Chapter 62: Sunlit Golden Mountain

After the Morning Prayer ended, Su Mian quickly returned to the corridor.

She obtained from Fei Li Pu all the scores that the bishop commonly uses for prayers or ceremonies, and selected the pieces that employ a harp.

Comparing with the harp in the photograph, this harp's quality seemed poor; several strings showed wear of their metal coating, which she had noticed the first time she saw the oil painting.

Only frequent contact between fingers and strings, especially the friction of nails and fingertips, gradually erodes that metal coating.

The strings that have been worn away are those located toward the upper middle of the harp's body, along with several special single strings.

Based on all the scores, the harp depicted in the realistic oil painting is the result of prolonged playing of a single piece.

And the score that matches this result is…

Su Mian spread the scores on the floor and picked up the one positioned at the very center.

'Hymn of the Saintess'

Now a new question arose.

If the condition to open the Secret Door is to play this piece, how could she open it?

She does not know how to play the harp.

To act quickly yet discreetly, Su Mian found a half‑skilled harpist on the City-State streets, learned from him, and immediately returned to the corridor to play.

Her fingers bore the rawness of a beginner, and the force with which she plucked the strings was slightly stiff.

When the piece ended, she held her breath and looked toward the wall bearing the ancient oil painting.

Nothing happened.

Su Mian's heart sank; had she misjudged?

Just as she furrowed her brow in thought, a gentle voice came from one side of the corridor, carrying a faint echo.

'Your tempo is off.'

Su Mian snapped her head around.

In the deep shadows of the corridor, Gai Yin stood there silently, though she could not tell when he had arrived.

A sliver of light slipped through the window crack onto his shoulder, coating his white robe with a gentle, illusory divinity.

He smiled and walked toward her slowly.

'An incorrect tempo cannot elicit a divine response.' His voice was low and pleasant.

Gai Yin's gaze fell on the score in her hand, then shifted to her face.

'What you need to do is not play, but awaken.'

He extended his hand, his slender fingers hovering over the harp in a feint caress.

'I can teach you, but… this is not a suitable classroom.'

He gave Su Mian no further chance to ask, merely turning slightly and making a 'please' gesture.

Su Mian hesitated briefly, weighed the options, and then nodded.

What followed exceeded Su Mian's imagination.

Gai Yin did not lead her to any secret chamber of a Church or a library, but instead guided her through an inconspicuous little door in the back garden onto a winding upward path strewn with unnamed wildflowers.

The air gradually grew fresh and crisp, carrying the scent of flowers and earth.

When they reached the summit, Su Mian involuntarily held her breath.

Before them, the view opened bright.

Lavender stretched across the hills and valleys all the way to the horizon.

It was near dusk, and the setting sun sank toward the western mountains in an extremely slow and majestic manner.

Their pupils reflected the sunset, a massive, flame‑like golden halo that was igniting the distant snow‑capped peaks inch by inch.

Golden light streamed, covering the entire ridge, as if a deity held a massive candle, scattering splendid sunrise glow that gilded the swaying lavender sea with a flowing, warm aura.

The air was permeated with the crisp fragrance of lavender intertwined with the lingering warmth of the sunset, creating a strange warmth.

Romantic and illusory

Su Mian stared blankly for a moment; Gai Yin stood beside her, his tall silhouette stretched by the sunset, lightly overlapping her shadow.

'Now, relax your breath and forget the fingering you have learned.'

His voice sounded especially clear in the warm wind.

He did not touch the strings, merely guiding with words, his explanation concise and precise.

He spoke of how breath drives wrist strength, how pauses create suspense and anticipation, and about the dialogue of calls and responses hidden deep within the rhythm.

'Very good,' he said, and when Su Mian, under his guidance, began to play a melody far smoother and more vivid than before, he suddenly changed tone, 'Evelyn, close your eyes.'

His voice drew nearer, whispering at her ear.

Warm palms covered her eyes, her senses amplified infinitely, and Su Mian heard her heartbeat rise slowly.

'Imagine the lavender‑filled land beneath your feet, suddenly shrouded in smoke…'

He sounded like a calm, unfathomable elder, his voice low and steady, yet it revived that void and terrifying chapter of history as if from his mouth.

'What you now smell is no longer fragrance, but scorched earth and gunpowder; what you now hear is no longer wind and birdsong, but wails and the whinny of warhorses.'

'What you see is no longer the golden sunset mountain, but ruined walls, a sky stained red with blood and fire…'

Su Mian's fingertips trembled involuntarily, and a sudden glissando pierced the harp's sound.

In the hollow, pitch‑black vision, swords and warhorses erupted, chaos swirling, as if entering an absurdly real nightmare.

A long sword thrust fiercely toward Su Mian, its blood‑red hue staining her entire pupil, stirring a strong sense of revulsion and resistance within her.

Despair, pain, fear.

'Uh…'

She struggled to rise, gasping in short breaths.

'Evelyn, good child, stay calm.'

The hand that covered her eyes did not move, and the thumb of the other hand pressed on her trembling lips, preventing her from Screams and allowing only a beast‑like whimper.

The gentle, low coaxing made the girl temporarily cease struggling, and she curled her legs unconsciously.

Gai Yin lowered his eyes, staring at the finger stained with a trace of saliva and the girl's lips reddened by friction, suppressing an untimely desire.

"Don't be afraid, what you see is only an illusion, now, play the piano."

"…mm."

Her voice was a bit hoarse; she took a deep breath and focused.

Almost simultaneously, the strings in her hand seemed to be pulled by an invisible force.

The originally soothing exploratory melody suddenly became urgent and sharp, filled with warnings and questions.

Her fingers plucked rapidly, pouring all the sudden dread and denial into the music.

After several soaring ascents, the melody faded as the scene gradually vanished; Gai Yin's hand had let go at an unknown moment, and Su Mian did not open her eyes.

The quiet melody became gentle and peaceful again, accompanied by the rustle of wind through the Lavender fields and the fading golden light cooling on the distant snow‑capped mountain peak.

The sun set.

The piece ended.

Su Mian breathed lightly, looked at her hands, and felt bewildered by the out‑of‑control performance.

"It may be inappropriate to say so, but I think you played better and bolder than Cecily."

The sudden silence brought a faint ringing in the ears; Su Mian blinked her moist eyes, and after a while shifted her gaze from the sunset‑golden mountain to Gai Yin's face.

The man raised an eyebrow, his sculpted jaw slightly upturned, his white hair coated with a warm sheen, truly exuding a divinity beyond the ordinary.

"What? Don't believe what I said? Or don't believe that what I taught you can be useful…"

Before the last two words left his mouth, a faint green‑apple scent of his body preceded them, and his pupils flickered slightly.

Warmth and softness collided into his arms without warning.