Chapter 17: Blazing Fire Burns the Melody (Part 6): That Dazzling Mole Part 1

Although it differed from expectations, since the Pipa Demon had demonized ahead of schedule and now possessed such power, the demon core must have already formed.

To obtain it, she needed to first find the main body of the demon.

Black water flowed slowly beneath the stage, strings of branches dangled from the ceiling, moss crawled up the walls, seeping out pearl-like droplets.

Everything in sight decayed in gray dimness, yet brimmed with the vigorous life force of impending death.

Mu Qian Tan lowered her head to examine the black water. She pinched a leaf from her storage pouch with two fingers, injected it with spiritual power to open the veins, then flicked it into the water.

In an instant, a leaf boat flipped over from the water like a massive beast rolling its belly. Black water cascaded down along the leaf veins, revealing the verdant green leaf body, fresh and dewy.

This was one of the original host’s magic artifacts, [One-Leaf Flatboat]. It was not a particularly high-grade artifact—a slightly turbulent river current could destroy it—but in this narrow, enclosed water domain, it was more than sufficient.

Mu Qian Tan stepped onto the leaf boat and stood at the bow, staring straight ahead into the darkness. Shang Shan shook her body to steady Qin He on her back, then boarded as well.

Originally meant for a single person, the artifact now carried three, exceeding its load limit. The hull sank deeply, on the verge of submerging. Seeing this, Mu Qian Tan added more spiritual power, barely managing to make it creep forward.

Leaving the stage hall, the small boat turned into a long corridor. The once-open pavilion overlooking the garden was now sealed with tightly packed doors and windows. Hazy glows flickered on the window papers, vague human silhouettes bleeding through.

Shang Shan set down Qin He and crouched at the stern, staying vigilant of their surroundings.

Amid the sound of the leaf boat slicing through water, Mu Qian Tan slowly asked, “The thing you mentioned this morning that scared you so much—tell me about it in detail.”

Shang Shan hunched her shoulders, recalling that peculiar sensation. She still felt the chill of an icy hand creeping up the back of her neck.

She scrunched up her face. “Actually, it wasn’t there every moment. Just several instances where I felt something staring at me and Qin He, like it was waiting for an opportunity… to kill us. It was very, very scary.”

The original book did mention that the female protagonist possessed perception far sharper than ordinary people. Mu Qian Tan had no reason to doubt that such a strange entity might truly exist, especially with the abnormalities right before her eyes.

She asked in her mind, ‘Are you certain the Black Dragon Prophecy was triggered solely by the unexpected death of Yao’e Immortal?’

Li Biyuan was also watching ahead intently. She replied tensely, ‘Up to now, the only special variable I’ve observed is my master’s death. But after I entered your body and began observing the world from your perspective, I could no longer move freely. Who knows what else might have happened during that time.’

Mu Qian Tan said, ‘In other words, even if I follow the original plot to the letter, I might not be able to steer the story back on track.’

Li Biyuan sighed. ‘Let’s pray nothing like that happens.’

Mu Qian Tan lightly hefted Solitary Goose. ‘Now that we know other forces are meddling, just sitting around waiting would be no different from waiting to die. Rather than rigidly following the steps, why not try actively changing the plot? It might even prevent the tragedy.’

If she could convince this ever-present Black Hand, she would gain more freedom to act on her own, unbound by the original host’s actions. That would be a good thing.

Unfortunately, Li Biyuan said, ‘It’s merely a possibility. The Pipa Demon’s early demonization might be the real anomaly. I still believe the main reason the female protagonist goes astray is her master’s death. So our plan stays the same: you continue playing Yao’e Immortal and do nothing else. That’s the safer option.’

Mu Qian Tan made no reply.

The leaf boat pressed onward through the black water, the paper windows lining the corridor brightening slightly.

The hazy silhouettes grew clearer at the edges, revealing pearl hairpins and jade rings. They were songstresses holding instruments, standing gracefully by the windows. They occasionally plucked strings at random, sending crisp, ringing notes echoing from all directions.

Shang Shan scratched her ears. “Sounds bad.”

The music paused, the tail note soaring sharply and reverberating. Then it resumed, louder and clearly laced with anger.

Three zhang ahead, the black water corridor forked abruptly into two paths. Without hesitation, Mu Qian Tan turned the boat toward the right one.

Shang Shan asked, “Going right?”

Mu Qian Tan said, “Mm.”

Shang Shan glanced left and right. “Impressive. How did you figure it out?”

Mu Qian Tan said, “I didn’t.”

Shang Shan said, “Huh?”

Mu Qian Tan said, “The two paths are identical, so I picked at random.”

“Oh…”

The leaf boat drifted into the right path. Over the music from all sides came the sound of a flute.

It should have blended into a harmonious ensemble, but as if on purpose, the flute wailed horribly off-key—shrill, stuttering, and piercingly grating. It clashed with the original melody, making listeners furrow their brows.

Amid the cacophony, bubbles rose from the water once more. Mu Qian Tan raised Solitary Goose, drew the bowstring taut. Blue spiritual power gleamed in her cold eyes, and with the water-splashing sound, the shot streaked out like lightning.

The ice arrow grazed the demon’s body and pierced the distant darkness. The demon gurgled and leaped onto the corridor roof, hanging upside down.

Mu Qian Tan lifted the bow and loosed another arrow in an instant—extremely fast. But the demon was even more nimble, dodging again. The ice arrow thudded into the wooden roof, radiating frigid air.

The demon emitted a mocking “hehe” laugh and beat its wings vigorously.

Shang Shan gripped the boat’s edge, her body tensed as if ready to lunge and tear it apart. Mu Qian Tan signaled her to stay put.

After a moment’s thought, she nocked three arrows in quick succession, aiming at the demon’s upper left, upper right, and center. She fired them in a blur. Forced downward, the demon dove toward the water.

The instant it touched the surface, the fourth arrow struck simultaneously, freezing the three-chi patch of water solid. Though unhit, the demon was trapped fast in the ice, struggling futilely.

She maneuvered the leaf boat closer. The glow from the windows illuminated the frozen demon: a vividly colored woodpecker with human ears and fish gills—thoroughly grotesque.

This was the same type of demon that had stirred chaos in the water before the stage. Now, half its agile body encased in ice, it flapped desperately but couldn’t break free, looking utterly ridiculous.

Mu Qian Tan stepped over the boat onto the ice, leaned down, and drew her bow at the demon’s head. Blue light gathered slowly into an ice arrow, the tip nearly pricking the woodpecker’s brow.

“My aim isn’t the best, so I shoot like this. Guess whether I’ll hit.”

She let out a faint chuckle and released the string amid the demon’s terrified gaze. The flute wailed ever more shrilly. In the next instant, the head-shot demon crumbled to ashes and dissipated.

Shang Shan let go of the edge and sat back down, scratching her head.

The leaf boat skirted the ice block and drifted onward. Ahead lay another fork; this time, Mu Qian Tan chose the left path. The piercing flute suddenly softened into gentle tones.

The songstresses vanished from the windows, replaced by the shadows of lush, thriving trees. The next window showed a massive tree felled to the ground.

The leaf boat glided past window after window, the shadows shifting like a play in performance. Women’s singing voices drifted from the distance.

Listening closely, the gist went like this:

Once, there was a purple sandalwood tree chopped down by a carpenter and made into a table, chairs, and small stand, sold to a wealthy merchant in the city. With the scraps begged for his daughter, he made her a pipa.

That night, the daughter heard wailing sobs—terrified, she huddled in her bedding, not daring to emerge. In the dead of night, curiosity drew her to the yard. There, the unfinished pipa wept.

The innocent little girl knew nothing of demons or evil. Nor did she know the pipa cried for its shattered body. Hearing the mournful wails, she couldn’t help but shed tears herself.

The little girl cried so piteously that the pipa stopped and said it no longer felt pain. It had known this day would come. But once so beautiful, now reduced to this form—it couldn’t help feeling sorrowful.

The girl said, “You’re still beautiful now. As a tree, you could never move your whole life. But as a pipa, I can take you to so many places. Will you come with me from now on?”

The pipa said, “Okay.”

The curtain fell there. Ahead forked another pair of paths; Mu Qian Tan picked one at random. This time, she chose correctly. A mournful erhu joined in, the music growing richer as the window shadows continued the tale.

The girl’s father was a carpenter, her mother a musician. Longtime wanderers with no fixed home, they settled in a scenic spot only after having the child.

When the girl was little, her mother discovered she couldn’t speak yet but would dance and hum along with birdsong. Recognizing her prodigious musical talent, she trained her diligently.

The girl lived up to expectations, learning swiftly from her mother. At a tender age, she could already play a fine pipa tune. Seeing this, her father crafted her a new one from precious purple sandalwood.

From then on, she performed in the yard. As her skills matured, she ventured to the streets, then towns, and finally arrived at the musical city of Prosperous Joy.

At the annual Prosperous Joy Banquet, the music pavilion always featured a set piece called “Flying Birds,” performed by different artists each year. To qualify, one had to perform in Prosperous Joy City’s most renowned ten theaters; only standouts were selected.

To take the grandest stage, the girl toiled for three years, grinding thick calluses onto her delicate fingers. Only in the fourth year did she finally get her chance to play the pipa there.