The band was assembled, and the next step was to decide on the repertoire.

Don’t ask why they picked up so quickly. Besides being immortals—naturally quick learners—Zhu Yin’s relentless supervision played a huge part. Who could have imagined that the usually aloof senior sister would become the new nightmare of the Qilin Hall, all because of one sentence from Luan Ling?

“Even meditation time cannot be wasted. Meditation is the best time to practice fundamentals. You must master the basics. We’re not here to perform casually. Treat music seriously.”

Zhu Yin added, “Otherwise, you’ll all reincarnate as beasts in the Tribulation Realm.”

“That’s a bit extreme, senior sister! Besides, the heavens are indifferent, treating all living beings as straw dogs. We are immortals, we must be careful with our words!” Luan Ling hastily patched up her senior’s remark.

Zhu Yin said nothing, merely waving her hand to release the sheet music.

Li Xiao explained, “Junior sister finished composing the performance pieces last night. Luan Ling, we need to work on the lyrics together.”

Luan Ling nodded. “Then let’s first listen to senior sister’s composition.”

Zhu Yin’s instrumental skills were exceptional, but none of them had ever heard her compose. This time, when a burst of electrifying guitar rang out, Luan Ling felt as if she were about to ascend again, breaking free from the boundaries of the Immortal Realm.

It was strange—all of it.

Scenes that should have felt normal in her foresight felt utterly out of place here.

But undeniably, although odd and novel, the music made one want to leap along with it—from one sky to another…

Everyone picked up their instruments and began playing along with the rhythm. Even if a few notes were off, no one stopped.

Was this the power of music? Even weary minds found relaxation.

Gradually, as the drumbeats joined, Zhu Yin’s influence became apparent. Small creatures started gravitating toward the center of the band—those in the sky, on the ground, and even swimming in the water. Wait… swimming in the water?

Si Zhu frowned, plucked a string, and created a water sphere, enclosing a suddenly appearing multicolored spirit fish.

Luan Ling saw this too. Everyone instinctively paused, except Zhu Yin, still immersed in her playing.

Li Xiao stepped forward to stabilize the situation: “Don’t interrupt junior sister. She can manage the other animals. I’ll check the situation here. Junior brothers and sisters, help return this multicolored spirit fish to the Immortal Pool. Losing one will surely upset the guardians there.”

Luan Ling nodded. “Understood, senior brother. We’ll be quick.”

On the way to the Immortal Pool, Luan Ling glanced at Si Zhu, who was holding the water sphere, and worriedly asked, “You didn’t scoop this from your own home, did you?”

Si Zhu replied, exasperated, “What? Are the fishes of Heaven’s Realm divided into freshwater and seawater?”

“Ah, no, that’s not it.” Luan Ling shook her head. “These multicolored spirit fish are the hardest to keep alive. Outside the pool, they die.”

The three of them all looked at the fish in the water sphere. It twitched a few times, thrashed its tail, and hung motionless in the middle of the water.

“Oh no, oh no.”

Luan Ling panicked, even considering opening a teleportation portal. Si Zhu relaxed his grip slightly, letting some water escape, but keeping the fish in the open air would likely kill it faster than the water sphere. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do.

“Senior brothers and sisters, I have a few drops of water from the Immortal Pool, given to me by Master. It should suffice temporarily.”

Si Tu Meng pulled out a small vial. Every drop of water from the Immortal Pool was precious; taking it without permission was forbidden. These few drops were truly lifesaving for the spirit fish.

But a little help only went so far. The three rushed toward the pool at full speed, Si Zhu revealing his true form—not just for speed, but for better hydrodynamics.

Finally, near the Immortal Pool, Luan Ling saw a fairy anxiously searching at the edge of the pool. She quickly landed beside her, returning the fish to the water.

“Did you see a multicolored spirit fish…”

“There’s a multicolored spirit fish that ran away…”

Both sides spoke at once, sighing in relief.

“Good thing nothing serious happened.”

The fairy’s anxiety finally eased, and she explained:

“I was supposed to guard the Immortal Pool today. But halfway, I realized the fish food was insufficient and went to get some. Unexpectedly, one multicolored spirit fish was missing upon my return. If it leaves the pool, it cannot survive. Losing even one, I would be held accountable. I don’t know how it escaped.”

“Even with senior sister’s drumming, there’s no way she could summon a fish from so far away… we flew halfway there, the little fish couldn’t have made it on its own in time.”

Luan Ling said, “Fairy, something seems off. Perhaps we should…”

Before she could finish, three figures appeared from afar: one deity and two fairies.

Luan Ling’s intuition screamed a bad omen. To prevent it from coming true, she quickly said to the fairy before her, “Let’s use Source-Tracking Technique to reproduce the scene exactly!”

Source-Tracking is a technique only a deity can master. With the involved people, objects, and location, it can reconstruct events from a specific moment—a perfect investigative tool.

The fairy was about to agree when a voice descended from the sky:

“Fairy Jingyun, this multicolored spirit fish was taken by our little beast, who only recently assumed form. Please, grant us the chance to return it.”

A purple-clad fairy landed in front of Jingyun, earnest. “Once the fish is returned, we will surely punish this foolish child.”

What? This sounded like a mischievous kid and her parents showing up.

Sure enough, upon hearing this, Jingyun’s expression cooled. “No need. The fish has already been retrieved by these little deities. Had it not been for them, it would have died from leaving the pool too long. This responsibility is mine alone.”

The deity then spoke: “Ultimately, I was negligent. I will report this to the Heavenly Court and handle it myself.”

Luan Ling looked around and raised her hand: “So… anyone want to see me use Source-Tracking?”

No one paid attention—they had already begun discussing follow-up matters.

Si Zhu pressed her shoulder. “Look at them. Do you think they’d comply with you?”

Si Tu Meng added, “Senior sister, the deity is present. If you want to perform Source-Tracking, you should be able to at any time.”

“No!” Luan Ling explained, “Though only deities can master Source-Tracking, not all can use it. Some may know it theoretically but cannot perform it in practice. I learned it myself, and even among the Heavenly Court, I’m top-ranked.”

She boasted proudly.

“Forget it, don’t meddle. Go practice your guitar, or you’ll lag behind my rhythm and drag the team down,” Si Zhu teased.

Luan Ling chased him playfully, Si Tu Meng trailing awkwardly. The three left in a flurry, oblivious to the little immortal seated quietly between the deity and two fairies.

That night, remembering Si Zhu’s daytime provocations, Luan Ling decided to practice secretly and outplay him the next day. She brought her instrument to the bamboo grove, finished her fundamentals, and had a sudden inspiration—recalling a faint memory of a melody. She tried to reproduce it.

When did this melody appear in her mind? Perhaps when she was very young—so young that for an immortal, it was before memory could even form. Luan Ling, being divine, remembered almost everything from her birth—but this melody was a mystery. She didn’t know who had hummed it to her.

“Moon goddess, shedding silver light through the window
Little boat sways, drifting to the edge of the Milky Way
Stars twinkle, weaving a sparkling veil
The gentle wind sings, sings, sings an ancient lullaby…”

Humming it, she vaguely recalled the accompanying lyrics—meant to lull someone to sleep. Strange—she, born in the Heavenly Realm, had been soothed by someone.

She didn’t remember this in her own history. Perhaps this melody, like the visions from her precognition, claimed a corner in her memory—sometimes making her forget that the preordained future hadn’t yet unfolded.

She couldn’t say whether this precognition was a blessing or a curse. Sometimes it brought entirely new experiences; other times it was so exaggerated, she doubted it was real.

Why was she born an immortal? What was her mission? Was precognition a glimpse of her future?

Luan Ling didn’t know. Her thoughts transformed into a soft, melancholy tune. The bamboo leaves rustled, and faintly, she heard crying.

Yes—crying.

At the second sob, Luan Ling tracked its source. Her divine sense reached it before her eyes did. She was surprised by who it was.

She approached slowly, looking down at the recently transformed little immortal beast she had only met today.

“It’s you.”

Luan Ling politely asked, “I thought this deity’s mansion isn’t here. Did you take a wrong path? Shall I escort you back?”

“Oh, no, no, no.”

The little immortal waved frantically. “I came specifically to find you. Great Deity, I need your help.”

Another side quest triggered?

Luan Ling, the righteous agent of the Heavenly Realm, would certainly help. She asked:

“What is it?”

The little immortal said, “I heard today that you know Source-Tracking. I’d like you to help me reveal the truth to Lord Huisheng.”

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