Chapter 407 - 194: Who to Give It To?

Yan Wengge volunteered, and no one had any objections.

They each moved aside to make room for him.

Yan Wengge hadn’t moved an inch since arriving in the clearing, anyway. With the zither on his lap, he swept his hands across it, and the music began at once.

It took a master of music theory to compose a work like the Seven-Stringed Zither Manual on a crude zither.

Yan Wengge was just such a master.

His music was not the sorrowful whimpering of self-pity, nor did it pursue the lofty ideals of "High Mountains and Flowing Water."

Instead, it started slow, gradually deepening. At times it was hurried, like an approaching storm; at others, it soared, like the flash of blades and the glint of swords.

The crowd was gradually drawn in by his music. They casually sipped their tea, truly living up to the name of "savoring tea and appreciating the zither."

When the song ended, the lingering notes seemed to resonate with the feeling of having narrowly escaped death.

Yan Wengge then spoke softly:

"This piece is called ’Night Rain in the Martial World.’ It was composed on a sudden inspiration. Today, I share it with all of you."

"What a fitting name, ’Night Rain in the Martial World’."

Liu Zongming sighed softly in admiration.

"The storms of the martial world... nothing captures them better than this."

Yan Wushuang also shook his head gently.

"The martial world is treacherous and unpredictable. This piece displays it to the fullest. A fine piece, and a fine name."

Yan Wengge cupped his fists slightly.

"It was a humble display. I’ve made a fool of myself before you all."

With that, he flew up and returned to his seat, pouring himself another cup of tea.

Jiang Ran’s eyes swept across the crowd.

"I wonder who is next..."

"Allow me."

A woman’s soft voice drifted over.

Following the voice, they saw it was the musician, Shang Yue’Er.

The woman’s face was half-hidden by a light veil. Although the sheer fabric was semi-transparent, allowing one to vaguely discern her features, it remained hazy, leaving much to the imagination.

Her eyes seemed placid, yet they appeared to hide many worries.

Her steps were light, yet she did not use her Lightweight Technique, simply walking step by step into the center of the clearing.

She then raised her eyes to look at Jiang Ran.

"Young Master Jiang, may I ask, are we only allowed to use the zither today?"

"Of course not."

Jiang Ran shook his head slightly.

"That’s good."

Shang Yue’Er nodded lightly and took out a jade flute from within her robes.

The jade flute was a crisp, emerald green, wrapped with threads of gold—clearly no ordinary object.

She raised it to her lips, her fingers covering the holes. She lifted a finger, and the sound of the flute suddenly rang out.

But her flute song was different from Yan Wengge’s.

It began with intensity, filled with boundless joy, but at its very peak, it took a sharp turn downward. The music became sorrowful, depicting a family’s fall from grace.

Afterward, it was at times silent, at times adrift, changing in a thousand ways, but ultimately, sorrow was its dominant theme.

Jiang Ran occasionally looked up at those around him and saw that quite a few of the more soft-hearted listeners truly had tears in their eyes.

He sighed softly, realizing that Shang Yue’Er had composed this piece from her own life story, using it to stir the hearts of others.

It was utterly real, utterly sincere, and thus, utterly moving.

After the piece concluded, no one broke down in tears, but many felt a heavy lump in their throats and an emptiness in their hearts.

It was a feeling like a fish bone stuck in the throat—impossible to spit out, an indescribable melancholy.

If one were to compare this piece with Yan Wengge’s "Night Rain in the Martial World," it was hard to say which was superior.

One spoke of the martial world; the other, of personal fate.

Both were hard to let go of.

They were reluctant to part with the storms of the martial world, yet they also empathized deeply with Shang Yue’Er.

In truth, most of the attendees today were like blind men listening to thunder.

How many of them truly understood music theory?

However, a heavenly voice is inherently moving. It can communicate sorrow and joy directly to the heart, a fact that has nothing to do with whether one understands the technicalities or not.

Now, victory or defeat would be decided among Jiang Ran and a few others; the rest were just here to watch the show.

And it was indeed quite a show today.

After Shang Yue’Er, Liu Zongming and Yan Wushuang also took their turns.

However, Liu Zongming played the xun.

The sound of his xun was both heroically tragic and as majestic as an eagle spreading its wings, yet within its intensity lay a hidden, indescribable desolation.

Although this desolation was not overwhelming, it did not escape the ears of the perceptive.

It made one wonder: ’Could it be that Liu Zongming also harbors some secret sorrow?’

As for Yan Wushuang, his music was three parts tranquility, three parts peril, and three parts caution. The sole remaining part seemed to lack any joy.

The zither’s notes were a continuous drizzle of rain, as if narrating an ancient story. Just as people became immersed in it, the music stopped, and the piece was over.

Yan Wushuang looked up at the crowd and sighed softly.

"A poor showing."

"Association Head Yan, what is the title of your piece?"

Liu Zongming looked at Yan Wushuang.

Yan Wushuang shook his head.

"It has no title; I was just playing casually. My Hundred Treasures Association has never been willing to give up on the Jiaowei zither.

"Although my knowledge in this art is shallow, today, I could only do my best to contend for it. I’ve made a fool of myself in front of Dean Liu."

"Not at all."

Liu Zongming shook his head slightly, as if he wanted to say more, but Yan Wushuang had already returned to his seat.

In the end, everyone had no choice but to turn their gazes toward Jiang Ran.

By this point, everyone had performed a piece. Only Jiang Ran remained.

But as for Jiang Ran’s ability to play the zither... no one was very optimistic.

’No matter how they had previously speculated that Jiang Ran was some ancient monster with age-defying arts, deep down, they still didn’t believe it.’

’And for a young man in his twenties to possess such profound martial arts attainments at his age...’

’...he must have trained relentlessly, forgoing food and sleep. On top of that, he would have needed fortuitous encounters, and perhaps even to have consumed some heavenly treasures, for it to be even remotely possible.’