On this starless, moonless early spring night, silence enveloped everything.
Before the storm arrived, the candlelight flickered first.
Wei Ping heard the wind howling softly as it swept through the flower trellises in Song Courtyard. The damp scent of soil washed over him like ocean waves crashing against his body.
He picked up a slightly bitter coriander leaf, chewing it thoughtfully before suddenly asking, "Is Senior Brother Song waiting for the rain again?"
Legend had it that Thousand Canals had suffered three years of severe drought before Song Qianji arrived, when the first rain finally fell.
Song Qianji shook his head: "Not waiting for rain tonight. I'm waiting for you."
When waiting for rain, one shouldn't do anything else.
"How nice." Wei Ping chuckled softly and began eating the sticky cold noodles.
He ate faster and faster, until he was swallowing large mouthfuls, tears falling into the noodle bowl.
The young man's muscles were tense all over, his face wearing a fierce expression, cheeks bulging as he chewed forcefully, like a wild beast devouring raw flesh.
Sooner or later, Song Qianji would learn that he had originally come to kill him.
If Song Qianji couldn't tolerate him, if Song Garden couldn't accommodate him, where could he go?
If Song Qianji wanted to kill him, he wouldn't have the strength to fight back - he could only flee.
He once had a home but lost it, he didn't want to sleep in Bright Moon Tower anymore, and those carefree, lawless days of his past were gone forever.
He once thought the world was vast enough to find shelter anywhere, but looking back now, he realized he had truly become a stray dog, battered by wind and rain with nowhere to return.
Song Qianji, facing Wei Ping's back, couldn't see his expression but could feel the hostility radiating from his entire body.
He couldn't help frowning slightly: "If you don't want to eat, then don't."
Wei Ping ignored him, picked up the noodle bowl, and drank it all in one go.
His turbulent yet suppressed emotions agitated his internal injuries, causing stagnant blood to surge up his throat.
After drinking, his mouth filled with the warm, sticky taste of iron.
"Clang!" The porcelain bowl hit the table heavily as Wei Ping coughed violently.
Song Qianji thought to himself, what's the point of this? The kitchen doesn't have many noodle bowls to begin with - if it breaks, we'll have to buy another.
"Is there something you're hiding from me?" He sighed deeply, deciding to speak plainly.
Wei Ping didn't turn around: "Song Qianji, the tragic background story I told you before was fake. The name Wei Ping is also fake. Lin Feiyuan and I are accomplices - we were both paid by others to assassinate you—"
"Boom!"
A muffled thunder startled the earth, the spring wind sharp as knives, dark undercurrents surging.
Wei Ping stopped speaking, put down his chopsticks, and slowly stood up.
"Oh."
Before turning around, Wei Ping wondered if he was hallucinating, but he definitely heard Song Qianji say: "I know."
The voice was as calm and light as always.
"You knew?!"
For a moment, he wanted to grab Song Qianji by the collar and shout - then what's wrong with you, how dare you.
Song Qianji patted the armrest of his reclining chair: "On the day we first met, you were surveying the layout of Song Courtyard, hiding murderous intent while restraining yourself. Besides, when I was hiring a steward, despite the strange conditions, a perfectly suitable candidate immediately showed up - how could such good fortune fall upon me? Ah, the face you're wearing now is also fake, isn't it?"
He had known all along that Wei Ping was an assassin. Whether commissioned by Huawel Sect or Zhao Family, for money or fame, he didn't care.
Because Wei Ping hadn't done anything against him. Actions speak louder than intentions.
Wei Ping suddenly turned around: "Although my background, name, and origins are fake, and my appearance is fake, my devotion to Thousand Canals is real! After learning about your aspirations, I only wanted to help you, never to harm you!"He breathed rapidly, and in his agitation, blood surged up his throat once more.
"Boom!" Lightning streaked across the night sky, followed by another muffled thunderclap.
Song Qianji was taken aback. Me, a farmer—what ambitions could I possibly have?
"Do you believe my words?!" Wei Ping demanded, his voice thick with blood.
"I believe you," Song Qianji nodded.
Wei Ping's voice grew louder: "Then, what about the many people I killed tonight—do you blame me?!"
"I don’t," Song Qianji shook his head. If your enemies seek revenge, I’ll stand by you.
"Good! Good!" Wei Ping exclaimed twice. "Song Qianji, I don’t want to go to Green Cliff, nor do I want to enter Purple Cloud Temple. I refuse to choose the path of ascending directly to the clouds in cultivation. Saving from the top down can only offer temporary relief, not eternal salvation. Only by rising from the bottom can we truly save the world! You and I share the same path!"
"Save the world?" Song Qianji’s mind reeled.
Before his thoughts could fully settle, Wei Ping raised a hand and tapped twelve acupoints on his body. His utterly ordinary features suddenly transformed.
In the pitch-dark chaos, flashes of lightning illuminated the young man’s sharp brows and starry eyes, radiating vibrant energy.
What a fiercely imposing face.
"My true name is Wei Zhenyu. 'Zhen' for discarding falsehood to preserve truth, 'Yu' for two jades joined together…"
As Wei Zhenyu began explaining his origins, Song Qianji could no longer hear him.
"The Savior," he murmured. "I should have guessed it sooner."
It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered the possibility—after all, Wei Ping shared the same surname.
But Wei Ping’s temperament was too gentle, too humble, like a cup of warm water or a lump of plain dough, easily bullied. Even if he were an assassin, he’d be the most mild-mannered one.
Utterly opposite to the Savior he had witnessed in the River of Time.
Wei Zhenyu, overwhelmed with excitement, declared, "Let us create a new Thousand Canals together, forge a third path to save the world—"
"Who told you I want to save the world?" Song Qianji’s voice turned slightly cold, like cold water dousing burning embers.
"What?" Wei Zhenyu was stunned.
"Fellow Daoist Wei, have you misunderstood something?" Song Qianji gazed at the sky. "I came to Thousand Canals for freedom."
A faint coolness touched his cheeks as delicate rain began to fall, fine as flower needles.
"But you diverted rivers, inspected and improved the soil, prayed for rain, aided the common people…"
"That was for freedom, for better farming. Just minor efforts," Song Qianji interrupted. "Fellow Daoist Wei, you’ve truly misunderstood."
"Misunderstood?" Wei Zhenyu’s expression froze in a smile, appearing utterly absurd. "I never believed anyone could defy heaven to save the world, but now I do. Only you can achieve this—why won’t you act?"
After the night’s extreme highs and lows, his voice trembled slightly. "Song Qianji, don’t joke with me."
"I’m in no mood for jokes," Song Qianji finally met his gaze squarely and repeated, "In this lifetime, I care not whether the world lives or dies."
Wei Zhenyu’s wounds suddenly flared with excruciating pain. "Ugh!" He spat a mouthful of dark blood.
Song Qianji’s expression softened with pity, but he hardened his heart and did not intervene. Instead, he took out three items and placed them on the stone table: a zither, a treasure box, and half a scroll of chess strategies.
Wei Zhenyu’s blood ran cold. "You want to send me away?"
"These were always meant to be yours. Take them," Song Qianji struggled to calm his emotions. "A century from now, the crisis of the Sky-Supporting Tree may be an apocalyptic calamity for the ordinary masses, but for you, it could also be an opportunity."
Wei Ping’s expression grew increasingly cold and fierce. His entire body trembled, as if consumed by extreme fury.Yet Song Qianji issued the eviction order: "Don't waste your time holed up in this tiny Thousand Canals. You were born to turn the tide, to stand in the highest celestial palace revered by all, to wed the most beautiful Dao companion."
"Ha!" Wei Ping laughed sharply, "So this is what you think of me?! That I care only for power, status, fame, and beauties?"
"My apologies. I misspoke, measuring a gentleman's heart with my petty standards." Song Qianji suddenly retreated two steps as Wei Zhenyu erupted, sweeping the array diagrams, Seven Wonders Zither, and Painted Spring Mountain off the table.
These world-treasured artifacts tumbled into the vegetable patch, rolling through mud.
"I don't want them!" Wei Zhenyu roared with fury, snatching the lone porcelain bowl from the table.
"Go on, smash it!" Song Qianji challenged, "Smash it!"
Wei Zhenyu paused, then slammed the bowl back onto the table.
Instead, he drew a sword still carrying the aura of bloodshed.
"This blade—I spotted it at a black-market pawnshop in Hua Wei City," he said. "I truly didn't know then that you were its owner."
"Nor did I know it had fallen into your hands," Song Qianji replied with complicated emotions.
"Do you still dare draw your sword now?" Wei Ping pressed, hand on hilt, "Do you still have the courage to unsheathe it?"
Radiating menace, his tone turned vicious: "What are you running from? What are you afraid of? Are you afraid of losing?!"
Faced with this relentless interrogation, Song Qianji only smiled: "Of course you're not afraid of losing. Fellow Daoist Wei fears nothing at all."
His smile held a trace of bleakness: "Because you've never lost."
You're the protagonist, the center of this world.
When you're happy, you can come to my Thousand Canals, change your name, spin tales to deceive people.
You can reject anyone, or wait to pick up the pieces after I die.
I can choose not to resent you, not envy you, not hate you—but you should never have said those words to me.
"Wei Zhenyu, your future isn't in Thousand Canals." Song Qianji hardened his heart and repeated: "Take your belongings and leave Thousand Canals before dawn."
"Boom!"
Fierce winds whipped through clouds as torrential rain began falling.
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