A tune on the ocarina

Chang Wan felt caught in a dilemma.

She could hear the girl’s reluctant sobs, yet the girl tried hard to say, “I know I’m not as good as her… even if it’s just to be a concubine…”

Like clear spring water flowing, he said.

“Do not belittle yourself.”

“You are wonderful in every way.”

“But my heart… can only hold one star.”

The flute didn’t get played, but she had accidentally heard plenty that she shouldn’t have.

Chang Wan looked at the smooth, warm clay flute in her hand. In the end, she didn’t put it back into her storage bracelet. Instead, she carried it with her, rubbing it as she entered the secret room.

The youth was closing his eyes, resting.

Sensing someone enter, he opened his eyes slowly.

His black gaze was like a blade, like a thorn, but in the blink of an eye, he sheathed his sharpness.

He nonchalantly swept his gaze over the stray leaves stuck to the wide white sleeves of the young woman’s robe, then looked at her face.

She seemed to be worrying about something; her beautiful brows were locked together, looking somewhat uneasy.

He remained silent, waiting for her to speak first.

Chang Wan had nothing in particular to say, but to avoid feeling too awkward, she asked, “Is there anything uncomfortable today?”

The way she asked, it was as if she truly cared about him.

The youth slightly averted his eyes, the brilliance in his pupils dimming, “No.”

The events she just encountered had quite an impact on her. Hearing the rumors about the Sect Leader and her was one thing, but witnessing it firsthand was another experience entirely.

She had to find something to do… to divert her attention.

Finally, she asked Chu Changqing: “Is there anything you would like to eat?”

She was distracted.

Chu Changqing keenly noticed this.

“Those who cultivate the Dao should abstain from mundane food.”

Feeling a slight suppression in his heart, the youth’s voice was calm and without ripples.

That was true; after reaching the Foundation Establishment stage, those who cultivate the Dao could abstain from grains.

Since coming here, she hadn’t eaten much, but she habitually ate small snacks during her three meals.

What a waste of her culinary skills.

Chang Wan said no more, silently walked over to the small desk, put the clay flute aside, and prepared to read the jade slip.

The young woman in her white dress was untainted by dust, her brows slightly furrowed with worry.

Chu Changqing watched her sit down with her back to him, the clay flute she had casually placed on the table shining faintly under the candlelight.

Chu Changqing watched her, inexplicable emotions churning in his heart. Finally, he heard himself ask: “Is being an Elder very busy?”

His voice was deep and gloomy, like rain falling beneath dark clouds.

Chang Wan was deep in the jade slip; being suddenly interrupted, she pulled her consciousness back from it with a start.

Ever since the male lead’s Blackening Value had increased inexplicably, she had begun to be cautious—she wouldn’t speak unless necessary. Who knew when she might offend him? If he recovered from his injuries and settled accounts with her, who would she go to cry to?

But it seemed she had offended him anyway.

After a pause, she said again, “It’s not that busy.”

This was answering his previous question.

Not that busy?

Chu Changqing thought about that yellow talisman paper with the love confession and the leaves on her sleeves. The suppression in his heart weighed heavier, but his expression remained composed as his eyes swept over the clay flute on the table.

The flute was verdant and green, quite beautiful.

“Can you play the flute?”

Chang Wan paused and said, “It’s alright, I suppose.”

As for musical instruments, Chu Changqing loved playing the flute in his leisure time, but he didn’t play well and was often mocked.

People always laughed that he was graceful and charming, with peach-blossom brows, yet he played a broken flute, lacking the elegance of a refined scholar.

But later, no one laughed anymore.

Because those who laughed were all dead.

A demon lord didn’t need the elegance of a scholar; he only needed to step on blood and bones to reach the pinnacle of life, and that was enough.

“I see.” Chu Changqing looked at her, suddenly curled his lips, and smiled.

His pupils were very black, like the polar night stripped of starlight.

Chang Wan was somewhat afraid of his eyes—although given their current positions, she had no reason to fear him.

But thinking of those thunderous methods of skinning and bone-stripping, Chang Wan felt a shiver.

Moreover, her mission ultimately relied on him. According to the plot, his future self would be a soaring evil dragon, a terrifying demon lord.

Could she make him change for the better?

She had not even half an assurance.

Just as she was lost in thought, she heard the youth say softly: “I want to hear you play.”

Chang Wan was taken aback.

He looked at her, and in those eyes like the polar night, a star seemed to light up.

Chang Wan played the clay flute very well.

With a soft and beautiful timbre, the sound drifted shallowly and gently into the distance. She didn’t know many songs; in her leisure, a simple melody was enough.

The youth was somewhat mesmerized.

Without the bright moon, without the flickering stars in the dark night, nor a warm embrace, in the dimness piled up by candlelight, in the narrow secret room, the young woman closed her eyes.

The stray leaves on her white dress drifted down at some point. Her slender, white fingers against the green clay flute carried a grace of their own.

Chu Changqing’s heart churned with darkness, suppressing the desire rolling in his blood. He wanted to possess her…

He wanted to make this person entirely his own.

He wanted to bite her soft neck, kiss her earlobe, and let her beauty and grace bloom only for him alone.

It would be soon.

These powerless days would soon end.

Then, he would lock this charming girl in a golden cage, where she would sing only for him.

After the song ended, the restlessness in Chang Wan’s heart dissipated unknowingly. She let out a light sigh, looked at Chu Changqing, suppressed the anticipation in her heart, and put on a bland expression, “I didn’t play well.”

Chu Changqing watched the young woman pretending to be reserved, her eyes bright, and for some reason, the knot of frustration in his heart quietly dissolved, only his entire body’s blood felt scorching hot. With his spiritual energy unstable, memories rushed forth.

“No.”

He stared at her, “It was very good.”

He repeated in a low voice, “Very good.”

Chang Wan received the praise and naturally felt happy, but before she could enjoy it for long, she couldn’t handle his gaze.

The spark in his eyes—she didn’t know when it started to spread, hot and scorching, like erupting magma, like a burning wildfire.

Chang Wan’s pleasure soon vanished in his gaze.

Chang Wan endured it for a moment, but finally, she couldn’t help but say, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Alright.” The youth agreed in a low voice, “I won’t look at you.”

He looked at her brows, her face, her lips, her white dress, the clay flute in her slender hands—

This woman did not possess pinnacle beauty.

Yet every frown and smile had the power to make him go mad.

“Three-Dice Steamed Bun (San Ding Bao).”

It seemed he also felt his gaze was a bit too raw, which had stirred her impatience. The youth averted his eyes, suppressed the agitation in his heart, and softly changed the topic, “I want to eat a Three-Dice Steamed Bun.”

A Three-Dice Steamed Bun?

That was a bun from the Yangzhou region; Chang Wan actually knew how to make that.

She didn’t have many hobbies; besides playing a few tunes on musical instruments and reading novels, she loved to eat.

Only now, to maintain her persona, she hadn’t been able to eat much. Acting elegant outside and pretending inside was exhausting. The look of shock on Qiu Hu’s face when she tentatively asked where the kitchen was—Chang Wan still hadn’t forgotten it.

“A gentleman stays away from the kitchen,” Qiu Hu said. “Those who cultivate the Dao abstain from mundane food. You are a teacher and also an Elder… how can you go to that place.”

It was also at that time that Chang Wan deliberately checked the Qingfeng Sect’s library, only to discover that the small snacks she usually ate were made from specialized spiritual rice and ingredients rich in spiritual energy, which were not considered “mundane food,” but cultivation emphasized stability, and consuming too many external substances could easily lead to an unstable foundation, hence they ate sparingly.

Furthermore, his gaze just now had been too scorching, which also ignited Chang Wan’s own temper.

But looking at the youth with his head tilted, his black eyes bright as he said he wanted to eat a Three-Dice Steamed Bun, Chang Wan softened involuntarily.

For a moment, she didn’t blame him for his bluntness, thinking that as he spent his days in this sunless place nursing his wounds under the gaze of his enemies, even if he appeared calm on the surface, he must be suppressing a fire in his heart.

Since he was injured, finding some spiritual materials to prepare some food would also be beneficial for his recovery.

She replied promptly: “Alright.”