Unfortunately, this immortal-mortal romance was ultimately torn apart by the East Sea Dragon King, leaving behind only the song “Tide-Born Secret Art” to be sung among the people.
Yun Qingrao listened intently, resting her chin on her hand, her usually clear and cold eyes rippling: “So, this black jade flute is a replica of their token of love from back then?”
Her fingertips lightly tapped the body of the flute; the touch of the cold jade was chilling to the bone.
“The genuine article should be a South Sea Immortal Bamboo enveloped in purple qi,” Qing Feng said, turning the black flute with a bitter smile. “If it were truly Han Xiangzi’s natal artifact, how could it be suppressed by a mere five-stringed zither?”
Before he finished speaking, the bamboo flute suddenly vibrated and resonated, startling him so much that he almost dropped it.
The white-robed Immortal Maiden pondered, “Since the immortal artifact has recognized a Master, perhaps Young Master can try playing it to break the formation?” Seeing him stand motionless, she suddenly raised an eyebrow: “Could it be that he is not proficient in music?”
“Well… how exactly are the *gong*, *shang*, *jiao*, *zhi*, and *yu* arranged?” The young man scratched his head and chuckled awkwardly, completely unaware that he was squandering a treasure. Yun Qingrao sighed, pressing her hand to her forehead: “In the future, never display this flute in front of a music cultivator.”
Otherwise, those zither players who had cultivated bitterly for centuries might be so enraged they’d choose to self-destruct.
A salty sea breeze swept over the reef. The moment Qing Feng brought the flute to his lips, dark patterns swirled across the black jade surface.
The weeping sound of the flute, wrapped in the rhythm of the tides, swept forth, surprisingly matching the ancient beat of the “Tide-Born Secret Art.”
After the lingering notes faded into the twilight, he remained in his sea-gazing posture, his robes fluttering like a lone swan spreading its wings.
“Come down when you’ve finished your act.” A clear, cold female voice came from deep within the bamboo forest. Yun Qingrao sat on a bluestone, the five-stringed zither on her lap still faintly glowing. “Just now, you deliberately played three notes incorrectly. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”
“Done.”
Qing Feng flipped over and leaped off the bluestone, his fingertips deftly twirling the black jade flute.
In the blink of an eye, he and Yun Qingrao had been here for over a month, practicing this flute every morning and evening. Interestingly, he hadn’t even mastered the most basic Jade Manipulation Art, yet he had first learned how to play the flute.
As his skills gradually improved, he suddenly realized the wonder of this musical instrument. Although it wasn't as sharp as a sword, the rhythm flowing through his ten fingers as moonlight poured through the flute holes was even more graceful than flying through the air on a sword.
Cultivators always loved to carry swords, wasn’t it precisely for that immortal demeanor with robes fluttering in the wind?
In contrast, elegant items like jade flutes and folding fans added a touch more of an ethereal, refined air.
“If you encounter anyone from Yixian Palace, do not mention that I taught you music.” Yun Qingrao gazed at the horizon where the sea met the sky, her frost-colored skirt lifted by the salty wind.
At this moment, she truly resembled the legendary Ice Soul Mystic Maiden of Yixian Palace, her voice even carrying the clear coldness of shattered jade.
“I will heed your teachings,” Qing Feng replied with a cupped-hand salute. He naturally understood the stakes; the strict rules of Yixian Palace were known throughout the world. If those Senior Brothers, fiercely protective of their flowers, were to know he had been alone with Yun Qingrao for over a month, even ten flying swords might not stop them from seeking revenge.
Yun Qingrao nodded, her eyelashes casting butterfly shadows on her eyelids.
This was her first time imparting knowledge. In the past, she always saw her Senior Sisters teach Disciples with such ease and grace, but she never expected it to be so different when it was her turn… She lowered her gaze to the indentations on the young man’s knuckles from the tone holes, suddenly understanding why Master often said, “The Dao should not be lightly transmitted.”
Qing Feng, with his wooden head for talent, had actually turned “Phoenix Song of Nine Heavens” into “Crow’s Cry at Third Watch.” If not for the jade flute’s ability to self-adjust the *gong* and *shang* notes, he probably wouldn’t even be able to play half a piece completely.
“Let’s go,” she said, brushing away fallen petals from her sleeve. The sea tide beneath her feet solidified into ice steps.
Qing Feng’s expression was solemn. The moment the flute touched his lips, the salty sea breeze suddenly transformed into lingering whispers.
The weeping flute sounds shattered within the tides, unexpectedly evoking a thousand years of solitude.
At the other end of the reef, wide sleeves of mermaid silk suddenly unfurled. A Dragon race female danced upon the waves, her pearl-like tears falling into the surging waters: “Guarding the Cold Pond alone for a thousand years, suddenly I hear the flute playing ‘Phoenix Seeks Mate’…”
Her graceful dance resonated with the flute’s melody, each sound wave blossoming into shimmering golden patterns on the sea surface.
When the last vibrato faded into the clouds, the entire sea area suddenly floated with thousands of glowing jellyfish, like a flowing river of stars.
Moonlight poured down like silver, and the stars in the firmament suddenly became active like swimming fish.
The moment the Dragon race female’s dance reached its peak, ripples like water waves suddenly appeared in the void.
A scholar in a green robe appeared, stepping on moonlight, with golden runes swirling on his fingertips holding the jade flute horizontally. As his robes fluttered, he even caused the myriad stars in the sky to dance with him.
The Dragon race female’s golden wide sleeves suddenly stilled. Her emerald vertical pupils shone like morning stars when they reflected the newcomer’s figure.
The two figures embraced in mid-air like magnets attracting each other, their overlapping robes blooming into twin lotuses in the night wind.
Qing Feng gazed at the naturally formed pair in mid-air, and in a trance, he even heard the celestial dao emit a joyful hum.
When the illusion faded, the characteristic chill of the tomb’s bluestone crept back up his spine. Yun Qingrao lowered her head, gazing at the lingering starlight in her palm, her usually clear and cold face now like an undercurrent beneath ice.
Qing Feng noticed the pale dragon scale patterns on her knuckles and quietly stepped back half a pace. Those legendary human-dragon romances, repeatedly sung about, were now crystallizing into frost flowers on the woman’s trembling eyelashes.
“Does the celestial dao truly not tolerate love between different races?” Yun Qingrao suddenly asked, her voice imbued with the metallic resonance unique to the Dragon race.
Qing Feng stroked the mottled wedding totems on the tomb bricks, recalling the animated storyteller at the teahouse when he was a child: “In the play ‘Liu Yi’s Letter,’ the Lord of Dongting himself carried the sedan chair for his mortal son-in-law.”
“A marriage that only achieved a positive outcome through the grace of their elders?” The Dragon race female scoffed, the icy blue dragon Pattern on her forehead flickering like lightning. “If that Lord Qiantang hadn’t nodded, the timid scholar wouldn’t even have been able to cross the Jing River.”
Passing through the newly revealed bronze gate, the fresh scent of ancient locust trees wafted over. The tea mist surrounding two elderly men playing chess condensed into divinatory trigrams, and the sound of chess pieces falling on the board strangely echoed the pulsation of the world’s spiritual veins.
As soon as Qing Feng stepped into the nineteen-step restriction, his natal sword in his sleeve suddenly let out a warning clang. The so-called illusion of green mountains and flowing water was actually an Immortal Slaying Array that refined three calamities and nine tribulations into chess pieces.
A phantom of Yun Qingrao’s dragon claw instantly covered her right arm, her golden vertical pupils piercing through layers of illusion: “The tomb Master is using three thousand minor worlds to select a successor.”
She touched Qing Feng’s brow with her fingertip, her icy dragon’s breath piercing through the confusion: “Look closely, those black and white chess pieces are all shattered Dao hearts.”
Qing Feng looked at the crisscrossing lines on the chessboard, sweat seeping into his palms.
The three hundred and sixty-one intersections were like a battleground scattered with stars, with the central *tianyuan* position glowing with a faint blue light.
He suddenly realized that this game not only required chess skill but also a contest of cultivation foundation, for merely knowing where to place pieces might not withstand the pressure emanating from the chessboard.
“Don’t move.”
As the clear, cold voice sounded in his ear, Yun Qingrao’s plain white fingertips had already swept across the ice silkworm silk strings.
The ancient zither emitted a dragon-like tremor, and the sound wave energy was like a thousand armies arrayed, causing the rock walls to crack and the ground springs to surge wherever it passed.
This plain-clothed Immortal Maiden sometimes stepped forward half a step to repel the black mist, and sometimes furrowed her brow, falling into an encirclement. Her slender yet upright back actually blocked all the overwhelming killing intent.
Qing Feng cooperatively stood still, even adjusting to a more comfortable posture.
Since accidentally entering this ancient tomb, similar scenes had played out seventeen times.
He had long figured out the pattern: when Yun Qingrao said “don’t move,” it meant the crisis would resolve itself within thirty breaths; if she said “retreat,” he needed to be ready to run like mad.
The only exception was that time at the Medicine King Pavilion, when Yun Qingrao looked at the wall covered with “Shennong’s Hundred Herbs Illustrations” with a troubled expression.