Chapter Seventy-Six: The Butterfly Lovers

Gou Ye let out a cold laugh, casting a disdainful glance at Gu Yu before replying with an equally contemptuous look. Then, he raised his voice and declared, “Gu brother, listen well: Those who abandon me—yesterday cannot be kept; those who disturb my heart—today is fraught with worries. The long wind sends autumn geese a thousand miles; facing this, one may revel atop a lofty tower.” As Gou Ye recited these lines, the eyes of the Gu brothers lit up.

Especially Gu Yu—his face flushed, and even the hand holding the brush trembled uncontrollably. He hurriedly rolled up his sleeves, heedless of etiquette, dipping the tip of his brush in his mouth before writing furiously on the paper, listening as he wrote.

Gou Ye wandered along the lotus pond, swaying as if possessed by Li Bai himself, reciting with wild, unrestrained passion: “Raising my cup, high spirits and bold thoughts soar; I wish to ascend the sky and grasp the bright moon. Draw the blade to cut water—water flows still; raise the cup to dispel sorrow—sorrow grows deeper. Life rarely goes as one wishes; tomorrow, let my hair down and drift in a boat.” When the recitation ended, Gou Ye sat heavily on the ground, feigning a look of melancholy.

Gu Yu’s current state could no longer be described as mere surprise; it was fear, an indescribable excitement. Clutching the rice paper in his hands, he gazed at it again and again, pondering repeatedly, yet could not find a single flaw in any line. Most importantly, tears fell from his eyes as he read the poem. He immediately approached Gou Ye, and with great solemnity, bowed deeply to him.

“Master Gou, such talent! This poem surpasses all ages. I have read countless verses, yet none can compare. Today, I am utterly convinced, both in heart and words. It was my own blindness—Miss Wanxiang’s praise was not empty; Master Gou truly deserves the title ‘Peerless Talent.’ If today’s poem is spread, it will surely resound throughout the Ming realm, perhaps even beyond. Who could have imagined that one so young could possess such wisdom?”

Then, holding the rice paper inscribed with the poem, Gu Yu returned in a daze to the wooden house. Gu Shen asked, “What does Fourth Brother mean by this?”

Gu Yu waved his hand without looking up, replying softly, “I am willing to help.”

Gu Shen, delighted, walked up to Gou Ye and slapped his shoulder. “Brother Gou Ye, my fourth brother has agreed!”

Gou Ye exhaled a mouthful of wine. This poem, “Farewell to the Assistant Editor at Xie Yao Tower in Xuanzhou,” was written by the Poet Immortal Li Bai. Feeling melancholic, Gou Ye had thought of it, but halfway through realized something was amiss, so he omitted the line, “Literature of Penglai, bones of Jian’an, in between, young Xie’s fresh style.” Yet even the remaining verses were enough to astonish Gu Yuan. If even Li Bai’s poetry could not impress Gu Yuan, then Gou Ye would indeed be nothing but a fame-seeker.

Gu Shen said no more, regardless of whether Gu Yu could see, he stood and bowed toward the wooden house. Gu Shen did not expect that Gou Ye’s poem could elicit such praise from his fourth brother—for so many years, only the most brilliant mind of Ming had received such acclaim, and now Gou Ye was the first. Though Gu Shen himself did not understand poetry, he could tell this verse was stirring and full of feeling.

Returning indoors, Gou Ye exchanged a few words with Gu Shen, then fell into a deep sleep. Later that afternoon, Gu Shen led him to their second residence. Before they reached the door, music floated from within.

This house belonged to Gu Shen’s second sister, Gu Yue, who was always the most accommodating toward him—he knew that after just a few words, she would agree to whatever he asked.

They knocked for some time, but perhaps due to the loud music inside, there was no answer. Gu Shen simply pushed the door open, and they entered. Gu Yue, however, did not pause her playing for their arrival, continuing to play her guzheng with rapt attention. After a long while, she finally put down the instrument, dashed over to Gu Shen, and hugged him tightly, laughing, “Haha, Eighth Brother, it’s been ages since you’ve come! I’ve missed you so much!”

Gou Ye was momentarily stunned—this lively woman contrasted sharply with the elegant figure who had been seated moments before; it was as if she were two different people. Gu Shen awkwardly pushed Gu Yue away, chuckling, then introduced Gou Ye and explained his purpose today. He also recounted the events of persuading Gu Yu.

Gu Yue was open and cheerful, showing no hint of disdain. She even bowed slightly to Gou Ye, saying, “Master Gou, your reputation is well known in the county. Who would have guessed you could even impress my fourth brother! It seems your fame is well deserved. Haha, since you two are here today, let’s not discuss other matters—let’s listen to music, shall we? I’ll play a piece I just learned for you.”

With that, Gu Yue returned to her seat and played the guzheng again, completely ignoring Gu Shen’s request. The two exchanged a helpless glance and sat quietly to listen. Gou Ye had some knowledge of music, thanks to childhood days spent with his grandfather, listening to ancient melodies on the radio—most often the guzheng, with pieces like “High Mountains and Flowing Water” and “Fishermen Singing at Dusk,” which he knew well. He could tell Gu Yue’s playing was beautiful and stirring, but it did not move him to awe—perhaps because he had heard so many famous tunes.

When Gu Yue finished, she lingered in the melody, unable to calm herself. Gou Ye took a flute from the wall, gently wiping the mouthpiece, recalling childhood scenes of sitting in the fields, listening to his grandfather play, and learning by ear.

Gu Yue looked at Gou Ye expectantly, “Master Gou, you know music?”

Gou Ye smiled, “A little. I wonder if you’ve heard of a story I wrote—‘The Butterfly Lovers.’”

Gu Yue responded without hesitation, “I’ve read it, I’ve read it! Such a tragic and beautiful love story. I wept several times when reading it. Master Gou, you are truly talented to write such a moving tale.”

“Good, since you’ve read it, today I shall dedicate its melody to you, as an apology for my abrupt visit. Forgive my lack of skill.” With that, Gou Ye pondered briefly, then played the flute—the tune “Butterfly Lovers,” its melody soaring and graceful. Both listeners were swept away, lost in the music. Gu Yue, moved by both the song and its story, could not help but weep aloud, while Gu Shen was overwhelmed with emotion. Now, Gou Ye could no longer be described with mere admiration—he inspired reverence and awe. Gu Shen had known Gou Ye was talented, but never imagined he also understood music, let alone could play such a touching melody. Truly, he was a peerless talent.