Girl, Don’t Take Yourself So Seriously

You can always tell a true master from the very first move.

Serena had no idea what piece Wendy Summers was playing, let alone whether it was good or bad. All she knew was that the music sounded pleasant and grand, but seemed to lack a certain true heroic spirit.

Unable to understand, Serena simply stopped listening. No matter how well Wendy played, it had nothing to do with her. Serena closed her eyes, sitting there with an air of deep mystery, ignoring all the open and covert gazes from every direction. She acted as if she were in a bustling marketplace yet untouched by the world—a presence impossible to overlook.

In fact, aside from Wendy herself, who was fully absorbed in her playing, almost everyone else stole glances at Serena. It wasn’t just curiosity—Serena’s aura was simply too strong, and Wendy’s chosen piece made people subconsciously associate its heroic imagery with Serena herself.

To remain so calm under so many stares—such composure is rare indeed. Master Marcus Wynn nodded again, thinking to himself: This woman is truly remarkable!

His impression of Serena grew warmer.

The Grand Preceptor, Grand Tutor, and Grand Protector had once believed the rumors and didn’t think much of Serena, but seeing her composure today, they quietly admired her. Anyone who could win the attention of Ninth Royal Uncle must have real substance—this woman was clearly extraordinary.

Of course, their newfound favor toward Serena was mostly because she was an Eastlyn native. If she beat Wendy Summers, it would reflect well on Eastlyn. Patriotism came first, so any small flaws Serena had could be overlooked for the sake of national pride.

Zheng—

Wendy finished her piece in less than two sticks of incense. As she struck the final note, she opened her eyes, which sparkled with satisfaction. It was clear she was very pleased with her performance—she had even played a bit beyond her usual level today.

Prince Terrence of Lyndaria was also satisfied, nodding in approval. Among those present, everyone except Serena Feng was a master of music—if not a performer, at least an expert listener. For nobles, this was a required skill.

Wendy Summers’ performance was flawless.

For every person delighted, there was someone worried. The Crown Prince, Prince Rowan, and the Imperial Noble Consort all felt anxious for Serena—Wendy’s playing was so good, even the palace’s top musicians might not match her. As for Serena...

Alas, now all they could hope for was that she wouldn’t lose too badly.

The crowd silently prayed in their hearts.

Wendy rose, sweeping her gaze across the crowd and taking in all their reactions. Her eyes lingered on Serena for three seconds, hoping to see panic or worry—but Serena’s calm composure left her disappointed.

Stepping back two paces to the left of the zither, Wendy first bowed toward the Emperor and Empress, then saluted Master Marcus Wynn and the three grand ministers. “Wendy Summers of Lyndaria, humbly requests Master Wynn’s guidance.”

Everyone knew that among those present, only Master Marcus Wynn was qualified to judge—he had no ties to Eastlyn or Lyndaria.

At this moment, not only Wendy but even the Emperor and others eagerly awaited Marcus’s comments. His words alone could decide the winner. Only Serena remained detached, as if none of this concerned her, giving the impression she didn’t take Wendy seriously at all.

Seeing this, many were puzzled—even Master Marcus assumed Serena’s skill must be extraordinary, so he spoke with extra caution:

“Miss Summers, your technique is superb and your mastery of ‘Guangling San’ is impeccable. You captured the piece’s grandeur and unique style perfectly. The only flaw is that you focused too much on fingering and technical skill, without infusing your own emotion, so the piece lacked a certain tragic, heroic spirit. Still, for someone your age to reach this level is truly remarkable among your peers.”

Praise first, then a gentle critique, and finally a sweet reward—Master Marcus was truly a clever man. Serena thought he was worth befriending, not at all pedantic. She wondered if, after today, he’d still want to associate with her.

Wendy had been a little displeased, but after hearing the final praise, she beamed and gave Marcus a deep bow. “Thank you, Master, for your guidance.”

Wendy returned to her seat, fluttering down like a pink butterfly showing off her beauty in the sunlight.

“Miss Serena, it’s your turn.” The Grand Tutor squinted and smiled, speaking slowly as everyone waited expectantly.

Old fox!

As Serena rose, she caught the fleeting amusement in the Grand Tutor’s eyes—a look of ‘watching a show’—and couldn’t help cursing him inwardly.

In truth, the Grand Tutor wasn’t the only one here for the spectacle. The Empress, Prince Terrence of Lyndaria, Prince Damien of Southlyn, and even Ninth Royal Uncle had come partly to see Serena embarrass herself.

There was no helping it—no one had any faith in Serena.

Serena carried her qin, saluted the Emperor and Master Marcus, then ascended the platform. A palace maid stepped forward to take her instrument, but Serena declined. “No need, I’ll handle it myself.”

Serena leisurely opened her qin case. Master Marcus sat directly opposite the stage, so Serena took the chance to study the man whose judgment could decide her fate.

Marcus Wynn was nearly forty, mature and composed, with clear eyes and a refined, scholarly air. His upright posture and calm manner, dressed in pale robes, radiated nobility and grace—even Serena, with her modern standards, found him captivating.

He was exactly the kind of distinguished older gentleman who could charm countless young women.

Serena hid her admiration well—even Marcus didn’t notice. But Ninth Royal Uncle, watching from afar, caught the familiar glint in her eyes.

After all, Serena had once looked at him with that same gaze. He would never mistake it.

Foolish woman, daring to look at another man the way you looked at me—where are your eyes?

Ninth Royal Uncle was annoyed, while the Crown Prince suddenly felt a chill to his left. He glanced over but saw nothing amiss, and had no time to worry about it. Ever since he learned Serena would use the Ice-String Zither against Wendy, his nerves had been on edge.

He was certain that something would go wrong with that instrument. Now, he could only hope Serena was clever enough to handle whatever crisis the Ice-String Zither might bring.

The Crown Prince stared unblinkingly at Serena. When she finally took out the zither, he lurched forward, nearly falling out of his chair.

He couldn’t be seeing things—wasn’t that the Ice-String Zither he’d once presented?

Even the Emperor was stunned—not because of the zither itself, but because Serena’s instrument had no strings.

“Serena Feng, you’re going to compete against me with that zither?” Wendy blurted out, forgetting her manners in her surprise.

A zither with no strings—how could anyone play it?

“What, is that not allowed?” Serena’s tone was calm and cold, but to Wendy, it sounded mocking and taunting.

“Of course it’s allowed.” Serena must be scared now, Wendy sneered inwardly.

A stringless zither—she was eager to see how Serena would make it produce sound. If it couldn’t even make a noise, how could Serena possibly win?

Serena didn’t care what Wendy thought. The only opinions that mattered were the judges’. She looked straight at Marcus Wynn. “Master, may I use this zither to play a piece for you?”

It was clearly stringless, yet Serena was completely serious, leaving everyone baffled as to what she meant or what trick she was playing. But the three ministers and Marcus didn’t question her—Marcus simply smiled and nodded. “How interesting. Young Serena, what piece will you play?”

‘Young Serena?’ That was recognition. Serena was secretly delighted, but kept her cold, regal bearing—only by projecting absolute confidence could she convince everyone she wasn’t relying on tricks.

“Boundless Azure Sea and Sky,” Serena declared crisply.

“Very well, young Serena—please begin,” Marcus said solemnly, with no hint of jest or condescension. Even the three grand ministers straightened up, adopting attentive postures.

Had everyone gone mad? Why were they all indulging Serena’s nonsense?

Wendy couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She could understand the three ministers favoring Serena as a fellow Eastlyn citizen, but why would Marcus Wynn, who had no stake in the outcome, go along with it?

Wendy truly didn’t understand.

Wendy didn’t get it, and neither did the others present. But unlike Wendy, they kept their shock to themselves, sitting quietly to see how Serena would play her hand and resolve the situation.

Facing dozens of burning, skeptical gazes, Serena was utterly unruffled. She burned incense, washed her hands, and calmly seated herself before the zither. With her right hand, she swept across where the strings should be...

Ding ding dong dong... Was that the sound of water?

Everyone stared, wide-eyed, trying to see how Serena produced the sound. All they saw were her ten fingers dancing—sometimes plucking, sometimes flicking at invisible strings. The water sounds were sometimes gentle, sometimes urgent, with hints of wind, birds, and even leaves rustling in the breeze...

Amazing!

Those who had come for the spectacle, hoping to see Serena fail, now sat upright and craned their necks, desperate to see how she was making those sounds. Even Ninth Royal Uncle’s eyes flashed with confusion—he hadn’t known Serena had this skill, and now understood why she’d never been worried about the qin round.

Serena’s face was wholly focused, her gaze fixed on the instrument. As her hands danced over the lacquered surface, the music seemed to carry the listeners’ imaginations. The notes—like drops of spring water—gathered into a brook, then a stream, then a river.

As the water flowed into the river, it met sunlight and rain, was brushed by gentle breezes and battered by wild storms. It skimmed over grass and rolled across stones, joined with other waters, and playful fish darted by, unable to stop its journey as it merged with greater rivers—until finally reaching the sea...

Sea winds blew, waves crashed—sometimes soft, sometimes heavy, sometimes slow, sometimes fast. It was as if the scenes unfolded before their eyes. Rather than merely listening, the audience felt as if they were watching, without needing to close their eyes to imagine anything. One moment the sea was calm, the next, storm clouds gathered, torrential rain struck, waves roared to the sky...

—End of chapter—