Thirteen thousand thirteen

Page 1/3

The piece this time was "Cold Snow Illuminates the Night," a proper pipa composition.

“Everyone knows how to play the pipa, right?” Mo Shubai asked as he revealed his pipa.

“Yes, Immortal Master,” came the reply.

By now, those disciples who had been utterly captivated by Mo Shubai’s divine appearance, like Dai Jia, had all gone to study under appropriate Immortal Masters. Those left behind were truly talented music cultivators with excellent spiritual roots.

Naturally, as the pipa was the primary weapon in music cultivation combat, no one here was unfamiliar with it.

When Qi Zhenmo picked up his pipa, his movements were quite clumsy, and he even asked Song Chi, “How’s your pipa playing?”

Song Chi raised an eyebrow with a reserved air. “Just average.”

This drew a mocking laugh from Qi Zhenmo, and even Ye Qingyu sneered quietly beside them.

“Your pipa?” Song Chi then asked Qi Zhenmo.

“I just started learning last night,” Qi Zhenmo replied bluntly.

Song Chi was speechless. “Do you really have to learn music cultivation?”

Qi Zhenmo let out a low chuckle but said nothing. His expression made it clear he had no choice but to learn. Yet, he hadn’t seriously practiced; he hadn’t played a single Water-Wood spiritual root piece correctly so far.

Still, he insisted on sitting in the music cultivation classroom. Song Chi suspected that even if he skipped his main sect lessons entirely, he might still rank among the top. A prodigy’s strength surpasses others even when sleeping through class.

She had no say in it.

Mo Shubai took out his pipa, and all the disciples couldn’t help but be drawn in by the sight.

As one of the Four Beauties of the cultivation world, Mo Shubai’s name had become legendary ever since a certain grand sect competition across the entire Eastern Continent, where his pipa performance captivated the whole land. His talent, looks, and the overwhelming deadly aura in his pipa music were still widely admired.

Mo Shubai’s greatest skill was undoubtedly the pipa.

When he held it, there was a subtle but natural ease to his posture. Song Chi understood this feeling well because she was the same.

She had been training hard for two months and hadn’t touched her pipa. Now holding it, she felt an unexpected relaxation wash over her.

When Mo Shubai’s pipa sounded, the chilling aura it emitted gave Song Chi goosebumps. She couldn’t help but grin.

This Immortal Master Mo Shubai had previously played Water-Wood spiritual root pieces with tender, flowing emotion, which were extremely beautiful. Yet Song Chi knew those were just a facade. She herself wore such masks. In truth, this man’s heart was probably ice-cold, just like hers—according to their teacher’s previous appraisal, heartless.

Only the pipa’s music, filled with overwhelming killing intent, could stir a fiery passion in Song Chi’s veins.

Clearly, Mo Shubai felt the same.

For some reason, just as she smiled, her gaze was suddenly caught by Mo Shubai’s excessively beautiful eyes. He smiled faintly in return.

That moment of eye contact felt like they had both glimpsed each other’s souls.

Of course, it could have been an illusion. Mo Shubai had no reason to pay attention to the soul of a worthless disciple like her.

Today, Mo Shubai wore a deep-blue robe and jade crown, his hair neatly bound, lacking his usual celestial demeanor but gaining a more austere look. Paired with the pipa’s deadly, profound sound, it exuded an indescribable fatal charm—more captivating than his usual refined, graceful elegance.

The female disciples blushed, their cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling.

However, Song Chi knew the matter of the heart would not be affected. She reasoned that for ordinary inner sect disciples, Mo Shubai was like a snowy mountain, a deity unreachable no matter how much they stretched out their hands. Even if they admired him, they dared not hope for a response.

Thus, their affection could never damage their resolve.

As for those who could reach Mo Shubai—that was another matter. Take the female lead, Cui Xueruo, for example, whose innate superiority in talent and status allowed her to regard Mo Shubai as an equal.

Page 2/3

Song Chi noticed how Cui Xueruo’s flawless rosy cheeks turned shyly admiring as she looked at Mo Shubai, though the book described her as elegant and aloof, so even if she felt love, it was only a faint blush, a slight shyness in her eyes.

Still, it did not escape notice. Ye Qingyu’s gaze toward Cui Xueruo was laced with obvious mockery.

Probably jealousy—love at first sight!

As a spectator, Song Chi merely smiled lightly.

Mo Shubai finished his piece and then instructed the disciples to perform.

This score was clearly more difficult. If Song Chi hadn’t reached the second level of Qi Refinement, her spiritual power wouldn’t suffice to produce the proper sound.

Many disciples’ pipa skills were inferior to their zither skills, and with the complex spiritual power usage, the classroom quickly became filled with harsh, discordant sounds.

Qi Zhenmo, who couldn’t even get a single note right, was pretending to play noisy music.

Playing the correct tone in such a setting was far from easy, but the experts among them caught Song Chi’s eye: Cui Xueruo, Su Yu, and Ji Minghuang. Their pipa skills were quite advanced.

Almost simultaneously, their strings produced a chilling gleam like swords drawn, like snowlight illuminating a cold night, instantly suppressing the clamor throughout the classroom.

Not one note was wrong.

Mo Shubai approached the three and paused, nodding in approval.

Then he came over to Ye Qingyu and Song Chi, his gaze sharply questioning why they hadn’t played—no, why the four of them hadn’t.

Because Jiang Linyue and Su Qiwu in the front row were watching the spectacle too.

Song Chi thought, everyone’s thoughts must be the same as Mo Shubai’s, wanting to see the prowess of these three prodigies.

The piece wasn’t long. When Cui Xueruo and the others finished the last note, they held their pipas and looked toward Ye Qingyu and the others, their eyes all fixed on them.

All the disciples in the classroom noticed this battle among geniuses and stopped to watch.

“Continue.” After Mo Shubai gave a stern look, the students resumed their piercing, discordant playing, though their gaze kept drifting toward the four.

Ye Qingyu and the other three raised their pipas. Song Chi intended to continue as a spectator, lazily brushing the strings as she watched.

Unexpectedly, Mo Shubai turned and gave her a slight glare.

“Play properly!” His mental voice echoed in her mind.

“Don’t disgrace the Qingjian Sect,” he added.

So the other three weren’t from Qingjian Sect, right? This was a battle of prodigies; dragging a weakling like her along made no sense.

But never mind—respecting the Immortal Master’s face was obligatory.

Song Chi earnestly picked up her pipa, receiving a sharp look from Ye Qingyu. The three hadn’t started yet, but when she placed her fingers on the strings, they nodded to each other.

“Shing!”

Precise harmonics rang out, sharp swordlight scattering in the cold night. The sliding notes accelerated from slow to fast, like fierce sword strikes, sword energy trembling and stirring up thousands of snowflakes, suddenly dispersing the chilling mist.

The four played perfectly in sync, not a single note wrong.

Song Chi rolled her eyes at Jiang Linyue and Su Qiwu in the front row—turns out they had been holding back.

Jiang Linyue seemed to sense this and smiled gently after glancing back. Su Qiwu merely cast a sidelong glance, her cheeks faintly flushed.

Song Chi thought: “Brother, can we not be so innocent?”

When the piece ended, Cui Xueruo and the others clearly recognized their opponents’ skill and looked approving, though most of their gaze was on Song Chi’s side.

Song Chi smiled faintly. With her talent, even if cleansed by the rare fruit in the secret realm, her spiritual roots would at best reach ninety percent perfection—still a chasm away from these prodigies. Especially now, the difference was like earth and sky.

When her cultivation improved, these prodigies would have their broad heavenly path; she would walk her narrow mountain trail. They were simply not on the same path.

There was no need for them to scrutinize her. Perhaps they understood her talent and dismissed her with a glance.

Page 3/3

Practice of "Cold Snow Illuminates the Night" naturally continued as usual.

The piece was quite draining on spiritual power. In the class, only she remained at the second level of Qi Refinement; the prodigies like Ye Qingyu were nearly at the sixth level, and others above the third.

So when she was exhausted halfway through, she didn’t bother meditating to restore her power.

Having not played pipa for a long time, she simply continued playing alone for pleasure. Without spiritual power, the sound was naturally faint and easily masked.

Even better, she could enjoy it alone.

Her rendition echoed the frost-sword’s cry and the preceding motifs of "Cold Snow Illuminates the Night," all sliding notes of a sword’s sheath opening in the dark night.

The shakuhachi’s killing and aged tones intertwined with her strings. Song Chi looked back at Mo Feiyun, who was slacking off. He was actually harmonizing with her pipa. This guy, a sword cultivator, was oddly dabbling in music cultivation—not unlike Qi Zhenmo, which was hard to understand.

Yet in the story, Mo Feiyun was also in the Guihai class, and his swordsmanship was never affected. Later, he held a place among the top experts, rivaling the male lead Su Yu in strength.

Probably, he was here to unlock the secret Dao Platform of music cultivation. Fate must have bound him here—otherwise, how could he have fallen for Cui Xueruo at first sight and vowed to protect the female lead?

Song Chi guessed he likely hadn’t participated in the prodigy duel because he feared losing status with the goddess. Now, harmonizing on the shakuhachi was his way of proving his talent matched theirs.

Originally, she didn’t plan to play anymore, but she liked Mo Feiyun well enough.

After two tedious hours waiting in line to be accepted by the sect, Mo Feiyun’s silhouette had inspired her imagination of turbulent dramas in the cultivation world, with him turning the tide of battle.

So she decided to help him. She continued playing, but they weren’t the only ones slacking off. Jiang Linyue soon interjected with zither notes. Though slightly different in tune, it blended harmoniously. Ye Qingyu and the others immediately stopped to watch.

When the piece ended, Jiang Linyue gestured for a repeat, perhaps having figured out the correct harmony.

Song Chi licked her lips and glanced at him. Fine, it reminded her of playing with friends in her past life.

She looked back at Mo Feiyun, who nodded. The shakuhachi’s ancient tone began, and Song Chi’s pipa joined in. She quickly realized that not only Jiang Linyue’s zither harmonized perfectly, but Ye Qingyu and the others also accompanied with either pipa or zither.

The piece grew more intense toward the end, like gazing at the moon from a lofty peak, overlooking heaven and earth.

Qi Zhenmo even managed to add drumbeats—he was indeed skilled in music but simply disliked playing pipa.

Song Chi noticed Mo Shubai’s fingers twitching slightly in the front row, as if he wished to join, but of course, he restrained himself out of respect for his position.

She couldn’t help but smile, only to be glared at by Mo Shubai, who then smiled faintly himself, indicating he wasn’t going to quarrel with a junior.

When the piece ended, the classroom fell silent; all the disciples looked toward her.

She lowered her eyes and smiled. She had made quite the impression—but it was worth it.

She then sat cross-legged to restore her spiritual power. Later, she had to undertake a music cultivation mission.

After two months of training, she was finally ready for a music cultivation task. Yet her mood differed from when she aimed to earn spirit stones for foundation pills.

She needed to figure out the techniques of music cultivation, especially the attack methods, or she feared she would fail the upcoming inner sect competition in three years.

Only the top two hundred inner sect disciples would qualify for the secret realm.

This time it involved two batches of inner sect disciples, including the previous group from four years ago with Sister Wei Lingxiu—roughly six to seven hundred competing for those top slots.

Her talent was still at the bottom. The original owner had only entered the secret realm through sheer luck: on the competition day, she happened to face opponents weak in combat or poor in music cultivation, sneaking into the last of the top two hundred.

Song Chi worried that even the slightest ripple from her butterfly wings might alter her adversaries. That was unacceptable.

She had to enter this secret realm no matter what. It was her one and only chance in life. If she missed it, regret would consume her.

Foundation pills and such could wait. Song Chi was even willing to spend the spirit stones her family gave her to buy dust-dispersing pills. Becoming stronger was her top priority now.