Don't Come Any Closer

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."

"......"

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