The fusion music performance began beautifully. On stage, musicians from all three communities played together—the strongly pulsating Zuwa drums, the melancholic Kuatri bamboo flute, and the gleaming golden Luxen harp. The harmony that was created captivated most of the audience, and spontaneous applause erupted at several points.
Li Yuan stood beside the stage, watching the faces in the crowd. There was a wonder in the eyes of the children hearing this kind of music for the first time. There were warm smiles on the faces of parents who saw their children playing music together without caring about their differences.
This is beautiful, Li Yuan thought. This is what the focus should be—the beauty born from collaboration.
But through his Wenjing Realm, Li Yuan began to pick up dark intentions among the crowd. Like drops of ink spreading in clear water, hatred began to color the festival's atmosphere.
"Look at that," someone whispered behind Li Yuan. "Sacred Zuwa music being mixed with foreign instruments. It's shameful."
"Kuatri children are being forced to play in a way that doesn't fit tradition," another voice added with a disgusted tone.
"Luxen tradition is being made into cheap entertainment," a third whispered with a sharp bitterness.
Li Yuan slowly turned and saw small groups of people standing with sour faces, whispering among themselves but loud enough to be heard by those around them.
They are doing this on purpose, Li Yuan realized. They are not just watching with disapproval. They are actively trying to contaminate the atmosphere.
What was more worrying was the reaction of some of the audience who had initially been enthusiastic. Li Yuan saw how the venomous comments began to plant seeds of doubt. A mother who had been smiling while watching her child play was now looking at the stage with a hesitant expression. A father who had been applauding was now pulling his child closer and whispering something in their ear.
Poison spreads quickly, Li Yuan thought with a sense of dread. Much faster than its antidote.
On stage, the musicians seemed unaware of the change in the atmosphere below. They were still playing with enthusiasm, lost in the beauty of the music they were creating together.
Then Li Yuan saw something that made him feel cold.
A large man with typical Luxen features—blond hair, clothes that indicated high economic status—began to walk toward the stage. His expression was harsh, and through his Wenjing Realm, Li Yuan heard a terrible intention: anger, disgust, intention to disrupt.
He is going to do something, Li Yuan realized with alarm.
The man stopped right in front of the stage and yelled with a booming voice, cutting through the ongoing music.
"STOP IT!" he shouted. "You are destroying our ancestors' heritage!"
The music stopped abruptly. The musicians on stage looked at the man with surprised and confused expressions. The crowd fell silent, not knowing how to react.
"The sacred music of the Luxen tradition should not be mixed with... this," the man continued, pointing with disgust at the instruments from the other races. "You are committing sacrilege!"
Li Yuan felt a wave of tension spreading through the crowd. Through his Wenjing Realm, he heard intentions that were starting to polarize—some agreed with the man, some were angry at this disruption, some were afraid the situation would escalate.
This is the critical moment, Li Yuan thought. How we respond will determine the direction of this festival.
Marcus went onto the stage with a calm but firm movement. As one of the coordinators, he felt responsible for handling this situation.
"Brother," Marcus said in a strong but not aggressive voice, "this music is not sacrilege. It is a celebration. A celebration of the beauty that can be born when we work together."
The Luxen man looked at Marcus with fiery eyes. "You're a Zuwa. Of course you would say that. Your race has no truly sacred traditions to destroy."
A personal attack, Li Yuan felt anger beginning to build in his chest. He is not just attacking the festival, he is attacking Marcus's entire identity.
The reaction in the crowd was immediately palpable. The Zuwa people began to mutter angrily, while some Luxen people looked uncomfortable with the explicit racist comment.
But before Marcus could respond, an old woman with Kuatri features came forward from the crowd.
"Zuwa traditions are not sacred?" she said in a voice that trembled with anger. "My late husband was Zuwa. He was the most sacred man I have ever known. Don't you dare insult an entire race!"
This is getting worse, Li Yuan realized. Now this is no longer about music or the festival. It has become a direct racial confrontation.
The Luxen man turned to the old woman with an increasingly harsh expression. "And you are an example of the problem. Marrying outside your race, contaminating pure Kuatri blood."
A terrible silence fell over the square. Li Yuan could feel that the comment had crossed a line that should not be crossed. Even the people who were initially sympathetic to the worries about "preserving tradition" now looked shaken by the explicit hatred.
But the damage was already done. Some groups in the crowd began to face each other—Zuwa facing Luxen, Kuatri divided between those who supported and those who opposed the racist statements.
Li Yuan saw the mixed family he had noticed—the Kuatri father, the Zuwa mother, their innocent daughter—begin to retreat from the crowd with pale, frightened faces.
They are afraid, Li Yuan realized with a broken heart. They are afraid because that hatred is directed straight at their existence, at their love, at their child.
On stage, the young musicians—some of whom were also from mixed marriages—began to cry. They couldn't understand why the beautiful music they were creating could trigger such hatred.
Enough, something in Li Yuan shifted. The anger that he had been controlling began to turn into something colder, more focused, more... dangerous.
Li Yuan stepped forward, passing through the crowd that was starting to move restlessly. His steps were calm, but there was something in the way he moved that made people instinctively give way.
The passive effect is seeping out more strongly because of the emotion, Li Yuan realized. His controlled anger created an intense aura, making the people around him feel... uneasy.
When Li Yuan reached the Luxen man who was still standing with an arrogant attitude, he stopped and looked directly into the man's eyes.
"You say traditions should not be mixed," Li Yuan said in a calm voice that carried a strange weight of authority. "But I want to know—which tradition teaches you to insult others in public? Which tradition teaches you to make children cry for playing music together?"
The man looked at Li Yuan with an expression that was starting to become unsure. There was something in Li Yuan's gray eyes that made him feel... small.
"Who are you?" the man asked, but his voice was no longer as loud as before.
"I am a person who came from afar to see the beauty of Sancheng," Li Yuan replied. "But what I see now is ugliness that uses the name 'tradition' to hide its hatred."
Li Yuan turned to the entire crowd, his voice rising so everyone could hear.
"I have visited many places," he said. "And I have learned something important: true tradition is not fragile. True tradition is not destroyed by interacting with other traditions. What is destroyed by interaction is not tradition—but ego."
Through his Wenjing Realm, Li Yuan could feel a shift in the crowd's intentions. Some began to reflect on his words, some were still stubborn, some felt ashamed of being involved in the ugly scene.
"The music the children played on stage just now," Li Yuan continued, pointing to the young musicians who were still tearful, "is a living tradition. A tradition that grows and develops because it is loved, not because it is preserved out of fear."
Li Yuan then did something unexpected. He walked to the stage and picked up the Kuatri bamboo flute that was lying there.
"May I borrow this?" he asked the small Kuatri girl who had been playing it. The girl nodded with eyes that were still wet.
Li Yuan played the flute with a simple melody—a very old traditional Kuatri song, known to almost everyone from that race. The melody was familiar, and it brought nostalgia and warmth.
Then, without stopping, he began to add variations he had heard from the Zuwa drums earlier. A more complex rhythm, which made the traditional melody sound... more alive.
And finally, he integrated the harmony he remembered from the Luxen harp. The simple melody grew into something richer, more beautiful, but still contained the original essence of the Kuatri song.
When Li Yuan stopped playing, the silence that fell was different from the terrible silence from before. This was a silence full of contemplation.
"Was that song still Kuatri?" Li Yuan asked the crowd. "Or had it become something else?"
An old man with a white beard—clearly a senior Kuatri—came forward from the crowd.
"It was..." he said in a trembling voice, "it was my grandmother's song. But it was also something new. Something... beautiful."
Li Yuan nodded. "A true tradition is not afraid to grow. What is afraid to grow is not tradition, but fanaticism."
The Luxen man who had started the commotion was now standing with a red face, but he no longer seemed certain of his position. Some of the people who had supported him earlier began to move away, not wanting to be associated with the embarrassing scene.
A critical moment, Li Yuan realized. This could end in reconciliation or in a worse escalation.
Then something beautiful happened. The little girl who had been playing the flute went back up on stage and stood beside Li Yuan.
"I want to play again," she said in a small but brave voice. "I want to play beautiful music like that again."
One by one, the other young musicians began to go back up on stage. Surprisingly, some children from the crowd—including those who hadn't performed before—also went up on stage.
Children, Li Yuan thought with a warm but also sad feeling. They instinctively understand what adults have to learn with great difficulty.
But as the music began to be played again—this time with more impromptu musicians—Li Yuan saw that some adults in the crowd had faces that were getting harder.
The Luxen man who had been shouting was now whispering with a group of others. Through his Wenjing Realm, Li Yuan caught a terrible intention: humiliation, anger, planning something.
They are not going to stop here, Li Yuan realized with a sinking feeling. They feel publicly humiliated, and they will seek revenge.
The first day of the festival continued, but a dark shadow settled behind the music and laughter. Li Yuan knew that the confrontation just now was not the end of the problem, but only the beginning of something bigger and more dangerous.