Before He Qingqing even entered the bamboo pavilion, she glimpsed lights within the grove and heard bursts of cheerful laughter.

Clearly, there were quite a few female cultivators inside. Though called a zither discussion, it seemed more like a private gathering.

She couldn’t make out what they were discussing, but their laughter, like silver bells in the wind, echoed among the dense bamboo leaves.

He Qingqing’s steps faltered as she unconsciously clutched the corner of her sleeve.

The maid behind her, holding the blue gauze lantern, urged: “Everyone is waiting for you.”

The other maid advised: “Fellow disciples are like sisters, gathering often. You’ll need to get used to it. The path of immortality is long—surely you don’t plan to remain alone forever, avoiding interaction with others?”

“Very well,” He Qingqing reluctantly nodded.

She had already learned to resist obvious “malice,” but still couldn’t refuse arrangements disguised as “goodwill.”

Being new here, she felt out of place everywhere. She constantly feared her behavior would be inappropriate, making her appear strange and different, bringing shame to her master.

He Qingqing ascended the stairs with light steps.

Yet the maid announced loudly: “Immortal He has arrived.”

The fragrance of flowers mingled with incense wafted through the air.

Bamboo mats covered the floor, with various female cultivators seated upon them, laughing heartily, their colorful skirts spread like blooming flowers.

Some held pipa lutes, others bamboo flutes, and some were seeking guidance on finger techniques from Miao Yan.

The moment He Qingqing appeared, the cheerful conversation instantly ceased.

Everyone turned their heads, all gaze falling directly upon her—some surprised, some questioning, and some slightly furrowing their brows.

A deathly silence. He Qingqing felt she shouldn’t have come, but didn’t know how to greet them. She wanted to turn around and descend the stairs immediately, yet feared appearing discourteous.

For a moment, she stood pale-faced at the edge of the stairway.

“Senior Sister,” someone suddenly called softly.

The female cultivator at the center of the group rose gracefully, lowering her head slightly in a bow.

It was Immortal Miao Yan.

“Greetings, Senior Sister.”

Seeing Miao Yan actively greeting her, the other female cultivators hurriedly stood up, fulfilling the proper etiquette.

In the hearts of young cultivators at the Celestial Sound Gate, Miao Yan’s status was second only to their masters, yet closer than those masters.

He Qingqing released her grip on her sleeve and straightened her back: “Hello everyone, please be seated.”

Miao Yan took her hand, leading her to sit beside herself.

This sudden display of closeness left He Qingqing at a loss.

The eyes of the female cultivators darted between the two, their expressions somewhat strange.

Since the “Wind and Snow Battle Formation Melody” had emerged in the world, outsiders had been busy analyzing the score. Amidst the overwhelming excitement, the person who usually held the highest fame in the Celestial Sound Gate had been forgotten—

Immortal Miao Yan.

During the Literary Gathering’s zither examination, Miao Yan had neither formally appeared nor played the zither.

By all reasoning, Miao Yan should have disliked this “Senior Sister.” Just as Wangshu and Jiangyun couldn’t stand each other.

A blooming silver lotus flower sat in a wide-mouthed basin on the jade table, with clear, shallow water.

The layered petals appeared cold yet exquisite in the moonlight.

When He Qingqing lowered her eyes, she saw flecks of silver light falling on the water’s surface, with Miao Yan’s perfect profile also reflected within.

Cloud-like hair and a flowery countenance, smiling with rouge-red lips.

Both radiated together, the person more beautiful than the flower.

Suddenly feeling ashamed of her appearance, she averted her gaze.

If someone had told her before that she would sit beside the most beautiful woman, she would never have believed it.

Miao Yan asked in a gentle voice: “Did Senior Sister bring her zither?”

He Qingqing nodded, taking the zither from her storage pouch and placing it steadily on the jade table.

The jade-like luster flowing across it overshadowed the silver lotus’s radiance.

Miao Yan gently stroked the zither’s body, without presuming to pluck its strings:

“I’ve seen many ‘Green Ripple Platform’ zithers, but yours is particularly well-crafted.”

The other music cultivators all chimed in: “Senior Sister’s zither is exquisitely made, with a tone that is both gentle and profound.”

The atmosphere returned to ease.

He Qingqing finally smiled, a smile from the heart.

Hearing others praise her zither pleased her more than compliments about herself.

Miao Yan continued: “You played the Wind and Snow Battle Formation Melody very well.”

He Qingqing shook her head: “I didn’t finish playing it. It wasn’t good enough.”

Miao Yan gazed at her, her eyes gentle as water. Yet He Qingqing felt those eyes contained stubborn hooks as if trying to penetrate her veil.

Miao Yan said: “The final section that you didn’t finish playing—could you teach it to me?”

“Teach you?” He Qingqing was taken aback.

Miao Yan suddenly stood and bowed to her: “Please, Senior Sister, instruct your junior sister.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t dare!” He Qingqing quickly helped her up.

Miao Yan smiled: “I’ve never loved a melody so much. Since you played it, I’ve been mentally rehearsing it repeatedly. Unfortunately, I don’t know the final score.”

Who could refuse Miao Yan?

Especially with all eyes upon He Qingqing, eagerly anticipating her response.

He Qingqing nodded: “The final section isn’t difficult to play on its own. My cultivation is insufficient, my understanding inadequate; that’s why I couldn’t complete the entire piece. You certainly can.”

Miao Yan’s smile deepened: “Thank you, Senior Sister, for passing on your knowledge.”

“I wouldn’t dare claim such credit.”

He Qingqing pressed the strings, without using spiritual energy, and the zither’s notes flowed forth lightly.

The female cultivators sat upright, listening attentively.

As the moon’s shadow shifted westward, the zither’s sound gradually weakened, like heavy snow finally ceasing, ultimately returning to silent stillness.

Miao Yan was stunned.

Last night she had sat in meditation without lighting a lamp, facing an ancient zither without playing, composing an ending for the “Wind and Snow Battle Formation Melody” in her mind.

Now as He Qingqing played smoothly, it was surprisingly similar to what she had imagined, matching by at least seventy percent.

“The original melody is more exquisite than what I composed—I was merely adding a crude extension,” Miao Yan murmured. “I truly wonder what kind of person could write such a melody. If fate allows me to meet them in this lifetime…”

For a moment she was lost in thought, forgetting even to smile.

“Immortal Miao Yan,” He Qingqing felt a slight bitterness in her heart for reasons unknown, “this I cannot tell you.”

Miao Yan returned to her senses: “That’s all right. How could I force you?”

If even the Zither Immortal couldn’t get an answer, who else could make He Qingqing speak? Yet Miao Yan thought, someday, I will personally meet the composer.

…

The treasure ship traveled through clouds and mist, with countless stars seemingly within reach.

“When I first came to the Huawei Sect, I also traveled by flying ship. Back then, I thought once I boarded the vessel, I would become a celestial immortal,” Zhou Xiaoyun said, patting the railing with a sigh. “Later, I thought I would be an outer disciple for my entire life.”

“Me too. I had resigned myself to my fate, comforting myself daily that working was just working. Many mortals dream of working for a celestial sect but can’t even get the opportunity,” someone added.

“With our departure, the Huawei Sect will recruit another batch of outer disciples,” another person commented.

At the beginning of their journey, the outer disciples were too excited to meditate. They all gathered on the deck to feel the breeze and gaze at the stars, discussing their pasts and future dreams, no matter how far-fetched.

Some wanted to learn artifact forging, others wished to become alchemists, and some dreamed of learning talisman drawing.

Words they normally wouldn’t dare say, fears of being ridiculed—tonight, because they were all on the same “pirate ship,” the young people spoke freely without restraint.

Suddenly, from the stern came a piercing wind sound as a giant golden-glowing shadow broke through the sea of clouds, pursuing at full speed.

The distance between the two ships steadily decreased. Vaguely visible at the bow of the pursuing vessel was a figure gesturing wildly, as if making threatening demonstrations.

Everyone was shocked.

“This is bad! We’re being pursued! Quickly fetch Senior Brother Song!”

“No, Senior Brother Song is eating noodles! Find Senior Brother Meng!”

Song Qian Ji was indeed eating noodles under Meng He Ze’s watchful gaze.

In this lifetime, he had eaten more noodles than the beatings he had suffered in his previous life.

Meng He Ze stood nearby brewing tea, smiling with contentment.

He hadn’t cooked noodles for his Senior Brother for a whole day and night.

Upon hearing the announcement, Meng He Ze’s expression changed abruptly.

“Senior Brother, eat slowly. I’ll handle this!” He tossed aside his apron, rushed out, dramatically drew his sword, and shouted, “Everyone, form battle formation with me!”

All the outer disciples responded in unison, their voices shaking the clouds.

“Wait.” Song Qian Ji followed closely behind, and after taking a careful look, he quickly called for them to stop.

Have you ever seen such a ridiculous, loud-mouthed pursuer?

Ji Chen was jumping on the bow, frantically waving both hands and shouting.

But his voice was scattered by the fierce night-wind of the high altitude.

Only Song Qian Ji understood his lip movements: “Brother Song—”