Douluo: When the piano sounds, the hidden weapon returns to the factory

Tang San keenly noticed Tang Yuehua's unusual silence. His gaze swept across the banquet, noticing Ning Fengzhi's indifferent gaze, Chen Xin's closed eyes as if resting, and Ning Rongrong's occasional furtive glances at Feng Yao.

His breathing quickened involuntarily, the wine glass in his hand trembled slightly, the liquid splashing against the glass in tiny ripples. His slender fingers clenched tightly, his knuckles turning slightly white; he felt so insignificant in front of Feng Yao. Tang San's expression gradually darkened, a flicker of jealousy he himself didn't even realize flashed in his eyes. But quickly, he forced himself to calm down—his experience in the City of Slaughter had taught him that haste would only worsen the situation.

Just as Tang San parted his thin lips, trying to break the silence and steer the conversation, he suddenly felt a cool touch on his knee—Tang Yuehua's slender, jade-like hand, hidden by the tablecloth, gently pressed on his leg. The hand seemed casually placed, but the fingertips carried an irresistible force, firmly pressing his restless body back into his seat.

Tang San turned his head and met Tang Yuehua's violet eyes. She still wore a polite smile, but her eyes were as calm and still as a deep pool, and she shook her head at him almost imperceptibly.

This action instantly brought Tang San to his senses. He picked up his wine glass to conceal his inner turmoil. The spiciness of the wine as it went down his throat mirrored the turmoil in his heart.

Tang San's gaze swept over the banquet hall with a gloomy expression—richly dressed nobles clinking glasses and servants bustling about. Indeed, this was not a good time to discuss business.

He suppressed the surging agitation in his heart, his fingertips unconsciously tracing a few wrinkles on the napkin. The exquisite dishes in front of him exuded an enticing aroma, but he had no appetite. On the other hand, Feng Yao, not far away, was eating happily, saying something that made the two people beside him cover their mouths and chuckle.

Seeing the smiles on Dugu Yan and Ye Lingling's faces, he suddenly remembered that familiar figure, "Xiao Wu."

His fist clenched again under the tablecloth, but he had to maintain a polite smile on his face—this banquet was more unbearable than he had imagined.

Feng Yao's slender fingers lightly traced the rim of the wine glass, a discerning glint in his eyes. Although Tang Yuehua's movements were almost perfectly concealed, and Tang San's expression control was superb, under his powerful mental perception, the subtle actions of the aunt and niece under the table were as clear as candlelight.

He casually raised his glass and took a sip of wine, using it to conceal the playful smile on his lips.

"Sister Lingling, try this." Feng Yao deliberately raised his voice and pushed a plate of delicate pastries in front of Ye Lingling. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Tang San's chopsticks paused noticeably when he heard this affectionate address.

These subtle reactions intensified Feng Yao's interest. He elegantly picked up a napkin and wiped his mouth, using this gesture to give Qian Renxue a knowing look—this banquet was even more spectacular than he had anticipated.

As night deepened, the guests at the banquet began to take their leave in twos and threes. Ning Fengzhi elegantly straightened his robes and slowly rose with Ning Rongrong.

Feng Yao keenly noticed Qian Renxue's actions—His Highness the Crown Prince was discreetly adjusting his cuffs. Feng Yao immediately understood, gently setting down his jade chopsticks and whispering to Ye Lingling and Dugu Yan beside him, "We should also take our leave."

Ning Fengzhi gracefully bowed, the moonlight shimmering on his azure robes. "Today, I am deeply honored by Lady Yuehua's gracious hospitality; it has truly broadened my horizons." His gentle voice carried just the right amount of sincerity. "I would greatly appreciate it if Lady Yuehua would grace the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile School with her presence another day, so that I may fulfill my duty as host."

Upon hearing this, Tang Yuehua's violet eyes immediately shimmered with joy. She gave a polite smile: "Sect Leader Ning, you are too kind. Yuehua will certainly await your good news at Yuexuan, and I hope Sect Leader Ning will not hesitate to offer his guidance."

The two exchanged a smile, their seemingly ordinary pleasantries concealing a sharp undercurrent of tension. Ning Fengzhi's gaze swept almost imperceptibly over Tang San, who stood behind Tang Yuehua. This farewell, which appeared to be amicable between host and guest, held a particularly profound meaning under the clear moonlight.

Feng Yao chuckled softly upon hearing this, the moonlight casting a silvery glow on his handsome features. He gracefully bowed to Tang Yuehua, his robes fluttering lightly in the night breeze: "I apologize for disturbing Madam Yuehua today."

A complex emotion flickered in Tang Yuehua's violet eyes, yet she maintained her perfect smile: "Xiao Feng, you're too kind. If the opportunity arises, I hope you can come to Yuexuan to instruct the students in their musical skills. After all..." She slightly raised her hand, glancing meaningfully in the direction he had just played, "...a level of skill like yours is truly rare."

Feng Yao's lips curled slightly, his gaze subtly sweeping between Tang Yuehua and Tang San. "Of course," he said, his voice gentle and warm. "It is my honor to be appreciated by Lady Yuehua." He nodded again, and as he turned, a breeze stirred in his robes, perfectly concealing the fleeting gloom in Tang San's eyes behind him.

Feng Yao turned gracefully to face Xue Qinghe, who was surrounded by attendants, and bowed respectfully: "Your Highness, please allow me to take my leave." As he lowered his head, he slightly raised his eyelids and gave Qian Renxue a look that only they understood.

Qian Renxue—still possessing the gentle and refined demeanor of a prince—smiled almost imperceptibly. She nodded slightly: "Why are you being so polite with me? Go back and get some rest." Her voice was clear and appropriate, but only Feng Yao could detect the hidden intimacy within it.

Feng Yao's robes traced a graceful arc in the air. He walked calmly towards the carriage, which was parked under the moonlight, flanked by Ye Lingling and Dugu Yan. Before boarding, he glanced back as if sensing something—in the moonlight, Tang Yuehua and her aunt Tang San were standing by a pillar, watching them leave, their long shadows cast by the glass lamps.

The carriage slowly started moving, its gilded wheels rolling over the moonlit stone path. Inside the carriage, Feng Yao gazed at the receding Moon Pavilion outside the window, a meaningful glint in his eyes.

Tang Yuehua stood quietly on the steps in front of Yuexuan, watching Feng Yao's carriage slowly disappear into the night. The night breeze caressed her violet skirt, carrying a faint fragrance.

Although Tang Yuehua's meticulous arrangements tonight were affected by Feng Yao, leaving her somewhat frustrated, she had to admit, to be fair, that the young man's musical skills were truly admirable. When Feng Yao's music began, she felt as if she had returned to the martial arts training ground behind the Haotian Sect—sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground, the distant shouts of her brothers practicing martial arts echoing, and she sitting on a bluestone, with her mother's harp before her.

How many years has it been since I felt that long-lost, pure joy?

Tang Yuehua unconsciously touched her heart, where the lingering emotions brought by the zither music still remained.

"Aunt?" Tang San's voice pulled her back to reality.

Tang Yuehua snapped out of her reverie and turned around, regaining her usual elegance and composure: "Let's go, we'll talk about it when we get back." But her gaze couldn't help but drift back to the direction the carriage had gone. If she could, she hoped to hear that young man's zither playing more often.

Inside the carriage, Dugu Yan stretched languidly, her dark green dress outlining her graceful curves. She leaned back unceremoniously on the cushions, her red lips slightly pouting, "I'm exhausted. Next time, let Lingling come with you for this kind of occasion." Feng Yao couldn't help but chuckle, reaching out to tidy her stray hairs, "It's just a meal, how did it tire my Yan-jie out like that?"

"Come on!" Dugu Yan slapped his hand away impatiently, her emerald eyes glancing sideways at him. "Besides Lingling and me, who at this table is actually here to eat?" She said helplessly, "Every word is full of hidden agendas." Suddenly realizing something, she glanced at the quietly sitting Ye Lingling, then changed the subject, "In short, this meal felt like a fighting match, and all these twists and turns ruined my appetite."

Ye Lingling smiled faintly upon hearing this, a mischievous glint in her icy blue eyes: "Indeed." She tapped the table lightly with her fingertips, "Even while serving us food, Xiao Feng didn't forget to exchange glances with His Highness the Crown Prince."

As she spoke, Ye Lingling's wide, white sleeves rippled gently like water with her movements. She ran her slender fingers along the soul-guiding device at her waist, retrieving a carved sandalwood food box, and handed it to Dugu Yan: "Here, this was specially reserved for you."

Dugu Yan's emerald eyes lit up instantly, and she eagerly took the food box. The moment she lifted the lid, a sweet aroma filled the air—it was her favorite pastry. She happily hugged Ye Lingling and planted a quick kiss on her cool, jade-like face: "Lingling understands me best!" A mischievous smile curved her red lips. "If only I were a man, we could live together and forget about him."

Ye Lingling's ears turned red from the sudden intimacy, but she didn't push her away, only shaking her head helplessly. Feng Yao, watching from the side, found it amusing and deliberately put on a stern face: "Sister Yan, what you're saying is going to hurt my feelings."

Dugu Yan had just taken a bite of pastry when she heard this and paused. A hint of a smile flashed in her purple eyes, and she suddenly leaned forward, pressing her red lips directly onto Feng Yao's cheek, deliberately rubbing some crumbs of pastry on them.

"Satisfied now?" she mumbled, a few specks of icing still clinging to her lips. As she stepped back, she mischievously smeared some more crumbs on Feng Yao's face, spreading the pastry crumbs even further.

Feng Yao was stunned for a moment, then chuckled. He raised his hand to wipe it, but Ye Lingling beat him to it. She took out a handkerchief embroidered with silver thread and gently wiped the marks off his face, her movements as delicate as if she were polishing precious porcelain.

Feng Yao felt the warmth emanating from Ye Lingling's fingertips; the gentle touch warmed his heart. He gently grasped Ye Lingling's wrist and placed a light kiss on her palm. "I have to go to the East Palace later," he said in a low, gentle voice, tinged with apology. "Would you like to go back to the academy first?"

Dugu Yan and Ye Lingling exchanged a glance and nodded in tacit agreement. Even the usually carefree Dugu Yan understood that those seemingly casual exchanges of glances at the banquet must have hidden meanings.

The carriage turned into a secluded alley, and Feng Yao lifted the curtain to look at the moonlight. Under the cover of darkness, he slipped out of the carriage like a ghost, leaving only the lingering words "Be careful" to drift away on the night wind. His dark robes blended into the darkness, and in the blink of an eye, he disappeared in the direction leading to the East Palace.

With the gilded token bestowed upon him by Qian Renxue, Feng Yao moved through the Eastern Palace as if it were his own backyard. The guards, upon seeing the token, bowed and retreated, not daring to even raise their heads. He moved effortlessly through the numerous palaces, his composed footsteps echoing among the vermilion pillars.

The servants of the Eastern Palace were already used to this, and upon seeing Feng Yao's figure, they tacitly stepped aside. An older palace maid even considerately pushed open the carved door of the inner hall for him, a knowing smile on her face. The hall was filled with the ambergris incense that Qian Renxue loved most, and two cups of warm tea were placed on the table—clearly, they had already anticipated his arrival.

Feng Yao casually hung his outer robe on the familiar sandalwood rack. He had done this action countless times and remembered the curve of the hook perfectly.

The hall was silent, save for the wisps of smoke rising from the gilded incense burner, swirling slowly in the moonlight. Feng Yao looked around and realized that Qian Renxue had not yet returned—it seemed she was still dealing with that old fox, Ning Fengzhi.

On the other side, inside the Pope's Palace.

Nine white candles burned silently on the gilded candlesticks, illuminating the entire council chamber as bright as day. Bibidon sat on the jewel-encrusted papal throne, her slender fingers gently turning a page of a book still fragrant with ink.

On the cover, the seven large gold-embossed characters, "On How Soul Masters Can Improve," gleamed in the candlelight, with the words "Feng Yao" prominently displayed below.

As she read on, a strange light flickered in Bibi Dong's amethyst-like eyes. Sometimes her eyes would light up at a clever idea, and other times her brows would furrow at a radical viewpoint. She unconsciously straightened her posture, her magnificent papal robes spreading out on the throne.

"So that's how it is. Everything is based on this." She murmured softly, her fingertips repeatedly tracing the Soul Power Circulation Method on the book's table of contents. The candlelight cast flickering shadows on her exquisite profile, reflecting the growing shock and contemplation in her eyes.

Bibi Dong's fingertips lightly traced the soul power diagrams on the pages of the book, her purple eyes rippling with emotion. While meditation is a common practice among soul masters today, most are essentially just instinctively and superficially mobilizing their soul power to activate their soul rings. All powerful skills rely on soul rings obtained from hunting soul beasts.

“But this child…” she whispered, her voice echoing in the empty hall.

The book describes methods for manipulating soul power, allowing one to control their internal soul power with ease. Through exquisite soul power shaping, one can create their own combat techniques. The detailed meridian pathways and ingenious soul power compression techniques all demonstrate groundbreaking wisdom. In Feng Yao's system, soul rings are no longer the core source of power, but rather become supplementary enhancements.

In an instant, Bibi Dong suddenly remembered the Haotian Hammer, which was as large as a mountain, two years ago. At this moment, she understood where the difference lay.

As Feng Yao wrote in his book, the underlying logic of power is not simply the level of soul power, nor is it the powerful soul rings, soul bones, or soul skills. Rather, it is a soul master's utilization of their own conditions, or even the combination of various conditions, to unleash power that surpasses their own.

Feng Yao himself is clearly the best example. If Feng Yao's strength is due to his own active development, then the reason why the disciples of Haotian Sect are strong is entirely due to the passive influence of their martial souls.

The Clear Sky Hammer is hailed as the number one weapon spirit in the world. Its extremely heavy weight not only determines the weapon spirit's destructive power, but also means extremely high requirements for its use. To wield it freely, one must have a powerful body. However, a powerful body alone is not enough. To defeat an opponent with such a heavy weapon, one must have the corresponding skills.

Bibi Dong unconsciously touched her brow, where the divine seal of the Rakshasa God lay dormant. Had she seen this book twenty years earlier, her path to the pinnacle of cultivation might have been much smoother. In the candlelight, the Pope's lips curved into a complex smile—a smile that held both admiration for the genius and a barely perceptible hint of apprehension.

(End of this chapter)