Chapter 12: The Hermit of Fireworks

Jun Tao walked ahead, with Luo Gan closely following behind. Layers of crimson gauze brushed against his face, lending the scene a dreamlike quality.

Happiness had come so suddenly: one moment, he had been on the brink of disaster, about to be crushed, and in the next, he had triumphed before a stunned audience and won the beauty’s favor. It was unbelievable—could this be the fabled aura of the game at work?

Gazing at Jun Tao’s graceful silhouette, Luo Gan felt himself intoxicated. Yet the sweetness quickly dissipated; after all, this was only a game. Surely other players had passed this stage as well—slaying the dragon, donning the pig’s mask, and then with Jun Tao… The more he pondered, the more unsightly the implications became. How could such a poised and lovely woman fall into such a life? What a pity—it was like seeing a perfectly good cake being carved up and shared. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Jun Tao halted, causing Luo Gan to nearly bump into her.

She smiled, saying, “We’ve arrived. Please, come in.”

Luo Gan entered. It was a spacious sitting room, adorned with musical instruments, chessboards, scrolls, and paintings. The air was laced with the delicate scent of musk, and incense burned in a sandalwood holder, lending the space a refined atmosphere. In modern times, this would be a tea room or a private club, never a place one would associate with frivolity.

With her peach blossom fan, Jun Tao gestured for Luo Gan to sit. In his field of vision, the fan still gleamed with a soft light—surely it was a clue, but how did it relate to the case?

He sat, lost in thought, until Jun Tao had brewed tea and placed it before him.

She said, “You don’t look like a local, sir.”

“Oh! I was managing some family business elsewhere before, and now I’ve come to Anping County to start a small enterprise,” Luo Gan replied, the words coming instinctively. He wondered at himself—lying so smoothly, without even thinking. Perhaps he feared that if this beautiful woman knew he was merely a humble, aimless farmer, this delightful scene would soon fall apart.

Jun Tao seemed to understand immediately. “Is it the tailor shop that just opened recently?”

Realizing the clue matched, Luo Gan quickly nodded, “Yes.” Yet Jun Tao still looked a little surprised.

“People say these are peaceful times, and everyone is eager to study, hoping to gain a good official title. But as a… merchant, why do you read books?”

Luo Gan replied in haste, “Reading isn’t just for fame or power. I see it as self-cultivation, a way to refine and elevate oneself.”

Jun Tao smiled gently, her eyes rippling like reeds in the wind, her expression blossoming like a flower.

“How noble. Do you wish to become a recluse, sir?”

“A recluse?” Luo Gan echoed, recalling Tao Yuanming, who refused to bow for a mere pittance, his sleeves filled with the scent of chrysanthemums, noble beyond compare. Luo Gan knew he could never reach such heights, and now, with the title of recluse thrust upon him, he found it almost laughable.

“Not quite,” he said. “I’m far from that realm, but I do admire them greatly.”

Jun Tao chuckled softly. “You are very modest. But is there a particular recluse you esteem above others?”

Luo Gan thought hard, suddenly forgetting which era Tao Yuanming actually belonged to, worried that a careless answer might muddle the timeline and cause trouble. He racked his brain for a suitable recluse, and then remembered the qin.

“I personally admire Ji Kang the most.”

Jun Tao’s eyes widened slightly, and her peach blossom fan began to sway, her interest clearly piqued. A faint, serene smile appeared on her face.

“He was truly authentic,” she said.

Luo Gan pressed on. “And just like you, he played the qin beautifully.”

Jun Tao smiled sweetly, finding the man before her rather endearing.

“Music requires a soulmate to appreciate it,” she replied. “The saying ‘lofty music receives few echoes’ was made for Ji Kang.”

“Indeed,” Luo Gan agreed. “He sought neither fame nor power, refused to follow the crowd, feared not authority, and was unafraid of death. To be a recluse is, in essence, to refuse.”

Jun Tao was even more surprised. “Your words hit the mark. To be a recluse is to refuse—how interesting!”

Luo Gan, pleased with himself, was surprised to receive such praise for his modest knowledge. Emboldened, he continued, “And you, Miss—what kind of recluse do you admire?”

Jun Tao answered without hesitation, as if it had been on her mind all along. “I prefer someone like Wang Rong, someone with a touch of the everyday world.”

“Wang Rong?” Luo Gan was puzzled. “That’s an unusual choice. Of the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove, he was the least reclusive, and later became an official with a rather poor reputation.”

Seeing Luo Gan struggling for an answer, Jun Tao seemed even more delighted.

“It depends on how one views recluses,” she said. “Most focus on the ‘recluse’; I see the ‘scholar’. Talent alone, paired with a willful temperament, is enough to act with impunity. Some people, for the sake of appearing pure, must pretend to be as noble as the plum, orchid, bamboo, or chrysanthemum, but in reality… ha, isn’t that just mud?”

Now Luo Gan understood. “So in that case, isn’t the concept of the recluse a false proposition? No one truly understands it, and everyone privately speculates about the mystery.”

“False proposition?” Jun Tao echoed, the phrase foreign to the era but slipping from Luo Gan’s lips out of habit.

He laughed awkwardly. “Just a turn of phrase. So you believe recluses don’t really exist?”

Jun Tao adopted a thoughtful air. “Perhaps some do, but I prefer the imperfect yet genuine. A recluse doesn’t have to live in the mountains and forests; even in office, one can embody the spirit of a recluse. Ultimately, it’s about one’s own cultivation.”

“Cultivation?” Luo Gan asked.

“Don’t you think heaven tests everyone?” Jun Tao replied. “I don’t envy kings and ministers. A king has power, but must live in constant fear, with tigers lurking by his side and powerful enemies watching from afar. If the nation is weak, it is easily lost; if it is strong, internal strife abounds.”

Luo Gan marveled inwardly. For a courtesan, she possessed remarkable insight.

He raised his teacup in salute. “Better to enjoy this moment, chatting freely over tea.”

Jun Tao raised hers in return. “Yes, a cup of tea, a restful night—what worries need we have?”

“History is astonishingly similar,” Luo Gan mused.

“Oh? You mean the spirit of poets today?” Jun Tao asked.

Luo Gan shook his head. “I once heard, ‘The empire, long divided, must unite; long united, must divide.’ No matter the dynasty, there is always internal and external trouble. History is like the same actor donning different costumes upon the stage.”

Jun Tao burst out laughing.

“That’s the most amusing take on history I’ve ever heard. Tonight has truly been enlightening.”

They drank tea together, not a drop of wine, conversing like old friends, speaking openly and with joy.

Luo Gan’s gaze drifted to the peach blossom fan. He thought the time was right to ask.

“Miss, I’m quite interested in your fan. May I have a look?”

Jun Tao hesitated, wary of his intentions, but soon handed it over.

Examining it closely, Luo Gan saw it was exquisitely made, the wood and craftsmanship both superb. Painted upon it were delicate peach blossoms, with several lines of poetry inscribed: “I do not know where the face has gone; the peach blossoms still smile in the spring breeze.”

A fine poem! Yet something felt amiss. Luo Gan returned the fan to Jun Tao.

Before long, their meeting ended. Luo Gan returned to the inn, where Erhu was still snoring thunderously. Shaking his head, Luo Gan marveled at how quickly time had passed. He covered his ears, lay down beside Erhu, and slowly closed his eyes.

Suddenly, Luo Gan’s eyes snapped open. The more he thought about it, the more wrong it seemed.

“Wait,” he muttered, “the poem on that peach blossom fan—wasn’t that from the late Tang? It doesn’t belong to this era at all!”