Chapter Fifty-Five: Warning

Hearing the names of the three musical chapters, Liang Yan silently recalled the earlier contest of spells, matching each phase of its transformation to one of the chapters. He said, “Serene Melody, Frantic Tune, and Soul Severing Dirge—these titles are indeed appropriate, perfectly echoing my own experience. Especially that final Soul Severing Dirge—one note, and the soul is shattered, truly living up to its name.”

The thought sent a chill down his spine. At that moment, the person in the pavilion called out, “Young man, don’t just sit out there in a daze. Come inside and let us talk.”

Though Liang Yan was reluctant in every way, under present circumstances, he had no choice but to struggle to his feet, step onto the winding corridor, and make his way to the center of the pond.

With a rustle, Liang Yan pulled aside the bamboo curtain at the pavilion’s entrance. Before him was a carved stone table, upon which lay a rosewood zither. Behind it sat a beautiful woman in palace attire, her features gentle and refined, her demeanor elegant and dignified. By all rights, she was the sort one felt instant kinship with at first sight, yet the sharpness in her gaze made her seem unapproachable—one dared not draw near.

Suppressing his chaotic emotions, Liang Yan took a deep breath and saluted with cupped fists. “Disciple Liang Yan of the Formation Division’s menial ranks pays his respects, Senior.”

The lady calmly put away her zither, added a pinch of incense to the burner on the table, and finally looked up at him. “No need for formality. Please, be seated.”

She gestured at the stone stool across the table. Though her tone was placid as water, it carried an undeniable authority that brooked no refusal.

Liang Yan sat quietly on the stone stool, unable to suppress his curiosity any longer. “Senior, you called me here—may I ask what instructions you have?”

But the lady did not answer directly. Instead, she asked, “What is the name of the Buddhist technique you practice? To my knowledge, the first level of the Transmission Pavilion holds seventy-two Buddhist arts, but none resemble what you employ.”

Liang Yan’s heart lurched. He hadn’t expected that, after just a brief exchange, this woman could so easily see through his foundation. Momentarily flustered, he found himself at a loss for words.

The lady glanced at him, curled her lip, and said, “If you don’t wish to say, then don’t. Do you think I covet the techniques of a junior like you?”

Liang Yan felt somewhat relieved at this. Then the lady continued, “I don’t care what fortuitous encounters you’ve had outside, but I must remind you: our Star Pavilion is a great sect of Confucianism. Though the Library records many schools’ methods, in the end, we are renowned for Confucian divine arts. Perhaps you now covet the benefits of other techniques, but later you may well regret it.”

Liang Yan’s heart stirred. He tried probing, “Is there some secret in this?”

The lady frowned, clearly impatient, but after a moment’s thought, she composed herself and spoke seriously: “The human race has passed down its arts for countless millennia. Though the wastelands are now a hundred schools contending, only Buddhism, Demonic, Daoist, and Confucian lineages have accompanied humanity since its origin—the four ancient orthodoxies. These four are vastly different and mutually incompatible. Once you practice one, unless you abolish all your spiritual power and cultivation, you can never practice the other three in this lifetime. This is an iron law among the four orthodoxies.”

She paused, then looked at Liang Yan with a touch of disdain. “I know Buddhist arts focus on tempering the body, which gives an edge in early-stage duels, but only because low-level spell arts cannot breach your physical defense. If you face a master of higher cultivation, you’ll never get close—magical arts and divine powers far beyond what your flesh can withstand. I don’t know where you got your low-level Buddhist manual. Perhaps you’re feeling smug, thinking yourself invincible among your peers, but in truth, you have already departed from the Confucian path of nourishing spirit and energy. When you reach a bottleneck, it will be too late to switch to Confucian arts.”

She finished in a single breath, expecting Liang Yan to be struck with sudden enlightenment and bitter regret. Unexpectedly, he only looked bemused, rubbed his nose, and said, “Thank you for your guidance, Senior. I’ll be more cautious in future.”

The lady had not expected such indifference and cursed inwardly, “Hmph, they say rotten wood can’t be carved—this boy isn’t even worthy of being called rotten wood.”

What she didn’t know was that, though Liang Yan was inexperienced, he had utter faith in the technique the old monk had passed him. He believed it could take him not just to the Foundation Establishment stage, but all the way to the Golden Core realm without surprise. Thus, switching paths was never a concern. Moreover, the Twin Fish Dual-Life Array within him perfectly resolved the issue, so he was utterly unfazed.

Naturally, none of this could be revealed, so he merely made a vague promise to be cautious.

After some thought, the lady said, “Boy, your aptitude may be poor, but your spiritual sense surpasses others. In five years, you are the only Qi Refinement disciple to have withstood all three chapters. I have lately considered taking a disciple. Why not become my registered disciple? If you perform well, you may one day become my formal disciple and inherit my teachings.”

“Become your apprentice?” Liang Yan was stunned. He had not anticipated such a proposal. Though this lady’s powers were remarkable, her motives were unclear—he was not about to become a “confused disciple.”

He scratched his head and smiled awkwardly. “Your powers command my utmost respect, Senior, but we have never met before. I do not even know your name. It would be rude to accept such an honor without proper introduction.”

The lady looked at him and smiled. “My surname is Yan, given name Xinyu.”

“Yan Xinyu?” Liang Yan felt the name was familiar, but could not place it at first. He frowned in thought, then suddenly his eyes widened in shock as he stared at the beautiful woman before him. “Yan Xinyu! You’re Master of the Zither Path, Yan Xinyu!”

Though Liang Yan was but a menial disciple, after five years in the Star Pavilion, he had at least heard of its four great Path Masters. He just hadn’t made the connection until now, and a cold sweat broke out on his brow.

He instinctively tried to rise in salute, but Yan Xinyu flicked her sleeve and Liang Yan felt as if weighed down by a thousand catties—he could not move at all.

Yan Xinyu said, “I asked you here for a casual chat; no need for such formalities. As for apprenticeship, will you accept or not?”

Liang Yan hesitated. By nature, he was carefree, and in his heart acknowledged only the old monk as a teacher. His bond with Rotten Wood Sheng was more like friendship across generations. To take another as master was something he instinctively resisted—especially one he’d never met, whose intentions were yet a mystery.

Still, this was a Path Master before him—he would be lying if he said there was no pressure.

After much thought, he finally replied, “This junior’s luck is meager and my talent poor. I have no skill in the art of music and fear I would only sully your reputation, Senior. I thank you for your generosity, but must decline.”

As expected, Yan Xinyu’s expression darkened. “Ignorant boy, do you not know that a registered disciple personally accepted by me holds a status in the sect far above any outer disciple?”

“Of course,” Liang Yan quickly replied, “I mean no disrespect, but I truly have no affinity for the musical path and would only disappoint your expectations.”

Yan Xinyu waved her hand. “Enough. If you have no wish to join my tutelage, I won’t force you.”

She paused, then continued, “I hear that on your recent mission to Yongle Town, you were resourceful and calm, not only completing your task well but handling unexpected complications. You are indeed a talent. Star Pavilion is in need of capable stewards like you. I have already spoken with Wang Yuan of the menial division. Henceforth, you are exempt from chores. When you are formally promoted to an outer disciple, you will be appointed as an outer steward.”

At these words, Liang Yan felt not joy but a sense of foreboding—“Something’s coming!”

Sure enough, Yan Xinyu’s expression grew solemn as she looked him in the eye and said, “All these benefits will be yours immediately, along with abundant resources, provided you agree to one thing for me.”

Liang Yan’s heart sank. “Here it is—Yan Xinyu has guided my cultivation, tried to make me her disciple, and now wants to promote me in the sect. There must be conditions.”

He straightened and said, “Senior, please state your request.”

Yan Xinyu nodded, fixing her gaze on him, and enunciated each word: “I want you to swear an oath upon your heart demon that, for the rest of this life, you will never again see Tang Diexian, nor seek any pretext to contact her.”