Void Zither Playing! Wind Chant: Dust-Cleansing Melody!

The three of them walked along the tree-lined path at the edge of Shrek Plaza. After turning a few corners, a massive white building appeared in their field of vision.

The dormitory gate stood wide open, and in a shaded area beside it sat a rattan chair that looked as though it had been in use for countless years.

Half-reclining on the chair was an old man who looked frighteningly aged.

He wore a simple grey cloth robe, his frame so gaunt and skeletal that it seemed a mere gust of wind could blow him over.

Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, casting mottled patterns across his body.

The old man's face was withered, crisscrossed with wrinkles so deep they could have trapped a dozen flies at once.

His eyelids drooped, his eyes dim and murky, and his breathing was long yet carried a frailty that suggested it might cease at any moment—he was the very picture of a life flickering in the wind.

Yet, the moment Du Weilun, who was leading the way, caught sight of this old man, his steady footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

His pupils contracted instantly, and he hurriedly moved to bow in greeting.

Just as Du Weilun was about to bend his waist, the old man on the rattan chair did not look up, merely shaking his head with a sluggish motion.

The gesture was subtle, yet it forcibly halted all of Du Weilun's movements.

Du Weilun froze in place. He swallowed hard, suppressing the awe in his heart, and stiffly adjusted his posture from a bow to a rigid, standing salute.

Others might not know, but Du Weilun was acutely aware that this old man, who appeared to be on the verge of death, was the true pillar of Shrek Academy: the Pavilion Master of the Sea God's Pavilion, the ninety-nine-level Limit Douluo, Mu En.

Du Weilun channeled his soul power, condensing the situation regarding Xiao Yan and Xiao Xiao into a secret sound transmission that he sent directly into Mu En's ears.

Once the transmission ended, Du Weilun stood quietly to the side, waiting for the Pavilion Master's reaction.

He had expected that upon hearing news of an "eleven-year-old, rank forty-six" prodigy, the Pavilion Master would show at least a hint of surprise.

However, Mu En's expression remained unchanged.

His dim, murky eyes slowly lifted, landing with precision upon Xiao Yan.

Unlike the fanaticism Yan Shaozhe showed when encountering high-level soul power, at Mu En's level, he no longer judged people by superficial numbers, but by their "Dao" and their "presence."

In Mu En's vision, the youth before him did not look like a child of only eleven.

Xiao Yan stood there quietly, not releasing a shred of martial soul aura, nor intentionally projecting his soul power.

Yet, the frequency of his breathing, the rhythm of his heartbeat, and even his posture seemed to resonate perfectly with the breeze blowing past, the dappled sunlight, and the solid earth beneath his feet.

A formless "presence" surrounded the youth.

It was a sense of transcendence, a state of harmony that remained untouched by all worldly laws.

Mu En had lived for over two hundred years; he had seen countless brilliant geniuses and stood before the peerless powerhouses at the pinnacle of the continent.

But never had he seen anyone at the age of eleven who could, quite unintentionally, reveal such an unfathomable degree of harmony with the world.

Deep within the old man's eyes, a strange light flickered.

It was the expectation that only appears when one, after a century of vicissitudes, finally sees a hope that breaks the mold.

"Xiao Yan, may I call you that?"

Mu En spoke.

His voice was hoarse and aged, like two pieces of dry bark rubbing together, yet his tone carried the gentleness of an elder toward a junior.

Xiao Yan met the old man's gaze, his deep black eyes devoid of the timidity or reserve typical of a student.

He could clearly perceive the power of light contained within the old man—a pure essence that had settled after being tempered by the passage of time.

He nodded and replied with perfect courtesy, "As you wish."

Mu En's withered lips tugged upward, revealing an unsightly smile.

He tremblingly reached into his robes, fumbled for a moment, and produced a dark wooden token made of an unknown material.

The surface of the token was carved with intricate wave patterns, exuding an ancient and heavy aura.

The old man raised his hand and offered the token to Xiao Yan, his voice remaining hoarse and slow.

"Regarding your martial soul, that zither, I cannot teach you. The path you walk is different from ours. But in the future, if you encounter problems in the academy that you cannot solve, or if you have any doubts in your heart, you may take this and come to the Sea God's Pavilion to find me."

As these words fell, Du Weilun, standing to the side, felt as if he had been struck by lightning.

He stared fixedly at the dark wooden token, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

That was the token of the Sea God's Pavilion!

What Du Weilun found most incredible was Mu En's admission—"I cannot teach you."

A dignified ninety-nine-level Limit Douluo was actually admitting he could not teach an eleven-year-old child!

Xiao Yan looked at the token held out before him.

He was naturally aware of the value of this token and the identity of the old man.

He did not decline, nor did he show any overwhelming joy at the unexpected favor; he simply took the token with both hands and nodded in calm acknowledgement.

"Thank you, I am much obliged."

Mu En waved his hand and closed his eyes again. His eyelids drooped, and he sank back into that state of half-dreaming, half-waking frailty, as if the peerless powerhouse who had just casually gifted a Sea God's Pavilion token was not him at all.

Xiao Yan stored the token in his soul storage device and did not linger any longer.

He turned to look at Du Weilun, gave a slight nod as a farewell, and then strode straight into the white dormitory building.

Seeing this, Xiao Xiao followed like a tail that couldn't be shaken off, taking quick, small steps to catch up.

Only Du Weilun was left standing in the sunlight, looking utterly shocked and disheveled in the wind.

The light inside the dormitory building was somewhat dim, with rows of closed wooden doors lining both sides of the long corridor.

The air was filled with a stale, musty odor from long periods of neglect.

Xiao Yan stopped in the middle of the corridor, following the number on his key.

He inserted his key into the lock and was just about to push the door open when he caught a glimpse of Xiao Xiao craning her neck to peek at him from the corner of his eye.

The little girl had her hands behind her back, shifting her body restlessly. Her large, emerald-green eyes were filled with hope, and she inched her toes toward Xiao Yan's door, looking very much like she intended to squeeze inside and set up camp.

Xiao Yan stopped what he was doing, turned around, and watched her quietly.

"Your room is upstairs." Xiao Yan's voice was steady, leaving no room for negotiation.

"Brother..." Xiao Xiao dragged out the end of the word, her voice so soft and sweet it could melt a heart.

She took a step forward, reached out to tug at the moon-white hem of Xiao Yan's robe, and gave it a gentle shake.

"It's so tiring to clean a room all by myself, and there are definitely bugs inside. How about... I help you clean, and I'll just lay a mat on the floor in here tonight, okay?"

Xiao Yan's gaze was as still as an ancient well, unmoved.

He knew this girl too well; if he let her cross the threshold even once, laying a mat on the floor would quickly turn into sleeping at the foot of the bed, and before long, she would rightfully occupy half the mattress.

"Go upstairs." Xiao Yan pulled his robe free, his tone calm.

Xiao Xiao looked at her brother's expressionless face and knew this tactic had failed.

She pouted, her cheeks puffing out like two little buns, stomped her foot in frustration, and turned to head toward her own room, muttering under her breath that her brother was a cold-hearted block of wood.

Watching Xiao Xiao head upstairs, Xiao Yan finally pushed open his door.

"Creak—"

As the door opened, a choking cloud of dust rushed to meet him.

It was a small single room, containing nothing but a hardwood bed, a desk, and a simple wardrobe.

Because it had been vacant during the long break, sunlight slanted in through the gaps in the poorly closed window, clearly illuminating the fine dust dancing wantonly in the air.

The tabletop, bed, and windowsill were all covered in a thick layer of grime. There were even intricate spiderwebs clinging to the corners of the walls.

If an ordinary young master from a wealthy family faced such an environment, he would have likely hired someone to clean it long ago.

But Xiao Yan simply stood at the doorway, calm and unbothered.

He didn't look for a broom or a rag; he just walked into the room and turned to close the door behind him.

Xiao Yan stood in the center of the room and took a deep breath.

The Taiji Innate Qi within his body began to circulate along specific meridian pathways.

He slowly raised his right hand and held it suspended in the air before him.

His slender index finger and thumb pinched together. There was nothing between them, yet the expression on his face was as focused as if he were facing a priceless ancient zither.

This was a brand-new technique he had recently realized through the fusion of the Art of the Fuxi Emperor and the way of the zither—Void Zither Playing.

He used the heavens and earth as the zither body and formless origin energy as the strings.

Although limited by his current cultivation, this technique could not yet be used for high-intensity combat, but it had unexpected effects when used to precisely manipulate surrounding matter.

His gaze became ethereal.

The soul power between his thumb and index finger was compressed to the limit in an instant, and then, his fingertips flicked sharply, plucking the air.

"Zheng—"

A crisp, melodious sound, as if a real zither string had been plucked, echoed abruptly within the enclosed room.

There was no physical zither, nor was there the flash of a soul ring.

But with this clear chime, a circle of invisible sound waves, impossible to catch with the naked eye, rippled out from Xiao Yan's fingertips toward the surrounding walls, floor, and ceiling.

This melody was called Wind Chant: Dust-Cleansing Melody.

Wherever the sound waves swept, the dust that had been quietly clinging to the tabletop and bed frame seemed to suddenly lose the constraints of gravity, stripped from the surfaces by an incredibly precise, vibrating force.

Even the stubborn spiderwebs in the corners snapped inch by inch under the vibration of the sound waves.

The dust particles dancing in the air stopped their random movement under the restraint of the sound waves, all of them suspended in mid-air.

Xiao Yan did not stop his movements.

His hands plucked rapidly in the void before him.

His ten fingers flew, creating a dazzling array of afterimages.

"Zheng! Zheng! Zheng!"

Continuous, rhythmic zither notes rang out one after another.

With every pluck, the frequency of the sound waves changed with exquisite precision.

The air in the entire room seemed to transform into a stream of water, kneaded at his whim.

The dust, cobweb remnants, and unknown tiny particles suspended in mid-air began to gather and rotate rhythmically, guided by the sound waves.

They formed an increasingly large gray vortex in the center of the room, constantly compressing and condensing until they finally turned into a dense gray sphere the size of a bowling ball.

Xiao Yan stopped his left hand and pointed his right index finger into the air, aiming at the half-open window.

The final, high-pitched note of the zither surged outward.

"Hum!"

The tightly closed window was suddenly pushed open by an invisible force, slamming against the wall with a "bang."

Following the trajectory of the sound wave, the dense gray sphere shot out of the window like a cannonball, landing far away in the depths of the woods outside the building.

The window swung shut again under the residual force of the wind.

The entire process took no more than a dozen breaths.

The originally filthy and messy dormitory was now brand new.

The tabletop was clean enough to reflect light, the wooden bed was spotless, and even the stale odor in the air had been shaken away by the zither music, replaced by a freshness like the sky after a rain.

Having finished all this, Xiao Yan withdrew his hands, calming the slight fluctuations of soul power within his body.

Void Zither Playing consumed a great deal of essence, energy, and spirit; even a simple "Dust Cleansing Melody" made him feel the drain of soul power in his meridians.

However, this practice of absolute control over power was, in itself, an excellent form of cultivation.

He walked to the window and took out the clean bedsheets and quilt he had brought from his storage ring.

His movements were methodical, smoothing the bed until it was perfectly flat, without a single wrinkle.

The bedding carried a faint, soothing fragrance, identical to the scent on his own body.

After setting everything up, Xiao Yan took off his moon-white outer robe and hung it on the rack, wearing only his close-fitting, pure white inner garment.

He walked to the center of the bed, crossed his legs, and assumed a standard five-hearts-facing-the-sky posture.

His hands rested naturally on his knees, his spine straight.

His breathing gradually became long and deep; every inhalation was like a whale swallowing the sea, and every exhalation was as thin as a silken thread.

Deep within his sea of consciousness, the massive Fuxi Bagua Formation Map began to rotate slowly, scattering starlight across the sky.

His heart was like still water, all distracting thoughts vanished.

Xiao Yan closed his eyes, completely immersing himself in the circulation of the Art of the Fuxi Emperor, cutting off all the clamor of the outside world.

The dormitory, just cleaned, fell into a long, profound silence.