Live Long and Prosper

Wuxiang's gaze shifted to the tightly shut door.

As he brushed past the two, he patted Wei Ping's shoulder with a light touch, like an elder encouraging a junior.

"Brother Song!"

"Song Qianji!"

The pressure lifted, and Ji Chen and Wei Ping spoke simultaneously—one with joy, the other with urgency.

The north wind eased slightly, and the flowers and trees grew still once more.

Wuxiang stood before the door, raising his hand to push it open, but first announced himself:

"This humble monk visits late at night, only to lay eyes on Benefactor Song!"

His voice boomed and resonated, like the chimes of an ancient temple.

"Why not?" the person inside laughed. "As long as the Master does not regret it."

Wuxiang lowered his gaze, lips moving silently.

Wei Ping didn't know what incantation he was murmuring, nor why Song Qianji had said "regret." He only felt the door was extremely thin and fragile, about to shatter the next moment and harm the person inside.

Wuxiang opened his eyes, a flash of red light passing through them before sinking deep into his pupils.

"Benefactor Song, this humble monk—"

"Creak!"

Before he could finish, the door suddenly opened from within, like a massive black hole.

Ji Chen was about to step forward when he saw the old monk shudder violently, as if struck by a heavy blow.

Wuxiang's pupils dilated as he retreated ten steps in succession, returning to his original spot.

He hurriedly closed his eyes, but two streams of tears flowed down—clearly blood.

Ji Chen was stunned: "This…"

Wei Ping murmured: "He opened his Wisdom Eye!"

Purple Cloud Temple had the "Qi Observation Art" to open the Heavenly Eye, while the Buddhist sect's similar technique was called the "Wisdom Eye," capable of observing a cultivator's luck and faintly glimpsing fragments of the past and future.

"Laying eyes on Benefactor Song" naturally didn't mean simply looking at his physical appearance.

Wei Ping didn't know if Wuxiang regretted his actions tonight, but he guessed the other wasn't feeling well and couldn't help but chuckle inwardly.

The old monk's voice trembled slightly: "So that's how it is, so that's how it is…"

A figure emerged from the room, passing through the shadows under the eaves to stand in the snow-like moonlight.

Song Qianji asked Wei Ping and Ji Chen: "Are you alright?"

Both shook their heads.

Wuxiang opened his eyes, pressed his palms together in prayer, his eyes turbid and dull: "Benefactor Song, my apologies for the disturbance. I take my leave."

Song Qianji didn't know what the other had seen. But in his previous life, when the Purple Cloud Temple Master looked at him, he was nearly blinded by the rolling black smoke surrounding him.

He had never feared being observed.

Wuxiang hadn't clearly seen Song Qianji's face, only vaguely making out a human silhouette.

That figure was bathed in golden light, incredibly bright, like raging flames, with strands of purple lightning mixed within the brilliant gold—remnants of Thunder Tribulation power.

A single glance felt like thousands of golden needles piercing his eyes, already injuring his vision.

Normally it wouldn't be this severe, but tonight Song Qianji had just broken through, his luck at its peak, the thunder flames not yet extinguished.

He shouldn't have looked.

Though the guest had already bid farewell, Song Qianji didn't let him leave: "Does the Master have any opportunities to bestow upon me? Even a string of prayer beads would suffice."

Wuxiang paused, then shook his head: "This humble monk has just looked. There is no fate between us."

Song Qianji feigned a sigh: "What a pity."

Wuxiang stared at him with turbid eyes: "Benefactor Song's luck is unparalleled in this world. Your destiny holds its own fortunes."

Song Qianji smiled politely: "You're too kind."

As they spoke, Wuxiang had already reached the entrance of Song Courtyard. Song Qianji said: "It's late tonight, heaven doesn't keep guests. Feel free to visit often when you have time."

After the man left the Immortal Official Manor, Ji Chen could no longer hold back: "Brother Song, are you feeling unwell anywhere?"

Song Qianji: "I'm perfectly fine."

Wei Ping: "That monk was unusual?"

Song Qianji hesitated: "The cultivation method he practices is indeed the orthodox Buddhist path. There isn't a trace of malice about him."He couldn't gauge the other's true capabilities—even with the Song Courtyard's formations bolstering him, he might not be able to detain this person tonight.

Wuxiang looked exactly as he had in his past life, with kind brows and gentle eyes, as if about to discuss life and Buddhist teachings with him.

Neither his memories of his previous life nor the River of Time held any trace of this person's past.

If he hadn't seen the red jade prayer beads of Meng Heze and He Qingqing, he would have taken the other for nothing more than a venerable monk.

Song Qianji suddenly remembered: "What about the assassin from earlier?!"

He had entered the Domain created by the Fountain of Immortality, passing from day to night. Waking up only to encounter Wuxiang's visit had delayed him—could Lin Feiyuan already be dead?

At the mention of "assassin," Wei Ping felt a pang of panic and lowered his head: "Locked in the next room. We've given him medicine; he's still alive."

Song Qianji relaxed: "You've all worked hard the whole day. Go back and rest."

Ji Chen said cheerfully, "Alright! Since Brother Song broke through to the Nascent Soul realm safely today, shall we have hotpot tomorrow to celebrate?"

Wei Ping fretted, "Master Song, that assassin is dangerous and harbors ill intentions. I'd like to stay and keep watch."

Song Qianji: "No need."

Wei Ping lacked the confidence to insist: "The assassin is cunning and skilled at sowing discord. Please don't listen to his nonsense, Master. Why not stick a Silence Talisman on him?"

Song Qianji only said: "Go back."

...

"Kill me or cut me to pieces—just get it over with quickly," Lin Feiyuan said to the person entering, leaning against the wall.

Though severely injured, his mind remained clear, and he had heard the commotion in the courtyard earlier.

He had thought those outside had encountered trouble, that the Song Courtyard would face a fierce battle, and he might escape in the chaos.

But Song Qianji had woken up. Without drawing a weapon or striking a single blow, he had inexplicably resolved the crisis.

"Utterly hypocritical!" Lin Feiyuan could almost imagine the fake, nauseating smile on Song Qianji's face from the tone in which he said "what a pity" and "feel free to visit often."

Based on his experience, the more righteous such people appeared on the surface, the more vicious and despicable they were behind closed doors.

Song Qianji had now closed the door.

Moonlight was shut outside, the candlelight dim, shadows blurred.

In the empty room, only the echoing footsteps could be heard. Lin Feiyuan refused to admit the fear in his heart. He thought, if I survive tonight, I'll surely have a chance to repay this a hundredfold someday.

Song Qianji crouched down. Seeing his face up close, Lin Feiyuan realized there was no killing intent in his eyes.

Song Qianji undid the Entrapment Formation and helped him up. Breaking the small formation set by Ji Chen required only a finger from him.

Lin Feiyuan's arms were shattered, yet he seemed oblivious to the pain:

"Immortal Official Song, I forgot to congratulate you on your breakthrough to the Nascent Soul realm. Surviving a great calamity brings great fortune—you ought to enshrine me."

Song Qianji remained silent. After checking his pulse, he channeled Spirit Qi to help regulate the chaotic energy within Lin Feiyuan's body.

Lin Feiyuan's expression darkened further: "Planning to play the good cop? Then who's the bad cop? Didn't Wei Ping leave?"

Once the Spirit Qi was regulated, Song Qianji applied medicine to his wounds, bound his arms, and sealed his major acupoints. In this state, a severely injured mortal posed almost no threat.

"Rest and recover," Song Qianji said before leaving. "You can't leave this courtyard."

Lin Feiyuan didn't sleep all night. He didn't know what Song Qianji intended—he suspected the medicine was poisoned.

Or perhaps Song Qianji wanted to heal him only to beat him again.

The next day, Wei Ping brewed the medicine as usual, and Song Qianji brought it in.Lin Feiyuan sneered, "Immortal Official Song, what are you trying to achieve with this hypocritical act? Is Wei Ping no longer useful as your dog, so you expect me to become one too?"

He remained as arrogant as ever, as if he had never been beaten before.

Any cultivator with a shred of pride would find this unbearable.

Song Qianji wasn't angry, only somewhat resigned: "Must you speak to me like this?"

Lin Feiyuan laughed exaggeratedly: "Don't tell me you actually want to hear pleasantries, Immortal Official Song? I take money to kill people, not to perform!"

Song Qianji murmured to himself: "It's my fault, I should have known earlier..."

He should have known that a dog's mouth can't produce ivory—why bother wasting words with someone like him?

Lin Feiyuan was neither Meng Heze nor Wei Ping, and certainly not Ji Chen. There was no way he would speak like a decent human being.

"What? You're wrong—ahh!" Lin Feiyuan gasped sharply.

Without another word, Song Qianji suddenly moved. He grabbed Lin Feiyuan by the collar, dragged him stumbling to the well, and shoved him headfirst into the opening.

"This formation in the well was set up for the last person who tried to kill me. Would you like to give it a try?"

Lin Feiyuan saw only a bottomless abyss—the dark well reflected nothing and emanated layers of chilling energy.

Pain wracked his body with cold sweat as he hissed through gritted teeth: "Dropping the act now? Finally can't keep up the pretense?!"

Song Qianji hauled him up again. With a crisp crack, he dislocated Lin Feiyuan's jaw.

Lin Feiyuan struggled: "I won't drink that medicine boiled by Wei Ping!"

That bastard Wei Ping would gladly see him die quietly—who knew if it was poisoned?

Half the medicinal broth spilled, staining Song Qianji's sleeve, but the other half was forced down his throat.

Lin Feiyuan choked until he nearly coughed up his lungs, cursing violently.

Song Qianji threatened in a low voice by his ear: "If you refuse to drink next time, I'll smash your teeth!"

"Brother Song!"

Just as Ji Chen entered the courtyard, Song Qianji slapped a Silence Talisman on Lin Feiyuan. With a bellyful of curses stuck in his throat, Lin Feiyuan stormed back to his room and slammed the door violently.

Ji Chen said: "I found out—that assassin is the famous Lin Feiyuan! He's killed countless Nascent Soul cultivators. You're amazing, Brother Song, to have defeated him!"

Song Qianji set up a chessboard at the table and replied mildly: "I didn't defeat him. I bullied him."

He had met Lin Feiyuan three years later in his previous life. Currently, the man hadn't obtained the "Blade of Wealth" yet, while Song Qianji had lived centuries longer than this version of Lin Feiyuan.

What sense of accomplishment was there in bullying a child?

None at all.

Seeing the chessboard, Ji Chen felt both anticipation and dread—he knew he'd be thoroughly defeated, but hoped to show some improvement.

Ji Chen asked: "Why didn't you kill him, Brother Song?"

Song Qianji: "He doesn't actually want me dead. He just took someone's money or made some deal."

Ji Chen: "You're too merciful, Brother Song."

Song Qianji shook his head.

When he'd met Lin Feiyuan in his previous life, he was still fleeing pursuers—destitute and down-and-out. After numerous twists and turns, someone finally led him to find the nomadic chief of the black market assassins.

On a heavy snow night, Lin Feiyuan sat by the fireplace eating roasted sweet potatoes, his door left open.

He crossed his legs arrogantly, not even bothering to look properly: "Now they're bringing all sorts of stray cats and dogs to my doorstep."

The introducer, fearing his temper, muttered a few pleasantries before hastily making his escape.

Leaving Song Qianji standing alone in the snow, watching the dancing firelight inside: "I'd like to request an assignment."

Lin Feiyuan laughed while eating his sweet potato: "That desperate for money? With a face like yours, you should sell it at the 'Springcoming Pavilion' next door. You'd probably earn more there."Song Qianji suppressed his temper, knowing he couldn't win a fight: "I won't be an assassin. I'm just short on money for now."

Lin Feiyuan, eating with relish, ignored him.

Song Qianji asked: "How much do you charge to kill a Golden Core cultivator?"

"Small jobs like Golden Core aren't worth much. Three hundred thousand." Lin Feiyuan said.

"I only need three hundred. You can keep the rest."

Lin Feiyuan looked up: "Why not say thirty?"

After serious consideration, Song Qianji replied: "That works too."

"You'd actually agree?" Lin Feiyuan exclaimed in surprise before grinning maliciously and tossing out a portrait. "Someone in the neighboring Spring Blossom Pavilion wants this person dead. If you can kill him before the opera ends, I'll give you three hundred."

Song Qianji recognized the man. He knew Lin Feiyuan was doing this intentionally. Although the target was only at Foundation Establishment stage, he was protected by a Golden Core perfection guardian.

But he had no choice. Turning away, he hugged his sword and left, heading toward the pleasure quarters filled with blooming flowers, bright moonlight, and singing courtesans.

The opera lyrics and music carried on the wind, growing clearer as they reached his ears.

Inside the building, singing, dancing, and harmonious revelry prevailed.

Yet again it was Miaoyan's melody, popular even in the mortal realm. Cultivators occasionally descended to the mortal world and enjoyed listening to these tunes too.

Years later, he would lose count of how many people he'd killed to such melodies.

The man died silently, eyes closed as if intoxicated by the music, merely bowing his head.

On stage, the opera continued with flowing water sleeves and lilting vocals.

Only after Song Qianji left the singing tower did blood begin to drip, followed by screams and chaos.

After this night, Song Qianji could be considered officially open for business.

His Evasion Arts, concealment techniques, and Light Body Technique weren't just suitable for escape—they were perfect for assassination too.

Lin Feiyuan kept him around to make money. Who could resist someone so cheap and effective, charging only three hundred per job?

Even when severely injured, he never complained or groaned, saving all his Spirit Stones only to buy Cultivation Methods, Magical Artifacts, and Talismans while training relentlessly every day.

He abstained from alcohol, avoided women, lived a monotonous life devoid of any entertainment.

Lin Feiyuan had never met anyone like him. He thought even direct disciples of major sects wouldn't push themselves to such abnormal extremes.

Song Qianji either harbored deep-seated vengeance or was simply sick in the head.

The two shared the same roof through winter and spring, rarely meeting or speaking.

Lin Feiyuan had once warned him: "I'm just lending you this place. If trouble comes knocking, I'll leave immediately. Don't expect me to care whether you live or die."

Song Qianji said: "Understood. I won't trouble you."

"At least you know your place."

Despite these words, Lin Feiyuan faced more troubles himself, and the two still had to help each other occasionally.

Song Qianji was excessively discreet, yet Lin Feiyuan didn't know what came over him when he arranged an opportunity for the other:

"North Sea's Wave Washing Sect is recruiting a Guest Elder. I put your name forward."

Song Qianji sat under a tree sharpening his sword. Shifting shadows from the rustling leaves dappled his body.

"Did you hear me?" Lin Feiyuan lifted his foot and nudged Song Qianji's boot. "Are you looking down on a Guest Elder position from an overseas sect? No matter how small or shabby their sect might be, it's still a proper mountain school. You'd get your own small peak, receive annual tributes, and in a few years take in some junior disciples and Daoist pages to serve you.""In a few years, you could marry a blind-eyed dao companion based on your looks, cultivating comfortably and steadily for the rest of your life. You're still young and quite talented. Don't waste your days hanging around with people like us—what future could that possibly bring?"

Most assassins came from poor backgrounds—either expelled from their sects or left with hidden meridian injuries that severed their dao path, forever stuck at a certain realm, knowing they had no chance to advance further.

Only rogue cultivators who saw no future would choose to take desperate risks, living for the moment with no thought for tomorrow.

Song Qianji didn’t want to waste time on idle chatter: "The Huawel Sect has issued a 'kill order' against me. Liu Hongshan has vowed to take my head. No minor sect would dare take me in."

Lin Feiyuan frowned, cursed at the sky, then pointed at the ground and scolded Song Qianji: "How did you offend the Huawel Sect?"

Song Qianji glanced up at him: "I brought it upon myself."

Lin Feiyuan waited a while, but when Song Qianji showed no intention of speaking further, he kicked him lightly before leaving: "You unlucky bastard."

It was true that Song Qianji was an "unlucky bastard," but he was also tough as nails. Once he saved enough money, he left, risking his life in secret domains to seize opportunities.

Driven by a fierce determination, he swore to rise above everyone else.

He never made any friends in his life. Whoever tried to kill him, he killed in return.

By the time he heard news of Lin Feiyuan again, it was already of his death.

Lin Feiyuan died a gruesome death—nine out of ten assassins met terrible ends. Song Qianji had expected this, yet he recalled someone once telling him: "Cultivate comfortably and steadily for the rest of your life..."

As the game concluded, Ji Chen ruffled his hair in frustration: "No more today. I need a break."

Song Qianji collected the pieces: "Alright."

He knocked on Lin Feiyuan’s door: "Come out and eat."

Lin Feiyuan opened the door, thinking, Are you kidding me? Do I even need to eat?

Ji Chen smiled sincerely: "I really envy you. Brother Song personally feeds you medicine and calls you to meals."

Lin Feiyuan, silenced by a forbidden speech curse, opened his mouth but no sound came out, his jaw still aching faintly. He screamed internally: If you’re so envious, you try it!

Is there anyone normal in this damned place? Has everyone been brainwashed by Song Qianji’s dark arts?

He’d heard earlier that Song Qianji was practicing some sinister technique to control minds, making people obey him unconditionally to boost his luck.

Suddenly sensing a hostile gaze, Lin Feiyuan turned to see Wei Ping holding a carved food box, staring at him with a complicated expression.

Lin Feiyuan smirked, feeling inexplicably pleased.

From an angle only Wei Ping could see, he opened his mouth in a silent threat: "Three days."