The zither sound was like the gentle flow of a bubbling brook, and also like droplets trickling through stone crevices. The melodious tune played crisply, continuously surrounding both inside and outside the tent.
Murong Qingqing's graceful jade neck and fair skin, under the sunlight, were brighter than snow. Her willow-like waist stood straight, and her slender fingers, painted with a pale green nail polish, deftly plucked the seven strings of the Heavenly Demon Zither.
The swift technique was elegant and otherworldly. The speed of her hands was so fast that it seemed like two butterflies fluttering over the strings, as if each hand had six fingers.
In the beginning, there was Dao. The Dao follows nature.
The gate to all mysteries, endlessly profound...
The cultivation in the tent continued for an unknown length of time.
Immersed in pondering the new cultivation technique, Jiang Dali completely lost track of the passage of time.
