its true power.”
Ye Wan Lan paused.
Lin Wei Lan’s expression turned solemn. “Grandma won’t ask where you learned Lang Tao Sha. You have your secrets. But Grandma will believe you.”
“Grandma, there’s no need.” Ye Wan Lan smiled faintly. “I already have a qin. I’m used to that one.”
She glanced down at the Solitary Gloom Qin again. “Give it to Cousin instead.”
Lin Wei Lan stilled, then sighed. “I was afraid she’d hurt herself, so I never gave it away.”
For someone trained in Heavenly Music’s arts, playing normally was only music.
But playing in reverse—turning the instrument against the world—was a killing technique.
And it came with a price. Hurt others by ten thousand, and you’d still lose a thousand yourself.
“All right,” Lin Wei Lan murmured. “The main family… sooner or later, we’ll go back. Sooner or later, we’ll face it.”
Her gaze softened. “It’s good that you have your own qin. Otherwise you’d have to build rapport all over again. This one… let Qin Qin learn a bit more first.”
Ye Wan Lan nodded. “Grandma, I’m meeting someone to talk business. I won’t stay long.”
“Business?”
“A big contract. We’re supplying costumes to the Thousand Autumn Years crew.”
Lin Wei Lan looked pleased. “Good. Go, then—but eat first. Don’t let yourself go hungry.”
After lunch, Ye Wan Lan met up with Cheng Qing Li and Jiang Xu Lin.
Jiang Xu Lin held a box, looking half-awake and cocky at the same time. “Boss. Want to see?”
Ye Wan Lan opened it. Inside was a garment—embroidery so fine it looked unreal.
“So beautiful,” Cheng Qing Li breathed. “Is this Su Embroidery?”
She looked at Jiang Xu Lin with open awe. “You’re incredible, Brother Jiang. A real Su embroidery master.”
Jiang Xu Lin’s dark circles were almost comical. To complete even that small section, he’d stayed up for several nights in a row—but he didn’t regret a second of it.
For five years, he’d never imagined he’d hold a needle again.
He stared at his hands, then slowly curled his fingers into a fist.
Ye Wan Lan had healed him.
Tai Yi Divine Needle… the legendary technique recorded in history.
Hadn’t it been lost long ago?
“It’s Su Embroidery,” Ye Wan Lan said, inspecting the work. “Very good. I didn’t misjudge you.”
She checked the time. “Let’s go.”
She slipped on a mask, and the three of them headed to the Thousand Autumn Years set.
The historical political drama Thousand Autumn Years had everyone talking. The original novel was a popular IP, and the actress playing the female lead was one of the hottest names in the industry.
Ye Jia Ling—a top-tier female celebrity—had exploded across the internet last year after starring in a xianxia idol drama.
Cheng Qing Li rubbed her palms together, eyes shining. “Sister Lan, do you think we can get her autograph later?”
“Maybe,” Ye Wan Lan said.
At the entrance, someone was already waiting.
“You’re from Wan Tian Qing, right?” The woman’s gaze swept over the three of them, sharp and assessing. Her smile said she’d already made up her mind. “I’m Miss Ye Jia Ling’s agent.”
“Yes,” Ye Wan Lan said calmly. “We’re Wan Tian Qing. Nice to meet you.”
“We can use your outfits,” the agent said lightly, “but there are three rules.”
Jiang Xu Lin’s brows drew together. “You—”
Since when did providing costumes come with rules?
Ye Wan Lan’s expression didn’t move.
“First,” the agent continued, lazy and imperious, “every outfit must be approved by our artist. If she doesn’t like it, it cannot appear. Second, during filming, your company serves only our artist—no other artist.”
She tilted her chin. “Third, don’t harass our artist, don’t ride her popularity, and don’t run your mouths online.”
Her smile thinned. “Can you do those three things, or not?”