"Senior Brother Song, we seem to have arrived too early." Ji Chen glanced around, finding only morning mist ahead and behind.
The sky had just begun to lighten to a pale ice-blue, the moon's faint silhouette still lingering.
The Song Courtyard party stood fully equipped, waiting like hunters at a rabbit hole.
This was a three-way crossroads, the only route from Green Cliff to the Main Peak.
Beside the path stood a mountain pavilion named "Hundred Flowers Pavilion," which in spring lay hidden deep within blooming flowers.
Inner Sect disciples of Huawel Sect often gathered here to play and enjoy the scenery.
Unfortunately, it was now desolate winter, with no blossoms in sight—only endless white snow.
Song Qianji sat in the mist-shrouded pavilion: "Not early. He'll be here soon."
Ziye Wenshu practiced his blade at midnight, meditated after, and concluded his cultivation at mao hour.
Then he would take out a small notebook he always carried and seriously write his diary, usually finishing within half an incense stick's time.
Unless encountering danger, severe injury, or other emergencies, he maintained this dull yet regular routine.
Song Qianji was curious about that diary but never peeked.
Though they traveled together at times, their relationship fluctuated—he feared discovering Ziye Wenshu drawing circles in that little book, cursing him to an early death.
Song Qianji once assumed all head disciples of major sects were like Ziye Wenshu, daily refining their cultivation insights as a mandatory task checked by their masters upon return. Proper people kept diaries.
He later learned this wasn't the case.
Lin Feiyuan bent to adjust the hem of his ceremonial robe, playing the part of a dutiful Guard Squad disciple but transmitting a fierce voice: "I embroidered this stitch by stitch—don't crease it! Sit properly, will you? Do you think you're farming in Song Courtyard?!"
Song Qianji admitted fault: "My apologies."
He straightened his spine, lifted his chin slightly, adopting the demeanor of his past life as a Great Adept.
Soon after, a light call broke the quiet dawn, crisp as a bird's song: "Senior Brother Song, is that you?"
The Purple Cloud Temple's abbess hadn't come; Li Ying led a dozen Purple Cloud Temple disciples to the banquet.
Passing by Hundred Flowers Pavilion, they glimpsed a figure through the faint cold mist.
His appearance hadn't changed much—his profile still handsome, perhaps a bit taller, his posture more upright.
The down-and-out drunkard of spring nights had transformed into an immortal of noble grace.
The young woman in goose-yellow silk sprinted toward the pavilion. Purple Cloud Temple disciples behind her reached out to stop her but were too late, letting her go.
Everyone knew she was young but shared the abbess's seniority, accompanying Chess Devil freely and unrestrained.
Her smiling face bloomed like a flower, her figure light, skirt fluttering in the wind like a young swallow returning to the woods, catching the eyes of all Thousand Canals disciples.
"Another one." Ji Chen raised an eyebrow and winked; Meng Heze jabbed him with a sword sheath.
Song Qianji rose, formal: "Fellow Practitioner Li."
"It really is you—I almost didn't recognize you!" Li Ying blinked. "What did you call me? Either use my name or call me Junior Sister Li. What does 'fellow practitioner' mean? Don't you know me?"
Song Qianji felt somewhat awkward. This young girl had seen him drunkenly fooling around and seemed to have been frightened to tears.
He replied gently: "Of course I know you, Junior Sister Li."
Li Ying beamed: "I never expected you to come! Could you write another poem for me?"
True to her impulsive nature, she produced her hairpin brush for recording chess moves and a notebook, immediately urging Song Qianji to write.
"Another poem?" Song Qianji wiped his brow: "I can't."He had no fondness for literary flourishes, at most composing doggerel with loose meter and erratic rhymes.
Before the other could speak, he changed the subject first: "How is Chess Devil doing?"
Li Ying's smile stiffened slightly as she nodded then shook her head: "Both well and unwell."
After the Grand Audience Assembly concluded, her master seemed to have fulfilled his wish, becoming cheerful and smiling often. Yet his body weakened day by day, with fewer waking moments.
Purple Cloud Temple wasn't a monolithic bloc either, as numerous previously nonexistent issues emerged one after another, forcing Li Ying to confront them.
When physically and mentally exhausted, she would take out the words "plant potatoes" to look at, always unable to suppress a laugh.
The paper had yellowed with worn edges, yet she still treasured it, carrying it with her and handling it carefully.
Each time she looked, she thought: "The Hero Summons that shook the world was originally written for me. The final three words were left for me alone—none of them know, none can guess!"
Thinking this, she suddenly transmitted her voice to Song Qianji: "You should enter the hall for the banquet with me. If you sit beside me, when Huawel Sect sees it, they'll suspect you still have connections with my master and won't dare trouble you at the banquet."
Song Qianji found her naive and endearing but said: "Thank you, Junior Sister Li, but it's unnecessary."
As Li Ying was about to say more, a clear female voice called out nearby: "Immortal Official Song!"
A white tiger emerged from the morning mist. Nearly as tall as a person, it had no stray hairs except for the flame-like pattern on its forehead.
Its crimson eyes bled with divine authority.
The purple-clad woman leaped from the tiger's back, the delicate Jade Bloom at her temple trembling as two or three petals drifted down.
Song Qianji paused slightly before stepping out of the pavilion to greet: "Daoist Friend Feng."
Feng Ziyi hadn't come with the Great Yan Sect disciples.
Preferring amusement, she had taken advantage of the gathering of sects for Chen Hongzhu's engagement ceremony to invite seven or eight close female cultivators for an all-night card game, only coming to the banquet this morning.
Li Ying saw the "Great Yan Sect Princess," while Feng Ziyi noticed the "Purple Cloud Temple Little Madam."
The two exchanged greetings, the atmosphere growing somewhat delicate.
Song Qianji felt he shouldn't have entered this pavilion today—even its name was inauspicious.
But who was to blame for this?
Better blame Ziye Wenshu.
What major event happened yesterday that his diary was progressing so slowly this morning?
"No way." Ji Chen's smile withered as he clutched Meng Heze's shoulder tearfully: "Another one?! Is this reasonable? I still don't have even one!"
Meng Heze impartially shoved him off.
"Immortal Official Song, we haven't had chance to congratulate you on your breakthrough since parting at the Grand Audience Assembly," Feng Ziyi said cheerfully. "My female Iron Beast gave birth—I'll send one to your Thousand Canals later. Once you raise it, it can serve as your mount—consider it a congratulatory gift!"
Her white tiger lay quietly beside her like a lazy oversized cat.
"I appreciate your kindness," Song Qianji said, "but Iron Beasts are too precious—I couldn't keep it alive."
Even the cats in Song Courtyard were fed by Lin Feiyuan, while he himself still relied on Wei Ping for meals.
Such valuable spiritual beasts were better left to beast-taming specialists.
Ji Chen couldn't contain his curiosity: "I've heard Iron Beasts are ancient rare breeds that eat both metal and bamboo, fighting fiercely and bravely—is that true?"
"Absolutely true!" Feng Ziyi laughed. "Young Master Ji is indeed learned, worthy of being a compiler."
Ji Chen grew even more excited: "And Iron Beasts have distinctive black-and-white fur..."Song Qianji cleared his throat lightly, "The real black-and-white has arrived."
Everyone turned around and saw over twenty people from Green Cliff walking proudly with billowing sleeves along another mountain path.
Leading them was Ziye Wenshu, whose aura was restrained. He wore black robes, carried a black blade, and had pale skin.
"Quite fitting for the occasion," Li Ying giggled.
Feng Ziyi was momentarily stunned before bursting into laughter. The female cultivators behind her covered their mouths as they dissolved into laughter.
Before the Green Cliff group drew near, they first heard laughter like orioles singing in a valley, interspersed with light, rippling chuckles resembling pearls falling onto a jade plate.
Then they saw the youthful and lively Li Ying, the radiant and straightforward Feng Ziyi, along with seven or eight other female cultivators.
It was like spring returning to the earth, with vibrant flowers blooming on white snow, a dazzling display of beauty.
Looking more closely, beneath the plaque inscribed with "Hundred Flowers Pavilion" stood a slender figure.
Surrounded by emerald feathers and yellow robes, amidst a riot of colors, he smiled faintly, whether out of helplessness or composed ease.
The Green Cliff disciples immediately grew alert, secretly transmitting messages:
"What are they laughing at? Are they laughing at us? Or at the Courtyard Overseer?"
"That person must be Song Qianji, Song Xian Guan."
"Some 'Hero Summons'—more like a hero fallen into a den of rouge and powder. Flirting and mingling with female cultivators so early in the morning, he really is a libertine by nature."
Qingzhai felt inexplicably irritated, "Last night he was pestering Senior Brother, and now he's having it both ways, basking in his success."
Ziye Wenshu continued forward without glancing sideways.
Even amidst all the splendid colors of the world, his eyes seemed to perceive only black and white.
Mindful of the Courtyard Overseer's presence, the Green Cliff disciples remained silent, but their eyes glared at Song Qianji, openly displaying disdain and contempt, faintly tinged with a trace of envy.
Just then, Song Qianji called out, "Fellow Daoist Ziye, wait a moment."
Zimo sensed something amiss and preempted, "What else do you want?"
Ziye Wenshu stopped and looked at Song Qianji.
Song Qianji stepped forward from the crowd, "Good morning. Have you eaten? We meet again."
Ziye Wenshu, unskilled in small talk, forced out a single word, "Coincidence."
"Not a coincidence. I was waiting for you," Song Qianji laughed. "I've been standing here for the time it takes to drink a cup of tea. You've finally arrived."
"Are the two of them... close?" Feng Ziyi murmured to herself.
Li Ying shook her head blankly, "I've never heard they knew each other."
Ziye Wenshu frowned slightly, feeling puzzled, "Why?"
No fighting spirit—why pester him?
No malice—why make such strange requests?
No response received—why persist so stubbornly, refusing to give up?
Song Qianji cupped his hands in salute, "With you blocking the way ahead, I feel more at ease."
Ziye Wenshu was taken aback, "Unreasonable."
He led his disciples away.
The exchange between the two was like a riddle, incomprehensible to anyone else.
Song Qianji quickly chased after them.
Meng Heze waved his hand, and the Thousand Canals disciples, invigorated, strode forward to follow.
Ji Chen lagged a few steps behind, pulling Lin Feiyuan from the back row to transmit a message, "Could you find time to make a set of sturdy uniforms for everyone? Something to wear when traveling the Cultivation World, to better reflect the spirit and style of our Thousand Canals disciples..."
Lin Feiyuan laughed in exasperation, "Kid, I'm the leader of an assassin guild. Who do you take me for? Your family tailor?!"
Ji Chen scratched his head, "Sorry, it's just that the other side is dressed so uniformly, even their hair ribbons are the same color. Our side looks like a dye vat—we're lacking in presence!"Although the Guard Squad disciples hailed from the Huawel Sect, they no longer wished to wear the Outer Sect disciple uniforms.
For this banquet, they had all donned their finest attire—each outfit varying in style and color.
Lin Feiyuan shot him a glare: "We’ll discuss measurements after we return."
While the two were exchanging silent messages, Meng Heze glanced back. Though unaware of their discussion, their expressions clearly indicated it was nothing serious.
A self-reproaching thought flashed through his mind once more—Wei Ping was truly the reliable one.
Song Qianji continued his persuasion: "You know I’m serious about this. It would only benefit you, with no drawbacks whatsoever! Why not give it a try?"
Ziye Wenshu needed the reputation of the top talent, or rather, the entire Green Cliff needed that prestige.
Ziye Wenshu shook his head: "There may be benefits, but it lacks reason."
Song Qianji laughed: "Exactly, you have principles—'If it lacks reason, it cannot be done.' But today is a joyous occasion. Can’t you make an exception?"
Ziye Wenshu gave him a strange look.
Without a word spoken, Song Qianji understood the meaning behind that gaze and was momentarily speechless—what does their joy have to do with you? It’s not you getting engaged.
The broad road leading to the Main Peak stretched ahead, with Song Qianji and Ziye Wenshu walking side by side at the front.
Behind them, disciples from Green Cliff and Thousand Canals formed twelve rows, eyeing each other warily.
Bringing up the rear were Li Ying, Feng Ziyi, and others.
"When did those two become so close?" Li Ying wondered, utterly perplexed. "Their personalities are worlds apart, and their paths have never crossed."
She wasn’t the only one thinking this. As the two approached the main hall side by side, even the host was taken aback—since when had Ziye Wenshu become friendly with Song Qianji?
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