Ignoring him, Yu Huaijin led the other students of Shuaixing Hall to follow Teacher Si.
Zhao Rong whistled, gave Fan Yushu a sidelong glance, and walked off with a slight smile on his lips.
Behind them, Fan Yushu stared in frustration, watching Zhao Rong.
During that afternoon’s art class, Zhao Rong found it very interesting since Teacher Si had barely spoken a word.
He, along with the students from Shuaixing Hall, remained equally silent, following Teacher Si.
Within Linlu Academy, which spanned a vast area, everyone walked among the tranquil forests and mountains.
It was like treading through autumn, pausing intermittently.
When Teacher Si walked, they walked, and when Teacher Si halted, they stopped.
Sometimes, under the dense forest of red leaves, a cool breeze would arise, the forest waves rolling, thousands of autumn leaves rustling, the sound surging in layers.
Si Wuxie would slowly halt, standing still with his staff.
And Zhao Rong with the students from Shuaixing Hall would also stop, together listening to the roaring sound of the forest sea.
Sometimes, passing by a mountain stream with a clear spring, where the water would tinkle, hitting the goose stones, and fishes frolic, creating a plopping sound.
Teacher Si would stop and listen attentively with everyone.
Sometimes, even if it was just a row of ants on a rock, winding and wobbling as they carried food, the sound nearly silent.
Teacher Si would also stop.
Not to mention the soaring sounds of lonely geese spreading their wings or the sound of returning geese flying by.
With great beauty in both the vast and the minute, Teacher Si led all the students to listen.
This was Zhao Rong’s first music art class.
However, although he found the teacher’s method of class quite novel, he still had little interest in playing musical instruments like the guqin or the flute.
As the sun was about to set, Si Wuxie led the students from Shuaixing Hall back.
While walking along the corridor, Si Wuxie suddenly stopped.
At that moment, with the sunset over the western hills, the Mochi next to the corridor was filled with a lake of gold; and Zhao Rong with the students turned their heads to look at the water next to Teacher Si, their eyes brimming with radiance.
The golden afterglow also filled Teacher Si’s otherwise empty and lackluster eyes, as if revitalizing them with spirited light.
The scene was incredibly beautiful.
In the silent moment, Si Wuxie suddenly sat beside the railing next to Blue Lake, taking the white-cloth-wrapped object from the hand of the attendant student who followed him.
He sat straight, his gaze fixed on the students ahead, his hands fumbling to unwrap the white cloth to remove an ancient guqin, which he then placed on his lap.
Zhao Rong slightly raised his eyebrows, noticing that Teacher Si’s guqin had been broken; about one third of the body was wrapped up in black cloth, fusing the two broken sections together.
Seeing this, the students of Shuaixing Hall, accustomed to the routine, casually sat down along the corridor next to Teacher Si and took out their own guqins, also placing them on their laps.
Si Wuxie’s fingers were long and slender as he began to play, the movements between his fingers like butterflies fluttering—a sight to behold, yet his music was even more beautiful.
The students either stared or closed their eyes to appreciate it.
Gradually, driven by the sound of the guqin, they began to try playing as well.
The typically indolent Fan Yushu also straightened up, playing the well-practiced guqin. He was somewhat rusty, yet Zhao Rong felt it sounded quite good.
Yu Huaijin sat upright, took out a handkerchief to wipe his fingers, and lightly placed them on the fine guqin strings, silent and brewing.
Zhao Rong, seeing the others immersed in Teacher Si’s guqin and spontaneously playing, also took out a prepared ordinary guqin.
Zhao Rong looked down at the guqin and thought about Lin Wenruo’s carefree and casual playing style.
He stretched out a finger.
The entire place suddenly quieted.
Fan Yushu’s movements stiffened, his lips twitched, and he glared at Zhao Rong.
Jia Tengying stared open-mouthed at Zhao Rong.
Yu Huaijin turned his head expressionlessly.
"Oops, how could it be so fragile..." Zhao Rong looked at his finger, then glanced at the single remaining string and muttered quietly.
He stretched his finger again, this time "gently" plucking it.
The only remaining string also broke.
Zhao Rong felt a bit embarrassed, cleared his throat, and looked up, facing the surrounding gazes, "Sorry, first time, the strength was inevitably a bit much."