Gazing at the opulent guqin embedded within the stone platform, I carefully recalled the melody it had produced earlier. There was no mistaking it; it was undeniably the Divine Language!
Once more, I rested my fingers upon the instrument’s cold strings. The craftsmanship of this guqin was exceptionally intricate, with each string adorned by an unknown silvery substance, creating beautiful patterns along their delicate lengths.
However, calling it a guqin felt somewhat inaccurate; it bore a closer resemblance to a Chinese guzheng. While a guqin typically has seven strings, this instrument boasted twenty-three, nearing the twenty-one strings of a guzheng.
My certainty didn’t stem from any vast knowledge, but rather from a small plaque in the pavilion. It clearly read, “Zhuqin Platform,” leaving no doubt that this was indeed a qin.
‘Just which mischievous soul embedded this instrument into the platform?’ I wondered. Attempting to emulate the ancient guqin and guzheng players from my memory, I experimented with various ways to pluck the strings.
After a significant time, I paused my actions, a sense of shock washing over me. “No, it can’t be…”
One hundred and thirty-four Divine Language symbols, not a single one missing, all from just twenty-three strings…
The Language Illusion God, the weakest deity? I felt utterly deceived. Imagine the terrifying speed at which a Language Illusion God, proficient with this instrument, could cast divine spells.
My own casting speed already seemed incredible to many, but if…
The Divine Realm’s countless millennia of accumulated wisdom truly were extraordinary. How could an independent divine classification be so simplistic?
Yet, why had no one ever utilized this method? And why was the Language Illusion God universally regarded as the most regrettable deity? Surely not everyone could be so oblivious to its true value?
I surveyed my surroundings. A long, pale cyan wooden box, adorned with silver threads, caught my eye. I approached it and slowly opened the lid.
Inside, neatly arranged on a velvet lining, were individual strings identical to those on the guqin. There were precisely forty-six of them—two complete sets. Beside them lay several small trinkets.
‘Hmm… in my sealed territory, these should count as mine, right? It wouldn’t be stealing, would it?’ After a long moment of deliberation, I decided to take them. However, on the off chance they belonged to someone, I left a message etched into the wall.
“The strings have been taken by me. I am in the temple yonder, merely borrowing them for study and contemplation.”
Content, I departed, cradling the wooden box that was taller than myself. I stumbled awkwardly across the stone slabs, which were so cold that even I, a deity, found them unbearable.
After considerable effort, I finally emerged from the other side of the labyrinth. Spotting the temple at the far end of the flower sea, I hastened towards it.
The moment I reached the entrance, I heard a commotion erupting inside. “Where is Ye Menghan?”
“I don’t know. Did she run off to play somewhere crazy?”
“We’ll have to give her a good talking-to later, won’t we?” Leixar’s voice drifted out.
My steps faltered as I heard that voice, and an urge to turn and flee instantly seized me.
“Of course. She absolutely needs a proper lecture. Children running off everywhere is truly… wait a moment, I think she’s returned.” Lavishly Karafar said, a slight smile playing on her lips.
Just as I, standing outside the door, was about to turn and leave, a figure suddenly appeared directly in front of me.
“W-well, I, I was just… um… taking a stroll, that’s all… haha…” I stammered, retreating backward with an awkward laugh.
“Hmm?” came a voice laced with clear disbelief. “You just happened to pick up a wooden box while strolling?”
I nodded vigorously.
“Hmph, do you take me for a three-year-old child? A beautiful box this large, just tossed aside for anyone to find?” The speaker regarded me with the gaze one would reserve for a misbehaving child. “Even an excuse needs to be well-crafted.”