Chapter 42: Qingshang
Chen Qingshang was the eldest daughter of the main branch of the Chen Family. Her father was the Prefect of Qinzhou. She could be considered a blue-blooded young lady, doted on by her parents as she grew up. Her father always said A'shang was the pearl of the Chen family and didn't need to exhaust herself striving for a career; such arduous tasks could be left to her elder brother. Gradually, Chen Qingshang grew into a spoiled and willful person. She was a proud young lady. Though she lacked ambition, she refused to be looked down upon. Whether in reading, calligraphy, or the four arts, she was unwilling to fall behind, and when she went out, she was a well-bred lady praised by all. When she turned eighteen, her parents arranged a marriage for her. The other party was a young master from another prominent family in Qinzhou, a gentle and frail sort. Her close friends all said her parents had been very considerate, choosing such an easy-to-handle husband for her. But being a new wife was different from being a young maiden. After marrying, Chen Qingshang felt constrained everywhere. Things she could do before were now criticized as unbecoming of a new wife. Was a new wife not a person? Chen Qingshang was very confused. She often quarreled with her husband and mother-in-law, returning to her parents' home every few days.
On this day, she returned to the Chen residence again and was summoned by her father for a scolding. Although he still tacitly allowed her to stay for a few days in the end, Chen Qingshang was still unhappy. This was supposed to be her home, so why did staying for a few days feel like being in someone else's house? As she walked out of her father's courtyard, she was stopped and lectured again by her pedantic elder brother. Chen Qingshang grew even more displeased. She dismissed the servants around her and wandered aimlessly in the garden alone. Suddenly, she heard the sound of a qin. The music was like the chiming of jade pendants, graceful and continuous. It was clearly a lighthearted melody, yet it carried a faint, almost imperceptible sorrow. Chen Qingshang was captivated. She followed the sound of the qin and finally found its source in an elegant waterside pavilion.
"Is that you?" Chen Qingshang walked over. "Should I call you sister-in-law? Or First Lady Song?"
Song Qiong pressed down on the qin strings and looked up at her. "Second Lady, by rights, you should call me sister-in-law."
"Fine, sister-in-law." Chen Qingshang was somewhat reluctant. Having just been lectured by her elder brother, she wasn't keen on seeing anyone or anything related to him, but she was curious about Song Qiong. "Why is your music so sorrowful?"
Song Qiong looked up in surprise. She was skilled with the qin and would play a short tune when she felt repressed. She controlled it very well; no one had ever heard the emotions in her music before.
"Is my brother not good to you?" Chen Qingshang sat down beside her naturally and began to fiddle with the qin. "Right, what fun could there be in that rigid personality of his."
"May I ask the Second Lady's name?" Song Qiong was a renowned lady in the circles of Qinzhou's prominent families—gentle, elegant, virtuous, and proper—and didn't associate with profligate girls like Chen Qingshang who engaged in hawk-fighting and horse-riding. Not long after she married into the Chen family, Chen Qingshang herself was married off, so the two were not very familiar.
"Qing for 'high,' Shang for the musical note." Chen Qingshang plucked at the famous qin, patient enough to talk with her.
"Qingshang drifts upon the wind1?"
"No. My younger sister is named Qingzheng. If I had another younger sister, she would be called Qingjiao. Where would you say that comes from?"
Song Qiong understood. She was referring to the story of Shi Kuang distinguishing the music of a doomed state2. "Your father-in-law's ambitions are lofty."
"Hah." Chen Qingshang sneered, noncommittal.
Song Qiong took out another qin and invited her to play a duet.
Chen Qingshang nodded in agreement. "What piece would you like to play?"
"Will 'High Mountains, Flowing Water' do?"
Chen Qingshang was a little surprised. She glanced at her, and not wanting to be underestimated, she agreed. And so the music began, at one moment a high mountain, the next a great river. The two melodies chased each other without losing harmony, intertwining, inseparable yet mutually supportive.
When the piece ended, Chen Qingshang's heart was in turmoil for a long time. After a while, she finally said, "To think that my soulmate would be you."
Song Qiong's eyes curved as she smiled. This smile was different from her earlier gentle politeness; it was more sincere, and it left Chen Qingshang stunned.
"So beautiful. You should smile more. I'm a little jealous of my brother," she murmured.
Hearing this, Song Qiong's smile vanished, and she returned to her previous demeanor. "Second Lady, you should be heading back."
Afterwards they saw each other no more. A year later, Chen Qingshang's frail and sickly husband died young. Unable to bear the constraints of her husband's family, she caused a huge scene and returned to the Chen residence. Her father began to find her disagreeable, scolding her every few days, but he couldn't bear to actually beat her to death, so he gave her the cold shoulder. She didn't care. She was a widow now; no one could control her anymore.
She still remembered the sound of Song Qiong's qin and often invited her to play duets. She could hear the regret and sorrow in Song Qiong's music, and she could also understand the unwillingness within it. Song Qiong still maintained that cool and detached appearance, which Chen Qingshang disliked. She wanted to see the smile that had once bloomed on Song Qiong's face, wanted her music to be as joyful as her own.
Their distance grew smaller and smaller. Behind closed doors, an ambiguous atmosphere, faint yet present, coiled between them, throwing their hearts into disarray. Unconsciously, Chen Qingshang's eyes filled with nothing but Song Qiong, and she felt an itching, clawing desire to be close to her. She had always been lawless; if she wanted something, she did it.
She slowly drew near to Song Qiong and, catching her off guard, seized her hand. Song Qiong stiffened and shook her off. "A'shang, I am your sister-in-law."
There was no one else in the room. They were so close they could clearly hear each other's breathing. Chen Qingshang moved closer, inch by inch, and Song Qiong retreated. Chen Qingshang simply pressed forward, using the full weight of her body to pin Song Qiong down. Song Qiong, terrified, tried to push her away but couldn't break free.
"Sister-in-law, do you really want to push me away?" They had fallen onto the small couch. Song Qiong was on her back, and Chen Qingshang was on top of her, her lips whispering incredibly softly next to her ear.
Song Qiong's throat bobbed, but she couldn't speak. Her fingertips clutched at her own dress, unconsciously tightening her grip until her knuckles turned white, wrinkling the fabric.
Chen Qingshang chuckled softly and lowered her head, pressing her lips to her neck. The soft lips lightly touched the sensitive area, causing Song Qiong's limbs to go weak and her heart to melt, rendering her unable to struggle any longer. She said nothing and offered no resistance. As if encouraged, Chen Qingshang extended the tip of her tongue to gently lick her laryngeal prominence, while her hand moved to her waist, gently kneading through the fabric. Song Qiong bit her lip, trying to control herself and not make a sound. But Chen Qingshang wanted to hear her voice. Her hand moved up from the waist and pressed against her chest. As she had wished, she felt Song Qiong's chest heave more and more violently, the soft flesh leaping in her palm with each rise and fall.
Chen Qingshang was thrilled. She pressed her knee between her legs, her lips and tongue against her throat as she mumbled in a low voice, "When my brother does this with you, what does it feel like?"
Song Qiong's body went rigid, trembling slightly. She turned her head to the side.
Chen Qingshang thought she was shy and rubbed against her with even more excitement, pressing her for an answer.
"It hurts. It hurts a lot." Song Qiong closed her eyes as a tear slid from the corner.
Chen Qingshang froze completely. She had never expected such an answer. She softened her movements, kissing her cheek and the corner of her lips as if to soothe her. She gently undid Song Qiong's sash, her hand moving to the lapel. Just as she was about to pull it open, Song Qiong began to struggle, not letting her touch her collar.
"It's alright, it's alright. I'll be gentle, it won't hurt." Chen Qingshang soothed and coaxed her. Catching her off guard for a moment, she tore open her clothes, exposing her naked body to the air. Chen Qingshang was stunned.
Song Qiong stopped struggling. As if drained of all strength, she collapsed on the couch, her bare body, covered in red welts, exposed to Chen Qingshang's eyes, as if to say in self-abandonment, "Now you've seen it."
Chen Qingshang sat up straight, kneeling before her, staring blankly at her scarred body. She reached out a trembling hand to touch the marks, and large tears rolled down her face. It wasn't that she didn't know her mediocre brother sometimes beat the servants to vent his frustrations, but she never knew he would lay a hand on his own wife.
She leaned down and gathered Song Qiong's upper body into her arms, holding her in a death grip. Song Qiong sighed, her voice hoarse. "A'shang, let me go. I should be heading back..."
With red-rimmed eyes, Chen Qingshang pulled her out from her embrace and kissed her lips fiercely, sealing her words. Her invading tongue chased after the retreating one, filled with an indescribable emotion. When they parted, both were panting, their chests heaving violently.
Chen Qingshang took a breath and, before Song Qiong could refuse, began to kiss the red marks on her body, as devout as a believer before a god. Her kisses landed on the gaunt collarbones, on the tender breasts, and on the raised scars, one by one. They were like the wind and like fire; the kisses were gentle, yet bitter.
She moved downwards, her kisses falling on the soft flesh of the inner thighs as her body slid off the couch. She grabbed Song Qiong's dangling ankle and pushed it up to the edge of the couch, making her bend her knees, then persistently opened her legs. The wetness between her thighs was laid bare before her. She lowered her head and kissed that flower petal.
"A'shang! Don't!" Song Qiong reached out in a panic to push Chen Qingshang's head away, but she dodged it, stubbornly continuing her kisses. The searing heat landed on that secret place, gently, tenderly, lightly licking and sucking, while her hands held fast to the base of her thighs, not allowing her to escape. Song Qiong bit the base of her own palm to stifle the moans she couldn't hold back. Her body tensed, and under Chen Qingshang's quickening movements, she came in a torrent, the dew wetting Chen Qingshang's cheeks. Waves of dizziness washed over Song Qiong; she had never known this act could be so blissful.
Chen Qingshang stood up and covered her again, carefully, afraid of crushing her, then placed a water-stained kiss on her lips. Song Qiong dazedly wrapped her arms around her, accepting her kiss and tasting her own flavor. Chen Qingshang's hand rested on her waist, tracing the curve of her back upwards, past the uneven welts, and pressed against the center of her back, pulling her up and imprisoning her in her embrace, so forcefully it seemed she wanted to melt her into her own bones and blood. The kiss left Song Qiong breathless. She made a loose fist and lightly tapped her chest. Chen Qingshang let her go, laying her flat on the couch again. Her hand moved down, parting the petals to search for the pearl within, plucking and stroking as if playing an instrument, causing the person beneath her to let out sounds that were high and low, soft and heavy. The spring waters flowed slowly, moistening her palm. She extended a finger and probed the deep pool.
Song Qiong closed her eyes and frowned, instinctively trying to shy away. Chen Qingshang held her tight. Their warm, soft bodies pressed together, smooth as satin, warm to the touch. This was Chen Qingshang, not someone else. Chen Qingshang's kisses smoothed her furrowed brow as she coaxed softly, "Don't be afraid, A'qiong, don't be afraid..."
Chen Qingshang entered her slowly, her long, slender finger burying itself deep inside the other body, while her thumb still pressed against the pearl outside. She waited patiently for Song Qiong to adjust, then her whole hand began to thrust, striking both incredibly sensitive spots at once. The sudden rush of pleasure made Song Qiong's body tense up again. She clung tightly to Chen Qingshang, her breath repeatedly broken by the thrusts. She felt herself being thrown high again and again, as if sent to a great height, only to suddenly fall.
Her tears gushed out. She held Chen Qingshang tightly, pressing her tear-streaked face against her chest. Chen Qingshang felt her post-orgasmic convulsions and slowly withdrew her hand, letting her nestle in her arms. Song Qiong's sobs were suppressed and silent, but tears flowed endlessly, falling on Chen Qingshang, and on her heart. All the endurance, struggle, and collapse, all the regret, pain, and unwillingness, were in those tears, which could be confided to no one. But Chen Qingshang felt every bit of it. She had made Song Qiong bloom again as she had wished, but why was there no joy in her heart, only endless bitterness?
It wasn't that Chen Qingshang wasn't smart; she just pretended not to know, following her parents' wishes to be a spoiled and willful young lady. That way, she herself could live a happier life, as if a single leaf could truly block out the sight of everything. But Song Qiong's existence tore away all the veils of decency. For many nights after that, Chen Qingshang lay alone in bed, unable to sleep. She wondered why Song Qiong, or she herself, had come to live like this. They were both talented and intelligent, yet they had to rely on their paternal clans to survive, gritting their teeth and swallowing all grievances and humiliation. She wasn't ungrateful that her husband had been a sickly man who died young. If not for that, how much better off would she be than Song Qiong now? The words 'father' and 'husband' bound their hands and feet, and also forced her to endure the pain of sending Song Qiong back to her brother's side.
She thought for a long time. One day, just before dawn, a flash of inspiration struck her mind. Why couldn't she be the one who stood above all, in control of everything? Her brother was an incompetent fool who only knew how to show off his power over weak young women. Why couldn't she take his place? Just because she was a woman?
She told this idea to Song Qiong. Song Qiong smiled gently and touched her forehead affectionately. "If it were that simple, things wouldn't be as they are now. Three generations of empresses have reigned, producing countless female officials and nobles, yet Qinzhou remains like this. How could it be overturned so easily?"
"One person alone can't do it, of course. But what if we do it together? You, me, our sisters, our friends... In the various clans of Qinzhou, are there not more than just one or two young women like you and me?" Chen Qingshang's eyes shone with a bright light that dazzled Song Qiong, making her want to follow her without a second thought.
Chen Qingshang sifted through the young women of the various clans, from married women to unmarried maidens to widows like herself. She approached anyone with talent and resentment, and then formed an elegant poetry society. Ostensibly for discussing poetry and writing, a refined pastime, it quickly became a trend among the ladies of Qinzhou. Since it was a cultured affair and a diversion for the young women, the heads of the families paid it no mind. But behind closed doors, they read news from the outside world together, exploring how to extend their hands beyond the shackles of their families and grasp their own power.
Only then did Chen Qingshang discover what a brilliant mind was wrapped beneath Song Qiong's virtuous and demure exterior. She became the think tank for the entire poetry society, setting their direction and strategy, and skillfully resolving one crisis after another for them. That Song Qiong was a piece of glowing, beautiful jade. That gentle, warm light captivated Chen Qingshang, making her engrave this true Song Qiong deep into her heart.
In the outside world, they walked hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, back to back. Love existed in their every action, their every glance. But returning home, they had to restrain everything, separating at a certain point to walk away from each other, their paths diverging further and further. Heaven knew how many marks Chen Qingshang's nails dug into her palms each time she watched Song Qiong return to her brother's courtyard. And when she saw new scars on Song Qiong's body, how she wished she could draw a sword and plunge it into the heart of the brother born of the same mother. But she couldn't. Song Qiong said the time was not yet right; they had to endure, to lie low. She would bury her face in Song Qiong's lapels and weep silently, allowing herself just a moment of weakness. When she looked up again, the corners of her eyes would be red, but there would be no more tears.
She believed more than anyone that they would surely welcome a future that belonged to them.
But Song Qiong did not live to see that day. She died. She died on the day she gave birth. Chen Qingshang was nearly driven mad. She gripped the wrist hidden under her sleeve, pinching her own arm until it was bruised and bleeding, just to hold back the grief and rage inappropriate for a sister-in-law. She pretended that nothing was wrong, enduring the encoffining, the wake, and the funeral. It wasn't until after the seventh day that she, like a wandering soul, hid herself away at the poetry society's meeting place to lick the gaping wound in her heart.
Then she met Song Qiong's younger sister, Song Wan. The resemblance between the two sisters triggered Chen Qingshang's pain. She was finally able to shed tears, pouring all her anger, hatred, and regret into a great wail, a farewell for Song Qiong and for herself.
After that, there was no one left to give her a place for even a moment of weakness. Her heart became as hard as steel. She had to carry Song Qiong's ideals and desires and walk on, waiting for the day she could soar into the sky, to carve out a path for the young women who would come after them. The tomorrow that Song Qiong could not see, she had to see it for her. So that one day, when they met again in the underworld, she could tell her, with a clear conscience, about the future they had both longed for.
Author's Notes
- Qingshang drifts upon the wind: From "Northwest, a Tall Tower," one of the "Nineteen Old Poems." The full poem: "Northwest, a tall tower stands, / Level with the floating clouds. / Latticed windows of silk gauze, / Three-storied pavilion with winding stairs. / From above, the sound of strings and song, / How sorrowful the melody! / Who could have composed this tune? / Surely none but Qi Liang's wife. / The qingshang mode drifts upon the wind, / The middle passage lingers and laments. / One pluck, three sighs, / A generous and lingering grief. / I mourn not the singer's hardship, / But lament that soulmates are so rare. / I wish we were a pair of great swans, / To beat our wings and fly high away."
- Shi Kuang distinguishing the music of a doomed state: From the Han Feizi. The gist is that Duke Ping of Jin, against Shi Kuang's advice, insisted on listening to music he was not worthy of hearing. He first listened to qingshang, then qingzheng, and then qingjiao, and later, he indeed suffered the consequences. Shi Kuang was not just a musician but also an upright and politically talented minister. Her father compares himself to Shi Kuang, feeling that his own talents are unrecognized.
That is to say, the BE was written into their names from the start. And both Qiong and Wan mean beautiful jade. No matter how precious, jade is still an object, which is the metaphor here.
I've seen several friends shipping Luo Suwei and Song Qiong, but I originally didn't plan to write much about Luo Suwei. Luo Suwei is a foil to Song Qiong. Faced with the same adversity, one person chooses to turn a blind eye and protect themselves, while another chooses to rise up in resistance and cut through the thorns. It's not to say the former is wrong; she just made the most common choice for an ordinary person. There's nothing wrong with a mortal being timid, and she shouldn't be criticized for it. But it is precisely for this reason that Song Qiong's brilliance is further highlighted.
And Song Qiong wasn't this perfect and powerful from the beginning. Her resolve came from Chen Qingshang. It was because of Chen Qingshang that this radiant Song Qiong existed. Chen Qingshang was Song Qiong's source of light. Without Chen Qingshang, Song Qiong wouldn't have been much different from Luo Suwei. And if she hadn't seen Song Qiong, Chen Qingshang would never have lifted that curtain to face reality. The two of them completed each other. Their relationship is a revolutionary camaraderie of like-minded souls, surpassing friendship, surpassing love.
Song Wan is someone illuminated by the light of her two older sisters. Why does she target Luo Suwei? On one hand, it's because she's frustrated with her for not living up to her potential. On the other hand, she is actually criticizing herself—the helpless version of herself who could do nothing while her sister suffered. She can only use Luo Suwei to remind herself again and again to always remember her sister's words, to never give up on striving upwards, and to never become like that.
Chen Shouyi seems to have taken what belonged to his sisters, enjoyed the benefits of sexism, and become a vested interest holder, but he is also tormented by patriarchy at every moment. His feelings for Song Qiong are also very subtle. His legitimate wife is very important to him, so he does love and respect her, but he also envies her. This makes him very mercurial. He feels guilty towards Song Qiong his entire life, which is why he doesn't dare to face her. He isn't naturally evil; he is just a complete tragedy of the patriarchal system.
Song Qiong is everyone's white moonlight, lol. Although this part is very tragic, I actually like it a lot. What do you all think?
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