Night had long settled over the abandoned house nestled in the frozen mountains. The fire had died down to glowing embers. The others—Zhenhai, Fenglan, Jiang Fenglie, Shuiyun, and Huayin—slept in a tangled sprawl of limbs and robes, their breath fogging lightly in the cold air. But Longxuan did not sleep.
He couldn't.
Something tugged at his soul. Something deep, powerful—older than memory itself. A pull not born of danger but of recognition. A summoning. A longing.
He sat up slowly, the fur blanket slipping from his shoulders.
Outside, the snow had stilled.
Nowind. Nosound. Not even the crunch of frost beneath his boots as he stepped into the moonlight. Everything felt suspended in time, like the heavens themselves were holding their breath.
And yet—there it was again.
A low hum. Not sound, but vibration. It reverberated through his chest like the echo of a distant, sorrowful song. It called to him—not like a whisper, but a plea.
His fingers trembled.
He didn't wake the others. Didn't leave a note. Something in his heart said this was a path only he could walk.
The trees around the cabin gave way to an icy trail that had not existed before. A narrow path of glowing frost wound through the forest like it had been carved by starlight. Strange, how it shimmered when touched by moonbeams, like runes beneath snow.
He followed it.
Upward.
Higher into the mountain.
Far from the warmth of company, toward a realm where spirit met silence.
Hours—maybe moments—passed before he arrived.
And when he did, the air left his lungs.
Before him, encased in walls of shimmering blue ice, stood a great cavern. Its entrance glowed faintly with silver light. Icicles hung like ancient spears. Ethereal energy pulsed in the air, humming like a chorus trapped between realms.
And inside it...
He stepped across the threshold.
His boots touched glass-like ice, but it didn't slip beneath him. Instead, it accepted him. A path formed beneath his steps.
The deeper he walked, the more vivid the hum became—an invisible song growing louder in his bones. Not haunting. Not violent. But aching. A sound of loss. Of yearning.
And then he saw it.
At the center of the cavern, resting on a pedestal of floating crystal, was the Zither.
It floated in mid-air, strings gleaming like moon-thread, its body carved from blue jade, encircled by a delicate stream of Yin energy that coiled like smoke. Symbols glowed faintly across its surface—celestial script Longxuan couldn't read, but his soul understood.
He took a step forward.
The Zither's hum deepened.
It was calling.
Not just to anyone. To him.
Longxuan reached out instinctively, heart pounding.
The moment his fingers brushed the Zither's edge, a surge of Yin energy flooded through his body—cold, immense, yet not painful. It welcomed him like an old friend, like a beast who had waited centuries for its master's return.
His knees buckled.
He gasped, eyes wide.
Images burst behind his eyes—visions.
A war-torn sky. A white-haired man standing atop a shattered palace. A past life? A mirror of what's to come?
The Zither thrummed beneath his touch. It whispered to him now—not with words, but with music. Melodies only he could hear.
"You… were always meant to find me."
The voice was neither male nor female. It came from the strings.
Suddenly, the cavern began to pulse. The ice above glowed in patterns—markings of formation rings long forgotten. Ancient sigils of music cultivation. Longxuan's spiritual veins trembled as if recognizing this power.
The Zither floated toward him slowly.
A perfect fit in his hands.
Then, in the silence, one string plucked itself.
A single note—soft and crystalline—rang through the ice.
And with it, the entire cavern reacted.
The ceiling flashed with brilliance. The air roared with windless force. The walls sang back to the Zither in echo. Blue light spiraled up, wrapping Longxuan in a cocoon of warmth and sorrow, like the Zither was pouring its ancient soul into his.
His eyes filled with tears.
It wasn't just music.
It was a memory.
This Zither had once been played by someone long forgotten. Someone who had waited for a master to return. It had grieved, and now... it rejoiced.
Longxuan clutched it to his chest.
And for the first time since he lost Mo Tianzun to that cursed portal, he smiled.
—————
By the time he returned to the house, dawn had begun to rise. Light pink and gold brushed the mountains.
He stood at the door, snow clinging to his boots, the Zither slung across his back, glowing faintly with Yin energy.
Fenglan opened the door, blinking blearily. "Where the hell did you—wait—" his eyes landed on the zither. "Wait. WAIT. Why are you suddenly a zither cultivator?!"
Fenglie peered from inside. "Did you… steal that master Longxuan?"
"No," Longxuan said calmly, stepping in. "It chose me."
Zhenhai, eyes wide "I can't tell if this is romance or possession."
Shuiyun tilted his head. "You were gone all night. Was the Zither nice to you at least?"
Longxuan gave a small, secretive smile.
"It cried for me," he said softly. "And now it sings."
Huayin's fox ears twitched. "Interesting. Instruments don't weep unless the one playing them has something worth mourning."
Zhenhai exchanged a glance with Fenglan.
"Do we have to worry about you playing love ballads in the middle of battle now?"
"If it helps," Longxuan said, touching the strings gently, "I will."
Fenglan groaned. "Gods, he's becoming poetic."
They all laughed—but there was weight in the air now. Longxuan's zither meant something, even if they didn't know what yet.
But one thing was certain.
The song had begun.
And the world was listening.