Chapter 3: The Withered Chrysanthemum

Chapter 3: Withered Chrysanthemums

The next day.

Li Qi stood at the bridge, gazing down at his reflection in the water. While he could hardly be called dashing, his features were delicate and refined, exuding a gentle, cultured air. It was a pity, then, that he was dressed in a tattered linen gown, which made him look rather wretched.

Since arriving here, he had not only lost his wife and family but had also plummeted from a genuine, high-status "tall, rich, and handsome" man into a quintessential "loser." Never mind the scholars and beauties of the past; even the servant girls of noble families turned up their noses at him.

It seemed that in any dynasty or place, the "losers" existed solely to serve as foils for the "winners."

However, Li Qi didn't care much about the mockery; in fact, he found it somewhat amusing. Although he wasn't a professional historian, he knew quite a bit about the Song Dynasty. After all, several of his few historical idols were born during this era. Yue Fei, the embodiment of loyalty and patriotism, naturally topped the list, followed by the peerless poetess Li Qingzhao, who penned "Sheng Sheng Man: Seeking and Searching." Meeting these two great figures had become Li Qi's first goal upon arriving here.

Li Qi was well aware that the Song Dynasty favored literature over martial arts. People here loved to play with ink and brush, composing poetry and prose. It was hardly surprising—without television, computers, bars, or dance halls, what else could they do besides write calligraphy, dabble in doggerel, flirt with beauties, or visit brothels?

The problem was, it was already the fourth year of the Xuanhe era, or 1122 AD. In just four years, the infamous "Jingkang Incident" would occur—the most humiliating and dark moment in the history of the Han people. When the Jin army invaded the capital, the common people would inevitably suffer, their homes destroyed and their lives shattered.

"I truly hope," Li Qi thought to himself, "that when the time comes, you lot can use your calligraphy brushes to stab the Jin soldiers to death and use your poetry to soften those savage, wolf-like invaders."

Thinking of this, Li Qi couldn't help but let out a long sigh. Of all the times to travel through time, he had to land right at this critical juncture—it was truly a godforsaken disaster!

Damn it, Heaven, you really are trying to toy with me to death!

Growing increasingly indignant, Li Qi kicked a small pebble into the river.

With a soft "plop," ripples spread across the calm water. Amidst the waves, the fleeting image of a woman suddenly appeared. Li Qi’s expression changed drastically, and he cried out, "Qingting!"

Before the sound had faded, the image in the water vanished.

It had been a hallucination. Although he had rested for a night and largely accepted that returning to 900 years in the future was likely impossible, he felt it was better to treat this as a trip. Perhaps he would wake up one day and be back; after all, the world was full of surprises. Yet, sometimes, he couldn't help but pine for his wife and parents.

Li Qi sighed, shook his head, and gazed into the distance, softly humming the Chinese-style melody of Jay Chou’s "Chrysanthemum Terrace."

"Your tears,
In their fragility, carry sorrow.
The pale, crescent moon hooks onto the past.
The night is too long,
Condensing into frost."

"Who is in the loft, despairing in the cold?
The rain plays gently,
Against the vermilion window.
My life, on paper, is scattered by the wind.
The dream is in the distance,
Turning into a wisp of fragrance,
Drifting away with the wind, like your appearance.
Withered chrysanthemums cover the ground in sorrow,
Your smile has faded to yellow.
Falling into heartbreak,
My thoughts flow silently.
The north wind stirs the restless night,
Your shadow, impossible to sever,
Leaves me alone,
Reflected as a pair upon the lake."

The scene matched the song perfectly.

"A fine lyric, a fine melody! And that line, 'leaving me alone, reflected as a pair upon the lake'—brilliant! Truly brilliant!" A crisp voice rang out behind Li Qi, accompanied by the sound of a small fan tapping against a palm. The tone was filled with genuine admiration.

Startled by the unexpected praise, Li Qi turned around to see a handsome young nobleman smiling at him.

Damn! Do people these days walk without making a sound?

The young man had a delicate, oval face, skin as clear as ice, eyes like autumn water, and red lips with white teeth. He held a white folding fan and wore a white robe, looking elegant, feminine, and every bit the "pretty boy."

A Korean?

Even Li Qi, who never watched Korean idol dramas, knew that they loved these androgynous men who lacked any masculinity—men who were perfectly fine to begin with but insisted on having surgery to look like women.

Behind the young man stood a page boy carrying a short sword, who also looked just as effeminate.

Could it be that the Song Dynasty already had its share of homosexuals?

The handsome youth took a step forward and bowed, praising, "Brother, what literary talent! I am truly impressed, truly impressed."

Li Qi was stunned for a moment, then mimicked the gesture and replied, "You are too kind, too kind!"

The youth’s eyes shone with anticipation as he asked curiously, "Might I ask the name of the song you just sang? Would you be willing to teach it to me?"

Li Qi shook his head and smiled. "I wouldn't dare call it teaching. The name of the song is... 'Withered Chrysanthemums'."

His primary school teachers had taught him that when you plagiarize, you shouldn't just copy blindly; you have to add your own creative touch. Even if it was just a one-character difference, the meaning could be worlds apart. Of course, Li Qi didn't expect this pretty boy to understand the "ultimate meaning" of a chrysanthemum.

"Withered Chrysanthemums?"

The youth repeated it softly, then suddenly tapped his fan against his palm, exclaiming with a touch of excitement, "A wonderful 'Withered Chrysanthemums'! Brother, you are truly a master who hides his brilliance!"

A flicker of annoyance crossed Li Qi's eyes. "Master who hides his brilliance"—wasn't that just a jab at his shabby clothes? But he kept a smile on his face. "What master? I am just a commoner. That little tune was just an outburst of feeling; please don't take it too seriously."

As he spoke, Li Qi had effectively claimed the song as his own. It wasn't really plagiarism; after all, those two fellows, Fang and Zhou, wouldn't compose this song until 2006. Since he was singing it in 1122 AD—more than 900 years early—even if they took him to court, the judge would surely dismiss it as a malicious accusation.

The more Li Qi downplayed it, the more the youth admired him. The youth savored the song once more, his expression turning somber, as if deeply moved. He sighed softly and said, "I presume you were thinking of a lady love just now."

*Sweat!* If that fellow Zhou had traveled here, he would surely be a great poet too, capable of moving anyone to tears with any random lyric. Heaven, you really picked the wrong person!

Li Qi didn't deny it, only offering a wry smile. "You flatter me."

"Not at all, not at all. Brother, every word is a pearl. I, Zhao Jing, have learned much today. May I ask your esteemed name?" Zhao Jing bowed, his fair, delicate face almost glowing.

Seeing his humility, Li Qi felt a sense of camaraderie, especially since he hadn't found anyone to talk to here. "I am surnamed Li, given name Qi."

"So it is Brother Li! Please forgive my lack of manners!" Zhao Jing said, bowing again.

Seeing him bow yet again, Li Qi felt a headache coming on. My God! Did people in ancient times have to make everything so complicated when they spoke?