At the peak of the Qinglan Sect, Mount Taicang.
In a secluded pavilion within the mountains.
The melodious sounds of the zither resounded, continuous and unending—at times rushing like a cascading waterfall, at others clear and crisp like pearls dropping onto a jade plate, then again soft and mournful as if weeping and pleading, deeply stirring the emotions of any listener.
Upon closer observation.
Every note that vibrated in the void stirred up terrifying waves of energy!
As a pair of slender, jade-white hands increased their pace on the zither strings, the music suddenly became extremely urgent, harboring the momentum of an approaching storm!
After a short while.
The jade hands stopped, the zither strings rebounded, and the music ended.
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
After the sound of shattering.
The surrounding flowers, grass, and trees had all broken in response, as if they had been neatly sliced in two by a sharp sword!
