The tea was excellent—Mist Cloud Green, a tribute tea that cost ten taels an ounce. Liu Qingyan held the cup with both hands, her posture perfect, her expression thoughtful.
Xue Mu sat opposite her, casual, almost slouching.
"Miss Liu," Xue Mu broke the silence. "You are confused because you think art must elevate the spirit. You think if it doesn't help cultivation, it's useless."
"Is it not?" Liu Qingyan asked softly. "Music resonates with the Dao. It calms the demons of the heart. Your... 'Pop Music'... it stirs the blood. It excites desire. Is that not dangerous?"
"Desire is not evil," Xue Mu countered. "It's human. Look at the people in this city. They work from dawn to dusk. They fear the martial artists flying over their heads. They fear the tax collector. They fear tomorrow. They carry mountains on their shoulders."
He leaned forward. "Your music tells them to let go of earthly attachments. But they can't let go. They have families to feed. Your music offers them a glimpse of a heaven they can never reach. It's beautiful, but it's cruel."
Liu Qingyan's eyes widened. "Cruel?"
"My music," Xue Mu gestured to the empty stage outside, "tells them: 'It's okay to be tired. It's okay to be angry. For three minutes, just jump and scream and forget your pain.' I don't offer them heaven, Miss Liu. I offer them a break from hell."
Liu Qingyan fell silent. She looked down at her tea, the steam obscuring her face.
"A break from hell..." she whispered. "I have never thought of it that way. I always thought... I was saving them."
"You are saving their souls," Xue Mu smiled gently. "I am saving their sanity. We are not enemies. We serve different needs."
He reached out and poured her more tea. "The market is big enough for both the Goddess and the Idol. The question is: Are you willing to step down from the clouds and see the mud?"
Liu Qingyan looked at him. For the first time, the "Fairy" looked like a curious young girl.
"The mud..." she murmured. Then, a small, tentative smile touched her lips. "Perhaps... the mud has its own music."
She stood up and bowed—a full, formal bow of a student to a teacher.
"Thank you, Mister Xue. You have given me much to ponder. I... I will return."
"You're welcome anytime," Xue Mu said. "Bring your zither next time. We can jam."
"Jam?" She blinked at the strange word, then shook her head with a faint laugh. "I will bring my zither."
As she left, walking out into the night, she didn't look like a defeated rival. She looked like an artist who had just found a new color.