Magnificent!

This feeling was very much like that piece “War Rises” — and yet, it far surpassed “War Rises”!

“War Rises” was sorrowful, was grand, was tragic and grand at once!

But here, now, this zither’s sound was not sorrowful — only grand!

Was this Xuanyuan Lige?

Familiar and yet unfamiliar, it made Ziqing’s brow furrow tightly, her heart lurching wildly, losing all sense of direction, unable to control herself, as though she had become nothing more than a tool, simply letting her hands play on of their own accord!

There was a sense of being hijacked — by the melody, by the zither — unable to break free.

She had almost forgotten the score entirely, following only this feeling, playing on and on!

Xuanyuan Lige, what exactly are you trying to tell me?

What exactly have you hidden within this “zither,” within this “feeling”?

Ziqing questioned silently in her heart, not even certain whether she was asking herself or asking Xuanyuan Lige.

If everything could begin again, Xuanyuan Lige, would you choose tragedy and grandeur, or grandeur without sorrow?

Xuanyuan Lige, were you sorrowful?

In this life of yours, did you consider yourself sorrowful?

Ziqing no longer knew whether she had fallen into the music, or into her own thoughts — or whether, perhaps, this was neither the music nor her own thoughts, but a question Xuanyuan Lige himself had left for her!

Was this life sorrowful?

Was this life destined to be nothing but a single melody of parting sorrow, a lifetime’s worth of separation compressed into a fleeting moment?

Ziqing, do you too think I was sorrowful?

“No…”

Suddenly, Ziqing cried out in alarm, “You are not that. You are neither sorrow nor grandeur — you are simply you!”

Xuanyuan Lige — whether others called it sorrow, or folly, or grief, let them say what they would. You were you, only ever you!

You lived only by following the softest, gentlest place within your heart — and that alone was enough.

Xuanyuan Lige, did you ever care what others said of you?

Did you ever care?

All at once, the angry Ziqing began to smile — had she understood, then?

All at once, the ringing, resonant zither tones shifted into a steady, striking rhythm, and that steady rhythm melted into something long and flowing, flowing on and on, gradually growing elegant and melodious, achieving in the silence an especially ethereal quality, giving one an indescribable sense of beauty — as though the clouds had suddenly parted, as though a spring breeze brushed one’s face, as though spring flowers were blooming all at once.

Baili Weisheng found himself closing his eyes without realizing it, while Jun Beiyue’s deep, unfathomable gaze grew clear and bright, the corners of his mouth curving faintly upward in a look of release.

This flowing melody brought with it a sense of peace, of safety, almost hypnotic — one could lose oneself entirely within the music, the mind emptied of all clutter, setting everything aside for a moment, letting oneself go blank.

On and on the melody flowed, and one might have thought it would simply continue this way forever — even Ziqing’s own movements unconsciously slowed, following the music, slower, slower still!

Ziqing’s resistance to the power of music was, after all, higher than Baili Weisheng’s or Jun Beiyue’s, and she quickly became aware of the shift.

This melody seemed gentle and flowing, harmless on the surface, yet in truth it was seeping silently into the listener’s heart, overcoming hardness with softness, gradually eroding the walls guarding one’s mind.

Even as Ziqing marveled at Xuanyuan Lige’s mastery of music, she forced herself to cast aside these unnecessary distracting thoughts.

She knew that, for now, this music could only be called an enchanting sound — not yet a true illusion-melody.

Her immersion was not yet deep enough!

Or perhaps, she had not yet truly grasped what Lige wished to leave for her within this piece.

Gradually, as the light, cheerful melody continued, her own mood grew light and joyful as well, filled with an indescribable happiness — pure, and without any particular reason.

And just then, that uniquely flowing melody seemed to transform into a spring of water, flowing out from beneath Ziqing’s fingertips, flowing out from within her very heart.

It was hard to imagine that this ancient zither, so steeped in blood and resentment, could produce such a bright, cheerful tune.

Ziqing looked at the blood-red strings held between her fair, slender fingers, and could not help but curve her lips into a radiant smile. “Xuanyuan Lige, right now my heart is open, and full of joy. What about you?”

“What about you?”

Ziqing smiled, feeling as though a clear breeze had swept past, tousling her hair. She reached up to smooth it back — and then her hand suddenly froze. Something was wrong.

How could this be…

Wasn’t she simply playing the zither? Why had her hands stopped?

Ziqing’s eyes went wide with shock as she stared at her own hands, then looked around at her surroundings, which had somehow changed entirely — she saw that she was no longer in the bamboo house, but in a cave.

Jun Beiyue and Baili Weisheng were nowhere to be seen.

Everything had changed!

Wasn’t this the cliffside cavern of the Innocence Ravine?

Years ago, it was here that Xuanyuan Lige had taken her by force, taught her fingering techniques, taught her so many pieces of music — it was here, in this very place.

He had said he was only borrowing her for a while, that he meant her no harm, and that he would repay her losses with the art of music.

He had been a true gentleman, never once harming her — instead, he had spoken and laughed easily with her, telling her everything.

So this was the place where the illusion Lige had left behind, the enchanted music, had taken her!

Ziqing stared blankly, unable to come back to herself for a long moment. The Xuezheng lay right beside her, its blood-red strings lying silent and still, untouched — and yet…

And yet, the sound of the Xuezheng still lingered in her ears, still wrapped around her, playing that same Parting Melody.

She clearly hadn’t been playing — so how could she still be hearing the music? Who besides her could move the Xuezheng? Who besides her could play the Parting Melody?

In that instant, Ziqing’s heart seemed to stop beating altogether. Realization struck her, and she choked out, sobbing, “Xuanyuan Lige! Xuanyuan Lige! Xuanyuan Lige, come out! Where are you!”

It had to be him playing — otherwise, how could she still be hearing the music?

It had to be him, it had to be!

“Xuanyuan Lige! A’Li…” Ziqing panicked, screaming with all her heart, rushing out of the cave as she cried out.

The moment she reached the mouth of the cave, she stopped short!

That familiar figure stood right before her — tall and slender, clad in purple robes with hair of silver, solitary and cold, as though standing above the mortal world, looking down over ten thousand rivers and mountains, over all the joys and sorrows of the world.

Seeing his back, one couldn’t help but wonder what kind of world existed within his eyes.

Desolation — the word suddenly struck Ziqing’s heart. She wondered: in this illusion, did he simply stand there like this, day after day, gazing off toward the south?

Ziqing knew this was an illusion, merely a vision Xuanyuan Lige had left behind before his death — not something real.

The music here, too, was not something he was truly playing, but something inherent to the illusion itself.

At this very moment, she was still in the Pavilion of the Clearing Heart at Prince Yao’s estate, playing the Xuezheng — she had simply become lost within the enchanted melody.

Here, whatever happened was false.

Whatever happened, it would repeat — each time she played, it would happen again.

The real Xuanyuan Lige had long since vanished.

Ziqing had no idea how long this illusion would last, nor whether Xuanyuan Lige would turn around. She dared not step closer, afraid that if she did, the illusion would vanish.

And yet, even knowing full well that this was an illusion, she couldn’t help herself, and softly called out, “A’Li, are you well?”

But Xuanyuan Lige seemed to hear her call — his tall, slender frame gave a faint start, and then he suddenly turned around.

In that instant, his purple robes and cascade of silver hair swept up high on the wind, and Ziqing froze in place.

Amid the swirl of purple robes and silver hair, she saw his familiar pale face; saw his familiar calm, narrow eyes; saw him standing there, silent as a withdrawn child; saw him slowly raise his head to look at her; saw him break into a faint smile, melting through the stillness of his face — and melting her own heart, which had been aching itself half to death…

It really was him — that so-familiar face, that long-lost gentleness, Xuanyuan Lige!

Ziqing covered her mouth with her hand, terrified she might cry out. A’Li was smiling — how could she possibly cry?

Xuanyuan Lige walked toward her, step by step, the corners of his pale mouth carrying a look of fond indulgence and helplessness — so real, so very real, that Ziqing nearly believed this wasn’t an illusion at all, but that A’Li had truly come back to her.