Chapter 14

Chapter 14

...

Silence.

He hadn’t gotten angry when scrutinized by disdainful gazes, hadn’t lost his temper when provoked at his debut banquet, hadn’t flared up when deliberately targeted with alcohol to humiliate him.

The newly appointed Class-A Male, a veritable paragon of courtesy in the new era of the Insect race, had endured it all. Even if some muttered about his illiteracy, many clear-headed insects still held him in high regard.

A male insect who could restrain his temper was rarer than one erudite.

But just as some were privately praising His Highness for his composure and dignity, their words hadn’t even fully left their mouths when their ears caught something utterly bizarre.

Was it strange for a male insect to curse? Not at all.

But generally, at such grand banquets, even the most volatile male insects maintained a façade of propriety. Those who couldn’t bear it usually retaliated with backhanded remarks—but outright calling someone mentally ill? Well—

Ignoring the widened eyes around him, he rolled up his loosened sleeves, revealing arms as smooth and pale as jade. The once impeccably dressed male insect, now seemingly unable to bear the alcohol-induced heat, wrenched open the fastened collar of his shirt.

The gleaming diamond collar pin, subjected to such rough handling, instantly popped off and flew away.

Tilting his chin up, he let the open collar dispel some of the heat, sweeping back his meticulously styled bangs. Fully exposing his refined features, the male insect narrowed his amethyst eyes, lips quirking as Philo deftly twirled the drumstick in his hand.

The ivory-white bone drumstick spun swiftly in his equally pale palm before—

*Thud—*

"Everyone, using a war drum to play something like *Spring Romance* is a waste. How about I treat you all to a new tune instead?"

Though phrased as a question, the male insect’s raised brow made it clear he had no intention of waiting for approval.

With a mocking glance around, Philo turned his attention back to the drum before him when no response came. Gripping the drumstick, his gaze settled on the massive drum.

A drum made of bone—even back on Earth, Philo had never seen such a thing. Strange as its design and materials were, in the end, it was still just a drum.

Raising his arm, the seemingly slender male insect now revealed corded muscles taut with potential energy. Without hesitation or further testing—

*Thud!*

The pure, unembellished sound of drumstick meeting drumhead resonated, causing the audience's hearts to skip in sync with the heavy beat.

Unlike the previous female insect’s skilled use of Psychic Soothing, Philo employed the simplest, most primal method to strike the drum. Then again, as Yi Jia Fa had mentioned, this male insect’s constitution was still too weak to wield Psychic Soothing proficiently.

The crowd frowned unconsciously, but before they could dwell on it, the unfamiliar yet fiercely rhythmic drumbeats grew louder and faster.

Without Psychic Soothing, the Thunder Drum’s unique deterrent power and its effects on Insect race physiology vanished. Yet perhaps precisely because of this—because there were no additional influences beyond the drum’s sound—the male insect’s performance truly reached their ears.

Unheard of, even seemingly at odds with current musical conventions, the drumbeats under Philo’s hands were indeed the "new tune" he had promised.

Instead of the Insect race’s customary staccato opening on smaller drums, the powerful, deliberate strikes fell one after another, slow at first but steadily accelerating, each with thunderous weight.

This rhythm... didn’t resemble banquet music at all. It was more like—more like—

"A battle march."

A female soldier sighed softly, her gaze fixed on the disheveled yet commanding male insect before the Thunder Drum, her expression complex.

It had been a long time since they last heard such a domineering, majestic performance on the Thunder Drum.

Traditionally reserved for large-scale battles, the Thunder Drum had long been relegated to the military’s archives, while the male insects of the capital had replicated countless imitations for banquet games.

But this—this was *their* war drum.

No one spoke. Or rather, the insects who had been watching Philo with amusement now stood transfixed.

Some closed their eyes, quietly absorbing this unfamiliar, awe-inspiring composition so unlike the capital’s popular slow-tempo music. Others frowned, faces alight with anticipation as they stared at the male insect’s back. Some nodded unconsciously, some discreetly recorded, some—

"How does Philo know how to play the Thunder Drum? Didn’t he lose all his memories?" Yi Jia Fa’s previously dark expression had long since brightened, but she couldn’t help shooting a questioning glance at Zhousha beside her.

Unfortunately, the old female insect seemed uncommonly preoccupied, failing to respond immediately. Staring at the child wielding the drumstick with such defiant calm, Zhousha’s aged eyes were uncharacteristically dazed.

And it wasn’t just her. Norman Qi Mengtu, the council speaker who had been silently observing the proceedings, now also showed a glimmer of interest as he looked toward the center.

Though Yi Jia Fa couldn’t puzzle it out, Siluan, standing not far away with the darkest expression in the room, clenched his fists.

While Philo’s chosen rhythm was entirely new, a closer look revealed that some of his movements bore resemblance to those of the Song Emperor.

Was drumming difficult? For beginners, certainly. But for someone already skilled—even if not in this specific drum—mastering the placement of different notes reduced the challenge significantly.

The flourish with which Philo had initially twirled the drumstick clearly indicated prior training. His claims of amnesia? Likely just an act.

But even if so, what of it? Some had already guessed the truth. The real question was—

*Thud-thud-thud—*

A staccato barrage of beats interrupted the reverent hush, drawing deeper breaths from those immersed in the Thunder Drum’s resonance.

As the rhythm reached its climax, the already heated male insect’s brow beaded with sweat. Though the Star Beast-bone drumstick grew heavier in his grip, though his unconditioned muscles made some movements awkward—

With a slight tilt of his head—

A pristine diamond spun between his fingertips. The collar stud wasn’t large, but in the female insect’s grasp, it captured the light brilliantly nonetheless.

Unbothered by the surrounding gazes fixed on his hand, Shang Ling leaned back leisurely in his chair, eyes gleaming with intrigue as he watched the scene unfold.

If most male insects were dull creatures swept along by fate, ruled by their emotions, then the one before him was surely a divine anomaly—an exception carved by the Creator’s favor.

A male insect unlike any other. How fascinating.

The female insect’s smile remained unchanged, his obsidian eyes reflecting the diamond’s glow with uncanny brilliance.

But as if to make tonight’s banquet even more interesting, the belated intoxication from the Floating Dust wine surged through the male insect’s expanding veins and tensing muscles.

In his mental landscape, a thick glass door seemed to creak open under the unconscious push of drunken hands. The drumstick, previously only slightly warm to the touch, now grew deathly cold.

Oblivious, Philo’s eyes only brightened further.

Ignoring the gobsmacked expressions around him, the male insect brought the drumstick down with force. As the impact reverberated, a shiver-inducing gust seemed to sweep through the banquet hall, clinging to every insect present.

Since the creation of the Thunder Drum, the only male insect known to have played it with Psychic Soothing was the deceased Di Hainuo Kajifei. Now, it seemed, His Highness Philo Tulas would join those hallowed ranks.

"Is that... Psychic Soothing? Didn’t they say Philo couldn’t use it yet? The Male Insect Management Committee even exempted him from monthly Psychic Soothing duties for that reason. So how—?"

"You ask me? How should I know? Forget that—focus on his psychic rating. Is this the effect of an A-Class Male playing the Thunder Drum? It's intoxicating."

"We only find it pleasant. Look at the female soldiers—they are nearly buckling."

Indeed, the psychic oceans of male insects inherently have the ability to soothe the psychic oceans of female insects. However, excessive use of psychic soothing can drain a male's psychic energy faster, leading to long-term physical frailty.

As a result, even during required therapy sessions arranged by the Male Insect Management Committee, male insects generally dislike expending too much psychic energy, often just going through the motions. This has led to each session of psychic soothing feeling like a temporary relief that ultimately leaves most female insects craving more.

While the soothing can delay or suppress their psychic outbreaks, achieving complete tranquility in the psychic ocean is nearly impossible unless mated to a male. The minimal comfort provided by the Committee is far from sufficient.

Perhaps because he had just learned to wield this power and lacked control, or perhaps because he was drunk and simply let loose with everything he had, the female insects present—especially the military females—found their psychic oceans, which were usually buzzing with restless energy and suppressed chaotic clusters, now silently and gradually settling into calm.

Though the Thunder Drum could slightly amplify the soothing effect of a male's psychic energy, its beats also amped up the emotions of the insect race. Thus, even as their psychic oceans experienced rare calm, the insects present couldn’t help but get more and more pumped by the drumming.

Razor-sharp, hungry stares locked onto the male at the center—no one could look away.

Raising a hand to cover the rising bone spurs on his arm, Shang Ling watched the male with an increasingly gentle smile.

An A-Class Male Insect striking the Thunder Drum—today was truly full of surprises.

However—

His dark eyes deepened as they swept over the surrounding insects.

Perhaps Siluan should have arranged to meet Philo at another time. There were simply too many insects here today.

*Thud—*

The final drumbeat fell. Philo, who hadn’t once looked away from the Thunder Drum since picking up the drumsticks, now lowered his head slightly. Sweat-dampened lashes and rising drunkenness blurred his vision of the crowd.

Yet, tightening his grip on the drumsticks, he suppressed heavier-than-expected breaths and turned his head. His glassy violet eyes, unfocused, arrogantly dared everyone present.

Even as his legs were about to buckle, even as his arms inexplicably ached, Philo grinned and raised a drumstick toward Siluan’s direction.

"Hey."

"Aren’t you gonna clap for me?"

...

Clenching his fists, Siluan—ignoring the stares from other males and the useless, disgusting females—felt his face grow paler.

His thin lips parted slightly, his slightly protruding eyes narrowing as he spoke in a low, gravelly voice.

"What’s the name of this piece?"

The name?

Tilting his head, Philo, now thoroughly drunk, seemed to go momentarily blank at the question.

But then—

Smiling, he lowered the drumstick and staggered toward Siluan. No one stopped him. No one helped him.

The stunned remained stunned. The shocked stayed shocked. Those observing… kept observing.

Leaning the drumstick against the table, bracing himself with one arm, Philo moved closer to Siluan—unaware of how near he was. His earlier desire to retaliate against the other’s arrogance inexplicably faded.

Staring at the first insect to ask about the song’s name, at one whose eyes—less pitch-black, tinged with a flecked brown—reminded him of companions from his happy homeland, Philo’s voice softened but remained clear.

*"The General’s Orders."*

After speaking, as if the name had triggered something, his smile slowly vanished.

Back then, it was his mother who had taught him to drum.

Yes, despite his grandparents—one teaching the pipa, the other the guzheng—being reserved souls, they had somehow raised his mother into a take-no-prisoners kind of woman.

As a child, she had dragged him along to play the waist drum. A tiny kid in a floral-patterned jacket, clutching a red-silk-wrapped drum, banging away through the streets. When he grew older, after watching a certain Hong Kong drama and falling in love with *"A Man Should Better Himself,"* his mother had stubbornly forced him to learn the big drum—with *"The General’s Orders"* as her hand-picked must-practice piece.

At this thought, he dropped the drumstick and irritably threw an arm around the neck of this little shit who had inexplicably picked a fight with him today, growling:

"If you didn’t look like someone from back home, buddy—by my old temper—I’d have caved your skull in with this stick!"

"Asshole, did I even offend you? Coming at me for no damn reason!"

"You know where I’m from? A fucking dragon from the East! A lowlife like you isn’t worth the dirt under my nails!"

"Thought you were decent with those thick eyebrows—and this is how you act? No fucking decorum!"

"Who the hell shows up uninvited and acts like a damn nuisance? Embarrassing your parents and dragging me into it—for fuck's sake, why’d I have to get stuck in this bullshit isekai situation? Sure, there’s cool stuff, but the idiots? Just look at that drumming guy—so much talent, eating all this disrespect! You don’t respect genius, you deserve to get struck by lightning—you hear me?!"

...

Drunk.

*Drunk.*

He was *really* drunk—that liquor was hitting different.

"Your Highness, Your Highness—don’t fight, don’t fight! Don't even bother, both of you!"

"Don’t hit His Highness Philo! Your Highness Siluan, take it out on me instead!"

"Don’t be angry, Your Highness Siluan! He’s drunk—he didn’t mean it! Please cut him some slack!"

*For fuck's sake!!!*

Wrenching his head back to avoid the drunkard’s arm slung over his shoulder and the hand tugging his hair, Siluan planted a hand in Philo's chest and shoved him away, his face flushed with rage as he roared:

"I’m not hitting him!!"

*He’s* the lunatic—grabbing my hair, hugging me, now trying to gouge my eyes out! Who the hell said *I* was hitting this bastard?!

*All of you—get lost!!!*

The banquet ended with Philo collapsing drunk on the floor and Siluan shooting him one last furious glare, before making a hasty, undignified exit from the Tulas residence.

Though such an ending was anything but dignified, inexplicably—out of nowhere—Philo Tulas’ name spread like wildfire through the high society of the capital planet.

Some male insects still disliked him, but others praised his bad-boy charm, his short fuse, and sought to get closer.

As for the females—though debates raged over whether His Highness was sweet, an ice queen, or a wild child—nearly every attendee that night would later confess to having some very specific dreams that night.

A male who could play the Thunder Drum, with off-the-charts psychic power, *and* a face that could launch ships… How could anyone not pop bone spurs?!

Author’s Note:

Philo: *I don’t usually hit insects—but if I do, I don’t discriminate - males, females, I'll knock 'em all flat.*