Darius was stunned. A Mage's Blessing for a one-month-old infant was already a rare honor in this world. For a Violet Grand Magus to perform it? That was a privilege usually reserved for princes and princesses of major kingdoms!
"This..." Darius glanced uncertainly at Maya. At sixty-seven, he naturally recognized Quentin's drastic change in demeanor upon seeing Maya's child. He hesitated, fearing that if any harm befell the child of Chong and Maya – given his relationship with the couple – he wouldn't know how to face them.
Maya's gaze turned subtly icy, amplifying the innate pride she carried. "Master Guild Master, I wish to know why."
The calm Quentin had maintained since his arrival vanished completely upon seeing those tiny hands. His eyes now held a profound emotion, and even his voice gained a magnetic quality. "Because of those hands. These are the most perfect hands I have ever seen in this world. Miss Maya, I bear no ill will."
The coldness in Maya's expression gradually faded. Indeed, this Mage Quentin, despite the fervent light in his eyes, radiated no malice, only a sense of closeness. Yet, upon hearing Quentin praise her son's hands, her face darkened significantly. "Master Quentin, why do you say my child's hands are the world's most perfect? Are you mocking me?"
A person has five fingers on each hand. For a warrior, every finger is crucial. Though Maya's child only lacked the little fingers on each hand, it would severely impact his grip on a weapon, perhaps even prevent him from wielding a sword firmly. Which parent doesn't wish their child to be perfect? Maya was no exception. Her child was perfect in every other way, but these eight fingers had plunged her into despair. Eight fingers meant her son could never become a Sword Master, the family's fervent hope!
"Oh, no, no! Praise the Sanctum! I swear by the Sanctum's name, I harbor absolutely no mockery!" Quentin's eyes overflowed with emotion as he gazed at the still struggling, crying infant. The lines of his face softened remarkably. "Perhaps to others, these hands seem flawed. But for someone like me, they are utterly perfect. You will understand in a moment."
Under the watchful eyes of Maya, Darius, and Piero, Quentin slowly sat down cross-legged. A flicker of light on his right hand – Maya vaguely saw it came from a ring on his little finger – a Spatial Ring, one of the most important artifacts for a mage.
A russet-brown ancient zither materialized across his knees. Seven silver-glowing strings stretched taut. Quentin placed both hands on the strings. His entire demeanor underwent a profound transformation.
His aged face became serene and humble. His whole body radiated vitality, as if he had sat there since time immemorial, maintaining that posture: white robes, silver hair, ancient zither. The moment his hands touched the strings, he seemed to merge completely with everything within the Mage Guild hall. Unconsciously, everyone's gaze focused on him.
His left hand lifted slightly, hovering above the body of the zither without touching it. His right thumb and forefinger formed a subtle arc, middle and ring fingers lightly pressing the fifth string. Thumb released, forefinger flicked the seventh string in the air. A resonant, clear note rang out, deep and mellow, its lingering resonance shimmering. Instantly, the air seemed to solidify. The infant's cries ceased abruptly.
From within the swaddling clothes, a pair of large, pitch-black eyes turned towards the source of the sound, accompanied by soft, cooing babbles.
Whether it was an Advanced Mage like Piero, a Magus like Darius, or a warrior like Maya, upon hearing that single, pure note, they felt as if all impurities within their bodies had been cleansed in an instant. Their minds and bodies achieved unprecedented clarity, blood flowing smoothly, an indescribable comfort washing over them.
"Withered Wood, Dragon's Chant! You are..." The hidden hostility in Maya's eyes vanished completely at that moment. She looked at Quentin with a mixture of astonishment and dawning realization.
Quentin didn't answer, merely offering a faint smile. His hands moved simultaneously. Left hand pressed lightly, right hand plucked softly. A captivating melody drifted forth. The zither's sound was delicate and restrained. Fingertips controlled tempo, volume, and intensity with imperceptible mastery. A lively rhythm, imbued with swirling, lingering cadences, seemed to seep directly into the soul. A faint violet radiance emanated from the silver strings as his hands danced, coalescing into soft, violet halos that enveloped the hall, never dispersing.
A mage's mental strength was undoubtedly stronger than an ordinary person's. Yet, Piero and Darius were now utterly lost in the soul-stirring melody, their eyes filled with rapture and confusion, completely forgetting their surroundings.
Maya was the only one who remained lucid. She didn't know why her mental strength, far inferior to the mages, kept her awake. She saw clearly that the faint violet light converged towards one direction – the swaddling bundle she held.
The infant had long since stopped crying. When Maya looked down at her precious child, she was astonished to find him smiling. His tiny hands, each with only four fingers, waved gently in the air. To her amazement, the rhythm of his waving hands perfectly matched the delicate, restrained melody. The faint violet light was quietly seeping into his body, inducing subtle, miraculous changes.
Was this real? Maya felt as if she were in a dream, a sensation that lingered even after the final notes of the zither faded away.
"Graceful like woven brocade, lavish like lacquered nails. Strings loosened tune precious pillars, reeds choke on silver screens. With the Spring Thunder Zither, playing this piece 'Green Waters' is most suitable for cleansing this child's body and mind." Quentin's voice pulled Maya back from her dreamlike state. Looking up, she saw Quentin's eyes shimmering with a compelling silver light. The ancient zither that had rested on his knees was gone. Looking down at the treasure in her arms, he was already asleep, his even breathing a sweet sound. The baby's skin seemed to have gained an even more lustrous glow, a sweet smile gracing his lovely little face.
"Genius. An absolute genius. My judgment was not wrong. Even at just one month old, he could already grasp the true wonder within my zither's music. Truly enviable, your Bamboo Sect! Why wasn't he born among us? Now you understand why I praised his perfect little hands? For a zither player, the little fingers on both hands are forbidden digits, utterly useless. Acquired zither playing often finds the extra little fingers somewhat disruptive. As a Lute Magus, I understand this all too well. There was once a legend about a man with six fingers on each hand, the 'Six-Fingered Zither Demon' – pure fabrication! To play the zither, eight fingers are sufficient. Born with eight fingers – what perfection!" Quentin sighed with feeling.
"Master, who exactly are you..." Maya probed cautiously, the pride in her tone long gone, replaced by the lingering echoes of 'Green Waters' and the 'Withered Wood, Dragon's Chant'.
Quentin said, "I come from the Sanctum. If not for the Emerald Canopy, why would I be here? I only sought a disciple to inherit my legacy. Never did I imagine the genius I yearned for would be a member of your Bamboo Sect. Take me to see your father-in-law. Yale Leaf, oh Yale Leaf, we haven't seen each other for decades. I wonder if your bones are still sturdy."
Maya jolted in sudden realization, "Your surname is Shaw... Withered Wood, Dragon's Chant... You are of the Zither Sect..."