Làng Wū Yáo sat on his feet in the middle of the arena lined with important guests. It felt like an eternity since he'd done this, but two years of his life had been stolen from him. Remembering seemed pointless, but perhaps he didn't want to remember. If he'd been forced to commit villainy like a sharpened blade, perhaps it was best left unknown. It didn't seem like he would do it willingly. He hated evil. It was the one thing he had an opinion on.

But part of him did wonder what he had seen on these travels. What did the world look like outside his own mountain home, the taverns, and this imperial cage?

No, this wasn't something for a songbird to be thinking. He shouldn't dream of travel and adventure nor was he certain he could. If he committed villainy, the people would be afraid of him. It was safer here where his songs couldn't affect anyone, where his voice would be protected from the outside world who didn't understand him.

He glanced over his shoulder a moment. There it was again, that feeling that someone was trying to speak to him. It couldn't be that voice he'd heard before, the one that would talk to him when he was alone. He didn't want to hear that voice or whatever was trying to whisper to him. Both of them needed to go away.

Làng turned his attention back to the white pipa. He didn't like how new it felt. It was fine craftsmanship, perhaps the finest that Xī Yōu could produce, but it wasn't his. It didn't have that worn out feeling from years of playing. It didn't have the memories of his mother and the mountains. But that villain had stolen that from him too.

Of all things to take. A humble worn-out pipa. It didn't make sense.

"Gathered friends!" Cháo Fēng announced, drawing Làng from his thoughts. "Tonight we celebrate the return of my stolen songbird!"

As the princess spoke, Làng turned over a few songs in his mind. He normally felt more prepared with his song choices, but today had been a jumble. Everything felt off and the more he thought about it, the more he physically ached. Perhaps the princess was right. Remembering was only causing him pain.

He stared down at his left hand for a moment. It felt like he was supposed to wear something on his fingers for playing, but he couldn't remember a time when he ever did. Perhaps it was something from that gap in time he couldn't remember, the two years of his life stolen from him. He had to push that out of his mind. Whatever villainy he had committed during those two years, he had to stop trying to remember.

Làng closed his eyes as he stood up. Cháo Fēng had finished speaking but he wasn't really paying attention to her words. He pulled at the strings, letting the music carry his worries away. The strings felt stiff on his fingers despite his attempts to break them in earlier. The battle had already begun before the first words left his lips. He drove his foot into the imperial soldier, ejecting him from the arena as he quickly adjusted the tune on the pipa.

"Journeyed days across the distance,

Keep walking on: His/Story.

Vowed to be fearless—broken and hopeless,

What was gained, what has been lost?"

The words spoke to him. What had been gained or lost in those two years? Something had been gained in those missing years, something just out of reach. There was something happy, something he was missing and had forgotten.

He felt the sharp pain in his heart again, dropping to a knee as he evaded a lance coming for him. Whatever this was reminding him of had to stop. Focus on the words, Wū Yáo. Do not think of that villain and what he did to you. There was no way that committing treachery across Xī Yōu could ever be counted as a pleasant memory. It had to be the effects of whatever sorcerous sword was used on him. It skewed his thoughts and caused him pain.

"Even so, the throbbing seeks that spark,

The enticement of an unfinished dream."

A lack of focus would mean his death and he had just returned. He couldn't die here. He focused on the sounds around him, the soldiers dashing into the arena, the stiff hum of the strings of the new white pipa. The sound still felt off even though it was perfectly in tune. He rammed the white pipa into the approaching soldiers, spiking them on the fence as he continued his song.

"Oh this is wonderful!" Cháo Fēng leaned on her table. She propped her chin up on her hands. She thought she would never be able to hear this tune again after Làng had left her. She never wanted him to leave again, no matter what it took. She was the princess, so she got what she wanted. "More more!" She commanded more soldiers into the arena to confront Làng. She reached over across the table, dragging Xiào down to it. "Do not let anyone deny me this song."

"Do not worry, princess," he practically spoke through the table. "The plan is already laid out. There's no way that idiot will see through it."

"Good," she released him, going back to clapping and enjoying the blood that Làng was now shedding across the arena.

Làng hadn't stopped singing yet, kicking the blade from the soldier's hands then plunging it right through his heart. Stepping out of the way, he avoided getting blood on his white outfit. Perhaps he needed a better color, but he'd worn white for so long, imagining another color didn't seem right.

"The land is cloaked in deepest blue

The shadow of eagles across the moon.

Leave the pain and scars in the past."

He'd worn another color recently, hadn't he? Cranberry perhaps? No, that was ridiculous. He always wore white ever since he grew too tall for the robes when he first left the mountains. Perhaps it was something from the missing two years he didn't want to think about. He had to trust that the princess had told him the truth, but he honestly didn't trust her very much. She could be feeding him lies, but little made sense at the moment. The pain in his chest, the wounds, the missing time. It must be the effects of that sorcerous sword, but there was something scratching at the back of his soul that told him things were just off.

He finished his song, surrounded by dead bodies, a successful performance for a bloodthirsty princess who had done so much to get him back. Perhaps he should be thankful that she was protecting his voice from the treachery of the outside world, but something still bothered him.

He retreated after the party, though not to his room. He was tired and hungry, but he needed some fresh air that didn't stink of death. Like the other palace where he'd lived, this one too had an extensive zen garden surrounded by a tall wall. A large pond with a stone bridge, several stone lanterns lighting the pathway. Fireflies hung low along the pines that bordered the walkway.

Alone and with no voice nagging at him. It was quiet. He could hear the crickets playing their nightly tune, the guards nearby chattering about how bewitching the performance was, what they heard of it at least. A breeze rustled the leaves in the trees. Koi swam in the pond.

Quiet. He pulled at the white pipa strings. They still didn't feel natural to him yet, but he'd never played with a new one before. He had the old pipa that belonged to his mother, the one now likely gone forever thanks to that villain. He still couldn't understand why a Sword-plundering Nemesis would steal a pipa. It wasn't anything special. He would simply have to break in this new white one.

At the edge of the pond, he knelt down. Scooping up some water, he rubbed at the blood stain on the side. He managed to keep himself from becoming bloodied, but jamming a pipa into someone's wound inevitably got the pipa dirty. At least it hadn't completely dried and he was able to get most of it off.

Standing up, he pulled the strings to a tune he didn't often play, humming the lyrics for a moment before singing quietly so he wouldn't draw the attention of the guards in the hallway. It was the song his mother taught him.

"Even as the snow piles up in the stillness

The sound will ring out no matter how faint

If you can strain your ears and find the source

In that moment, you will hear my playing."

He pulled at the strings some more, adjusting the knobs at the top. The sound still felt off to him though the pipa was perfectly in tune. So much was going through his mind about that two year gap it felt like it was affecting his hearing. No matter how much he wanted to not think about it, he just couldn't stop. The overwhelming feeling that something was wrong wouldn't leave him alone. Perhaps it was that sorcerous sword skewing his thoughts. Perhaps there was still a part of it that was affecting him, even if he couldn't remember.

He stopped, turning sharply as he thought someone was trying to speak to him. Xiào was standing on the edge of the courtyard, watching a moment before heading back down the hallway. Something about that man made Làng's blood boil more than usual. He didn't particularly like the sneaky fox, but he did save his life from that villain Shāng Bù Huàn.

Did he?

Was there more to this tale?

Làng shook the thought from his head, walking back across the bridge and towards his room. Perhaps some rest would clear his head.

...

Author's musings

The sword is really affecting poor Lang. I really felt like Chao Feng would go to any point to hear Lang's songs again, just to hear his voice and see him spray blood aross the battlefield. I wonder how long they can keep this up before something goes wrong?