Chapter 9
Chapter 9: A Backer
Anyone Yan Ting Yue acknowledged as an inheritor was no ordinary person.
Lin Wo Yu was about to accept when Lin Qin stopped her. “Mom, I still have practice later. There isn’t time.”
Lin Wo Yu looked regretful. “Aunt Yan, I’m sorry. Qin Qin’s coursework is heavy. We really don’t have the time.”
“Then go back early,” Yan Ting Yue said with a smile. “Practice is important.”
Lin Wo Yu nodded. “We won’t disturb you. Qin Qin and I will head back first.”
Outside, Lin Qin continued down the mountain path, face unreadable.
Lin Wo Yu said suddenly, “When you were little, your grandmother wanted you to learn Kun Qu Opera. What a pity.”
Lin Qin’s tone stayed flat. “What’s there to pity? Would learning Kun Qu Opera let me go to Yun Jing and return to the Lin Family?”
Lin Wo Yu paused. “Of course not.”
The Lin Family were descendants of Heavenly Music Workshop. They also dreamed of rebuilding Heavenly Music Workshop.
Heavenly Music Workshop revered the guqin above all, followed by the pipa, sheng, xiao, and other classical instruments. Each generation’s sect master was most skilled at the guqin.
But after the great war, many scores and techniques were lost.
For years, the Yun Jing Lin Family had tried every method to revive the guqin tradition, with little success.
Lin Qin said coolly, “Then there’s your answer. I only learn what’s useful to me.”
The seven-string guqin was her only path back to the main family.
Once she returned to Yun Jing, she would have a chance to go to the Global Center.
Lin Wo Yu thought for a moment. “Fine. You don’t have the energy for everything. Focus on the guqin.”
—
By noon, Ye Wan Lan arrived at Yan Ting Yue’s Forest Cabin.
“Teacher.”
She knocked gently, then glanced at the gift box on the tea table. “Did you have a customer?”
“An old friend had someone deliver that,” Yan Ting Yue said. “They’ve already left.”
She poured Ye Wan Lan a cup of tea. “A Lan, if we hadn’t truly met only yesterday, I would suspect I’d been teaching you for decades.”
Ye Wan Lan smiled. “Teacher and I are fated.”
In truth, she had studied Kun Qu Opera under Yan Ting Yue for decades.
Yan Ting Yue had taught her the Four Skills and Five Methods and even brought out opera costumes she had treasured for years, gifting them to her.
But the next day, time would reset, and they would become strangers again.
All Ye Wan Lan could do was return, again and again, to learn—because her memory did not reset with time.
Now the endless loop had ended. This time, she could finally become Yan Ting Yue’s disciple for real.
Long ago, during the Qianhe era, the Sage of Opera had appeared.
Back then, Ye Wan Lan had followed Emperor Zhaozong of Ning to meet him. Under his guidance, Kun Qu Opera reached its peak. During the Ning Dynasty, opera gatherings filled the Mid-Autumn Festival.
Now Kun Qu Opera had fallen into decline, and Ye Wan Lan wanted to save it.
“It’s because you have real skill,” Yan Ting Yue said, “and you can endure.”
She studied Ye Wan Lan, then nodded toward the courtyard. “Today, why don’t you sing this section from The Peony Pavilion?”
Ye Wan Lan nodded.
She stepped behind the screen in the courtyard, closed her eyes, and began.
“It turns out that every shade of purple and red has bloomed…”
Her voice rose, graceful and lingering.
When she finished, Yan Ting Yue pointed out a few places to refine. Ye Wan Lan listened, memorizing each note, each breath, each turn of sound before she left.
May in South City was rainy. Before long, a light drizzle began again.
—
Not long after, the faint clack of wooden clogs on grass sounded outside. Yan Ting Yue looked surprised.
Who would come at a time like this?
She lifted the curtain.
Mist drifted through the air. Someone approached under a bamboo umbrella with twenty-four ribs.
Between rain and fog, the young master’s beauty was almost unreal.
Even Yan Ting Yue was shaken.
She had seen many heirs of great families, but none compared to the man before her.
“Aunt Yan, I’m very sorry to disturb you at this hour.”
Rong Yu ran in behind Yan Ting Feng, panting. “We brought you tea and sandalwood incense from Yun Jing. This is my brother—just call him Little Yan.”
“Little Yu. Little Yan.” Yan Ting Yue smiled, clearly pleased. Then she sighed. “It’s a pity you came late. Otherwise, you could’ve met my disciple.”
Rong Yu froze. “You have a disciple?”
He had known Yan Ting Yue when she served as vice president of the Yun Jing Art Association. Countless people had begged to study under her, including the Yun Jing Lin Family—yet she rejected them all.
Yan Ting Yue was the Sage of Opera’s only inheritor. Her status was naturally lofty.
If word spread that she had an inheritor, it would shake all of Shen Zhou. Even the World Intangible Heritage Center would feel the tremor.
“Just yesterday,” Yan Ting Yue said, smiling. “And don’t doubt it. In the future, she’ll sing even better than I do. I believe she can revive Kun Qu Opera—no, revive intangible cultural heritage itself.”
Rong Yu’s eyes widened. “Who is she?”
How could Yan Ting Yue praise someone like that?
Yan Ting Feng’s gaze turned thoughtful, as if something had clicked into place.
Yan Ting Yue did not elaborate. “You’ll meet her eventually. For now, don’t tell anyone.”
“Understood,” Rong Yu said quickly.
He brightened at once. “Aunt Yan, this tea is freshly made by my grandfather. And this incense is the newest style from the Su Family. I brought them all for you.”
“Thanks for the trouble, Little Yu,” Yan Ting Yue said warmly. “Sit. I had someone go catch fish. We’ll eat together in a bit.”
Rong Yu sat obediently, but his mind kept spinning over the mysterious disciple.
He leaned toward Yan Ting Feng and whispered, “Can you guess who it is?”
Yan Ting Feng took a slow sip of tea. “Not interested.”
Rong Yu muttered, “I don’t even know what you’re interested in…”
Even after years, he still could not figure out what Yan Ting Feng thought about all day.
What a strange man.
—
Back in River City, it was 3:00 p.m. Ye Wan Lan stopped by a shop near the art academy and bought brushes, ink, xuan paper, paints, and carving knives.
“Ye Wan Lan?”
A startled voice came from behind her.
Ye Wan Lan turned, expression calm.
“It really is you.” Xu Li frowned. “Why are you still wandering around here at this time? Shouldn’t you be at the hospital taking care of Qin Xian?”
Ye Wan Lan ignored him and kept walking.
Xu Li hurried after her. “Qin Xian still hasn’t woken up. I heard you were the one who hit him—don’t you think you went too far?”
Xu Li had grown up with Zhou He Chen and Qin Xian. They were childhood friends.
Zhou He Chen used to toss Ye Wan Lan’s apology essays into their private group chat like jokes. Xu Li knew exactly how desperately Ye Wan Lan had clung to Zhou He Chen.
Who would have thought she would suddenly snap?
“Enough, Ye Wan Lan. Listen to me.” Xu Li’s impatience sharpened his voice. “Go apologize to Brother He Chen. Then go to the hospital and stay with Qin Xian until he wakes up.”
He barreled on as if it solved everything. “Just soften up. Once you do, doesn’t it all get fixed?”
“And Sister Yun Yi is fine—her hand wasn’t hurt. False alarm. She’s always kind. She won’t be angry with you. She might even help you.”
Ye Wan Lan did not so much as glance at him.
Xu Li’s temper finally broke. “Ye Wan Lan, if Brother He Chen gets angry and refuses to help you, then when the Qin Family makes a move, you’re finished!”
Ye Wan Lan stopped at last and tilted her head slightly. “Who told you I planned to rely on him?”
Xu Li blinked, then laughed out loud. “If you’re not relying on Brother He Chen, who else are you going to rely on?”
In River City, without Zhou He Chen, who would even know Ye Wan Lan’s name?