He Lan Tianxia

As soon as they stepped onto the fourth floor, a strong gust of wind suddenly swept over them, and before Murong Junlan and the Pavilion Master could figure out what was happening, they were sucked in.

A tiger roars, a dragon howls, a tidal wave crashes down? What place is this level?

Suddenly, the sound of a flute arose. Beside the artificial hill, a beautiful young girl leaned against a large tiger, playing the flute alone. Her leisurely and carefree demeanor seemed to regard the worldly affairs with clarity.

“Miss, I have entered this place unintentionally and have offended you. Could you please guide me from the first or second floor to the fifth floor?” Murong Junlan asked humbly first.

The girl seemed not to hear him, still focused on his flute playing. When the piece ended, Murong Junlan spoke again, "May I ask, young lady..."

The young woman seemed oblivious to the two exceptionally handsome young men standing before her, completely absorbed in the clear, melodious sound of her flute.

A tune: The sound of the xiao is like a cold spring rinsing over stones, clear and lofty, like plum blossoms falling in the snow, exuding a subtle fragrance in a secluded place. When the sound first begins, it is like a lone wild goose beyond the clouds, faintly skimming over a cold pool; suddenly it changes into the whispers of an autumn night, its intermittent rise and fall causing the bamboo shadows to tremble.

The second melody: sometimes sobbing like the weeping of the moon goddess, her silk handkerchief stained with tears, piercing the moonlight yet shattering into countless silver dust; sometimes ethereal like the bells on the eaves of an ancient temple, stirred by the mountain wind, their lingering notes spreading across layers of moss. In its sorrowful moments, it is like a white crane lost in its mate, circling the forest three times without a branch to perch on; in its serene moments, it is like an old monk sitting cross-legged, a wisp of smoke still visible from the ashes of the incense burner.

The most wonderful part of the three pieces is the alternation between the ethereal and the real sounds, which makes you feel as if you are seeing a beautiful woman leaning against the railing playing a purple jade flute. The sound emanating from the holes is neither the palace nor the merchant, but the cold frost formed by the soul of plum blossoms and the spirit of the moon.

……

After listening to a few songs, Murong Junlan suddenly pulled out a purple bamboo flute from his sleeve and held it to his lips. The melody lingered, and colorful clouds chased the moon, each giving a different spring scene.

The young woman glanced at Murong Junlan, her eyes flickered, and the melody suddenly rose and fell.

The two sat at an angle, each holding a flute. The music was like two dragons playing with a pearl, intertwining and rising. First, one flute played a clear and melodious tune that pierced the clouds, like the cry of a crane in the sky that had not yet faded away. Then, the other flute played a mournful tune that followed, like a lone boat chasing the waves and diving into the cold mist. As they rose and fell, it was as if they were exchanging blows under the moonlight—the former sound was like a silver spear picking off plum blossoms, while the latter sound was like a white sleeve rolling up a thousand layers of pine waves.

Suddenly, the two flutes sounded in harmony, like phoenixes singing in a fairyland: one flute's soft notes resembled a gentle breeze rustling willows, subtly concealing the crisp sound of jade shattering in Kunlun; the other flute's breath created a flowing, emerald-green effect, suddenly unleashing the magnificent grandeur of a surging blue sea. When they were separated, they were clearly two threads embroidering their own splendor; when they intertwined, they transformed into a seamless masterpiece of celestial brocade.

The most exquisite part is the seamless rotation, as if the mirrors reflect each other endlessly—just as the first stanza of "Falling Plum Blossoms" is still lingering on the tip of the tongue, the third stanza of "Willow Branch Song" has already fallen from the clouds. The sound waves stimulate and generate each other, and in the void, twin lotus flowers bloom, one still holding the clear dew of the night, and the other already welcoming the first rays of the rising sun.

Seeing this, the Pavilion Master also took out a white jade flute from his bosom, joined in the melody, and did not argue, but rather subtly echoed the main melody of the two, which was a brilliant touch.

Suddenly, the young woman changed her tune, and another exciting contest ensued.

Two flutes faced each other, their sounds crisscrossing like sword energy. One flute's holes suddenly spewed out a sound like tearing silk, while the other's sound was like a blue phoenix spreading its wings and sweeping away a thousand piles of snow; the fingers swiftly turned and swirled, transforming into a black dragon swaying its tail and sweeping through ten thousand layers of clouds. One's sound fragments burst forth like a galaxy falling onto a jade plate, while the other's tone stretched out like a vast ocean binding a dragon.

Suddenly, a green flute rose sharply, playing the murderous "Breaking the Enemy's Formation," as if iron horses were trampling an icy river, and spear tips shattering the cold moon. The black flute immediately met it with a powerful melody, unfolding the tender "Gentle Touch," like a silkworm spinning a web, its suppleness binding the golden spear. The two sound waves collided in mid-air, causing the copper bells under the corridor to vibrate wildly, condensing into ripples of frost, half-illusory and half-real.

At the height of their duel, the two flutes seemed to be fighting like living creatures: the green flute suddenly transformed into a phoenix chirping clear cries soaring to the heavens, while the black flute stood still as a phoenix howled softly, shaking the netherworld. Suddenly, they alternated on seven rapid tempos, like two swords clashing and sparks flying; then they played three slow melodies in unison, like the moon reflected in the Second Spring, each half of its light fading.