The Pipa Ghost left the eaves where it had been sheltering from the rain, carrying its pipa.
What happened afterward was just as the Pipa Ghost had expected.
It never again encountered the boy beneath the eaves on a rainy day.
The rain pattered down from the eaves.
Looking at the curtain of rain before it, the Pipa Ghost reached out.
Its pale palm seemed to glow faintly in the gloomy light.
Hm?
The sound beside it made the Pipa Ghost turn its head.
The next moment, it froze slightly.
The old woman carrying a cloth bag stooped a little.
She squinted up at the gloomy sky.
The Pipa Ghost gently brushed its hand over the strings.
The delicate notes mingled with the wind and rain, as though tinged with moisture, making them all the more ethereal.
The old woman showed no reaction.
The Pipa Ghost didn't mind.
It plucked the strings now and then.
As if keeping time with the rain.
The notes tapped against people's hearts.
Mm.
The hearts of those who could hear, that was.
Unfortunately...
Most of the Pipa Ghost's performances—or those it played simply on a whim—had no audience.
Of course.
The ones who felt sorry about that were those who couldn't hear it.
The Pipa Ghost didn't feel sorry.
Before, it hadn't—
Performing was instinctive for it.
A habit etched into its very bones and blood.
It was the Pipa Ghost, after all.
Its performances didn't need an audience's applause or praise.
It was enough that it had itself.
And afterward...
It wouldn't, either.
The Pipa Ghost paused in its account.
It looked at the human before it.
Mm.
It had never imagined that one day it would meet Lord Xiao Xiao.
Even among the