The conversation from a few days ago still scratched at the back of his mind. The Night of Mourning and the Resonant Memory. Two blades that turned his entire life upside down. Làng Wū Yáo adjusted his top knot in the mirror as his mind attempted to sort itself out poorly.

He had to find an answer, to find out who was telling the truth and who was lying to him. Perhaps he could strike someone with the pipa until he found one. He felt the pain pang at his heart again. He had to stop thinking thoughts like this. The only ones he should fight were the imperial guards at the parties and Shāng Bù Huàn if they ever crossed paths.

His breathing had stabilized again. The attacks were spreading apart at least, allowing him to recover faster. It was getting easier to deal with them, though they still rippled pain through his entire body.

Night was setting in and the crickets chirped outside his window. The princess had called off battles for the time being, a surprising show of mercy from her. Sort of. She still made demands of him, like the one tonight. He plucked the pipa off its stand, taking it with him as he made his way to her chambers.

"There you are, my dear Wū Yáo~" Cháo Fēng pushed herself into him, barely letting him in the doorway. "I was starting to worry that you had fallen again, and I certainly can't let that happen to my precious songbird, now can I?"

"You wished for a song before bed, yes?" he gently wedged himself out of her grasp. His chest still hurt from the repeated painful attacks as his mind attempted to remind himself of the two year gap. He was afraid that in one of the attacks, he would just stop breathing altogether.

"Yes, yes, sing me a song!" She twirled away from him with glee. "Make it slow so I can dream of my precious songbird all night!"

He frowned slightly. Well if it kept her happy.

She crawled under several blankets, peering at him expectantly as he folded his legs underneath him and sat down on one of the pillows. Setting the pipa on his lap, he pulled the strings. The song was a favorite of his, but he slowed down the tempo into a night's song this time.

"My life goes by like passing clouds….

Departed the days I will be proud...

My own footprints shall become history…"

This sort of singing was much simpler than the battles he was forced to fight in the arena, different even from the songs within the taverns. Such a slow tune could cause a euphoric effect, and the princess was using it to feed her desire for his tunes.

She wanted to hear his battle songs, see him fight as he sprayed the soldiers' blood across the stage. She longed for that battle once again, but having him meet his end in battle because the Resonant Memory's effects brought him to his knees was unacceptable. Làng would die on her terms and hers alone. If Xiào Kuáng Juàn was correct, the pain would subside and her fighting songbird would be back on his feet again. It hadn't yet been a week, but she wanted more of his song. More and more and more!

She would find her fix this way instead.

She barely heard the last of the song as his enchanted voice lulled her to sleep. Làng plucked the last notes, hearing her begin to snore and mumble about her songbird. He took to his feet, quietly leaving the room and prodding the guard on the way out. They had nodded off at the sound of his quiet lullaby, much as the princess had.

"Court Virtuoso," one of them snagged him by the sleeve quietly.

Làng turned, not expecting him to speak.

"Be careful on your way back," he warned. "There have been sightings of Shāng Bù Huàn in the area. I will call an escort for you, given your current condition. Wěi and Fāng can ensure that you make it back to your room."

Làng shook his head. "I am fine tonight."

The attacks he'd had lately weren't at all subtle. Since that first one when he recalled falling from the mountains, he had several more that took him to the ground in the hallway. There was talk that Làng was suffering from some fatal illness though Xiào was quick to quell them with the condition being temporary and related to Làng's abduction.

He headed down the hallway, noticing several guards placed along them facing one of the larger courtyards. They certainly are prepared, though Làng wasn't actually certain how prepared that could be given how easily he dispatched them while singing. If Shāng Bù Huàn really was that powerful, they stood no chance against them.

But there was the matter of Shāng. There were so many questions in Làng's mind right now concerning the missing two years, and it literally pained him to think about it. This villain was rampaging the area, drawing closer and closer to the palace, and something had to be attracting him. Làng considered for a moment that Shāng would be after himself instead, but Shāng had already thrown him away literally and likely presumed him dead.

The rumors he'd been hearing lately about a sorcerous sword at the palace that wasn't him. The Resonant Memory?

If he could take that sword first and somehow strike his back, he would learn the truth about what truly happened. He would fight Shāng for that sword if he had to. He clutched his chest as he headed down the hallway opposite of his own room towards the courtyard. No matter the cost, he had to know the truth. If the Night of Mourning's scars did cause him pain, he would simply strike himself with the Resonant Memory to force himself to forget.

But there was a chance that it would reveal something else. Something different panged at the back of his mind. That fall from the cliffside didn't feel malicious. People were calling out to him. Someone called him by his personal name. They knew him. They told him to hang on like they wanted to save him from that fall.

He grasped the wall, his breaths becoming short once again as he ducked into the zen garden. If he crumpled here and now, he would never know the truth, the sword stolen by the villain and his memories permanently sealed. He had to work through the pain. He'd been beaten down enough times. He could endure as long as he didn't nearly stop breathing again.

As the pain subsided, he crossed the zen garden to the far ends of the palace. As the Court Virtuoso, he was allowed full reign of the place as long as he never left the palace grounds. His presence was rarely questioned, allowing him to easily slip past the increased number of guards in the hallways.

He had happened across it before, a small sanctuary in the back of the palace. The guard once told him that sacred swords might be kept there, the kind that Shāng Bù Huàn might want to steal. It was empty last time, but if the Sword-plundering Nemesis were truly in the area and judging by the rumors he'd heard, perhaps there was something there now.

And as he expected, there were far too many guards standing near the sanctuary. Something was in there. He could easily attack them, but his attacks were distinct and would likely cause him pain. Every thought he had of harming someone to gain something himself sent him into a painful fit. But he had another weapon he could use.

Taking the white pipa into his hands, he pulled at the strings, singing the night's song he used to lull the princess to sleep. The guards quickly crumpled to the ground, falling asleep and allowing the bard to pass. Làng crept into the sanctuary unnoticed. A small pond with koi, several scrolls, some bonsai trees. It seemed less like a sanctuary and more a place to entertain guests.

But the lavish accents didn't catch his attention. It was the pedestal in the back that held a large curved blade adorned with beads and feather-like charms.

Leaping over the pool, he reached for the blade but stopped, his fingers barely brushing across the hilt. This was his one chance to know the truth, his one chance to understand the memories that scratched at the back of his mind. He had to know who had called out to him when he fell off the cliff. He had to know what happened in those missing two years.

He had to know.

Pain rippled through his body as he even attempted to recall that fall. The mountain mists, the people calling his name, the feeling of loss. What had he left behind? Happiness? Friends? Adventure? Perhaps was it villainy, sorrow, and misery? The pain subsided as he grasped the hilt. It was his key, the answer to everything. He rose the sword up, his hands barely able to keep a grip on it shaking like a leaf. He would have to use his own qi to strike his back carefully. One wrong move and he could forget everything.

"Làng?"

He didn't recognize the voice. He turned around. Behind him was someone in a black robe with a hat covering his face. That had to be the Sword-plundering Nemesis. He was here.

…

Author's musings

Uh oh! Uhohuhoh! Will they fight? Will they talk? How will this truly end?