The cold moon shone upon the lingering snow, casting a silver glow over the thousand mountains.
When Song Qianji stepped out the door, he said he was going to "look at the flowers."
Ji Chen found it strange: "Where would there be flowers in the dead of winter, in the middle of the night?"
Lin Feiyuan thought he was too carefree—even in enemy territory, he couldn’t shake his habit of admiring flowers and tending to plants.
Song Qianji pointed outside the window: "Not far."
Meng Heze and Ji Chen insisted on following.
The three of them ascended Broken Mountain Cliff at night.
The accumulated snow on the mountain path felt soft underfoot, emitting faint, delightful crunching sounds. Ji Chen, playful by nature, rolled a snowball and threw it at Meng Heze from behind.
Meng Heze tilted his head, and the snowball flew into the abyss, vanishing without even an echo.
White mist rose from the bottom of the cliff, obscuring any view of its depths.
An ancient pine tree stretched sideways at the cliff’s edge, its needles half-withered and blanketed under thick, cloud-like layers of snow.
Song Qianji knew this was the oldest tree on Hua Wei Mountain, though its appearance was neither grand nor towering.
It remained the same through all seasons: when spring arrived with chirping insects, singing birds, and drizzling rain turning everything emerald, it did not grow any denser.
When winter came, silencing the birds and freezing the mountains, it did not wither.
For a thousand years, it had endured wind, frost, rain, snow, thunder, lightning, and scorching fires. Its roots delved deep into the earth, spreading in all directions, almost merging with Hua Wei Mountain itself.
Like the eldest elder in a great family, it may not possess the greatest strength, but its foundations ran the deepest.
Song Qianji gently touched the rough bark of the tree, then took a drop from the Fountain of Immortality within the Pure Bottle and lightly tapped the treetop.
His rapport with the Fountain of Immortality had grown stronger.
At first, he couldn’t even touch it. Later, he could draw the misty vapor from the bottle’s mouth. Now, he could extract a single drop of the true spring.
Meng Heze and Ji Chen were accustomed to his habit of touching plants and thought nothing of it.
They kept their distance from Song Qianji, not wishing to disturb him.
"This is where I truly got to know Senior Brother Song," Meng Heze said to Ji Chen.
"I know, you’ve told me before. You faced life and death together, narrowly escaped danger, and outwitted Deacon Zhao. That’s why you’ve always been grateful to him…" Ji Chen continued tossing snowballs playfully.
Meng Heze shook his head: "It’s not gratitude now. If I had to describe it, it’s more like a sense of comfort."
He caught a snowball Ji Chen tossed his way: "When I’m out there amidst clashes and conflicts, just thinking of Senior Brother Song living steadily and peacefully in Song Garden, growing vegetables and tending flowers, brings me peace. No matter how far I wander or how harsh the world becomes, there’s always a place to return to…"
"But when I returned to Thousand Canals, I heard that Senior Brother had been assassinated and even took a sword strike for Wei Ping. How do you think I felt then? That scoundrel Wei Ping and I are sworn enemies!" Just as Ji Chen was about to console him, Meng Heze added quietly:
"But now, I wish he were here."
Ji Chen breathed a sigh of relief: "Me too. He’s actually a decent guy, and quite pitiable—after being rejected by the girl he liked…"
Meng Heze grew alert: "What did you say? What girl?"
Ji Chen immediately covered his mouth, his eyes wide with panic: "I didn’t say anything!"
"You did."
"You misheard!"
Snowballs flew high into the air like falling meteors. The two chased each other back and forth, moving away from Song Qianji, but suddenly halted together.
The snowball they had thrown was batted back.
Infused with sharp energy, it exploded into a shower of icy crystals.
Meng Heze and Ji Chen instantly paled.
Song Qianji patted the old tree in farewell.
"Don’t move," he said, stepping forward and signaling Meng Heze to sheathe his sword.
In the darkness, the sound of something cutting through the air was sharp and brief, accompanied by flashes of gleaming light.
"Is someone practicing swordplay over there?" Ji Chen asked curiously."It's not sword practice, it's blade practice." Song Qianji said, "One person practices the blade, while two others stand guard nearby."
"Senior brother knows him?" Meng Heze was somewhat surprised, "Such sharp blade energy."
Song Qianji nodded.
Ziye Wenshu was accustomed to practicing his blade during the midnight hours in secluded places.
With Huawel Sect hosting numerous guests everywhere, no place was more desolate than Song Qianji's current location.
Ziye Wenshu's black blade was named "Snow Blade."
Looking at this person during the hottest summer days could cool and refresh one's mind, but looking at him during winter...
Who would want to look at him in winter? Was the snowy ground not cold enough?
Song Qianji turned and left immediately, with Meng Heze and Ji Chen hurriedly following.
Though this seemed somewhat impolite, it was actually the most tactful and trouble-free approach, directly conveying "no intention to disturb."
Unless they were from the same sect or friends, watching another cultivator practice their cultivation method was considered impolite and likely to offend.
Accidentally encountering such a situation was like mistakenly entering an occupied hot spring - it was best to pretend nothing was seen.
As Song Qianji crunched through the snow, he thought that Ziye Wenshu's cultivation had improved again. He was stronger than at this time in his previous life.
Why had such a genius never attracted Xian Jianchen's attention?
Because he was taciturn, unshakable, with every word and action measured like a ruler, never making mistakes.
He was absolutely the type of person Xian Jianchen would dislike the most.
—Ziye Wenshu's face practically screamed "boring," no, he was practically "boring" personified.
Looking through the long river of time, Xian Jianchen was extremely self-centered. When taking disciples, he didn't just consider talent, but also whether their temperament suited his tastes.
Although the savior Wei Zhenyu learned swordsmanship from him, he also suffered greatly from Xian Jianchen's methods.
Xian Jianchen had so many character flaws and eccentricities that they could scare someone with trypophobia. He acted entirely according to his whims, leaving no trace to follow.
Song Qianji would rather deal with a hundred Xu Yuns than have any connection with him.
Listening to the blade wind behind him, he fell into deep thought.
As long as he maintained a similar cultivation level to Ziye Wenshu in the future, while staying one step behind, he could reduce the probability of catching Xian Jianchen's attention.
If he ever really encountered Xian Jianchen, he would immediately pretend to be Ziye Wenshu.
What a great idea!
The sound of crunching snow stopped. Song Qianji waited quietly, letting the moon shadows shift westward, the night wind blow, and the cold dew descend, unable to suppress a smile.
"Brother Song, what's wrong?" Ji Chen asked.
"I have some matters to attend to. You two should head back first."
The two didn't leave.
Finally, when the blade wind behind them ceased, Song Qianji turned around and strode forward, calling out loudly: "I am Song Qianji. Greetings, Fellow Daoist Ziye. Though we're meeting for the first time, I apologize for the interruption—"
Meng Heze and Ji Chen exchanged glances, seeing shock in each other's eyes.
The blade practitioner was Ziye Wenshu. Why was Song Qianji taking the initiative to greet him?
He never actively sought to acquaint himself with other cultivators. Could it be that the Green Cliff Courtyard Overseer was a hidden farming expert?
One was the youngest Nascent Soul in history, a genius famous for many years.
The other was a late bloomer, rising from the Grand Audience Assembly to overcoming the Thunder Tribulation in just one year.
In front of Song Qianji, others didn't dare mention Ziye Wenshu casually.
In front of Ziye Wenshu, the Green Cliff crowd also avoided mentioning Song Qianji.
The two maintained a kind of "kings avoiding each other" dynamic.
Now Song Qianji had returned without reason.
The two people beside Ziye Wenshu were even more vigilant than Meng Heze and Ji Chen.
"Courtyard Overseer Senior Brother, what has Song Qianji come for?" asked a scholar in dark blue robes.
"He brought two people with him too. Look, that's 'Ji Bianxiu'!" said another scholar in light purple robes.After traveling for a while, Meng Heze gained great fame by taking away the Outer Sect disciples of the Huawei Sect.
Ji Chen, though never leaving his home, surpassed Meng Heze in reputation at Green Cliff, all thanks to several anthologies bearing his name.
The scholars of Green Cliff prided themselves on being well-read and knowledgeable across all fields, while the Thousand Canals anthologies were renowned for their varied and notoriously difficult questions.
The strongest problem-solvers in the Cultivation World would never admit defeat easily.
The anthologies meant to help Outer Sect disciples and Rogue Cultivators get started were simple for them. After finishing, they would laugh and mock openly:
"The question types are indeed novel, with a few that make one scratch their head in frustration or slam the table in admiration. Unfortunately, they lack real difficulty."
"Only country bumpkins who’ve never seen the world would treat these as treasures."
Before long, these rumors reached Wei Ping. He wasn’t angry, nor did he argue that these were indeed basic questions meant for "country bumpkins." He simply smiled faintly and released an "advanced edition," still bearing Ji Chen’s name.
Thus began the nightmare, as the scholars of Green Cliff were repeatedly and mentally trampled upon.
Countless late nights spent burning the midnight oil were accompanied by curses directed at Ji Chen’s name.
Tonight, seeing Ji Chen in person, how could their feelings not be complicated?
As for Song Qianji, it was even more complicated.
Many admired and respected him for copying the "Hero Summons." But Song Qianji was far away, while the Courtyard Overseer was right before them. Years of accumulated prestige had elevated him to a near-divine status in the hearts of Green Cliff’s scholars, something a mere calligraphy copy could not shake.
As the two were repeatedly discussed and compared by outsiders, Ziye Wenshu’s many supporters couldn’t help but feel a subtle hostility and wariness toward Song Qianji.
The "Snow Blade" reflected the moonlight, its cold gleam shining on the snow, colder than the moon itself.
With a sharp sound, Ziye Wenshu sheathed his blade: "Lakeside Pavilion, I’ve seen you before."
This was a rebuttal to the other’s claim of it being their "first meeting."
Song Qianji stepped closer, smiling as he greeted: "We meet again, what a coincidence."
Ziye Wenshu looked up, staring directly at him.
The moon in the sky, the snow on the ground, the man in black robes with a black blade.
He stood leaning on his blade, a stark contrast of black and white.
His skin was pale, his lips thin and lacking color. If not for the faint blue veins visible on his neck, he would resemble a statue carved from white jade.
His brow bones were high, his eye sockets slightly sunken, and his thick eyelashes cast deep shadows, making his gaze seem even more profound.
Song Qianji understood the meaning in that gaze—
Do you need something?
Familiar cold air. Song Qianji took a deep breath: "Fellow Daoist Ziye, I’ve come to discuss something with you."
He didn’t waste words, beat around the bush, or try to establish connections.
Ziye Wenshu uttered two more words: "Speak."
Song Qianji smiled: "Before you’re about to break through in the future, could you send me a message?"
Before Ziye Wenshu could respond, the blue-robed scholar beside him exclaimed:
"Immortal Official Song, what is the meaning of this?!"
In the struggle for the Great Dao, cultivators always sought speed and strength.
There was only one universally acknowledged first place, while countless could claim to be second.
"I don’t want to attract attention. I want to lag half a step behind you each time," Song Qianji said to Ziye Wenshu sincerely. "Of course, I won’t let you work for nothing. If you need magical artifacts, talismans…"
To the two from Green Cliff, it sounded as though Song Qianji was deliberately flaunting how he had stolen the spotlight in this breakthrough and boasting about the abundant resources of Thousand-Ditch Prefecture, how his wealth was no longer what it used to be.
The purple-robed scholar interrupted: "Don’t push us too far! Our Green Cliff doesn’t lack the meager resources of your Thousand Canals!"
"Qingzhai, Zimo," Ziye Wenshu said.The two fell silent, glaring at Song Qianji with expressions still full of resentment and indignation.
Ji and Meng glared back.
Four pairs of eyes clashed like fighting cocks.
Song Qianji moved closer.
Ziye Wenshu disliked strangers approaching and initially intended to block him with his blade, but for some reason, he did not act.
"Friend Ziye, I am sincere. Could you consider it?" Song Qianji stood empty-handed, his aura relaxed and completely unguarded.
Ziye Wenshu frowned slightly, as if puzzled:
"Have we met before?"
Song Qianji choked back his words: "We've crossed paths once, but I wouldn't say we know each other."
In this lifetime, they truly did not know each other.
In their previous life, they had met in the Blood River Valley secret realm, forced by crisis—a proud son of a noble sect and a Rogue Cultivator from the mud—to travel together for a month.
For that month, they worked day and night without rest, exhausting all means to cooperate for survival, while also using every trick to guard against each other.
Calling them friends was a stretch. Their personalities were too different, and in moments of heated temper, they had hurled harsh words at each other.
Calling them enemies did not fit either—before Ziye Wenshu died, he clearly had the chance to kill Song Qianji but did not act.
After Ziye Wenshu's death, Song Qianji sometimes looked back and felt a loneliness akin to seeking defeat.
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