Chapter Seventy: Laughing at the Mortal World

This region in the middle reaches of the Yangtze River belongs to the Da Lou Mountains, and the perilous peak where Zhang He stayed was also known as Golden Buddha Mountain.

Golden Buddha Mountain, once called Nine Steps Mountain, is composed of one hundred and eight peaks, including Golden Buddha, Qingba, and Cypress Branch Mountains.

Whenever summer and autumn evenings bring clear skies, the setting sun bathes the layered cliffs in dazzling golden hues, making the entire mountain shine like a multitude of golden Buddhas radiating thousands of rays, spectacular and beautiful, whence it earned the name “Golden Buddha Mountain.”

Jagged rocks line the mountain streams, peaks jut out in clusters, the woods are lush, and water murmurs through the valleys. Yet Zhang He had no mind to appreciate these scenic wonders; he only wanted to leave these mountains as quickly as possible.

According to the map guides posted on the forum, once he traversed this mountain range, he would be able to avoid the Thirty-Six Waterway Alliance in the middle Yangtze.

He hadn’t suffered much in the battle at Peony Tower, but he had implicated Boss Ma and Hua Beauty, and Miss Zhong’s whereabouts remained unknown—a grievance he’d acquired unintentionally.

But the Thirty-Six Waterway Alliance was not an enemy he could afford to provoke now. The quest for the Sword of Flowing Night was his proper path, so Zhang He decided to continue eastward.

Just then, faint strains of music floated from deep within the gorge—a melody as gentle as water, heavenly and pure, reminiscent of the clear spring flowing through the ravine, delighting the ear.

Ignoring the scenery, simply listening to the music, Zhang He felt an indescribable comfort, his entire being soothed and joyful.

Looking toward the heavens, it was as if the melody wove through the blue sky, and in that moment, the world seemed filled with nothing but ethereal sound.

The music seemed familiar. Following its source, Zhang He soon spotted someone atop a flat stone platform halfway up the mountain.

One person, one zither, one incense burner.

Her robes fluttered, her instrument ancient, sandalwood incense curling about her as she played in the depths of the mountains. Here, lacking the luxury and extravagance of Peony Tower, there was instead a serenity that transcended the mundane.

Zhang He did not disturb the Zither Immortal's performance; he simply stood nearby, quietly listening.

Anyone witnessing the scene would be amazed beyond words: the beauty on the mountainside appeared otherworldly, like an immortal descending to earth, while Zhang He, after days living wild, was disheveled, ragged, and looked every bit the savage—an incongruous picture.

It wasn’t that Zhang He thought the music was beautiful; in truth, he knew nothing of musical theory. Days of cultivation had left him somewhat bored, and now the gentle melody was like a lover’s whisper, tender and rare—he had no wish to interrupt this peace.

Eventually, the music faded, and the Zither Immortal opened her eyes and spoke: “Since our parting in Fuling, how have you fared, sir?”

Zhang He was surprised, not expecting to encounter her here, suspecting that their paths had again intertwined.

He smiled faintly and replied, “Thanks to fortune, I am well enough.”

The Zither Immortal gazed at him for a moment, her brows furrowing slightly: “You are still wounded, sir?”

Zhang He was stunned; this NPC’s keen eyes had discerned that his internal cultivation had been damaged.

The Zither Immortal smiled gently: “If you trust me, I would play a piece to aid your recovery.”

“Uh?” Zhang He was clearly skeptical, but reasoned that an NPC like her would not harm him. He settled cross-legged in the grass.

Her fingers returned to the strings, and the first note sounded.

Zhang He expected the usual game scenario—a piece like ‘Calming Chant’ or ‘Universal Mercy,’ something to soothe and restore stamina and fatigue.

But he was mistaken. The Zither Immortal played not a soft, gentle tune, but a well-known old song:

“The mortal world is but a joke, infatuation most foolish, it matters not if one sees through everything; though life remains unfinished, the heart is undisturbed, wishing only for half a lifetime of freedom; awake, one smiles at others, in dreams, all is forgotten, lamenting the night’s darkness comes too soon; the next life uncertain, love and hate wiped away, singing and drinking, I wish only for joy till old age; if the wind chills, I refuse to flee, if the flowers bloom, I do not yearn, let me drift as I will; the higher the sky, the smaller the heart, never asking how much cause and effect, drunken alone; tears today, laughter tomorrow, seeking no understanding, proud in solitude…”

‘Laughing at the Red Dust’ rang from her fingers, its rhythm not winding and soft, but bold and brisk—like wild winds sweeping the gorge, like a lone boat drifting on the ocean.

At first, it felt carefree and unrestrained, but listening closely, one sensed a profound loneliness hidden beneath that freedom.

It was as if, having endured blades and swords, love and hate, one stood atop the clouds gazing at green hills and waters below—the loneliness of a master struck immediately.

Back at Peony Tower, Zhang He had not appreciated the Zither Immortal’s art, but now, immersed in the music, he realized her skill was extraordinary, her playing captivating all who heard it, and he felt a sudden respect.

When the piece ended, Zhang He bowed reverently. “To hear your immortal music is a blessing.”

Her eyes sparkled. “How did the song make you feel?”

“I know nothing of music,” Zhang He mused, “but… though the tune sounds lively and carefree, somehow, I feel you meant to express a deep sorrow, a certain melancholy.”

She exclaimed with admiration, “Though you are a rough-hewn hero, unversed in melody, your understanding and insight surpass the wealthy and powerful at Peony Tower. You are a true kindred spirit in music, deserving of the title.”

“Not at all!” As Zhang He returned the gesture, the system notification chimed. Looking down, he was overjoyed—the pale blue icon marking his damaged internal skill had returned to its normal green!

Now he understood: the method to restore his cultivation was to listen attentively and comment on her music—a quest event.

He was perplexed. Normally, restoring one’s cultivation required training, medicine, or martial arts, but music could heal as well—this was his first such experience.

The secrets and wonders of ‘Dynasty’ were as profound as martial arts; no one could claim complete knowledge.

But there was always a catch; nothing was gained for free. Zhang He knew NPCs never approached you without reason—it must be that he’d triggered some hidden quest.

Sure enough, the Zither Immortal continued: “When we met at Peony Tower, I saw you were different and used my music to provoke you. You were bold, unafraid of power, decisive in action, killing several people—a deed I admire. Though you escaped, your companion, the flute-playing lady, is nowhere to be seen. Why?”

Zhang He was shrewd, and her question made things clear.

When they fled Peony Tower, Hua Feihong’s flute and the Zither Immortal’s music echoed across the great river. She had called him a kindred spirit, but it was clear her true interest was in the musically skilled Hua Feihong, not him.

Given that even the Zither Immortal couldn’t find her, it explained why he hadn’t been able to contact Hua Feihong recently.

Carrier pigeon messages had many restrictions—too great a distance, certain special zones, not being in adjacent regions, lacking name cards or a friend list… Reasoning it out, Hua Feihong probably thought he’d gone downstream toward Chen Prefecture.

Zhang He said, “My companion is Hua Feihong, first disciple of the Sword Sect’s Seven Saints, under the Zither Immortal of Shaking Light Palace.”

“So she is the Zither Immortal—no wonder her musical skill is so profound.” The Zither Immortal nodded, then changed topic. “You killed four righteous martial artists at Peony Tower, making it difficult to enter towns for now. You seem free of urgent matters; if you are willing, I have a favor to ask.”

Zhang He nodded heavily—his evil value was now 35, while his chivalry value was only 4, approaching a ten-to-one ratio. If it surpassed ten times, even entering towns as a white-named player would get him arrested—not imprisoned, but still very inconvenient.

That night at Peony Tower had been exhilarating, but killing there increased evil value faster than anywhere else—he guessed it was because Young Master White Horse had ties to the Wudang Sect, causing his evil value to spike.

Such was the strange world of ‘Dynasty’; Zhang He had never wanted to be a villain, only to be a diligent and upright player, but had become a notorious outlaw instead.

The Zither Immortal said, “One hundred and eighty li to the southwest lies Emerald Wave Pool, where a rare herb called Luminous Grass grows. If you are willing to fetch it, I will reward you generously.”

This was what Zhang He had been waiting for—he was desperate for a quest. Killing snakes and bugs every day was no way to live, and let’s not forget, a monthly pass for ‘Dynasty’ costs eighty-eight yuan.

The Zither Immortal continued, “If you gather thirty stalks, you can send them by courier, and wherever you are, I will ensure your reward.”

Zhang He accepted the quest, resolved to complete it, and bowed. “Then, I take my leave.”

The Zither Immortal sat again. “The journey is perilous; take care. I wish to play a farewell piece for you.”

Beautiful music sounded—the same ‘Laughing at the Red Dust,’ but now gentle, as if telling of the journey ahead, of being swept into the mortal world and how to resolve love and hatred.

The melody faded, carried away by the mountain breeze, and Zhang He’s figure gradually disappeared at the mouth of the gorge.

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