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Chapter 23 – If There Is a Next Life

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The sound of the drum rang out again. This time, the flower ball landed on Yuan Zheng.

Yuan Zheng was skilled in all forms of martial arts, but Xuyang didn’t enjoy watching swordplay or martial displays. After a moment’s hesitation, he also chose to answer a question instead.

Lin Zongbai opened the brocade pouch, paused suddenly.

Lu Feng joked: “Looks like we’ve hit an embarrassing one.”

Lin Zongbai cleared his throat, expression flat.
“Are you a virgin? If not, raise your cup.”

Yuan Zheng had just lifted his cup to wet his throat, and upon hearing this, he spit out the tea in one burst.

Laughter broke out around the room from the men; the women blushed and lowered their heads shyly.

Someone chuckled: “That’s… a little awkward.”

Another teased: “Consort, don’t be a spoilsport now!”

Someone tried to ease the tension: “Well, you are married, so it’s not a big deal.”

But someone else muttered mischievously: “What if he’s still a virgin even after marriage?”

As laughter rippled through the crowd again, Yuan Zheng remained silent, then calmly poured himself a drink, raised the cup—and drank.

Juchen’s eyes widened in disbelief.

She distinctly remembered that since Yuan Zheng and Xuyang married, they had not consummated their marriage. Xuyang had told her so herself. She had no reason to lie.

So… could it have been someone else?

But Yuan Zheng had never taken a concubine or a maidservant…

Juchen was filled with surprise and confusion. Her stunned expression didn’t escape Song Mi’s notice.

The drum sounded again.

This time, the flower ball stopped right as Juchen handed it to Song Mi.

“Does this count as two people?” someone asked.

“How about you two pick a question to answer together?”

Song Mi turned to Juchen and asked for her opinion in a light tone. Juchen paused, then nodded silently.

The maid brought over the pouch of questions. Song Mi motioned politely for Juchen to draw one.

She picked one at random.

The maid handed it to Lin Zongbai. He opened it—and unlike before, this time his eyes lit up with mischief as he looked at Song Mi.
He grinned: “Are you a virgin? If not, raise your cup.”

Xuyang burst out laughing: “What are the odds? Is there some kind of probability bias?”

Lin Zongbai nodded: “Yes, some questions appear more often.”

Lu Feng asked, “Is it based on popular topics from the streets?”

“Yes.”

“Why are people in the capital so nosy?”

Laughter erupted.

“But this one really only targets men,” someone said. “The girls don’t even have to answer—just drink.”

Someone teased: “Sister Chen, you didn’t cheat, right?”

That comment made it sound like she had intentionally tried to expose someone’s private life.

Juchen raised her voice: “I really picked one at random!”

Xuyang defended her: “It was Uncle who asked her to draw it. And she has to drink anyway—why would she cheat?”

“Zhengzhi, you’ll just have to accept your fate.”

Even as they expressed sympathy, everyone was clearly full of curiosity.

You could see it in the way their eyes quietly but eagerly fixed on Song Mi—proving that whether commoner or noble, humans are naturally nosy creatures.

Lu Feng clicked his tongue: “This question doesn’t really apply to him—he doesn’t even have…”

Song Mi sat silently for a moment, then, in unison with Juchen, lifted his cup and drank.

Lu Feng choked, mouth agape as if he could swallow an egg, muttering a series of shocked curses.

Then he blurted: “Don’t tell me it was that little eunuch?!”

Song Mi said nothing.

His silence… sounded suspiciously like confirmation.
Seeing Song Mi remain unusually quiet—neither denying nor mocking—Lu Feng muttered another louder curse under his breath.

The crowd stirred with murmurs of surprise.

Even Lin Zongbai raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard. After a long pause, he quipped to Song Mi:
“From my years of experience… questions like this often lead to follow-ups. The next one might just ask who it was.”

At those words, Juchen’s hand under the table tensed, fingers curling slightly.

The game continued.

As if on cue, the flower ball landed in Song Mi’s hands again.

He held the ball up, narrowed his eyes, and looked pointedly at Lin Zongbai, suspecting this was no coincidence.

Lin Zongbai looked back with amusement and eagerly handed over another brocade pouch.

Song Mi looked at the pile of questions, glanced briefly at Juchen’s seemingly calm face, and caught sight of the panic in her eyes.

He suddenly hesitated.

Then said quietly, “I choose a talent challenge.”

Lin Zongbai gave a disappointed “Oh no,” and handed him the talent pouch. Song Mi flipped through them and picked one embroidered with an orchid.

Lin Zongbai opened it and read aloud with a grin:
“Perform a dance—‘The Song of Everlasting Regret’.”

Song Mi froze.

Worried murmurs arose around the room.

“Dancing? Does the prince even know how to dance?”

Lu Feng answered for him:
“He does know this one. But it’s a partner dance.”

“It’s the one with the Emperor and Yang Guifei—he’ll need a female dancer.”

“Could always find a dance girl… but that’s troublesome.”

“Isn’t there a girl among us who knows this?”

Someone suddenly exclaimed:
“Hey, Juchen! Isn’t this your favorite dance?”

“A perfect opportunity to make amends!”

“If you perform this with the prince, he definitely won’t hold a grudge about you ignoring him…”

Juchen blurted out: “I didn’t ignore him…”

“Help him out, come on! Look—he’s already looking at you!”

She turned—and sure enough, locked eyes with Song Mi.

He looked at her with the distance she had asked for, yet still opened his mouth to ask:
“Minister Li, do you know how to dance?”

Xuyang laughed and answered for her:
“She’s dabbled in everything, but she put extra effort into this one—she really likes it.”

She added:
“But she never found an ideal partner. This dance has a moment where the man lifts the woman like a pearl in his palm—it takes real strength. Don’t let her slim figure fool you, Ah-Chen’s actually quite… solid. Most male dancers can’t lift her.”

Juchen blushed. “Ranran…”

She knew Xuyang didn’t mean she was fat—but if anyone knew where she did or didn’t have “meat,” it was Song Mi.

Involuntarily, certain steamy memories resurfaced in her mind. She turned away, not daring to meet his gaze.

Xuyang continued:
“Warriors could manage it, but most don’t dance.” She looked at Yuan Zheng. “Uncle, why did you learn this dance?”

Lu Feng answered, laughing for Song Mi:
“He knows a bit of everything. But this particular piece was a favorite of the Empress Dowager, so he studied it more seriously.”

Excitement filled the air.

“Let’s see it, shall we?”

Juchen: “I…”

“Zhengzhi, ask her nicely!”

“Yes, yes—girls are shy.”

“You helped her win pitch-pot earlier, now she can help you. Fair’s fair.”

“Just perform once together—as friends. Some old wounds can be put to rest that way.”

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It was obvious that this group of people who had received gifts from Ju Chen Ceramics were now all trying to return the favor — each making efforts to help the pair reconcile.

Ju Chen could only turn helplessly to Song Mi, hoping he would refuse outright.

But Song Mi glanced at her and said,
“Lord Li, I must trouble you for a favor.”

Ju Chen: “…”

The surrounding crowd cheered even louder. Ju Chen’s scalp tingled. She had no choice but to lower her gaze and agree, “But I didn’t bring any dance costume.”

Lin Zongbai immediately chuckled, “That’s a small matter.”

Forget just a dance costume — by the time the two of them came downstairs dressed, he even had a stage ready for them.

After changing into her costume, Ju Chen sat before the dressing room mirror applying makeup. As her reflection gradually took on a familiar look, her expression paused. Her mind was pulled back to a similar scene in a previous life.

The Empress Dowager, like her, had also been fond of the dance from The Song of Everlasting Regret.

That year, the palace had arranged an extravagant banquet for her fiftieth birthday. Almost every female official under her command had offered a performance as a tribute.

Ju Chen had submitted The Song of Everlasting Regret to the Imperial Household Department — but unexpectedly, it clashed with the performance submitted by Prince Pengshan.

Naturally, neither side would back down.

Unable to resolve the conflict, Lin Zongbai, who had been specially invited to coordinate the banquet, had to report the matter to the Empress.

The Empress had shaken her head and laughed for a long while, before summoning both of them into the palace.
“You both want to perform the same piece?”

“I submitted it first,” Ju Chen had said.

“Lord Li, that’s not fair. I’ve been preparing mine for much longer,” the prince replied.

“Oh? How much longer? When exactly did you start? Do you have proof?”

“Longer than you, obviously. I heard Lord Li hasn’t even found a dance partner yet. You’re rushing it last-minute — clearly lacking sincerity.”

“Heh. Like you’ve found one. If your partner was ready, would you have waited so long to register?”

Seeing them bickering again, the Empress helplessly raised her hand to stop them, smiling slightly.
“In that case, why not just perform together?”

Standing to the side, Lin Zongbai bowed and eagerly agreed,
“Perfect — one plays Emperor Ming, the other Consort Yang. No need for either to yield.”

The two glared at each other across the hall, both frowning in disbelief.
“With him/her?!”

Lin Zongbai, ever the troublemaker, added with a bow and a smile,
“To be honest, I’m quite looking forward to seeing them on stage together.”

After all, the two were well-known for their hostility in court — at odds for years. Now they’d have to collaborate. It was sure to bring brilliance to the banquet.

The Empress leaned against her arhat chair, resting her chin on her hand, blooming with amusement.
“I’m looking forward to it as well.”

Both of them: “…”

The imperial decree had been made.

Even if it felt like being forced onto the stage — like making a cow drink water — Ju Chen had no choice. Day after day, after court duties ended, she would quietly change into her costume and head to his residence. In the vast garden by the waterside pavilion, among white birds and rippling streams, she and he would stare at each other in rehearsed embraces.

What Ju Chen hadn’t expected was that, despite her not being a light woman, in his arms, she felt as light as a swallow.

She had originally assumed he’d mock her for her weight — maybe even use it as material to tease her daily.

But throughout the whole dance, they moved with flawless coordination — not a single misstep.

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To create the best atmosphere, Lin Zongbai adjusted the lighting in the attic so that it focused on the center of the stage.

All the spectators were moved into the dim area behind the curtains.

Ju Chen and Song Mi entered the stage slowly, from east and west.

It was said that Consort Yang had foreign blood, so the performance began with Ju Chen stepping onto the stage alone, adorned in jangling ornaments, her slim waist half-revealed, holding a huqin (a traditional string instrument), dancing while gazing upward.

Song Mi stood quietly at the side, watching with a faint smile — just like Emperor Ming admiring every inch of his beloved. His eyes shimmered with hidden tenderness.

At this moment, his expression was natural, fully immersed in the performance. But Song Mi still remembered the first time in their previous life when he saw her dressed in dance attire, waiting by the waterside pavilion. His body had gone completely rigid.

He had grown used to seeing her in official robes, with her hair neatly bound into an austere cap. To suddenly see her return to her delicate feminine form — for a moment, he hadn’t recognized her.

When she noticed he had finally arrived, she furrowed her brows and warned sharply before rehearsing:
“No taking advantage of me!”

He had scoffed coldly.

But how could a romantic tragedy like this avoid physical contact?

His hand rested on her delicate waist, lifting her gently like a blooming flower, spinning and dipping her into his arms.

He felt her orchid-like breath against his ear, and that faint, uniquely hers, fragrance on her skin.

She leaned against his chest. In that moment of mutual gaze, he lowered his head, staring at her features — as serene as a breeze, as luminous as the moon.

At that moment, he suddenly understood why, back then, so many young nobles had lined up to invite her to lantern festivals.

He couldn’t help but imagine how those clear, beautiful eyes would look under dazzling lights and seductive night skies. Such beauty could only be called transcendent.

Onstage, Ju Chen finished the playful introduction and placed down the huqin, reaching out to him.

Song Mi’s figure was tall and elegant. Though Ju Chen herself was not short, she seemed fragile and delicate beside him.

Graceful as a startled swan reflecting in the water, like a dragon frolicking by the shore.

Her flowing sleeves fluttered like fairy wings in the wind — as if performing the legendary Feathered Dress Dance.

They danced through a story of meeting, falling in love, rising in favor — and ultimately, being torn apart by death.

During Consort Yang’s tearful death scene, a tear slipped from Ju Chen’s eye, and Song Mi’s heart involuntarily clenched.

Even knowing it was only a performance, he still couldn’t bear to see her cry.

Ju Chen, however, seemed lost in memory at that moment. She recalled a previous rehearsal, when even after the music ended, her tears had flowed endlessly.

Song Mi had, for once, kindly handed her a handkerchief, raising a brow and asking,
“Are you crying for their doomed love?”

Ju Chen had sniffled and scoffed,
“I’m crying because Consort Yang didn’t deserve to die.”

“In that era — a world ruled by men — when the kingdom fell, what fault could a weak woman like her possibly have? She was merely a scapegoat.”

The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. She stood up and declared firmly,
“Any man who can’t protect the woman he loves has no right to speak of love!”

Remembering the slightly widened eyes he had back then, Ju Chen’s heart twinged. Suddenly, she regretted it. She regretted planting such a belief in him.

In that brief moment of distraction, Ju Chen misstepped during the dance. As she turned, her movements clashed with Song Mi’s.

He accidentally tripped her.

Seeing Ju Chen stumble forward, about to fall, Song Mi quickly grabbed her wrist and used a spin to redirect her momentum.

In the end, turning error into part of the choreography — instead of falling into his arms, Ju Chen ended up embracing him.

She lay on the floor, arms around him, staring blankly at him as he closed his eyes to match the ending of the music.

A single spotlight lit them — like a window to heaven — and for a moment, it felt like they were back in that winter, in that dim prison cell.

He was over forty by then, still lying to her — smiling as he said he had come to send her off, all the while secretly switching their wine cups.

She drank deeply, but the burning pain never came. Then she saw his figure stagger as he left. She rushed forward to support him.

He was coughing violently. Trying not to stain her robes, he pushed her away and collapsed. Then blood poured from his lips — blinding her vision with its shock.

A heavy stone crashed into her chest. She was stunned, mind blank, rushing to cradle him.

“Why did you do this?” she cried.

She didn’t understand. At the time, she truly didn’t.

His chest rose and fell. After struggling to stop coughing, he tried to raise a hand to touch her pale face — but shrank back.

Though even speaking was hard, he still managed a calm smile, and said softly:

“If there’s a next life…”

As the music reached its end, harp and flute intertwined, fading like lotus in dew, vanishing into the night.

From behind the curtain, a singer softly intoned the final lines:
“In heaven, we’d be two birds flying wing to wing.
On earth, two trees with intertwined branches.
Even eternity ends one day —
But this sorrow, this longing, will never cease.”