Nine thousand and nine.

“But the sect has long since stopped accepting disciples.”

“Perhaps they’re new disciples taken in by the Revered Elders?”

“With such talent, how could they mix with us inner disciples? The Revered Elders surely teach them personally.”

“That’s true…”

The students murmured among themselves, all puzzled.

Before class began, Jiang Linyue and Su Xiwu surprisingly took seats in the front row, right in front of Song Chi and Qi Zhenmo. Jiang Linyue explained to the curious students that they had swapped classes with the two new disciples and would now be joining the Guihai class.

Immediately, whispers spread among the students. No wonder those two were beaming with joy today—Jiang Linyue and Su Xiwu must have offered them considerable benefits to switch classes.

“Those two really know how to freeload on Master Mo Shubai’s class,” Song Chi thought to herself.

Soon, Mo Shubai arrived, clad in a flowing soft robe of sky-water blue, exuding an extraordinary graceful and enchanting aura.

The entire classroom fell silent once more. Several female disciples instinctively steadied themselves, some feeling faint.

Even Song Chi couldn’t help but linger on the sight of Mo Shubai’s robe fluttering gently in the breeze, reluctant to look away. How could someone be so stunning?

It was simply unbelievable. And didn’t the sect worry about the female disciples’ cultivation focus being disrupted?

Just then, before Mo Shubai entered, two figures appeared at the door, bowing respectfully. Only after Mo Shubai nodded did they step inside.

The first wore a golden crown and jade belt with a green robe, the snow-white collar framing his radiant and spirited face, eyes filled with unique mockery and arrogance. It could only be Ye Qingyu.

Why was this young man here, when he was the personal disciple of Revered Tonghua?

Ye Qingyu strode through the aisle and took the seat beside Mo Shubai’s. Before sitting, he gave her a sly smile, revealing white teeth as if biting something, casting a sideways glance. His lips silently formed the characters ‘seven seven.’

Song Chi involuntarily took a deep breath and ached slightly in her chest as she looked away.

Then another disciple in black robes entered, also adorned with a jade crown and embroidered belt, exuding noble prestige. His black hair and red lips contrasted with cold, piercing eyes radiating deep chill.

It was none other than Mo Feiyun, the sword prodigy who had been ahead of her during their apprenticeship. That day, he’d appeared ordinary and weathered, as if burdened by great suffering. Now, he was a noble, icy young master.

Song Chi mused that this boy wasn’t simple; surely he was the male protagonist. Unfortunately, she couldn’t recall any novel featuring a protagonist named Mo Feiyun. If only she could cheat by borrowing storylines from books, she might gain some advantage.

Mo Feiyun walked to the back row and, with a flick of his spiritual power, gently moved the desk and chair by the door to sit behind Song Chi and Qi Zhenmo, leaving a vacant seat beside the window.

Song Chi racked her memory for any cultivation novels she knew where the male lead took such a seat, but found nothing.

Sometimes, reading too many novels wasn’t helpful—when it mattered most, she couldn’t recall anything useful.

After Mo Feiyun sat down, Ye Qingyu’s mocking eyes glanced back at him, then sharply to Song Chi.

Song Chi ignored him; his personality was irritating, and she found it exhausting even to speak to him.

Their antics silenced the students. Those well-informed whispered among themselves, and soon Song Chi learned that Mo Feiyun was a personal disciple of the Jade Heng Revered, one of the sect’s four great Revered Elders. His origins, however, remained a mystery.

Such secrecy only confirmed Mo Feiyun’s status as the male lead in Song Chi’s mind.

But frankly, it didn’t concern her. She treated it as mere gossip and focused on her studies.

Before afternoon class, Su Xiwu and Jiang Linyue exchanged a few words with Ye Qingyu, then greeted Mo Feiyun with a respectful “Brother Feiyun.”

From their demeanor, Mo Feiyun’s background was undoubtedly extraordinary.

Song Chi had no interest in their noble young master drama and turned her gaze toward the window beside Qi Zhenmo.

Qi Zhenmo leaned half sideways, gazing outside without a glance at the noble youths, his expression relaxed and indifferent.

His aloofness earned Song Chi’s silent approval.

With some time before the hour of Wei, Song Chi sat bored, rolling a chess piece between her fingers. Before, she loved twirling pens while studying; now in the cultivation world, she enjoyed spinning chess pieces—not to look cool, but to train finger spiritual power, which also aided her musical skills. After all, her reborn fingers needed practice to regain their former dexterity.

Qi Zhenmo watched her for a while before fixing his eyes on her left hand. In response to her playful glance, he flipped a black chess piece in hand with agility matching her own, suspending it with a single thread of spiritual power, skillfully switching among three different energies.

Song Chi demonstrated a butterfly knot flourish with the piece, smoothly shifting among three energies with perfect balance. Qi Zhenmo mirrored her skill exactly. Though his spiritual power lacked her balance, achieving such finesse made Song Chi smile.

“Not bad.”

“Just average.”

He modestly replied, and they laughed together. As they turned their gazes away, many eyes swiftly shifted—Ye Qingyu’s cold and mocking glare was nearly impossible to ignore, sending a chill down Song Chi’s spine.

Though clueless about the backstory, Song Chi paid no mind. Her left thumb flicked the white chess piece spinning swiftly before tucking it into her palm and sitting upright.

At that moment, the clear chimes rang, and Mo Shubai’s ethereal figure appeared at the door.

According to Song Chi’s understanding, today’s music class wouldn’t cover new pieces; usually, a new song was taught every five days.

Yet Mo Shubai clearly defied expectations.

“Yesterday’s ‘Spring Flow’ seems mastered by all; today, we shall learn a new piece.”

With a casual wave, each disciple received a scroll titled “Green Immortal Cloud,” a composition tailored for Wood spiritual roots.

Most present had excellent spiritual root aptitude for music. Yesterday’s “Spring Flow” was simple and well grasped, except for a few with weaker aptitude in the Guihai class, who now looked determined to practice harder.

Mo Shubai played “Green Immortal Cloud” once. The melody was like a misty forest, dreamy and enchanting, stirring the heart with a subtle sweetness, as if lost in a beautiful intoxicated reverie.

Wood roots were linked to illusions, essential for early-stage music-based spells that manipulated minds—hence the necessity of Wood roots for music cultivators.

This piece’s difficulty was double yesterday’s, as the curriculum usually taught five easy pieces for Water roots before moving to Wood root compositions.

Mo Shubai skipped the gradual steps, leaping straight to advanced material.

Even those with good aptitude wore strained expressions.

When students attempted the piece, many blushed, fearing embarrassment.

In truth, the classroom sounded like a cacophony of howls and broken strings, far worse than the previous day.

Song Chi, benefiting from her last life’s musical foundation and stable average spiritual roots, could play fairly well from the start.

But she had learned from yesterday’s mistakes. She deliberately played a wrong note on the fifth tone. Just then, Mo Shubai passed by her side but paid no special attention, heading to the podium.

With Song Chi’s keen ears, Ye Qingyu made no mistakes, his melody clear, fresh, and emotionally expressive—perfect for his golden Water-Wood heavenly roots.

Only Su Xiwu performed well besides him, erring on two notes. Jiang Linyue faltered more, missing five notes.

Mo Shubai stood at the podium, signaling for silence after the slower students finished.

His gaze swept the classroom, finally resting on Song Chi’s corner. The others bit their lips, stifling laughs, anticipating a show.

Song Chi bet she’d have no starring role today.

“Xiwu, come to the stage.”

Su Xiwu rose, bowed, and stepped forward.

Mo Shubai then looked at Ye Qingyu; the students showed slight disappointment, which baffled Song Chi. What were they expecting? Such gossip!

“Qingyu, you played well. However,” Mo Shubai smiled faintly, shifting his gaze from Ye Qingyu to Song Chi, “Song Chi, come to the stage.”

Song Chi: “!!” Was this a joke? She missed five notes and was clearly third-tier.

Why call her up?

“Master…” Song Chi hesitated, wanting to reason.

But Mo Shubai’s beautiful eyes lowered slightly, waving her over with a calm tone that brooked no argument.

Song Chi stood and walked forward, hearing Ye Qingyu’s teasing voice behind her: “Next time, try to look more competent.”

Speechless, Song Chi’s small flustered expression slipped out along with her wrong notes, impossible to conceal.

Reaching the lectern, she felt every student’s eyes brighten, their expressions filled with eager anticipation.

The stage was set.