“So, Yang Guifei died?” Wang Xiaowan asked.
Lu Zheng nodded, then shook his head. “After the court quelled the rebellion, Emperor Minghuang sent people to retrieve her remains, but they found nothing.”
Yi Xiaoqian’s eyes brightened. “She did not die?”
Lu Zheng sighed. “Unofficial histories say she faked her death and escaped. Others claim an immortal took her away. Later, a poet inspired by this wrote a long poem that became renowned… ahem…”
“Taken by an immortal?” Du Yueyao’s eyes also lit up. “Yes, Yang Yuhuan had heavenly beauty and unmatched skill in music and dance. Perhaps some extraordinary person fancied her, used illusions to deceive the world, and spirited her off.”
Wang Xiaowan nodded repeatedly. “That must be it.”
Si Lingxi, however, focused elsewhere. “Another long poem? Recite it for me.”
Experience had shown that though Lu Zheng shared few poems, nearly all were masterpieces passed down through the ages.
“Er, well, it is a narrative poem… and it has many famous… fine, I will recite it…”
Lu Zheng paused. His deep spiritual cultivation let him recall every line of the “Song of Everlasting Regret” clearly, though he adjusted certain names and places slightly.
This is too difficult for me…
“The emperor, enamoured of beauty, sought one to topple kingdoms. For years upon the throne, he found none. The Yang house had a daughter newly grown, raised deep in seclusion, unknown to the world.
Born with beauty hard to forsake, one day chosen for the sovereign’s side. A glance, a smile, a hundred charms arose, the powdered faces of the six palaces lost all colour.
…
Cloud tresses, flower face, golden hairpin swaying, in warm lotus curtains passing spring nights. Spring nights bitter short, sun rises high, from then the sovereign held no morning court.
…
Thus parents across the realm no longer prized sons over daughters.
…
The sovereign covered his face, unable to save her, looking back as tears of blood mingled flowed.
…
Beneath Mawei Slope in the earth, no jade countenance seen, only an empty place of death.
…
Searching high to blue heavens, low to yellow springs, both vast and empty, nowhere found.
…
Wind blows immortal sleeves fluttering aloft, still like Rainbow Skirt and Feathered Robe dance.
…
At parting, earnest words entrusted once more, within them vows known only to both hearts. Seventh day of the seventh month in Longevity Hall, at midnight with none near, private whispers shared.
In heaven wish to be birds flying wing to wing, on earth wish to be branches intertwined. Heaven long, earth enduring, have their end, this regret endless without cease.”
Bai Juyi’s “Song of Everlasting Regret”, one of China’s most celebrated narrative long poems, held an unrivalled place in history. Famous lines abounded, worthy of being called an eternal masterpiece. Lu Zheng had taken ages just to recite it.
When he finished, silence fell once more.
“A glance, a smile, a hundred charms arose, the powdered faces of the six palaces lost all colour…”
“In heaven wish to be birds flying wing to wing, on earth wish to be branches intertwined…”
“Heaven long, earth enduring, have their end, this regret endless without cease…”
All the women present possessed considerable literary attainment, so they felt the poem’s impact most deeply. They remained speechless for a long while, savouring the lines endlessly.
If the flourishing Tang had Li Du as peerless pair, the late Tang little Li Du shining together, then Bai Juyi dominated mid-Tang. This representative work alone could overwhelm all others.
Lu Zheng turned and saw Liu Qingyan’s eyes watery again, lost in reverie, unsure what thoughts filled her mind.
“What a tragically beautiful love story…”
“No less moving than Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai.”
“This poem is written so beautifully…”
“Thinking again of ‘cloud-like gown, flower-like face’, just how beautiful was this Yang Guifei…”
“I truly want to see her with my own eyes.”
“I feel this gentle, enchanting Yang Guifei has come alive, standing right before us.”
“Yes, yes!”
“I say…” Du Yueyao’s eyes gleamed. “Could we adapt this poem into an opera?”
Shen Ying’s eyes brightened. “Excellent idea!”
Wang Xiaowan nodded eagerly. “Such fine poetry, it would be a shame not to turn it into opera!”
As the neighbouring pool buzzed with excitement, Lu Zheng stroked his chin, considered, then said, “If you are adapting it into opera, I can help too.”
Hailing from Qin Province, Lu Zheng knew the renowned stage production of “Song of Everlasting Regret” at Huaqing Palace, along with “Legend of Everlasting Regret” and “Palace of Eternal Youth” as references, rich with beautiful lyrics ready for use.
Shen Ying smiled. “We shall certainly trouble Lu-lang!”
Du Yueyao and Wang Xiaowan clapped and laughed. “Perfect! We can help, even play palace maids!”
Shen Ying’s gaze softened. “Lu-lang shall play Emperor Minghuang?”
Lu Zheng waved his hands in alarm. “No, no. I think you and Bi Xinyu would suit it well. You two perform together.”
“Who is calling me?”
With a seductive query, Bi Xinyu in pale blue gauze skirt swayed gracefully through the mist, arriving at the spring’s edge.
“I smelled sweet fruit at the valley entrance and guessed you were all here enjoying the springs again.” Bi Xinyu laughed. “And planning another opera? How does it compare to ‘Liang Zhu’?”
Liu Qingyan smiled. “One song ‘Everlasting Regret’, regret endless without cease. When we return, have Lu-lang copy it, and you will understand.”
“Understood!” Bi Xinyu smiled enchantingly, cast Lu Zheng a flirtatious glance, then swayed her willow waist with boundless allure, passed his pool, and reached Shen Ying’s spring. With a shift, her gauze skirt slipped away, and she slid smoothly into the water.
“Eh? Another lady here?” Bi Xinyu then noticed Si Lingxi, straightened proudly, and greeted warmly. “I am Bi Xinyu. How may I address you?”
Shen Ying smiled with pursed lips and introduced. “This is the master of Phoenix Mountain in the southern borders, Senior Si Lingxi. Address her as Palace Lord.”
Bi Xinyu’s face froze, her heart skipped half a beat, her mind rang. A surge of blood rushed to her crown.
“Hee hee!”
“Haha!”
Everyone could not help laughing. Bi Xinyu panicked utterly, rose hastily, then thought it unseemly, wanted to dress, but felt it forced.
Si Lingxi smiled faintly, waved a hand. “Sit. You are Shen Ying’s friend. No need for ceremony.”
“Thank you, Palace Lord!” Bi Xinyu curtsied quickly, then sat respectfully at the edge. Seeing Shen Ying’s teasing look, she dared not glare back.
Shen Ying smiled, took the nearby platter of watermelon and grapes, gently pushed it to Bi Xinyu’s side. “Have some fruit. Return to Peach Blossom Plain with us later.”
“Thank you! Certainly!” Bi Xinyu thanked, then delicately pinched a watermelon slice with two fingers, tasting it carefully. This was likely the most ladylike she had ever been.
…
The women then discussed the tale of Emperor Minghuang and Yang Guifei, leaving Bi Xinyu bewildered, though the poetry lines were indeed beautiful and stirring. No wonder they planned an opera adaptation.
Time soon reached late afternoon. Having soaked enough, everyone decisively swept Lu Zheng along back to Peach Blossom Plain. Shen Ying instructed Xiao Cui to prepare brush, ink, paper, and inkstone, asking Lu Zheng to transcribe the “Song of Everlasting Regret” again.
