Chapter 107

This woman had previously appeared gentle and timid, and judging by her overall demeanor, one would assume she played the zither or the lute—

It turns out you’re the most absurd one here! Everyone’s pretending to be a pig eating a tiger. Can there still be an ounce of honesty and trust between people in this world?!

He didn’t want to play with these people anymore.

His flute felt so weak, helpless, and pitiful. How could it withstand the antics of those two bullies in the musical world? Forget playing a tune; the moment that donkey-like erhu sounded nearby, his tune would be directly taken to his grandma’s house. And if that suona sounded again—

There’s a saying: among all musical instruments, the suona reigns supreme. Either it ascends to heaven or it accompanies someone to the grave. While pipas and zithers may last a thousand years, a single erhu can last a lifetime, but once the suona sounds, the show is over.

The woman in green remained calm as she raised the suona in her hand.

As the music played, silence fell over the surroundings.

The resounding and powerful melody surged like the tide, flooding into the ears with a force that overshadowed all other sounds.

On one side were the incessant braying of a donkey; on the other, the sharp cries akin to those of a fierce tiger. The youth’s flute music, pitiful and helpless, had long forgotten its original tune.

Three opposing forces clashed in the darkness, stirring up gusts of wind and creating a chilling and terrifying atmosphere akin to a procession of a hundred ghosts.

What started as a simple musical competition among music cultivators had turned into a showcase of their skills and styles, one that, with a little packaging, could be taken straight to the funeral parlor.

No one listens to an erhu without shedding a tear, and no soul remains when the suona sounds.

Listening while lying down is the greatest respect one can offer them.

(T/N: A suona and erhu is a musical instrument that is usually played in a funeral procession.)

The youth, who were initially the most aggressive with the flute, couldn’t hold on any longer. The branches beneath his feet were severed by the eerie music, and he too was struck by the surging spiritual energy, leaving him with several cuts and bruises.

In a sorry state, he fell to the ground, realizing he was at a disadvantage, and reluctantly handed over his token.

With the heart-wrenching melody, where could one find a kindred spirit?

Amidst the battle, the youth and the woman in green unexpectedly felt a sense of mutual respect, like chess players finding worthy opponents. A single token was naturally not enough for the two of them to share, and after a moment of silent exchange of glances, they both looked towards the monk leaning against the tree.

The monk appeared to be no more than eighteen or nineteen years old, with a clear and gentle face. While not extraordinarily handsome, his amber eyes were as calm as a still well, evoking a sense of goodwill.

In addition to practicing Buddhism, the Fanyin Temple also had a small group of music cultivators, who, compared to the Luming Mountain and Baile Sect, practiced with much wider instruments.

While the zither, lute, and guzheng were considered child’s play, the wooden fish was the mainstream instrument. Rumor had it that a few years ago, there was even a ruthless individual who used their mouth as an instrument, specializing in chanting mantras and scriptures. After a round of competition, sparks flew from their lips.

If this monk also used the wooden fish, there was a high probability that he would be defeated between the two. Ning Ning felt the time was right, hesitating whether to lend a hand, when she suddenly glimpsed a radiant light—

Not only did she freeze in place,

Even the professional funeral band stopped playing, showing a rather surprised expression.

Because what emerged in the glow of the Buddha’s light was no ordinary wooden fish.

That thing was massive and perfectly round, and as it gradually materialized, it exuded an aura of unparalleled dominance, emitting a deep, resonant hum.

Well, it turned out to be a Buddhist bell towering two people tall.

The kind that the Shaolin Temple rings every morning as an alarm clock.

The woman in green just wanted to curse out loud.

Where would you find a musician wielding a Buddhist bell as a weapon?! While others play the zither or the flute, you’re swinging a bell hammer like your life depends on it? Are you out of your mind?!

Ning Ning couldn’t help but admire it, thinking that the major sects really produce outstanding talents.

Sword cultivators, although they are dogs, are mostly introverted. Dogs need to be inward, not showing any signs outwardly.

However, these music cultivators were completely different.

They were unrestrained, unapologetic, and even blatantly showed off to others: “Yes, this is my weapon.”

Comparatively, you might see music cultivators using wooden fish, Buddhist bells, or suonas as instruments, but you’d never see swordsmen using fire pokers as weapons.

Talent—it’s all about talent.

This unfolding drama progressed layer by layer, with everyone hiding their true abilities. The elders truly lived up to their reputation; even their pranks were so refreshingly elegant.

Clearly, the woman and the youth had not expected that each music cultivator present was more eccentric than the next. After a moment of astonishment, they rallied and continued to play their music.

The erhu sounded mournful, the suona melancholy, truly worthy of being the background music for the underworld, bringing forth eerie and chilling winds.

Meanwhile, the young monk at the center of the storm remained unchanged in expression. After a slight nod, a huge bell hammer appeared in his hand.

The solemn and clear Buddhist melodies clashed starkly with the styles of the other two. The moment the bell rang, two completely different spiritual forces collided, erupting into a deafening roar that made Ning Ning have to cover her ears.

However, despite the resounding bell, the monk alone couldn’t compete with the other two.

The resonant bell tolls were as heavy as boulders, rushing towards the ears along with gusts of wind imbued with a Buddhist aura. The youth and the woman worked together, using their spiritual powers to deliver successive heavy blows, getting closer and closer to the monk.

Seeing the monk gradually losing ground, the youth shouted, “Hand over the token, and we won’t hurt you!”

But the monk paid no attention to him, only focusing on incessantly striking the bell.

So, the two of them exchanged a quick glance and intensified their attacks, stepping closer and closer to him.

They were determined to win, but Ning Ning vaguely sensed that something was wrong.

Although the monk was already at a disadvantage, he didn’t resist, seek reconciliation, flee, or strengthen his attacks. He just stood there, unmoved…

As if he specifically wanted to draw those two closer.

This thought flashed through her mind fleetingly, and in that instant, the young monk suddenly raised his gaze.

His pupils were calm and clear, like springs, yet at this moment, they reflected a faint, inexplicable, dim light, leaving one wondering what he was contemplating.

Ning Ning saw him lift the bell hammer high, but instead of striking the bell as before, he didn’t do anything with it.

Instead of striking it as before, he lifted it up entirely, like swinging a baseball bat, and then he just…

Sent it flying.

The bell, with its big belly, spun and leaped continuously in the air along the trajectory set by the monk, directly crashing into the man and woman who were walking side by side.

Ning Ning was astonished.

A physical attack?!

Why would you turn a perfectly fine Buddhist bell into a baseball?! Stop it, this is not the kind of maneuver a music cultivator should be making!

The two were sent flying far away by the bell, somersaulting in mid-air in synchronized motion, with a synchronization rate of 99%.

The woman in green had never encountered such a tactic before and immediately burst into tears, clutching her chest. “You, you despicable person! How dare you use a musical instrument to attack people! I won’t stand for it!”

It seemed she adapted quickly, being able to spontaneously call the bell a “musical instrument.”

The youth coughed a few times, attempting to plead for mercy. “Master, as a monk, you should show compassion and spare the two of us!”

“Amitabha.”

The young monk spoke softly, his tone compassionate. “The Buddha said, ‘I do not save fools.'”

With that, he raised the bell hammer in his hand and struck it once, twice, and that was the end of it.