“He Qing Qing, huh.” Someone softly repeated this name, contemplative, then smiled and asked the person beside them, “Senior Brother Zi Ye, do you still remember this person?”

Not far from the deep pool, a pavilion stood alone on a cliff, facing the waterfall in the distance.

Yuan Qing Shi, the head disciple of Hua Wei Sect, the Academy Supervisor of Blue Cliff Academy, the head disciple of Da Yan Sect, and the direct disciple of the master of Purple Cloud Observatory had gathered in this pavilion to drink tea.

The pavilion was perfectly positioned. They could look down and see the poolside, hear the zither, yet not be easily disturbed.

Listening to the zither was a refined activity, and refined activities called for a refined mood.

The other three wore bright clothes, laughing and smiling, while Zi Ye Wen Shu still wore black.

“I heard you rescued her from a demon cave and sent her to Blue Cliff Academy,” the person continued.

Hearing this, Zi Ye Wen Shu frowned in thought.

Students at the academy often said that looking at Supervisor Zi Ye on a hot summer day could cool one down and refresh the spirit.

He had high brow bones and deep eye sockets, with dense, long eyelashes, thin lips, and exceptionally pale skin.

Though handsome, he lacked some human warmth and earthly air, like a solemn deity statue.

Yuan Qing Shi, unable to bear the awkward silence, actively smoothed things over: “Brother Zi Ye is a busy man; if he had to keep everything in mind, it would be too exhausting.”

He understood the other. As the head senior brother of Hua Wei Sect, it was already difficult for him to recognize every direct disciple.

Not to mention Zi Ye Wen Shu and this person—one in heaven, one on earth—it would be normal not to remember.

Zi Ye Wen Shu finally recalled something, his sword-like eyebrows slightly raised: “It’s her. What is she here for?”

The weak, thin girl in his memory had grown taller.

“Coming to the zither trial, of course, to play the zither,” someone shook their head and complained, “I thought after Immortal Lady Meng Zhi, it would be Immortal Lady Miao Yan’s turn. Who knew we’d have to wait longer.”

Yuan Qing Shi observed Zi Ye Wen Shu’s expression, seeing him unmoved, and couldn’t help asking:

“What does Brother Zi Ye think? After hearing Immortal Lady Meng Zhi’s ‘Hundred Birds Pay Homage to the Phoenix,’ were you moved?”

Zi Ye Wen Shu was on the verge of a breakthrough but had encountered difficulties.

Otherwise, in the pavilion at the center of Yao Guang Lake, his pressure wouldn’t have been so hard to control, disturbing Meng He Ze.

Yuan Qing Shi and others believed that listening to music cultivators play the zither might comb through spiritual energy and find a chance for a breakthrough.

Zi Ye Wen Shu shook his head: “My killing intent is too strong; I’m not suited for listening to the zither.”

“That’s incorrect. That’s only because you haven’t heard Immortal Lady Miao Yan’s zither yet. Ordinary music can’t compare to it,” Yuan Qing Shi smiled. “When the Immortal Lady played for my master in the past, I was pouring tea for my master at the side and benefited greatly…”

“Excuse me for a moment.” Before finishing, Yuan Qing Shi suddenly saw something, his smile fading as he rose and left the pavilion.

He walked into the forest, stopping under an ancient tree, and patted the trunk: “Come down!”

Chen Hong Zhu jumped down from the treetop, grinning: “Senior Brother, what is it?”

Yuan Qing Shi frowned: “What are you doing here?”

He glanced at the bamboo building where Miao Yan was, then at the pavilion in the center of the deep pool, and warned in a low voice: “That person from Divine Sound Gate is here. By no means can you act improperly before him!”

Outsiders only knew the Calligraphy Saint had come to the Dengwen Elegant Gathering, not that the Chess Demon and Zither Immortal were also present.

At this grand gathering, three of the world’s four supreme powerhouses had arrived, causing Xu Yun True Person and the Hua Wei Sect’s upper echelon great anxiety.

If the three of them met and disagreed, causing a major disturbance in Hua Wei Sect, what could be done?

“I know!” Chen Hong Zhu said irritably: “Senior Brother, what are you thinking? I may dislike Miao Yan, but I wouldn’t come here to harm her! I’m not here to see her at all!”

“Then who are you watching?” Yuan Qing Shi hesitated. “Immortal Lady Meng Zhi has just finished her piece, the zither trial is about to conclude, and only Miao Yan has yet to play. Today is very important for her, you can’t…”

Chen Hong Zhu stretched out her hand, pointing toward the poolside: “Who says it’s concluding?! Isn’t this person just coming up?”

Yuan Qing Shi was bewildered: “You know this person?”

He had just heard the name He Qing Qing, merely someone Zi Ye Wen Shu had brought back to the academy, then cast aside as an insignificant nobody.

Moreover, Chen Hong Zhu never had friends.

“Don’t worry about this,” Chen Hong Zhu nodded.

They certainly knew each other.

They had basked in moonlight together at the entrance of Song Academy, dozed together, felt the evening breeze together, and waited for someone together.

Who knew that person would go down the mountain at midnight, and pawn her sword in exchange for a Green Ripple Platform zither?

Chen Hong Zhu just wanted to come to hear what kind of music this zither could produce.

Yuan Qing Shi regained his smile: “Very well, as long as you don’t come to make trouble, I certainly won’t interfere!”

Chen Hong Zhu looked at the slender figure by the pool, thinking: placed after Meng Zhi and before Miao Yan, in this situation, just daring to play is already a victory, right?

***

He Qing Qing had already decided that this was her battle. Even if that person didn’t come, she would still give her all.

But when she truly walked to the center of ten thousand people, surrounded by cold gazes from the crowd, she still felt a sense of “drawing the sword, looking around, and feeling lost.”

“Clap, clap, clap.”

Suddenly, clear applause broke the silence.

According to the unspoken rule of the zither trial, when each contestant took the stage, the audience should applaud, both to thank the previous performer and welcome the current one.

But Immortal Lady Meng Zhi’s “Hundred Birds Pay Homage to the Phoenix” had been too magnificent, and people had not yet recovered. Who would remember to applaud for He Qing Qing?

At this moment, someone took the lead, and sparse applause finally sounded from all four sides of the Green Stone Pool, carrying a sense of perfunctoriness and urging.

He Qing Qing turned sharply.

Through a layer of white gauze and the dense crowd, she saw that figure standing at the back of the crowd.

—A head taller than those around him, standing out like a crane among chickens, with a gentle smile.

He had come.

He was even applauding for her.

Like a stabilizing pillar dropping into the depths of her heart, He Qing Qing raised her head and took a deep breath.

Dusk fell, and she sat cross-legged on the green stone by the pool, placing the zither on her lap.

She suddenly felt that no moment in her life had been better than this one.

The Green Ripple Platform shimmered with emerald light, reflecting with the pool’s green waves and the setting sun, illuminating her slender, flexible ten fingers.

He Qing Qing suddenly pressed the strings.

“Zheng!”

A powerful note, like a sword unsheathed, hummed continuously.

Everyone’s spirits jolted as if seeing a bright sword light cutting through the air, thrusting straight at the setting sun on the horizon!

“Zheng, zheng, zheng!”

He Qing Qing’s fingering unchanged, produced three more sword-like sounds.

The lingering images of the magnificent hundred birds and hundred flowers from before were shattered by three sword lights, instantly vanishing without a trace.

On the bamboo building, Miao Yan was slightly stunned, her smile frozen at the corners of her mouth.

This wasn’t a piece she had written. She would never place the strongest note at the beginning.

After seizing the initiative, the zither music turned fluid, like a rolling torrent, as if thousands of troops charged and ten thousand horses fell silent.

The sound fell into the water, causing the pool to surge with thousands of snow-white waves.

From the poolside to the hillside, the listeners’ spirits were shaken, forgetting words.

In the pavilion at the center of the pool, Wang Shu was shocked. From which sect did this person come, with such low cultivation but playing so well?

Jiang Yun stared intently at the young woman playing the zither as if wanting to penetrate the face veil and see through her internal organs.

Gradually the zither sound eased, turning light and short for a few bends, cavalry and weapons suddenly disappearing.

People’s tense nerves relaxed slightly, but they heard melancholy and graceful turns, a path emerging from willows and flowers, as the magnificent mountains and rivers unfolded before their eyes.

The sunset’s afterglow dispersed, night fell, and the evening breeze blew gently.

The zither sound drifted with the mountain wind, into the deep valley, up the cliff, and into the dense forest.

Beast roars sounded one after another, echoing repeatedly, like questions and answers.

The zither music turned magnificent and grand, with a kingly spirit in the melody, actually attracting a hundred beasts to pay homage.

The sound of birds flapping wings, feathers breaking wind, tigers leaping through forests, turtles and crocodiles slapping water…

Countless creatures of Hua Wei Sect played this piece together!

He Qing Qing almost forgot she was playing the zither, entirely immersed in the music, seeing neither crowd nor hundred beasts.

Sky high and earth vast, boundless, and limitless, with only her alone.

When the zither sound soared to the clouds, people silently screamed in their hearts.

Suddenly the zither sound plunged downward, turning lower and lower, like the north wind wailing, snow falling on a desolate plain.

People’s screams stopped, following the desolate and sorrowful zither music toward the depths of the snow plain.

They felt cold all over without realizing it.

Chen Hong Zhu listened in a daze as if seeing countless nights when she sat on Passing Water Bridge, swinging her legs, cutting her fingertips to drip blood to feed the five-colored carp.

Cloud seas surged, five-colored carp gathered in schools, and she was all alone.

Zi Ye Wen Shu closed his eyes.

He vaguely returned to the Western Sea demon cave, the path ahead dark, with no retreat behind.

Endless fresh blood, endless demon heads.

Miao Yan had forgotten to smile, forgotten where she was and what she should do.

She saw a little girl, lost on the back mountain of Hua Wei Sect in the deep night.

The north wind roared, and the little girl shivered and trembled, crawling up the stone steps.

Who was this? Why did no one come to find her?

It was herself.

Song Qian Ji…

Song Qian Ji saw nothing.

He looked up at the moon.

Tonight’s moon was large and round, like a valuable silver plate.

He thought, is this the piece I wrote?

It’s played quite well.

At the peak of desolation, there was a turning point.

Night wind howled, and thick clouds obscured the bright moon.

The zither sound suddenly turned passionate.

“Zheng,” the first string of the seven-stringed Green Ripple Platform broke.

He Qing Qing was like this zither, having reached her limit, spiritual energy exhausted, meridians unable to bear the burden.

Regardless, the zither sound rose again, and another string broke!

Cracks appeared in the stones by the pool, and the waterfall’s sound roared.

Listeners were stunned and lost as if struck by a force that could destroy heaven and earth.

He Qing Qing groaned and spat blood, suddenly raising her head.

The clouds broke.

The moon appeared.

A silver-white, brilliant moonlight poured down from the ninth heaven, shining upon her!

The zither music stopped abruptly.

All around was extremely quiet, with the zither piece preceding, the waterfall’s sound seemed imperceptible.

The entire starry sky fell into the pool, its waves sparkling.

Someone touched their face, finding a handful of tears.

Looking at those beside them, everyone had tears streaming down their faces, without knowing when it had started.

A shout rang out from the cliff: “Senior Brother Zi Ye is about to break through!”

The world’s spiritual energy converged here, forming an invisible vortex.

The crowd, immersed in the music, in a certain mysterious state, suddenly feeling the change in spiritual energy, naturally absorbed and exhaled.

Enlightenment happens in an instant; some loosened bottlenecks, others advanced in cultivation.

He Qing Qing hugged her zither, rising from the stone, her fingertips still trembling.

When she practiced the zither, she only did so in quiet, secluded places, and had never played like this.

Her ten fingers were in severe pain, her meridians almost bursting.

“Thank you, Immortal Lady!” Someone shouted first.

“Immortal Lady’s noble virtue!”

Words of thanks and praise joined together in waves, like a tide engulfing her.

On the bamboo building, Miao Yan came to her senses and silently closed her zither case.

Tonight she need not play again, no, perhaps for longer.

With the bright moon ahead, how could one compete with its radiance?

In the pavilion at the center of the pool, the Zither Immortal opened his eyes:

“Good zither technique, the piece is even rare. Such a good piece, I haven’t heard in over two hundred years.”

“You’re right,” everyone chimed in.

“In this piece, what did you hear?” the Zither Immortal suddenly asked.

Wang Shu’s face paled slightly: “Though the beginning shows hardship, it’s not lamenting but accumulating momentum, as if with just an east wind, it could soar high. Only the ending doesn’t seem good.”

The Zither Immortal nodded.

Jiang Yun pondered: “This piece is divided into upper, middle, and lower chapters, presumably based on one person’s experience.”

Then they heard the Zither Immortal slowly say:

“Lonely in youth, practicing sword by day, reading books at midnight.”

“Dust cleared, light emerged, treasured sword unsheathed, the world contested.”

“Achievement for a thousand years, ambushed from ten sides, hero’s final road.”

“Three days and nights of wind and snow, one piece of battle music, writing a whole life. This should be a piece written by a dead person, but how can the dead compose music? Strange! Now I want to know, who composed this piece.”

He muttered to himself, seemingly stunned.

The pavilion was silent, no one daring to disturb his thoughts.

After a long while, the Zither Immortal waved toward the poolside, smiling: “Little girl, please come forward.”