Chapter 19

Chapter 19: A True Guqin Master

“He Chen, what is it?” Sheng Yun Yi noticed his distraction and looked up as well.

The guqin music came from the second room on the third floor—clear as mountain springwater, hollow as a bird call in a quiet ravine.

Zhou He Chen’s expression drifted. “This music… It reminds me of when I lived in South City as a child. I think I’ve heard it before…”

He didn’t continue.

When he was born, a monk from the Hua Lun Temple had said he carried a tribulation in his fate, and that he needed to be raised in the countryside to avoid it.

So he grew up in South City with his grandmother, only returning to River City at ten.

South City was steeped in culture. Handcrafted artists lined the streets. After years of living in that atmosphere, he’d come to love classical music and antiques.

Sheng Yun Yi smiled. “Then let’s go up and see which master it is.”

“You understand me best.” Zhou He Chen smiled back.

They went upstairs together.

With Yan Ting Feng’s hearing, he’d known the moment they stepped onto the first stair.

He closed his eyes, a thin thread of killing intent leaking from the corner of his gaze. “See no one.”

Rong Yu blinked. “Huh?”

He stayed confused until the knocking came.

Once. Twice. Again.

With a sigh, Rong Yu yanked the door open, irritation plain on his face. “What do you want?”

Zhou He Chen only wanted to know who was playing the guqin. But Rong Yu stood in the doorway like a wall, blocking the view. All Zhou He Chen managed to catch was a swish of blue skirt hem embroidered with golden dragons.

Rong Yu squinted. “What are you staring at? Who are you?”

Zhou He Chen’s eyes sharpened. “You—”

“Sir, I’m very sorry.” Sheng Yun Yi quickly took Zhou He Chen’s hand, smiling gently. “We don’t know which master is playing. We both love classical music, and we’d like to pay a visit.”

Rong Yu’s expression went cold. “No. Get lost.”

Bang.

The door slammed mercilessly.

Zhou He Chen’s face darkened. He drove his fist into the wall, hard.

In River City, was there really someone who didn’t recognize him?

“He Chen, don’t be angry.” Sheng Yun Yi soothed him. “You’re only hurting yourself. Art masters tend to have tempers. Let’s go back and check which master has been in River City recently. We can visit properly later.”

Zhou He Chen let out a slow breath, forcing calm back into his chest. “Fine. I’ll listen to you.”

“Let’s go see the exhibition first.” Sheng Yun Yi looped her arm through his, and they left.

Inside the lounge, the music flowed on, unbroken as silk.

The melody was airy, yet it painted a powerful river before the mind’s eye—cutting through layers of mountains, pouring into a vast sea, smashing stone with storm waves.

No one knew how long it lasted.

When the final note died, the imagined surf fell silent too.

“That’s it?” Rong Yu sounded as if he’d woken from a long dream. Even now, he couldn’t quite come back to himself. “It’s over?”

“Mm.” Ye Wan Lan set the qin down. “I have something to do. I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going, Miss Ye?” Yan Ting Feng coughed softly and smiled. “I’ll see you off.”

Ye Wan Lan looked back and studied him for three seconds. Her brow lifted. “Sure. Go start the car. I’ll wait.”

As Ye Wan Lan walked away, Rong Yu waggled his brows. “Brother, do you like her?”

Yan Ting Feng blinked, smiling gently, every word sweet as honey. “I like her. Very much.”

Rong Yu broke into a cold sweat.

Why did that sound like the kind of “like” where you wanted to turn someone into a specimen?

He wrapped his coat tighter.

He’d thought dealing with one madman was hard enough. Now there were two—and Yan Ting Feng somehow seemed even crazier because of Ye Wan Lan.

This world was not survivable.

—

At nine that night, Ye Wan Lan met Cheng Qing Li and, as usual, brought the milk tea she liked.

“Sister Lan, it’s so late. Where are we going?”

“Tonight we’re meeting our fashion design director.”

Cheng Qing Li blurted, “Which club?”

“No.” Ye Wan Lan’s gaze went distant. “He’s at the Little Gold Mountain.”

Little Gold Mountain sat on the east side of River City—a wild hill where racing enthusiasts gathered.

Especially on nights with no stars and no moon.

A true gathering ground for lunatics.

When they reached the base of the mountain, plenty of people had already gone in. Engines roared in the dark, and the peak had already turned into a frenzy.

Cheng Qing Li suddenly gasped. “Wow, Sister Lan—someone’s cosplaying here! Let me search which white-haired character it is!”

Ye Wan Lan looked over—and found someone she recognized.

Yan Ting Feng leaned against his car in a black leather jacket. His long white hair blazed against the night. His expression was indifferent, but his phoenix eyes shimmered with Flowing Light, holding a faint, unreadable smile.

The smile didn’t reach his eyes. Deep down, they were still cold.

People passing by couldn’t stop looking—stunned by his overwhelming beauty—but no one dared approach to flirt.

Ye Wan Lan narrowed her eyes.

This man was strange.

In daylight he was warm sunshine, gentle and elegant.

At night he was a deep, dangerous current—unfathomable.

Immortal outside, devil within.

How could one person be split so cleanly into two halves?

He tilted his head and noticed her. His brows and eyes stayed mild, as if he didn’t know her at all.

But when her gaze lingered on his hair, he suddenly smiled and walked over.

“Wig,” he said.

He touched a strand of white hair and asked, “Not good-looking?”

This was his real hair. On ordinary days, he took medicine to hide it.

History never recorded everything. Even the most famous figures were often reduced to a single line.

The Six Great Sects had left their mark on history, but they were still Jiang Hu forces. The court wouldn’t know Jiang Hu’s past—much less his secrets.

“It looks great,” Ye Wan Lan said. “I have a thing for white hair.”

Yan Ting Feng paused, genuinely surprised for the first time. “What?”

Ye Wan Lan lifted her hand and hooked a strand of his hair around her finger. “When I see white hair, I want to bully it. Make him cry.”

For one heartbeat, killing intent gathered like a blade being drawn.

Then Yan Ting Feng laughed, clear and bright. His phoenix eyes curved. “Miss Ye, you’re really interesting. Coming here this late… aren’t you afraid someone will die?”

Ye Wan Lan looked at him. “What about you?”

“Me?” Yan Ting Feng’s smile faded, but his voice stayed gentle. “I like watching people die.”

Little Gold Mountain was steep, its roads carved out by racers over time.

Tourists only came to watch sunrise and sunset from the Gold Mountain Hotel. No normal person went deeper into the mountain.

So when Sheng Yun Yi saw Ye Wan Lan here, she was startled. She didn’t hesitate—she contacted Zhou He Chen immediately.

“He Chen,” she said, worried, “I saw Miss Ye at the Little Gold Mountain. She’s with a group of racers. They’ve already gone in. If they drink and something happens tonight…”

Her voice tightened. “Even if she’s angry with you, this is too much.”