Chapter 181: A Soulful Melody, Where Can One Find a Kindred Spirit Across the Horizon?
There was no way he could eat this.
It didn't matter if there was something wrong with the meat or if the food itself had been tampered with—eating it would definitely spell trouble.
But refusing to eat might mean missing the opportunity to board that ship.
So, shooting a subtle glance toward Sveta beside him, Bai Luo picked up the lunchbox and began eating.
Sveta: "..."
At least, that's what it looked like to the soldiers—Bai Luo and his companion appeared to have finished their meal without leaving a single grain of rice behind.
The Shogunate soldier gave a satisfied nod at the sight of the spotless lunchboxes and took them away without further comment.
Bai Luo, expression unchanged, lightly tapped the sand beneath his foot to check on what he had hidden there. Once he was certain it was secure, he stepped into the tent.
The starry sky above Teyvat was unlike the one in his memories.
Though the Milky Way sprawled across the heavens in dazzling brilliance, it lacked the subtle twinkling and liveliness he remembered. It felt almost... too still.
After their meals, the refugees either returned to their spots to sleep or gathered in small groups, chatting about what kind of life they hoped to live once they reached Inazuma City.
Some had even snuck away into secluded corners, whispering excitedly about welcoming a newborn once they reached safety.
An elderly man sat leisurely near the camp, pulling out a carefully wrapped musical instrument from his pack.
It was a shamisen—a traditional three-stringed instrument, not unlike the sanxian of Liyue. A symbol of Inazuman culture.
As the old man began to play, a few women nearby, captivated by the melody, started to dance along to the tune. The gentle rhythm gradually infected the surrounding refugees, and before long, more and more people joined in.
It almost looked like the beginning of a bonfire festival.
The soldiers didn't try to stop them.
So long as these refugees didn't try to flee or cause trouble, there was no need to make things harder for them.
Bai Luo, however, wasn't paying attention to the dancing crowd. His eyes were fixed on the old man's side.
This old fellow must have had a deep love for music. While others fled with their families and valuables, he had brought along an assortment of instruments instead—no clothes, no money, just music.
Nestled carefully on a rickety wooden wheelbarrow and protected with layers of oilcloth, the instruments came from all over: Natlan, Fontaine, Liyue, Mondstadt, Inazuma...
A dozen different instruments, large and small.
Bai Luo, curious, stepped forward to take a closer look—only to have the old man swat his hand away with surprising force.
"Kid, these aren't things you can just touch. Hands off."
The shamisen's melody ceased, but the atmosphere it had stirred lingered. Even without the music, the dance continued—unrefined, uncoordinated, but joyful nonetheless.
"Is that... an erhu?" Bai Luo asked, pointing at one of the oilcloth-covered instruments.
Though it was mostly hidden, he was fairly certain of what it was—memories of his past resurfacing.
He had learned the erhu once. He still remembered that eccentric, sunglasses-wearing, goatee-sporting instructor who had praised him effusively.
"Your child's a genius. I can't teach him anymore—you should find him a better mentor," the man had said.
Rumor had it that the same night, the teacher shut down his entire music school out of shame.
Bai Luo had paid for six months of lessons. He only got three days' worth.
"You know what that is?" the old man asked, raising an eyebrow.
Just saying the word erhu was proof enough—this boy wasn't just guessing. He knew.
Here in Inazuma, the only people the old man had met who recognized the instrument were a strange girl who claimed to be an adventurer from Liyue... and now, Bai Luo.
The old man had tried learning to play it himself, but never made much progress.
"Want me to play a tune for you?" Bai Luo offered, unable to stop his fingers from twitching.
Something about seeing that erhu made his hands itch with anticipation. He had to show these Inazumans what a real instrument sounded like.
"What, you can actually play this thing?" the old man asked skeptically, giving Bai Luo a once-over.
From his travel-worn, vagabond-like appearance, he didn't seem like someone who could handle such a refined instrument.
"I can," Bai Luo said with complete confidence.
After all, he was the guy who had literally shut down his erhu teacher's school.
At the very least, he had some skills to back it up.
Bai Luo's unwavering confidence seemed to infect the old man.
"Fine. If your playing isn't half bad, I don't see why I shouldn't gift you the instrument."
Without hesitation, the old man set down his shamisen and gently pulled out the erhu, its surface well-maintained, its strings taut and gleaming despite the journey. Before handing it over, he carefully wiped away a few lingering watermarks—likely from the rain earlier.
It was clear the old man truly cherished his instruments.
But Bai Luo didn't immediately reach for it. Instead, he dragged over a wooden bucket to use as a makeshift stool. Only once seated did he accept the erhu, placing it against the inside of his left thigh.
Even before he played a single note, the old man's eyes lit up in recognition.
Yes—that posture. That was exactly how one should hold the instrument!
This kid wasn't bluffing. He did know how to play.
From the way Bai Luo sat to the way he handled the bow, everything screamed precision. The old man, with all his years of experience, could instantly tell that this was the real deal.
No wonder he himself had never been able to draw a proper sound from the erhu... Turns out, he'd been holding it wrong the entire time.
Bai Luo took a deep breath.
Then, slowly, he pulled the bow across the strings.
A deep, lingering note drifted across the beach, carried far by the salty sea breeze. The sound was mournful—haunting, even—woven with threads of sorrow and melancholy that seemed to reach into the heart. Even the crashing waves appeared to quiet, subdued by the music.
The delicate notes floated like mist, curling and twisting in the air like drifting clouds.
"Alright, STOP! I told you already—no carpentry in the refugee camp! Who the hell is sawing wood?!"
A soldier's furious voice jolted Bai Luo out of his trance.
He looked up to find the old man had retreated several meters away, clutching his cart as if fleeing a natural disaster. The dancing refugees had frozen mid-movement, curling into nervous balls, casting terrified glances his way.
Even Sveta, who had been faithfully at his side until now, had silently taken half a step back.
For someone blind, her hearing was exceptional—far more sensitive than most. The fact that she only backed away half a step… was, honestly, quite impressive.
"Ahem... This is, um, an erhu. It's a musical instrument. Not... a saw," Bai Luo said, clearing his throat awkwardly.
The soldier clearly wasn't buying it.
"You think I don't know a saw when I hear one? I was a carpenter before I joined the Shogunate! That right there was the sound of someone cutting planks, pal!"
"…"
Forget it. There's no reasoning with the deaf.
A melody to shatter the soul, yet no kindred spirit across this vast land to truly understand it...
It was their loss, not his.
He still remembered that little grove in front of his childhood home. Every time he practiced the erhu there, birds would burst from the trees as if summoned—like the legendary Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix.
Some even landed beside him, quietly listening.
And when he finished his piece, none of them left. They lingered in awe—some laying belly-up in admiration, others bowing as if worshipping a deity.
Even the neighborhood's most notorious cat—famed for catching birds with ruthless precision—would lie down alongside them, completely forgetting its instinct to hunt.
Humans, corrupted by worldly desires, had long since lost their appreciation for true art... for the purity of music.
Nature's creatures, on the other hand—they knew.
They felt the divine melody that flowed from his bow.
Sigh...
Maybe next time he should play at the shallows near Asase Shrine instead. The cats there would probably appreciate his erhu more than this bunch of uncultured mortals.
. . . . .
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