Chapter Thirty-Four: A Thunderous Dance That Stirred the Soul

“Magistrate Cui has issued a proclamation to all the people of Dengfeng: this afternoon, at the time of the Sheep, he will accompany Censor Liu, the imperial inspector in charge of the locust campaign, to the market square to witness the great Lady Gongsun’s sword dance!”

As the bailiffs paraded through the streets beating drums and gongs, this news swiftly swept across every corner of Dengfeng County. In addition to the country folk who had heard yesterday that Lady Gongsun would be performing in Dengfeng and had flocked into town for the spectacle, the number of people in the county seat suddenly swelled by several hundred. The open space in the market was packed to the brim by those eager to claim a good spot, while all the second floors of the shops around the square—whether taverns or not—were quickly reserved by whoever could afford it, all waiting for a glimpse of the famed sword dance.

At that very moment, in a spacious chamber behind the county offices, Cui Weizhi learned that Cui Jianxuan had already left the Lu Clan’s cottage for the Du family at the foot of Mount Junji. His face took on a pensive look. His trusted retainer, Cui Yuan, seeing this, whispered, “My lord, should we send someone to deliver a message to the Eleventh Young Master?”

“Is he someone to heed advice?” Cui Weizhi snorted impatiently, and when Cui Yuan fell silent at once, he sighed. “Thank heavens he’s not my son, or I’d have a real headache on my hands! I care nothing for Du Nineteen’s achievement—it's those ignorant fools like Qian Changxin who insisted on snatching food from a tiger’s jaws, not me. Let the Eleventh Young Master make his fuss. This Liu Zhao is truly overbearing. All the prefectures hesitate only for fear of Chancellor Yao, not because they really fear him! What’s more…”

He thought of the letter he had just sent to Lady Wang, conveying her regards to the Grand Lady of Qi, and a deep, enigmatic smile spread across his plump, fair face. Yao Chong’s position was not as unassailable as it seemed!

In the small courtyard hastily cleared for Liu Zhao, his followers came and went. Slouched carelessly in the seat of honor, Liu Zhao’s gaunt face twisted into a malicious smile when he heard that three to five hundred townsfolk had gathered in the market, many from outside the city. “Good! The more, the better! Remember this spectacle well, and when we return to the capital, report everything to the throne! While Chancellor Yao is laboring to stamp out locusts, the common folk neglect their duties and lose themselves in music and dance. I want to see how long Lady Gongsun can keep up her pretense of virtue!”

After midday, a high stage, some five zhang wide, had been erected on the market square. Though many had waited so long that their stomachs growled with hunger, not a soul left to seek food; all craned their necks, eager with anticipation. No one knew how much time had passed when suddenly a shout rose from the distance—“They’re here!”—and countless heads turned at once.

It was not only Lady Gongsun’s carriage and horses that approached, but also a richly decorated ox cart, which puzzled many and set the crowd whispering, though they quickly made way for the procession. As the group entered, those at the rear tiptoed to catch a glimpse—just then, a commotion erupted from the front.

“What’s happening?”
“Is something different today?”

Questions rippled backward, and soon those in the back, who could barely make out the stage and saw nothing of Lady Gongsun, learned the answer. From the ox cart, three gorgeously attired songstresses descended. The sharp-eyed recognized them as the three Feng sisters, famed for their singing, from Xinghua Ward in the county.

No one knew why these singers had appeared, but curiosity prevailed. As the faint notes of a pipa drifted out, tuning up, silence fell over the crowd. No one noticed that, across from the stage in a tavern, both patrons and staff had been cleared away. Cui Weizhi, all smiles, led the expressionless Liu Zhao upstairs, with the other county officials following suit.

As everyone settled in on the second floor, all eyes turned to the stage, where a man in white stood by the drum frame, drumsticks in hand, striking out a slow, muffled beat. At first, the languid rhythm lulled the crowd, almost soporific, but gradually the tempo quickened, growing urgent and stirring, as if beating against the heart itself. Suddenly, an elderly musician, who had seemed idle all along, opened his eyes, his fingers plucking the strings with a force like wind and rain; the melody soared, clear and bright.

“The fleeting clouds end their flight, a gallant rides to war. Trusting the emperor’s wrath, relying on the general’s might.”

As the songstresses sang, a horse’s neigh rang out. In a flash, Lady Gongsun, clad in martial attire, leapt onto her steed, and rider and horse vaulted onto the stage together. She wore a black headscarf, a dark robe, a copper-embellished sash at her waist, and black leather boots. Her face was unpainted yet brimming with heroic spirit. The crowd, astounded by this dramatic entrance, erupted in thunderous applause. Even Du Shiyi, sweating profusely, could not help but shout his own praise, his hands driving the drumbeat faster. As the drums and pipa built to a tempest, the song changed.

“Ten thousand drums thunder, banners blaze like fire. The sun halts at frosted spears, the moon hangs over the archer’s bow.”

The music crackled with storm and fury; Lady Gongsun’s twin swords became lightning and thunder, whirling so swiftly that her figure vanished in a blur of blades. At the final note, a flash of cold steel shot from the horse, pinning itself firmly in the tavern’s upper beam across the square, then, in a blink, the sword flew back into her hand. Even those at the farthest edge saw it clearly, and the market exploded with shouts.

Sword dances were popular among the people, but to reach Lady Gongsun’s mastery was rare indeed—especially this spectacular throw, swifter than an arrow loosed from the string!

“Clouds encircle Qinghai’s ranks, Black Mountain brims with martial air. In the heat of battle, Venus shines high; when the fight is done, war banners hang empty.”

As the chilling glimmer of her sword flickered everywhere, faint streaks of crimson, like blood, soaked through Lady Gongsun’s robe, evoking the image of a wounded warrior fighting on. The crowd was swept by a wave of awe and emotion, their cheers and shouts forming a chorus as passionate as the music itself. At the climax, she seemed drenched in blood; her headscarf, as if hacked away in battle, fell to the ground, and her long black hair tumbled over her shoulders.

“A thousand leagues, life is not spared; in one day, comes success. In the Kirin Pavilion, depicted in glory, entering the Bright Palace. Laughing at scholars, a single classic is not worth the chase; those who miss the path grow old in vain.”

As the final notes faded, Lady Gongsun’s steed stood proudly at center stage, the whole scene shifting from wild motion to stillness—her sword raised, astride her horse, amid a storm of applause and cheers that threatened to drown her out completely. Yet, clad in bloodstained armor, she merely bowed slightly atop her horse.

“Today’s performance, ‘Song of the Frontier,’ is inspired by the locust plague ravaging Shandong, Henan, and Hebei. The people suffer greatly, yet here in Dengfeng, united effort has driven the locusts away and preserved the harvest—just as soldiers win renown by risking all on the battlefield. Therefore, I dedicate this dance to Magistrate Cui and the people of Dengfeng, in hope that we all work together to drive the locusts from our land and secure the year’s crops!”

Lady Gongsun’s powerful words roused the already enraptured crowd to even greater fervor. Someone shouted “Victory!” and the rest echoed, their uproar so intense it seemed to shake the very square. Only then did Du Shiyi, whose waist and arms ached so he could scarcely lift them, finally exhale and collapse to the ground in exhaustion.

If Cui Jianxuan had found a better drummer, he would not have had to take up the sticks himself—but, thank heaven, his musical sense had not failed him. Though Lady Gongsun improvised, her performance was so brilliant that it more than made up for the lack of rehearsal.

On the tavern’s second floor, Liu Zhao, who had come to watch with the darkest intentions, now sat grim-faced. Had he been a warrior rather than a frail scholar, his knuckles would have cracked from rage. Never had he imagined that Lady Gongsun would turn the sword dance into such a unique spectacle, nor that she would liken Dengfeng’s locust campaign to a victorious battle and offer her congratulations to Cui Weizhi and the people.

News of this would soon sweep through the entire capital circuit and even reach the eastern capital in Henan. If he tried to fan the flames or twist the facts, others would surely report everything to Yao Chong.

Cui Weizhi, too, had come expecting a show, but receiving such a surprise from Du Shiyi filled him with delight. In front of Liu Zhao, he strained to hide his satisfaction, allowing only the corners of his mouth to twitch upward, while his fingers unconsciously tapped out the most stirring of the drumbeats on the table before him.

The poem was a fine one, though the last line’s dig at scholars was a bit much—but then, youthful arrogance was to be expected. Most likely, Du Shiyi had aimed that barbed verse at Liu Zhao himself!

“Lady Gongsun’s reputation is well-deserved. It’s a pity I have official duties and have already lingered too long in Dengfeng,” Liu Zhao said, forcing a casual tone. With a light cough, he continued, “After witnessing this sword dance, I have no regrets and must proceed to Bianzhou to see Magistrate Ni. With locusts passing through, yet such spirit in Dengfeng under Magistrate Cui, there is much to commend!”

Though Liu Zhao’s forced smile betrayed no pleasure, Cui Weizhi, who had spent days returning the same polite facade, now seized the chance to turn the tables—especially since, even if the matter reached Yao Chong, he was entirely in the right. He responded with an easy laugh: “Oh, not at all! It’s simply good fortune—who would have guessed that, at such a moment of unity, Lady Gongsun would grace our county and stir everyone’s spirits with her dance? Alas, with your departure, Censor Liu, I’m afraid I cannot escort you, as I must visit the villages to inspect the locust damage.”

“No need to see me off!” Liu Zhao snapped, unable to suppress his anger any longer. He rose, flung his sleeves, and stormed out, his attendants scrambling to follow. Only then did Cui Weizhi, having restrained himself until now, finally let out a delighted laugh. Afterward, hearing shouts for “Du Nineteen” and “Cui Eleven” rising from below, he composed himself, a half-smile on his face as he regarded the county officials around him.

“Gentlemen, never underestimate the power of the people’s will!”