Dual-wielding! 100x proficiency, I'll grind my way to godhood!

The seventh floor was quiet; you could hear every step you took.

The door to the room at the very end of the corridor wasn't closed properly; it was ajar.

Soft piano music drifted out from the crack, not noisy, and made me feel especially at peace.

Chen Mo stood at the door, waiting for the short piece to finish before pushing the door open and going in.

The furnishings in the room made Chen Mo raise an eyebrow.

There is not a trace of gold, silver, jewelry, or luxurious silk here; it is simply plain and simple.

The room contained only a table for the piano and a desk.

The writing implements were neatly arranged on the table, and several stacks of books were piled up next to them, the edges of the pages all curled and worn.

Several sheets of written poems lay spread out on the corner of the table, the ink still wet. They were covered with scribbles and corrections, showing that the author had written, torn up, and rewritten them repeatedly, relentlessly pursuing literary excellence.

Several paintings and calligraphies hung on the wall, including a landscape painting in which the distant mountains were so faint that only faint outlines remained.

There are also two couplets, with slender and elegant characters, both signed by the same name.

Inkstone Resignation.

A pot of orchids sat in the corner, and a wisp of smoke rose straight up from the incense burner.

The window was half-open, and from here you could see most of the city lights.

Compared to the rooms downstairs filled with gold, silver, and silk, this place is much more comfortable to look at.

There was a small cubicle inside the room, separated by a sheer curtain.

A person sat behind the curtain, holding a zither in their arms; only their faint figure could be seen.

Her face was covered with a veil, partially obscuring her features.

You can see the outline, but not clearly, which is especially alluring.

Chen Mo was not in a hurry at all, and was full of confidence.

He was handsome and charming, knew how to charm women, and had thousands of years of poetry from Earth in his head. Winning over this courtesan was a piece of cake.

He found a chair, sat down, and poured himself a cup of tea.

At this moment, the person behind the gauze curtain spoke, in a calm tone.

"What piece of music would you like to hear, young master?"

After a pause, she added another sentence.

"Listening to music is fine, but please do not approach this gauze curtain, young master."

Chen Mo, holding his teacup, almost couldn't help but laugh.

He was on high alert, but tonight, he was determined to break down that barrier.

Chen Mo didn't answer directly, but instead politely asked her name:

"I haven't dared to ask the girl's name yet?"

There was a brief silence behind the curtain before a sound came from behind:

"Ode to the Inkstone"

"What a lovely name."

Chen Mo nodded.

"I won't choose a piece; just play whatever you're best at."

After a moment of silence inside the curtain, the melodious sound of a zither slowly began to rise.

The music flowed gently, like a mountain spring flowing down a ravine.

After listening for a while, the sound of the piano changed.

The beginning was bland and uninspired, clearly just a perfunctory effort.

As the piece progressed to the middle section, it gradually became more heartfelt.

The fish has taken the bait.

A song fell.

Chen Mo put down his teacup and slowly began to speak, feigning appreciation:

"This music should only exist in heaven; how often can it be heard on earth?"

After a few seconds of silence behind the curtain, Yan Ci spoke softly:

"The sentence is good, but what is so clever about the word 'heaven' that you use, young master?"

Here he comes; this is a test for him.

Chen Mo held the teacup, not in a hurry at all:

"The beauty lies in its ethereal quality. The beauty of the melody is such that it would be vulgar to put it in plain language. To say that it should only exist in heaven means that such a beautiful melody is something that an ordinary person might only hear once in their lifetime."

The person behind the gauze curtain trembled slightly.

"Did you write this poem yourself, young master?"

"It just came to mind on the spot."

Chen Mo remained unfazed.

"I have a whole bunch of sentences like that in my head."

There was no movement inside the curtain, except for the slightly rapid breathing behind the gauze curtain.

Chen Mo got up and walked to the wall, where a poem and calligraphy hung. He looked up and read it aloud line by line, commenting on each line as he read it.

Upon reading the last line, "The wind rustles through the bamboo forest," he gently shook his head.

"The whole poem is quite good, but the word 'sound' is written too rigidly."

"If it were replaced with 'language,' the wind whispers through the bamboo grove."

Hearing the sound alone is too weak; a single word, "speech," seems to imbue the bamboo forest with a spirit, as if it were whispering secrets.

The breathing behind the curtain suddenly stopped.

"language……"

Yan Ci murmured softly, his voice trembling.

"The wind whispers through the bamboo grove..."

The next second, the gauze curtain was lifted open by a raised hand.

Yan Ci stood up and walked out of the cubicle.

Chen Mo looked up and his heart stirred slightly.

Her figure and appearance are both top-notch, no less than Shangguan Hong's.

What's most captivating are her peach blossom eyes, so bright and watery.

Even when looking at dogs, they are full of affection.

No wonder the powerful and wealthy downstairs were crazy about her. Just for that face and those eyes, they would be willing to give everything for her with just a glance.

In just half a breath, Chen Mo quickly regained his composure; he had seen it all.

He gazed quietly at the inkstone and softly recited:

"Clouds remind me of her clothes, flowers of her face; the spring breeze caresses the balustrade, the dew is heavy."

Yan Ci's body trembled slightly, and two blushes quickly crept up her cheeks.

She walked slowly to Chen Mo and raised her hand to remove the veil covering her face.

Many high-ranking officials and nobles have spent fortunes to see her remove this veil, but today she has taken it off of her own accord.

She looked up at Chen Mo and asked softly:

"Young master, what is the purpose of writing poetry?"

She asked this question to countless people in the capital.

Some say it expresses aspirations, others say it conveys sentiments; the words sound eloquent, but are actually empty and tasteless.

Chen Mo barely hesitated:

"Poetry is written for others to read. If others are moved after reading it, then the poem has meaning. Words that cannot move people are just self-entertainment."

Yan Ci froze on the spot.

After a while, she moved another foot closer to Chen Mo.

The two then began to talk at length.

We talked about quatrains, then about lyrics of varying lengths, and then about folk tunes.

When they got really into the conversation, she couldn't help but laugh out loud. After laughing, she quickly covered her mouth and secretly glanced at Chen Mo.

She then asked Chen Mo about his origins, to which Chen Mo simply smiled and said that he came from a very far place.

Yan Ci pressed for an answer on just how far away it was.

It's farther than you can imagine.

She didn't press further, but her gaze toward Chen Mo grew brighter, her face a mixture of shyness, joy, and excitement.

The smoke rising straight from the incense burner had somehow drifted to one side.

Yan Ci got up and personally filled Chen Mo's teacup with water, having long since forgotten the many rules that had been set before.

Seeing that the time was right, Chen Mo reached out and gently took her slender hand in his.

Her fingertips were icy cold, but her palms were covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

His body trembled violently, but he didn't pull his hand back.

Chen Mo looked down at her and slowly spoke:

"I only wish your heart were like mine, then I would never betray your love."

Yan Ci's body went limp, and she leaned into his arms.

Chen Mo reached out and put his arm around her, secretly pleased with himself.

Having already won over the beauty, coupled with the unique characteristics of his dual cultivation of the Transcendent Realm, it's as if he has obtained the intelligence.

After a brief moment of tenderness, Chen Mo deliberately stood up as if to take his leave:

"It's getting late, I should go."

Suddenly, my sleeve was gently tugged.

Yan Ci clutched his clothes, her head bowed low, her voice barely audible:

"Please don't leave tonight..."

Chen Mo turned around and picked her up in his arms.

Yan Ci let out a soft cry, wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and buried her face in his chest.