Lin Qinghe was born with elegant, refined features, as warm and polished as jade, exuding an air of scholarly grace. His future should have been limitless, but an accident transported him abruptly into a new world.

Penniless and unwilling to spend a single cent, he had no choice but to go to work.

Pipa? Child’s play.

Guzheng? A breeze.

Calligraphy and ink paintings? Sorry, if you’d like to bid on a piece for your collection, please queue up over there, dear customer.

A video clip of a young man in snow-white robes plucking a pipa suddenly exploded across the internet, drawing countless gazes. People signed petitions in virtual blood, begging for a livestream.

Later, in that livestream, Lin Qinghe cradled his pipa, a dot of cinnabar between his brows, a few stray locks of hair beside his temples, his skin porcelain-white. When he lowered his eyes, he seemed to hold a mournful compassion for the human world.

A: AAAAAH, does Brother need a servant boy?! I volunteer!!!

B: Help! Which deity has descended to the mortal world to endure tribulation this time!!!

C: The beauty of a golden age is no more than this!

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