TIC Chapter 30: The Clash of Stringed Melodies

On the competition stage, two figures—one in red, the other in blue—sat facing each other, each immersed in their music.

In the stands, spectators with lower cultivation levels began to falter, overwhelmed by dizziness, as if trapped in a realm of ice and fire.

One moment, their bodies blazed with heat, filling them with passion and the urge to laugh out loud with wild ambition. The next, they were chilled to the bone, overcome with sorrow, on the verge of tears.

And if the audience felt this much strain, the pressure bearing down on the two musicians was beyond imagination.

An invisible undercurrent seemed to ripple through every pluck, slide, press, and twist of the strings.

As the song Traveling Across Mountains and Seas reached its climax, Xun Mingsi’s face remained calm—but his fingers moved faster and faster, leaving behind only a blur of afterimages.

Shentu Linchun lowered his head slightly, his expression steeped in sorrow as he played an unfamiliar, mournful tune.

He seemed completely immersed in his own world, untouched by the rising, powerful melody of Xun Mingsi.

The sound of the pipa deepened, turning even more melancholic—like cold rain falling over the misty waters of the Jiangnan region, where lantern lights flickered dimly through the fog.

Beneath those rain-soaked lamps… was someone still waiting for the one who would never return?

Xun Mingsi’s face grew pale. A single bead of cold sweat slid down the tip of his nose.

“Mingsi’s playing has changed,” Lin Fuqing suddenly said.

He and Fang Zhiyuan both possessed strong spiritual foundations and weren’t easily influenced by the music. “He’s being drawn into the mood of that little demon’s song.”

“…Shige,” Fang Zhiyuan inhaled sharply, his eyes twitching. “Didn’t you say you don’t understand music theory?”

Lin Fuqing looked slightly embarrassed. “Just a little… not enough to explain.”

Fang Zhiyuan: “…”

Lin Fuqing shook his head. “Understanding it isn’t the point. In their past lives, when these two competed through music…it was Shentu who lost. So—”

The Demon Lord paused, his eyes darkening.

So…

Could this be another reborn soul?

Xun Mingsi’s thoughts were in disarray. Traveling Across Mountains and Seas had unknowingly taken on a sorrowful tone, its former passion and boldness fading away.

If this continued, he would undoubtedly lose.

He was well aware of his predicament. Confident in his musical talent, Xun Mingsi had always held a certain pride in his abilities. Never did he expect to encounter such a formidable opponent in the Golden Osmanthus Challenge.

And his rival turned out to be a boy around the same age as Shen Xiaojiang.

It was true—there would always be someone better, always something greater.

Taking a deep breath, Xun Mingsi forced himself to steady his mind. Suddenly, he changed his fingering, and the melody shifted into a softer, more subdued tone.

From the audience, someone who recognized the piece shouted:

“Wait—this isn’t Traveling Across Mountains and Seas anymore!”

The crowd stirred in surprise.

An independent cultivator who also practiced musical cultivation cried out, “Is he composing this on the spot? That’s the highest level of music cultivation!”

Another voice echoed in awe: “He’s not just arranging—it’s a full-on modification! Altering a piece without breaking its artistic essence is way harder than just rearranging it!”

Eyes closed, Xun Mingsi played on, fully immersed in the sound of his own guqin.

In the darkness, it felt as though a scroll of painted scenes was unfurling beneath his fingers: spring rode in on the east wind, tinting the mountains and rivers in vibrant hues. A spirited young man, full of life, galloped down the long street on a golden-saddled horse, silver whip in hand, calling out for wine.

The weather, unfortunately, did not match his mood. Cold rain fell across the stone-paved roads.

But what of it? He was still young—why fear the cold, or the heavens?

He laughed at the sky, singing wildly and riding freely, drinking the rain as though it were wine.

The guqin melody borrowed the mood of the pipa, starting low and restrained before rising boldly again. The music surged, not just regaining its grandeur, but surpassing it.

The audience was swept up in the sound, their emotions stirred, and they erupted into applause.

Across from him, Shentu Linchun looked up at Xun Mingsi and offered a soft, sorrowful smile, full of melancholy.

Lin Fuqing let out a quiet sigh. “What a shame. If the one on stage truly was that little demon from his past life, Mingsi’s odds of winning…”

Fang Zhiyuan asked, “How much?”

Lin Fuqing replied evenly, “Not even one percent.”

As the sun slanted and time passed, the two remained locked in intense competition, neither gaining the upper hand.

At times, the music was like a fierce wind rushing through bamboo; at others, like a clear spring trickling through stone.

Sometimes it sounded like pearls spilling onto a silver plate, sometimes like clashing swords and spears on a battlefield.

Xun Mingsi’s face grew more and more pale, but the light in his eyes only burned brighter.

Shentu Linchun suddenly raised his head and dragged his hands across the strings. A surge of majestic spiritual energy poured down, producing a long, mournful note—like a thunderclap crashing from the heavens.

“Hmm…!”

Xun Mingsi recoiled, startled. A thin line of blood traced the corner of his lips.

Heaven’s will strikes like a blade—who could possibly endure it?

Shentu Linchun’s melody turned piercing and raw, sounding like a cry, or a desperate howl.

A good youth, crushed by the will of the heavens, bathed in blood and ruin.

With a single clang, all seven strings of Xun Mingsi’s guqin snapped at once beneath his fingertips.

There was no repairing the break, and the music came to an abrupt halt.

Shentu Linchun’s pipa played its final two gentle notes, then fell silent—like a sigh fading into the wind.

The performance was over, but the echo of it clung to the air.

Below the stage, the audience was stunned into silence. No one dared to speak.

Xun Mingsi wiped the blood from his lips, stood, straightened his clothes, and bowed deeply.

“I acknowledge your music, young master. I concede.”

He remained bowed, waiting, but heard nothing from the other side for a long moment.

Xun Mingsi assumed the Little Demon Boy was too proud to respond. But he accepted the defeat calmly and rose without hesitation.

And then he was startled.

Shentu Linchun stood across from him, holding the pipa in his arms, staring back at him in a daze.

Tears streamed down his face.

Xun Mingsi was taken aback. “You…”

He had barely spoken when the boy suddenly flung his pipa to the ground. It shattered on impact, splinters flying everywhere.

Covering his face with both hands, Shentu Linchun let out a sharp, sudden cry—

“Ah——!”

—and burst into tears without warning.

A murmur spread through the audience.

“Why… why is the Little Demon Boy crying?”

The music cultivator who had spoken earlier offered an explanation. “When a music cultivator plays, they sometimes get so caught up in the emotions of the piece, they lose control. It’s not uncommon.”

But Shentu Linchun, clearly overwhelmed, seemed to feel embarrassed. He covered his face with a sleeve and fled the stage, not even waiting for the judges to declare his victory.

Xun Mingsi, suddenly uneasy, felt a strange stir in his chest. Almost without thinking, he chased after him.

In a flash, the two disappeared into a quiet, deserted place. Shentu Linchun ran ahead. Without thinking, Xun Mingsi called out:

“Please wait!”

He hadn’t expected the boy to stop—but to his surprise, he did.

The Little Demon Boy paused, trembling. Then he slowly turned around, his eyes filled with tears.

The blue-clad musician’s heart tightened. His voice was quiet, uncertain.

“Why… did you…?”

Something told him that Shentu Linchun’s breakdown wasn’t simply due to being caught up in the music.

…Besides, how could a musician be so deeply immersed in the music that he would smash his own instrument?

“You ask me why?” Shentu Linchun rubbed his eyes and snorted.

He was very frank. Though he cried and lost his composure, he did not try to hide it. He stood there with dignity and wiped away his tears. “I usually hate the saying ‘It is hard to defy fate and destiny,’ but today, I only wanted to defeat you, and I ended up going against my own wishes. I’m very angry!”

Shentu Linchun raised his hand and slapped himself on his pretty face. “I deserve to be beaten.”

“Hey! How could you…” Xun Mingsi was shocked. Without thinking, he grabbed the boy’s wrist. “You can’t do that!”

Shentu Linchun was stunned for a moment, staring at his wrist being held. He raised his tearful eyes and looked deeply at the musician.

Xun Mingsi moved his lips, but no sound came out.

For some reason, the child’s eager eyes made him uneasy. Yet he had never seen the Little Demon Boy before.

He said softly, “You… At such a young age, it’s rare to have such a high level of cultivation, and your skill in the Way of Music is even more admirable. Why do you belittle yourself like this?”

Shentu Linchun choked up. “Someone once taught me that life is like a big dream, and when you die, everything is gone. You should be happy and free while you’re alive, without confusion or regrets.”

Xun Mingsi treated him like a child, so he smiled and coaxed him, “What a coincidence. My da shixiong often says the same thing.”

Shentu Linchun said, “Later, that man really did what he wanted. He didn’t hesitate to go against the will of heaven.”

Xun Mingsi exclaimed, “He is indeed a gentleman and a hero. My da shixiong is also—“

Shentu Linchun interrupted, “Later, that person died tragically.”

Xun Mingsi’s smile froze. “……..”

Da shixiong, I didn’t mean it.

“Master Xun,” Shentu Linchun looked him straight in the eye, “that man refused to go against his own will and ended up living such a cruel ‘nightmare.’ Can he really be happy?”

Xun Mingsi was stumped by the question. He could only think from his senior brother’s perspective and said, “At least he had no doubts and no regrets, and lived a clear and honest life.”

Shentu Linchun’s eyes lit up. “Master, your opinion is great. If that person also thinks this way… No, that person must think this way.”

He wiped the corners of his eyes, licked his red lips, and said, “Can you help me tell Emp—Ahem, give your da shixiong a message for me?”

Xun Mingsi nodded. “Please, go ahead.”

But Shentu Linchun hesitated, as if struggling with what to say. Xun Mingsi asked, puzzled, “Are you an old friend of my da shixiong? He’s in Liuhua Continent. Why don’t you go and meet him?”

“Old friend… I guess so.” The charming young man smiled, revealing his white teeth. “But I did something wrong before, and now I’m too ashamed and embarrassed to see him. So instead, I’ll have you give him something for me.”

With that, he stuffed a small object into Xun Mingsi’s hand.

The latter looked closely. It was not some immortal treasure, but a lotus carefully carved out of red agate.

“It’s not right to ask you to run errands for me without compensation,” Shentu Linchun said earnestly. “You should also give the Immortal a gift. I’m really sorry for ruining your guqin strings. I have a piece of the Golden Silkworm King’s natal silk. I can use it to repair your zither strings for you.”

Xun Mingsi was shocked. The Golden Silkworm was an extraordinarily rare sixth-grade spiritual beast. It was said that the Silkworm King only produced one every hundred years. And its natal silk… even in the underground auction house of the Golden Toad, it would be worth a fortune.

Then he thought: This young man, though so young, was already the head of Senluo Stone Palace. His homeland was near the demon tribe’s territory, so it wasn’t surprising that he possessed such treasures.

But still, he shook his head. “This immortal is simply not skilled enough. How could I accept such a gift?”

Unexpectedly, the Little Demon Boy’s expression shifted, a shadow crossing his face. Tears sprang to his eyes once again as he stamped his feet. “I played a bad song, and I wasn’t happy. Are you still unwilling to accept my apology?!”

Seeing him about to cry again, Xun Mingsi felt a sudden, sharp pain in his temples. He could do nothing but agree to accept the gift and beg him not to cry.

The boy’s face lit up with laughter, like the first rays of the sun after a storm. “Master, I truly love the sound of your guqin. Play for me more, and I’ll play for you in return!”

Xun Mingsi watched, both helpless and amused, as the boy laughed and cried with such carefree abandon. Though mischievous, his sincerity was unmistakable.

Then, for a fleeting moment, Xun Mingsi realized how rare it was to find such a kindred spirit. He couldn’t help but feel a desire to befriend him. He summoned Que Ting and handed it to Shentu.

Shentu Linchun’s joy was palpable as he held Que Ting, whistling into the wind. Soon, a skeleton bird descended, pulling a red brocade carriage behind it.

The Little Demon Boy hopped into the carriage, still holding the Que Ting. He extended his hand to Xun Mingsi. “Master Xun, would you take my carriage?”

Xun Mingsi shook his head. “My shixiong is still waiting for me.”

Shentu Linchun laughed, a sound like the rustling of wind through trees, and kicked the carriage. The skeleton bird, swift and graceful, took off with the carriage. In the blink of an eye, both were swallowed by the clouds.

The author has something to say:
Yes, the little demon boy is speaking of Demon Lord Lin, Lin Shixiong =w=

The innate skill of Xuyun Sect disciples: No matter the topic, they will always turn it to “da shixion” and begin to flatter him.

Lin Shixiong: (desolate) …Please, spare me.

 

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