The zither music faltered.
Because Ning Que was utterly dumbfounded, a sense of absurdity surged within him.
What the hell is this?!
But he took a deep breath and quickly regained his composure. His fingers curled slightly—his hands, plump like pig’s trotters, somehow carried an inexplicable grace. Under his playing, the turbulent undercurrents abruptly contracted, merging into one.
A violent tremor of sound erupted in all directions, like overlapping mountain peaks and surging spring tides.
Five layers of zither music—those who hear it grieve, those struck by it perish!
Had this been before, Li Mo would have had no choice but to wield his sword like a hammer, relying on brute force to break through. There would have been no room for evasion or finesse.
But now, Li Mo distinctly felt that as the jade-feathered whistle sounded, its notes seemed to intertwine with the zither’s melody.
This was never an ordinary whistle...
The ethereal whistle transformed into a cyan luan, enveloping him. He could now clearly "see" the flow of the music, its resonance echoing in his heart.
Suddenly, Li Mo understood musical theory. The once-tangled zither notes now lay bare before him.
The essence of the Nine Swords of Dugu flowed through his mind.
A sword in hand, a sword in heart.
The blade moved with his thoughts, guided by his spirit. A single strike was like a celestial stroke—its origin unknown, yet its destination clear.
....
"He was fighting just fine—why did Li Mo suddenly start whistling?"
"Didn’t you notice? After he blew the whistle, he started handling the zither music effortlessly!"
"Now that you mention it... this tune from the Little Overlord is kinda... kinda hype. Makes me wanna dance."
"Bro, hold off on dancing. Look over there—your grandma’s already grooving in the middle of the street."
"Holy shit!"
The onlookers were baffled, but those well-versed in the art of music suddenly realized: "A luan’s instrument?!"
"What’s that?" someone asked.
A Penglai disciple explained:
"It’s something the luan tribe crafts over their lifetime, pouring their heart’s essence into it, waiting for their destined one. It carries their unspoken feelings—emotions they can’t express to outsiders."
"When one blows a luan’s instrument, they gain an innate understanding of music to some extent."
"Of course, it also depends on the luan’s own mastery..."
This was something many musicians could only dream of encountering.
It symbolized mastery of music, the unwavering devotion of a noble and elegant luan...
"Wait, where the hell did Li Mo get this?"
Someone’s question hung in the air, and the scene fell silent for a moment.
Countless eyes turned toward the pristine figure standing atop the platform.
More than a few clenched their teeth in envy.
Ying Bing remained oblivious. She was preparing to face her next opponent.
At this stage, no weaklings remained on the stage.
Her group included the Mystic Fairy Tian Miao, the Sword Maniac Xie Xuan—now more commonly known as the Heaven-Sundering Sword—and Guan Kong of the Dragon-Elephant Temple.
"I know I can’t beat you, but you keep looking over there—that’s just disrespectful."
Tian Miao, who had surprisingly joined the Hidden Dragon Tournament, crossed her arms in frustration.
"I wasn’t looking that much."
Ying Bing turned her head.
Her gentle, serene gaze suddenly turned icy, radiating an aura of untouchable sanctity.
Tian Miao: "......"
After a furtive glance at the jade disc at her waist, she broke into a cold sweat, her expression instantly clearing:
"Actually, you can look a little longer."
"?"
"That way, my chances of winning might go from zero to... nine deaths and one life." Tian Miao said earnestly.
Nine deaths and one life! Who cares about respect at that point?!
.......
The long-suffering Heaven-Sundering Sword let out an excited hum, piercing through the intricate web of music with precision.
Ssshh—
The lofty artistic conception shattered, allowing Li Mo to break through one layer and advance.
"Damn it!"
Ning Que was seething with frustration!
This piece, "Lofty Mountains and Flowing Water," was meant to await a kindred spirit. It had even birthed a legendary tale.
Its original owner, the Xining Hermit, once played it atop Penglai Mountain before the Penglai Star Sect even existed.
Back then, musicians across the land considered it an honor to ascend Penglai and meet this sage of music—yet none could pass the barrier of his zither’s melody.
Until one day, the renowned poet Young Master Shaoyun arrived during his travels and joined in with his flute.
The two became fast friends through their shared love of music—but they met only once. One died for his country; the other waited a lifetime.
It was a story steeped in elegance and poetic romance...
And it gave rise to the legend of "Lofty Mountains and Flowing Water" awaiting a kindred spirit.
But now?
The Little Overlord waltzed in humming that ridiculously catchy tune!
Was this the kindred spirit he was waiting for? No! Absolutely not, dammit!
"This isn’t elegant at all—stay the hell away!"
Ning Que was truly desperate now.
As his plump fingers bled, the invisible notes seemed to grow wilder.
Layers of emerald ripples swirled around him like blooming flowers, concealing boundless fury.
"Ninefold Melody of the Winding Stream!"
"Bring it on!"
Li Mo felt an inexplicable surge of excitement.
Music? Who says I can’t do it too?
Prepare yourself—take this, "The Most Dazzling Ethnic Style"!!
Of course.
More crucial was the Heaven-Sundering Sword, thrusting in perfect sync.
Li Mo guided the blade with his heart.
The sword’s light was like autumn water, cutting through intent and emotion, striking flawlessly at the core of the ninefold melody.
With this strike, Li Mo rode the sword’s momentum, ascending to new heights.
The essence of chivalrous swordsmanship fused within him—he was half a step from mastering the Nine Swords of Dugu!
Rrrip—
The fury dispersed. The sword’s gleam halted.
It hovered a hair’s breadth from Ning Que’s brow—close enough to feel, yet not a scratch.
Controlled by will alone, Ning Que’s pupils dilated in shock but remained unharmed.
"It’s over... I lost. Everything’s ruined..."
Realizing his defeat, Ning Que looked dazed, like a disheveled bride after a rough wedding night.
"......"
Li Mo sheathed his sword, lost in thought. The insights from the battle lingered in his mind.
After a moment, he opened his eyes and saw Ning Que, who seemed on the verge of a mental breakdown.
"Brother Ning, didn’t you say this was a gentleman’s duel? Losing once isn’t the end of the world..."
"No, you don’t understand."
Ning Que clutched his head. "I’ve lost my elegance. My 'Lofty Mountains and Flowing Water' was broken by your... vulgar tune. I’m no gentleman anymore."
Li Mo: "......"
Why did he suddenly feel like he’d stubbornly insisted on being the "Little Li Swordsman"?
Damn, even his recent misfortunes had changed—was "The Most Dazzling Ethnic Style" really that potent?
"Ahem, that’s not true. Didn’t you feel happy listening to that tune just now?"
"Happy? Sure, but..."
"Elegant music is for the refined few—that’s fine. But bringing joy to everyone is also noble. Isn’t that the essence of 'Great Music is Faintly Heard'?"
Li Mo gestured with his chin.
Ning Que blinked, following his gaze to the crowd below. A woman in green robes, surrounded by sunflower seed shells, was still swaying to the rhythm.
A carefree dancer, exuding the composure of a seasoned artist.
"Look how happy she is."
"What can one person prove..."
"Uh, let me introduce—she is the Phoenix Clan Leader."
"......"
[Congratulations, Host. You have successfully invested in 'Ning Que,' enabling him to gain insight into the Dao of Music.]
[You have a pending investment reward to claim.]
ing gift was a patch of barren land, and disciples were all picked up along the way. He spent fifty years diligently building three "ramshackle little sects," thinking he could finally live a carefree life relying on his disciples. But right at the fifty-year mark, he was suddenly swept away by a spatial rift and exiled to the Chaos Desolation, the Disorderly Ruins. There was no spiritual energy there, only slaughter. Relying on the cultivation feedback from his disciples, Gu Changyuan hacked his way through a sea of blood for eleven hundred years. When the system finally fished him back out, he discovered the ramshackle little sects he'd built back then had developed a rather... unusual style. Hold on... I vanished for a thousand years, so how did my ramshackle little sects become holy lands?!
transmigrates into the world as the sect master of the Heavenly Yan Sect, which is on the verge of being wiped out. He binds a system that grants him cultivation power based on the number of disciples he has: for each disciple, he automatically gains a year's worth of cultivation every single day! Take one disciple: every day he gains 1 year of cultivation power. While others struggle through a year of bitter training, he gets the same just by sleeping through a single night. Take ten disciples: every day he gains 10 years of cultivation power. Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul—he breezes through all bottlenecks without lifting a finger. Take one hundred disciples: every day he gains 100 years of cultivation power. Even a Soul Transformation Venerable before him can’t survive a single blow. Take ten thousand disciples: every day he gains 10,000 years of cultivation power! With a wave of his hand, he topples empires. With a single step, he crushes the sacred grounds of the universe. ... While others fight tooth and nail for secret techniques, Lin Yan casually hands out Nascent Soul-level cultivation manuals as beginner textbooks. While others strain to find talented recruits, Lin Yan opens his doors to anyone—so long as they’re human. In just three short years, the Heavenly Yan Sect went from a backwater sect made up of three crumbling huts to a sacred land that every cultivator under heaven would kill to enter. ... One day, otherworldly demon gods invade, with a million demon soldiers pressing down upon the realm. Lin Yan, yawning, rises from his lounge chair and glances at the system panel: [Current Disciples: 1.28 million] [Daily Cultivation Increase: 1.28 million years] He waves his hand casually, and the countless demon soldiers are reduced to ashes in an instant. “So noisy… interrupting my fishing.”
pression Bureau] Transported to a fantasy world overrun by demons and monsters, Gu Qingfeng becomes a jailer in the Demon Suppression Prison of the Great Yan Dynasty's Demon Suppression Bureau. From this point on, bizarre cases frequently occur in the Demon Suppression Prison, once known as hell on earth and infamous for its gloomy, terrifying atmosphere! Why do the demons and monsters in the prison wail miserably every night? Why has the corpse demon, capable of transforming into various beauties, donned black stockings and switched careers to become a foot massage therapist? Why has the eye demon, expert in soul-snatching and illusions, turned into a VR headset? Why is the fox spirit performing otaku dances? Are all these occurrences a twisted expression of demonic nature, or a descent into moral depravity? After peeling away layer upon layer of mystery, all clues ultimately point to a jailer named Gu Qingfeng. Gu Qingfeng: "Hehehe... My dear demons and monsters, whose card shall we flip today?"
close your eyes and open them again, only to find yourself transmigrated into the role of a villainous male supporting character. Readers familiar with urban wish-fulfillment novels know that it is only through the relentless antics of the villainous male supporting character that the plot between the male and female leads can progress. As the villainous male supporting character, Long Aotian not only has to bully the female lead, harass the second female lead, and flirt with the third female lead, but he also has to go all out to antagonize the male lead. In the end, when his body is discovered, he is still clutching half a moldy fried dough stick in his hand. Fully aware of the plot, Long Aotian is determined to change his fate, starting with the female lead! In the beginning, the female lead lacks confidence: "Big brother, I hope I didn't scare you?" In the middle, the female lead treads carefully: "Brother Long, please don't hit me, okay?" Later on, the female lead becomes coquettishly clingy: "Aotian, it's time to pay the 'public grain' tonight." Long Aotian's legs go weak, and he feels like crying: "I taught you to be thick-skinned, not shameless!"
