479: Ode to the Red Cliff

"ode to the red cliffs" isn't a pop song; it's a piece of classical literature. Occasionally, Guofeng musicians compose and perform it, but its popularity is ultimately limited.

Ordinary viewers wouldn't request this; it's not even included in the song library of the streaming platform.

This song choice is quite interesting.

"A darling wants to hear 'ode to the red cliffs'?" The smile at the corners of her lips deepened, her cold voice carrying three parts surprise and seven parts interest.

"This is a bit difficult. Although I remember the score, I haven't sung it in a long time, so I'm afraid I might mess up."

The bullet chat instantly exploded:

"I'll listen even if you mess up. I love my wife even when she fails."

"'ode to the red cliffs'? Sister's knowledge is so broad, love it, love it."

"Hehe, 'ode to the red cliffs'... I don't know it, did I think of something inappropriate?!!!"

"Get out, the one above. Everything you see is filthy."

"Just searched for it, there really is such a song! Sister, sing it, sing it~"

Zhulong smiled and shook her head, but a genuine sense of interest surfaced in her eyes. She adjusted the position of the floating microphone and lightly swiped her finger across the cold jade control panel.

The intro was a guqin mixed with the sound of a xiao flute, distant and ethereal, instantly suppressing the clamor on the screen.

Zhulong closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, the professional, soft smile in her eyes had faded, replaced by a more tranquil expression.

It was as if, through the illusory bustle of the livestream room, she saw the river water under the moonlight from a thousand years ago.

She began to sing.

Her voice remained cold, but it had gained a layer of heavy charm. Her diction was clear, and her breath was long, laying out the vastness of "In the autumn of the Renxu year, on the sixteenth day of the seventh lunar month" and the haziness of "White dew lay across the river, and the light on the water reached to the sky" bit by bit.

There were no showy high notes or deliberate sentimentality; it was just a straightforward chant.

Yet, it was precisely this "plainness" that captured the breadth and loneliness of Su Zi and his guest boating on the river, discussing the world from ancient times to the present.

The bullet chat fell silent for a moment.

Then, even more dense exclamations swept across:

"Holy crap... I've got goosebumps."

"This articulation, this breath control—Sister must have studied this professionally, right?"

"I clearly haven't cried, so why do I feel like tearing up..."

"Is that sister with the numerical ID a prophet? This song choice is amazing."

"Screen recorded. On loop tonight."

When Zhulong sang "A mayfly in the universe, a grain of millet in the vast ocean," her eyelashes lowered slightly. Light and shadow carved clear contours on her face, and the beads hanging from her buyao cast fine shadows against her cheek.

At that moment, she didn't look like a female streamer trying to please fans in front of a camera, but rather a lonely traveler sitting alone by a cold river, chanting to the moon.

Distant, detached, untouchable... Shang Wan Ning leaned against the soft couch, holding her phone.

On the screen was the livestream interface of "Candle Shadow Shaking Red".

Five minutes ago, she had just finished reviewing the last jade slip of the day and casually opened Likely a reference to a short video, wanting to see what dress "Candle Shadow Shaking Red" was wearing today.

As it happened, she caught the singing segment.

She had intended to lurk silently, but for some reason, she flicked her finger and sent a bullet comment.

Now, listening to Zhulong's chant, Shang Wan Ning's eyes darkened.

It wasn't a matter of whether she sang well or not.

It was that the vibe was too "authentic."

So "authentic" that it didn't seem like the depth an internet celebrity should possess. That precise grasp of the classical literary mood and absolute control over breath and rhythm couldn't be cultivated without a hundred years of immersion.

He was enjoying it.

Enjoying the feeling of using a mortal body to chant a timeless masterpiece.

Shang Wan Ning tapped on the edge of the screen and typed another line: "Sister sings so well; she has the Wei-Jin Style."

Click send.

The bullet chat scrolled rapidly, and her message was quickly submerged.

But when Zhulong finished an interlude and looked up to scan the chat, His gaze seemed to pause for a second on that "Wei-Jin Style" comment.

It was very brief, so brief it was almost impossible to catch.

Then, His lips curved into a more pronounced arc, and the faint golden shimmer at the corner of His eyes brightened slightly in the light.

"Thank you... 'User 739502' darling for the compliment." He read out the string of numbers, His voice carrying a hint of a smile. "I wouldn't dare claim the Wei-Jin Style; I just like Su Zi's open-mindedness."

Having said that, He continued singing.

The second half was sung even more freely, especially at "Only the cool breeze on the river and the bright moon among the mountains," where the tail of the notes rose slightly, truly revealing a sense of the broad-mindedness of "Both things and we are endless."

The song ended.

The lingering sound seemed to still echo in the Profound Ice Palace.

The bullet chat went completely wild, and gift effects exploded across the screen.

Zhulong took a heavy breath, a faint flush appearing on His cheeks. It wasn't makeup; it was from being moved by the song. He raised a hand to tidy the stray hairs at His temples and returned to that lazy, soft-mannered appearance.

"Alright, it's over. I didn't mess up, did I?" He winked at the camera.

"Next is the lucky draw. Let's see which three lucky wives it will be."

The lucky draw segment was lively and trivial.

Zhulong read out the winning IDs, reminded them to private message their addresses, and chatted for a few more minutes about skincare tips. The three-hour livestream soon reached its end.

"That's about it for today. See you tomorrow, darlings."

He waved and closed the livestream.

The moment the screen went dark, the professional smile on His face receded like a tide.

The Profound Ice Palace returned to silence, with only the faint sound of cold air flowing.

Zhulong leaned back against the chair and closed His eyes to rest for a moment.

The livestream didn't consume much mental energy, but maintaining a "persona," mobilizing emotions, and interacting with tens of thousands of bullet comments... was ultimately a taxing task.

Especially when singing "ode to the red cliffs," that moment of immersion almost made Him forget He was "acting."

He opened His eyes, swiped His finger across the jade panel, and opened the private message box.

The little red dot showed over three thousand unread messages.

Most were fan confessions that had flooded in during the livestream. He scanned them briefly, preparing to hand them over to the Puppet Consciousness as usual, when His gaze suddenly fixed on a certain line.

Sender ID: Key of the Abyss.

Subject: Plane Rift and Echoes of the Old Days.

Sent: 18 hours ago.

Zhulong's brow furrowed, a trace of doubt revealing itself in His eyes.

This ID was a complete stranger to Him; He couldn't remember ever seeing such a name. And the terms "Plane Rift" and "Echoes of the Old Days" in the subject line were even more unfamiliar to Him.

It was as if these terms came from another plane altogether.

However, what was truly eerie went beyond that. Normally, if a private message was received, the Puppet Consciousness would automatically categorize it according to preset rules—either as "spam" to be deleted or marked as "fan" to await further processing... but this letter was different. It hadn't been processed according to the usual flow; instead, it hung quietly at the top of the pending queue, marked with a small and exquisite golden seal.

That was a mark specifically used to remind the main body to check it personally!

One must know that the Puppet Consciousness set by Zhulong had a set of extremely complex and refined screening laws.