"Are you worthy of that person's teachings?" Chen Hongzhu said angrily.
"What does it have to do with others?" Song Qianji retorted in confusion.
He felt she had misunderstood.
First, he didn't know there were allusions and considerations about gifting qins among sects and noble families—he simply bought the lightest one. In his eyes, all the qins in the pawnshop were ordinary. As long as they followed this shape, used this type of lacquer, and were made from this kind of wood, no matter who crafted it, the resulting qin could be called "Green Ripple Platform." Regardless of how many Spirit Stones it was priced at, they were all just imitations.
Only qins like "Nine Heavens Circling Jade," "Withered Wood Dragon's Chant," and "Ancient Remnant Tones"—imbued with the qin-maker's skill and unique in all heaven and earth—deserved to be called famous qins.
Second, the old sword was already useless to him. Leaving it in his room not only gathered dust but also took up space.
He had traded his most useless possession for his beloved vegetable patch to remain unharmed and peaceful again.
It seemed like a great deal no matter how he looked at it.
Chen Hongzhu urgently said, "If I had an opportunity like yours, I would never waste it."
Song Qianji grew even more puzzled, "What does that have to do with you?"
Chen Hongzhu stamped her foot and ran off in a huff.
She finally realized that every time she met Song Qianji, no matter how it started, it always ended with her getting angry.
Did "that person" take a fancy to him and casually teach him just because he had a natural talent for irritating people?
After all, there was a saying: when a master takes on a disciple, they seek to find their younger self in them.
He Qingqing watched worriedly as the red skirt disappeared at the end of the path.
Song Qianji shoved the qin case into her hands, "Hurry back."
"It's too valuable. I can't accept it."
She didn't dare to accept it either.
Song Qianji was startled. Don't mess with me—did I go through all that trouble for nothing tonight?
He Qingqing only heard the young man sigh softly, as if helpless, "They brought you here today originally to scare me, but then they got angry and took it out on you. This misfortune you suffered was all because of my careless words. Consider this qin an apology—please accept it."
An apology? No one had ever apologized to her before. It seemed like everything she endured was deserved. Over the years, even she had started to believe it.
He Qingqing looked up. The moonlight outlined the young man's handsome profile, softening his sharp edges and casting a faint silver glow over him, like a compassionate deity.
People said there was a god at Azure Cliff Academy. Courtyard Overseer Ziye Wenshu was always expressionless, eternally fair and selfless, cold and unapproachable—seeing him reminded one of all the world's strict rules.
He Qingqing had seen him with her own eyes and felt the description was exaggerated. Senior Brother Ziye was indeed detached and desireless, but he was still human.
The young man before her seemed more like a true deity—appearing close at hand, yet unreachably distant.
"Hurry back and practice the qin. I wish you astonish everyone at the Grand Assembly of Distinguished Appraisals and have a bright future ahead."
After Song Qianji finished speaking, he received no reply. Sensing something amiss, he looked closely...
Oh no, why is she crying again?!
He Qingqing's tears flowed silently: "Even with a qin, I can't go to the Grand Assembly. Senior Brother, please take the qin back to the pawnshop and reclaim your sword!"
"Why not?"
"I can't play Fairy Miaoyan's melodies. It's my fate—I don't deserve such a fine qin. But I will always remember Senior Brother Song's kindness in my heart. In my next life, I wish to be a yellow sparrow, repaying you by carrying a ring, or to serve as your ox or horse...""Wait." Song Qianji interrupted her, somewhat puzzled. "What does this have to do with Miaoyan?"
Why did she have to be involved everywhere?
"As soon as I mention Fairy Miaoyan's compositions, the registration disciples refuse to put my name down. They say someone like me daring to play the fairy's music is disrespectful to her."
Nearly all popular qin melodies nowadays were composed by Fairy Miaoyan. Though He Qingqing couldn't afford music scores, she possessed perfect pitch memory - hearing a piece just once allowed her to reproduce it exactly. But she had only ever heard Miaoyan's compositions.
Song Qianji thought for a moment: "This isn't really difficult. I'll write one for you - it might not be worse than hers."
"Senior Brother Song, you understand music too?"
"A little, I suppose."
Song Qianji had already used brush and ink tonight, though he'd only written two characters and one talisman. The feeling of the brush still lingered in his hand, even making him somewhat eager to write more.
In his previous life, after Miaoyan became engaged to him, she stopped composing. Half the scores she played came from his dangerous expeditions to ancient ruins, while the other half were gathered from mortal musicians. He hadn't cared about status, willingly befriending both palace musicians and street performers alike.
Through this process, Song Qianji had naturally learned to play the qin, developing unique insights into sonic attacks that differed from the traditional methods of the Celestial Sound Sect.
But Miaoyan said his killing intent was too strong, that playing would damage the qin's spirit, so he rarely played.
Song Qianji had intended to casually write any melody.
He began with the tune of "The Conqueror Removes His Armor," then paused briefly.
Lifting his eyes to the moon, he suddenly felt tonight's moonlight was exceptionally cold, peach blossom petals fluttering down like falling snow.
Just like that final snowfall during his last moments while fleeing for his life.
He had experienced many heavy snowfalls in his lifetime, yet none had chilled him to the bone like that one.
His emotions flowed through the brush onto paper, as naturally as water finding its course. By the time he finished, the melody had transformed.
Fortunately, it wasn't a bad change. Song Qianji mentally played through the piece once and felt somewhat satisfied.
"Take this to the Grand Audience Assembly, but don't say I wrote it - to avoid complications."
He handed her the ink-still-damp paper, though he worried this young girl might encounter other troubles someday and come crying at his door again.
Even if he could bear it, the two vegetable plots by his courtyard entrance probably couldn't.
So he said: "I don't want your repayment. I only want you to promise me one thing."
He Qingqing hadn't expected Song Qianji to compose so immediately after mentioning it. Taking the music score, she still couldn't believe it.
"Whatever I can do, I'd go through fire and water without hesitation!"
"Stop shedding tears," Song Qianji said.
"Ah?"
"Just this one thing. No need for fire and water."
After speaking, Song Qianji closed his door, feeling refreshed.
A night without mournful weeping, accompanied by floral scents and insect chirps, brought sweet dreams until dawn.
Tomorrow would be another fulfilling day of farming.
He Qingqing hugged her qin, walking the night path alone.
She took a shortcut. The stone steps were rugged, with a cliff on one side and an abyss on the other.
The moonlight was obscured by night fog, leaving only the roar of water and echoes of beast cries.
Howling winds whipped past, lifting her thin white dress as if to blow her slender form into the bottomless chasm.
But she walked steadily, each step firm, her back straight as a pine tree.
As if walking along a broad avenue, passing through crowds without glancing sideways.
I'll never shed tears again, she thought.
Perhaps everyone has a fixed amount of tears in their lifetime. Mine have all been shed. Now it's time for others to weep.
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