Zhou Xuan's Regret

Zhou Yuan's Courtyard.

The night descended upon Zhou Yuan's courtyard, casting it into a shroud of darkness deeper than any other corner of the Zhou Clan's vast estate. Stars pierced through the inky veil, their distant light barely reaching the tranquil space, like fragile beacons in the vast obsidian expanse.

Zhou Yuan, his eyes veiled in perpetual darkness, sat in the center of the courtyard, an island of calm in the sea of night. Despite the absence of sight, his other senses had honed to an uncanny degree over the years. He could feel the subtle changes in the wind's direction, hear the distant rustle of leaves, and even sense the presence of small creatures scurrying along the ground, their movements like whispers in the night.

Tonight, as a gentle breeze caressed his face, Zhou Yuan inhaled deeply, savoring the scents of the night—fragrant blossoms, damp earth, and the faint hint of incense from the ancestral shrine nearby. His world may have been devoid of light, but it was far from empty. In the quietude of the night, he found solace amidst the darkness, a respite from the chaos of the day.

He raised a hand, fingers trembling slightly as he traced the intricate patterns of the wooden flute resting on his lap. It was a prized possession, the first gift he ever received from Qing'er before he fell from grace. The flute was both a cherished memento and a vessel through which he could express the depths of his emotions, like a voice for his silent soul.

With practiced precision, Zhou Yuan brought the flute to his lips, his breath gentle as he coaxed haunting melodies from its hollow body. The notes soared and dipped, weaving a tapestry of melancholy and longing in the air, like the cries of a heart yearning for something just out of reach. The courtyard seemed to respond to his music, embracing each note with a reverent silence, as if holding its breath not to disturb the ethereal melody.

As Zhou Yuan continued to play his haunting melodies on the wooden flute, he suddenly felt a presence at the entrance of his courtyard. His heightened senses detected the familiar aura of his grandfather, Zhou Xuan. The old man's footsteps were deliberate, and the air seemed to ripple with his imposing presence. Unlike Zhou Kai's aged appearance, Zhou Xuan appeared more muscular and vibrant, a testament to his resilience and strength, like a mountain that had weathered countless storms.

In the silence that followed, Zhou Yuan paused his playing, the final, lingering note fading away into the night. He knew that his grandfather's arrival was no mere coincidence. Zhou Xuan's presence held a weight of significance, and Zhou Yuan awaited his words with a mix of anticipation and trepidation.

Zhou Xuan, the formidable Zhou Clan leader whose name echoed throughout the vast Xue Empire, stood as a symbol of strength and wisdom, having reach the mighty Soul Origin Realm. His reputation was as unshakable as the mountains, casting a long shadow over the land, like a colossus in the annals of history in the Xue Empire.

Yet, as he gazed upon his grandson, Zhou Yuan, in the tranquil courtyard, a complex array of emotions stirred within him. Despite his own formidable power and prestige, he couldn't help but feel a profound sense of his own limitations. In the presence of Zhou Yuan, all he could think of was how he had merely stood by and watched as his grandson suffered. Despite his great power, Zhou Xuan remained powerless to alleviate the affliction caused by the sinister Extreme Yin Bone-Chilling Poison, like a titan humbled by an invisible force. Consequently, he had seldom seen his grandson in these past three years, like a distant observer of his own blood's struggles.

"I see your flute-playing has improved since the last time I heard it," Zhou Xuan remarked, his words carefully chosen as he spoke to Zhou Yuan, like a master acknowledging the growth of his pupil.

Zhou Yuan, sitting in the courtyard with the wooden flute in his hands, sensed the emotions beneath his grandfather's words. He responded with a subtle smile, "Thank you, grandfather. Playing the flute has been a constant source of comfort during these quiet nights."

A moment of quiet passed between them, laden with unspoken empathy, like a river of shared understanding. Then, Zhou Xuan, infusing a touch of playful curiosity into his voice, inquired, "And how does Qing'er's guqin-playing compare?" His question carried a lighthearted tone, inviting conversation, like a grandfather teasing his beloved grandchild.

Zhou Yuan, enjoying the lighter atmosphere, let out a soft chuckle before responding, "Qing'er's guqin melodies are akin to a tranquil river, flowing gracefully and soothingly. In contrast, mine carries a deeper sense of melancholy," like an artist reflecting on the nuances of his craft.

Qing'er plays an instrument known as the "guqin." The guqin is a traditional Chinese musical instrument with a rich history dating back thousands of years. It is a stringed instrument known for its elegant and melodic tones.

Zhou Yuan knew his grandfather wasn't there merely to appreciate his mastery of the flute.

"What happened?"