That night when Song Qian Ji looked up at the moon, he was moved to express his feelings through music.

After writing it, he only played it once in his mind, thought it wasn’t bad, and gave it to He Qing Qing.

Now, hearing her play it, he momentarily felt dazed. A piece he had written, infused with spiritual power, could create such an impact.

He Qing Qing astounded everyone with this piece, making her name known far and wide. While it seemed like unlimited glory, it was unclear whether this would bring fortune or disaster.

Suddenly, from the pavilion in the center of the pool, he faintly heard a clear, gentle male voice, seemingly evaluating others.

Though all in the pavilion were zither trial examiners, when that person spoke, no one else talked, treating him with extreme respect. Wasn’t his identity very obvious?

Song Qian Ji was slightly surprised. The Zither Immortal was here?

He concentrated his spirit, trying to hear the person speak clearly.

“Lonely in youth…”

It was a bit bitter, but nothing to complain about; one gets used to it.

“…the world contested.”

What contesting? I had just climbed to the mountaintop and hadn’t enjoyed it for long before the heaven-supporting tree was about to fall, and the world was about to end.

“…hero’s final road.”

Song Qian Ji finally couldn’t help but chuckle.

No one had ever told him, you are a hero.

This term was completely unrelated to him.

Song the Bandit as a hero was as absurd as the Master of Evil Ways accumulating virtue or the Crazy Formation Master being calm and rational.

“…should be a dead person.”

Song Qian Ji raised an eyebrow. This statement was true; he had indeed died once.

The person in the pavilion was indeed the Zither Immortal. His deep mastery of music allowed him to perceive beyond the strings, using the melody to deduce the composer’s experiences.

Each profession has its specialization; he, as an amateur outsider, couldn’t compare.

Hopefully, He Qing Qing would keep her promise and not reveal him.

If she did reveal him, he wouldn’t admit it anyway, would have to make up another story and attribute it to Xian Jian Chen.

After all, practice makes perfect.

“What are you laughing at? Is it that funny?” someone beside him asked coldly.

Song Qian Ji was startled, only then realizing the question was directed at him.

Looking around, everyone’s expression was unfriendly.

He was the only one who hadn’t shed tears but instead laughed.

People had just wiped away their tears, with the melody’s lingering impact in their hearts, when they heard a light laugh.

Tonight, with this piece shaking people’s hearts, that veiled immortal lady had played so divinely.

Yet someone remained unmoved and even snickered—was he even human?

Song Qian Ji stood among the crowd, facing the surrounding condemning gazes, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

“Misunderstanding, I wasn’t laughing at you,” he explained.

“Then who were you laughing at?” someone stepped forward and said loudly:

“The veiled immortal lady playing the zither helped me gain enlightenment with her music; she has done me a favor. Today, whoever dares to ridicule her, treat her disrespectfully, I will settle the score for her!”

Everyone agreed.

He Qing Qing’s zither piece not only touched people’s heartstrings but also allowed many to advance in cultivation, gaining tangible benefits.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Song Qian Ji had to explain again.

Seeing his sincere attitude, gentle smile, and handsome appearance, people finally stopped giving him a hard time and turned to praise the music instead.

At this moment, the most popular people were the disciples of Divine Sound Gate.

Other sword cultivators, talisman cultivators, formation masters, and artifact refiners only knew to praise but couldn’t articulate what was good.

Only the music cultivators discussed their insights eloquently, speaking convincingly, with brilliant phrases that inspired admiration.

“Though the piece begins with a sense of hardship, it’s sorrowful without being harmful, never self-pitying. Like a sword in its sheath, accumulating momentum.”

“The middle part is magnificent and grand, yet joyful without excess. It is said that ‘words of joy are hard to make good, sounds of hardship are easily crafted well.’ Magnificent sounds most easily lose their spirit and fall into vulgarity. This piece not only avoids vulgarity but has a majestic presence, with the air of a king’s dominance, attracting a hundred beasts to pay homage!”

“The final part is a desolate, sad song, leading people into the secret realm of the heart.”

Someone hesitantly said: “But, this piece seems unfinished?”

Everyone expressed regret.

Yet an older music cultivator stepped forward, smiling:

“Piece unfinished, zither strings broken, still creates a beauty of imperfection.”

“After all—” that person concluded: “Great perfection seems flawed, great sound seems silent!”

“Clap, clap, clap!” Thunderous applause.

“Well said!”

A supporter of Meng Zhi sighed: “It seems Immortal Lady Meng Zhi cannot compare…”

“Compare? How can this be compared? Can a grain of rice contend with the sun and moon? In my view, all the pieces after this need not be heard.”

“There’s still one piece by Immortal Lady Miao Yan afterward. Won’t you listen?”

“Even if it’s not just one piece but a whole year, I won’t listen to the zither again. After hearing this divine music tonight, I fear ordinary music would pollute my ears!”

“Not so!” Miao Yan’s supporters objected. “This veiled female cultivator has low cultivation, insufficient spiritual energy, and her zither mastery is inferior to Immortal Lady Miao Yan. Tonight’s victory wasn’t in zither technique but in the golden melody! If Immortal Lady Miao Yan played this piece, she would play it better!”

“This piece is truly exquisite. I wonder who wrote it for her?”

“Music carries the Dao. The person who wrote this piece must be a great hero who stands tall between heaven and earth.”

“Not necessarily,” Song Qian Ji had been listening silently.

He listened with extreme embarrassment, his face slightly red, and finally couldn’t help but speak:

“Perhaps he was just a small person who, because of his unscrupulous means, did not die well.”

A Divine Sound Gate disciple immediately interrupted:

“Are you a music cultivator?”

“I’m not,” Song Qian Ji said.

“Do you understand music?”

“A little.”

That Divine Sound Gate disciple snorted coldly: “The way of music is profound and boundless, high and limitless. With only a smattering of knowledge, how dare you comment casually?”

Everyone was indignant, blaming him for insulting the composer.

Song Qian Ji was speechless.

He blamed himself for speaking too much.

Merit and fault through the ages would be evaluated by later generations. Even if misunderstood or misrepresented, he should endure it; it wouldn’t cost him anything.

“Don’t bother with him,” someone continued. “He’s not a music cultivator; how would he understand music theory and melody emotion? I’m not a music cultivator either, but I understand reverence and respect. Today I’ve had my horizons broadened, knowing what it means to ‘hear celestial music and momentarily gain clarity,’ what it means for ‘echoes to linger around the beams for three days,’ what it means to ‘not know the taste of meat for three months.'”

Song Qian Ji smiled helplessly, looking toward the poolside.

Through the dense crowd, he finally saw He Qing Qing being summoned by the Zither Immortal’s words, and he turned to leave.

What else was there to wait for?

Among the cultivators attending the Dengwen Elegant Gathering and listening to the zither by the pool were those who had come to kill him in his previous life, as well as those he had killed.

He couldn’t remember clearly.

He also didn’t want to make the effort to recall.

Song Qian Ji left alone, leaving the cheers, laughter, and enthusiastic praise behind, gradually becoming inaudible.

Walking alone on the mountain path, the bright moon came to illuminate him.

He suddenly wanted to drink some wine, return to his small vegetable garden, and get drunk in the company of his plants.

“Brother Song!” An urgent call interrupted Song Qian Ji’s thoughts.

Someone ran toward him: “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, it was so hard to find you!”

“Ji Chen?” Song Qian Ji was puzzled. “Why are you looking for me? Has the chess trial ended?”

He thought Ji Chen had stayed by Wind Smoke Valley to watch the chess trial and practice chess.

When the other person ran out of the tree shadows, his face illuminated by moonlight, he saw Ji Chen’s anxious expression and realized something might have happened.

“What did you write? The Calligraphy Saint designated the ‘Chicken Egg Calligraphy’ as the champion!” Ji Chen panted. “They wanted to take me to attend the celebration banquet, but I slipped away!”

“What?” Song Qian Ji was shocked. “Chicken Egg Calligraphy?”

“It’s the circle I drew and the ‘chicken egg’ you wrote, now it’s become the ‘Chicken Egg Calligraphy’!”

“No way, that can’t be,” Song Qian Ji was dumbfounded.

Wei Zhen Yu wasn’t found, and a formation master became the champion of the calligraphy and painting trial.

What was the Calligraphy Saint thinking?

Ignoring the genius who inscribed on the cliff, ignoring countless exquisite landscape paintings, instead choosing a chicken egg.

Are you ordering food at a restaurant, picking what tastes good?

“This championship I’ve received is absurd, undeserved, I’m really panicking! You said life is about participation, you also said you only knew a little, you deceived me, wuwuwu.” Ji Chen saw him stunned, became even more helpless, and simply began to sob.

“I didn’t deceive you!” Song Qian Ji’s head hurt from his crying.

Hasn’t anyone taught you that a man of seven feet sheds blood, not tears?

Today I didn’t see Wei Zhen Yu, and I was even severely criticized at the zither trial.

I didn’t cry, why are you crying?

“Stop crying, Friend Ji, no one wanted this to happen, it’s not our fault!”

Ji Chen sobbed: “Is it the sage’s fault then? Even if it is, who dares to say the sage made a mistake?”

“Give me your handkerchief!” Song Qian Ji said.

Ji Chen obediently took out a piece of ice silkworm satin handkerchief.

Song Qian Ji took it and wiped away his mucus and tears in one motion: “Since the sage doesn’t make mistakes, and he selected you, who dares to say you’re wrong? Anyone questioning your championship is questioning the Calligraphy Saint. What are you afraid of?”

“The two characters for ‘chicken egg’ were written by you!”

Song Qian Ji frightened him: “Writing on someone else’s paper counts as cheating. If you tell anyone, we’ll both be in trouble.”

“Then what should I do?”

“You might as well accept it and happily be the champion!”

Song Qian Ji explained the pros and cons to him, finally stabilizing Ji Chen.

“Go back, don’t wait for others to find you.”

“What about you?” Ji Chen pulled at his sleeve and asked, “You’re letting me go alone? Won’t you come with me to the celebration banquet?”

Song Qian Ji shook his head: “I don’t want to eat now; I just want to drink.”

He added: “Drink alone.”

Too many things had happened today, one absurd event after another, with fate playing jokes on him.

He wanted to drink, return to his warm and lovely small vegetable garden, and have a good sleep.

After sobering up from alcohol, tomorrow would still be a fulfilling day of farming.

“Wine? I have some!” Ji Chen patted his storage pouch and took out a small purple jade wine jar. “Drink mine!”

“Not too strong, is it?” Song Qian Ji hesitated.

Ji Chen patted his chest and said: “Don’t worry, this is fruit wine brewed by my family, sweet and mild.”

“Good, thank you,” Song Qian Ji nodded. “You should go quickly.”

Ji Chen was reluctant to leave.

Song Qian Ji gently pushed him.

***

The waterfall flowed down, silver splashes flying in the moonlight.

Dozens of green stones, lifted by spiritual energy, floated still in the pool, forming a path to the pavilion at the center of the pool.

He Qing Qing, hugging her zither, walked step by step along this path.

She stood outside the pavilion, the pool water reflecting her slender waist and veiled face.

“What is this piece called?” someone in the pavilion asked with a smile.

He Qing Qing answered softly: “I don’t know the name.”

“Where did you learn it from?” the person asked again.

He Qing Qing boldly raised her head.

She saw everyone in the pavilion standing, solemn and dignified.

Only the person asking was seated, with smiling eyes.

He wore black clothes and still maintained a youthful appearance. His features were meticulously carved by the heavenly Dao, his skin fair and flawless, almost transparent in the moonlight.

He Qing Qing couldn’t help wanting to look more carefully but met his profound eyes, immediately feeling a shock in her spirit, and lowered her head.

It was like seeing a high immortal, involuntarily feeling reverence, and even more so not daring to deceive.

She said softly but firmly:

“I promised someone, I cannot say.”

Several people in the pavilion changed their expressions, about to rebuke her for not knowing her place.

But the Zither Immortal nodded: “Keeping promises and valuing righteousness, not bad.”