18: Solitary Suspicions

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In a quiet corner of a fine estate just outside the capital city, a certain man sat alone in the confines of his study. The room was well stocked with shelves full of books and scrolls, so much that there was only enough room on the walls for a single painting. Nevertheless, the tall blue-green shan shui landscape gave the viewer a peek into the vast and expansive mountains, offering a breath of fresh air in the enclosed space.

There were various instruments scattered about the room as well---a bamboo flute, a xun, or Chinese ocarina, and the rosewood zither currently resting before its owner on a small raised table. There was an incense burner by the instrument, but it was currently empty. The man himself seemed more preoccupied by a book he was reading in his hands. Occasionally, he would pause to take a sip of tea from a nearby cup.

Tap, tap.

At the sound of a knock on his door, Ling Fengxiao simply said, Come in, without looking up from his book. A young pageboy entered with a low bow and a package in his hands.

"Master, the item you asked for is here."

Only then did the lord of the house raise his eyes to peer over his volume. After examining the pageboy just long enough to make him squirm, he intoned, "Set it up."

Without a word, the pageboy opened up the package in his hands and took out a single stick of South Heaven Fragrance. He placed the incense stick in the empty holder and lit the tip with a match, before neatly storing the rest of the box in a different corner of the room and withdrawing from the chambers.

Gradually, the scent of the incense began to diffuse around the room. Unlike the incense of the north, South Heaven Fragrance was lighter and sweeter, an ideal companion to the oftentimes stifling heat that plagued the warmer climes. It really was a fitting match for noble ladies and their pursuits, the fragrance strong enough without being cloying or dense. By the time its tendrils filled the room, Ling Fengxiao had already set aside his book to rest his fingers above the zither.

Music, while not one of his passions, was one of his pursuits. He had sought to master it as he did all other things, and thus was quite an accomplished player in his own right. He trailed his fingers past the strings before plucking one to begin the melody. Any guest at the banquet would recognize it immediately...as the song behind Mei Yanran's dance.

As far as songs went, it was a simple and repetitive tune, more suited to a work of dance than a standalone melody. But Ling Fengxiao took care to play each phrase over and over again, as if...searching for something.

"Master."

In the middle of a lull in the melody, a voice sounded from outside his window. Without even looking, Ling Fengxiao knew that it was one of his guards.

"Speak," he replied, pausing in his play to sip more tea.

"The watcher just switched shifts with a replacement," his guard reported.

"Noted. Maintain your guard."

"Yes, master."

In the space of a breath, the guard had disappeared again, leaving Ling Fengxiao alone with his thoughts. A series of curious events had started ever since the night of Snow Festival. First was the unexpected win by an unknown daughter of a new official, then his own stirrings of nostalgia for a long-lost memory. The previous Lord Ling had no children, but had adopted Ling Fengxiao and raised him as his successor after the boy nearly beat him in a weiqi match. Before that, he only had vague memories of living with a poor woman who could've been his mother.

That woman had used to sing lullabies to him at night, when the hunger was too much. He'd long forgotten then words, but he still remembered snatches of the melody...the very same one that Mei Yanran had danced to that night. The old Lord Ling had picked him off the streets in the southern regions, but Ling Fengxiao hardly knew who his mother was or even where he came from. He had instructed his men to look further into Mei Yanran's hometown to find more clues or distinguishing features. Among the items brought to him was South Heaven Fragrance, a particular incense exclusive to the region.

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