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When Qiluo Ling came to her senses, she recalled the words spoken by the White-Clad Man. She seemed to remember fragments of his sentences, which mentioned the Soul of Music and the Divine Gate. However, she could not accurately grasp the implications of his words.
In her confusion, Qiluo Ling raised her head and looked again at the lush grassland. Yes, he seemed to have mentioned the tenth Ring, which was the outermost Ring of the totem, located at the end of the grassland. Wasn't the end of the grassland the Nameless Grave—where her Great-Grandfather was buried? Could it be that the gravestone was what the White-Clad Man referred to as the Soul of Music and Divine Gate?
At that moment, a light drizzle began to fall from the sky, making the air unusually humid.
Qiluo Ling walked up to the Nameless Grave, crouched down, and gently stroked the gravestone. A strange feeling surged within her; it seemed as if she felt a soul residing in the gravestone, as if it had never left this place.
Qiluo Ling searched for a sturdy branch in the nearby forest. One end of the branch was sharp, resembling a pointed shovel.
Once again, Qiluo Ling approached the grave. Perhaps there was no corpse in this grave at all; instead, it might conceal something unknown—music, Sheet Music, or memories? This thought might seem absurd, but her intuition was exceptionally keen and direct.
Perhaps due to the continuous light rain making the surface soil easier to dig through, Qiluo Ling did not have to exert much effort before revealing the edges of a wooden box in the yellow soil.
Qiluo Ling dug down forcefully and, as expected, there was no coffin in the grave—no corpse, nothing at all—except for that wooden box.
She gently brushed away the soil around the wooden box, revealing its original yellow texture. Despite being buried underground for so many years, this wooden box appeared well-preserved with no signs of decay, as if it had been buried just yesterday.
Qiluo Ling opened the wooden box and found three items inside: a sheet of music, a Severed Hand, and several pieces of paper filled with writing.
The appearance of the Severed Hand surprised her greatly. She took out that Severed Hand from the box. It looked as if it had just been cut from a person's body; the cut was neat and smooth. From an artist's perspective, the shape of the Severed Hand was remarkably beautiful and perfect—slender arm, slightly protruding wrist bone, distinct joints, long fingers, and smooth nails. Aside from a large Butterfly Birthmark on its upper arm, this Severed Hand could be considered flawless. Qiluo Ling stared at it for a long time before placing it back into the wooden box.
The sheets filled with writing were positioned at the very top of the box. Qiluo Ling did not want to read their contents right now—not here at least. Without thinking much about it, she took them out, folded them up, and placed them in her pocket.
It was time for the most important thing, the second score of Devil's Sorrow.
The score was placed at the very back of the wooden box, looking neat and tidy. Qiluo Ling couldn't wait to take out the score from the box. However, unexpectedly, the seemingly intact score shattered into powder in her hands. A gust of wind carrying fine rain swept by, and the score disappeared.
Qiluo Ling was stunned, watching helplessly as the score she had searched for so long vanished into thin air, leaving no trace behind. Frustration and despair enveloped her with overwhelming negative emotions.
After a long while, Qiluo Ling sighed heavily, closed the box lid, and buried the wooden box back under the tombstone. After doing this, she walked back to Blycheno Manor alone.
When she entered Blycheno Manor, Qiluo Ling was already exhausted and worn out. Madam Carolina stumbled out of the villa and rushed over to anxiously ask where she had been. Qiluo Ling waved her hand, indicating that she did not want to talk. At that moment, she was too tired and just wanted to rest.
Once in her bedroom, she eagerly collapsed onto the bed. The music from the score, the two movements of The Sorrow of the Demon, converged in her mind, breaking through the constraints of thought and altering her consciousness.
At first, they flowed like a small river, gently trickling along. But as more tributaries joined in and with the disparity between high mountains and flat lands, it gradually formed a turbulent river. The roaring waves expanded continuously in Qiluo Ling's consciousness until they ultimately consumed all of her awareness.
Qiluo Ling lost herself, lost consciousness, and fell into an endless sleep...
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