Xian Jianchen stared at Song Qianji in astonishment, his mouth slightly agape, his expression clearly conveying, "How dare anyone speak to me like this?"
Song Qianji understood this feeling all too well. When one had been the world's foremost expert for too long, they became inflated with self-importance, believing they could pluck stars from the sky or capture dragons from the sea—capable of anything.
Naturally, they looked down upon others. Naturally, they were arrogant.
"If you need a disciple, it certainly won't be me. I will never bow to anyone as my master," Song Qianji spoke bluntly.
He had originally intended to be more tactful and polite, but when faced with someone as narcissistic and self-absorbed as Xian Jianchen, he feared even more that his words might be misinterpreted as playing hard to get.
Xian Jianchen chuckled.
During their first encounter, it had been rushed. Song Qianji had been furious and impulsive, like a hot-headed youth charging forward without considering the consequences.
The second time, Song Qianji had been polite yet distant, cautiously handling the situation—not to curry favor, but to prepare for Xian Jianchen's potential attack.
Xian Jianchen found it quite amusing.
This kid had initially tried to put on a show to send him away, but the moment Xian Jianchen broke a single flower in the courtyard, he immediately dropped the act.
It was just an ordinary peach blossom, certainly not a rare variety.
"Kid," Xian Jianchen stepped closer, his voice soft, "you can refuse Nian Rushen, you can refuse Duo Qingzi, because they care about their reputations. No matter how displeased they are, they wouldn't stoop to bullying a junior. But I have no shame. If I'm unhappy, I'll kill you. Are you afraid?"
A straightforward threat.
The wind stilled, the chirping of insects in the grass vanished, and the crows on the branches folded their wings, silent.
The small courtyard was enveloped by a chilling sword aura, isolating it from the world. The silence was terrifying.
An invisible blade hung over Song Qianji's head.
"A little afraid."
Though his words claimed fear, his feet did not retreat an inch.
Song Qianji thought to himself that Xian Jianchen was the last person he wanted to deal with—he dreaded trouble.
"A little?" Xian Jianchen raised an eyebrow.
"I should be very afraid," Song Qianji spoke slowly, bearing the weight of the invisible sword above him and the waves of chilling cold. "But you're injured, and quite severely at that."
As soon as these words left his mouth, he met Xian Jianchen's gaze.
Xian Jianchen's expression shifted. The amusement in his eyes vanished instantly, replaced by icy indifference.
A coldness that looked down upon all living beings, like the snow and ice at the edge of the continent.
Song Qianji knew that this time, the other had truly stirred with killing intent.
The killing intent of the world's strongest was, naturally, the most terrifying. But he could not retreat even an inch. This was a moment of confrontation—he had to stare back like a vicious wolf.
Whoever retreated first would have their throat torn out.
In those amber eyes, he saw the rotation of star tracks, fields of white bones, and the fleeting shadows of ten thousand swords.
It was the phantom of Xian Jianchen's Domain.
"How can you tell?" Xian Jianchen's voice was slightly hoarse, like a sword slowly being drawn from its sheath.
"You carry no scent of alcohol, only the fragrance of flowers."
"Blame the flowers you planted for being too fragrant," Xian Jianchen said coldly.
"You're addicted to alcohol, yet to recover from your injuries, you had to abstain. The flowers I planted may be fragrant, but they don't carry such a rich scent. You tried to mask the lingering smell of medicine with perfume. If your Lifebound Sword were with you, no one in this world could harm you. It seems the rumors are true—your sword is indeed not by your side."
In truth, he didn't need a reason. Just by looking at Xian Jianchen's ruddy complexion and spirited demeanor, Song Qianji guessed something was amiss. He must have taken some potent elixir to forcefully replenish his vitality.
When Xian Jianchen was uninjured, he reeked of alcohol, walked with a lazy gait, and never bothered to look people in the eye. That was his normal state.
Because he was powerful, he did as he pleased—free and unrestrained, with no need to appear energetic.Only those who are injured would be unwilling to let others see their pallor and weakness.
Song Qianji spoke word by word: "You're severely wounded and not yet recovered, at the end of your strength now, without even a sword. This Immortal Official Manor has had layers of formations—both overt and covert—stacked over the past three years, eighty-one layers in total, grand formations overlapping minor ones. Do you think you can kill me here? At worst, we'll end up destroying each other!"
His voice was ruthless. Even if the other party was seriously injured, the fact that he could infiltrate Song Courtyard undetected meant he was a formidable opponent Song Qianji could hardly match.
"Correct. I am indeed injured." Xian Jianchen actually laughed, the surging killing intent receding like a tide.
Song Qianji relaxed slightly, but suddenly the other's oppressive aura erupted as he extended a finger.
The distance between them was extremely close. Song Qianji grunted, instantly stiff and cold as stone, watching helplessly as that finger landed on his brow.
The fingertip was icy, like the tip of a sword.
Xian Jianchen chuckled, "Fortunately, I left something behind. Otherwise, if I let you corner me tonight, how would I maintain my reputation in the future?"
"Tch!" The red mark on Song Qianji's brow suddenly burned with pain, and he cursed inwardly.
A contract!
Back in Hua Wei City, when Xian Jianchen recited the names of the deceased to dispel the deathly resentment, he had extended a finger toward Song Qianji's glabella.
At that time, Song Qianji had been resisting the spirits, his mental energy pushed to the limit. He barely managed to tilt his head to evade, so the contract remained on his brow bone. Normally, it was just a faint red mark, neither painful nor itchy.
He knew Xian Jianchen wasn't lying—this man truly had no shame.
A peerless master of the world actually resorted to such methods, forcing a junior to submit to his control.
This was something even Song Qianji in his previous life, after reaching the pinnacle, would never have done.
If his Purple Palace hadn't been protected by the Fountain of Immortality, and he were merely an ordinary Nascent Soul perfection cultivator, this contract would be enough to control his life and death.
Song Qianji feigned rage, his eyes wide, breath rapid, chest heaving: "You're so despicable! Unworthy of being a grandmaster!"
Xian Jianchen withdrew his hand and smiled faintly, unable to conceal his smugness.
At this moment, he felt the satisfaction of having outmaneuvered someone and tamed a wild horse, naturally putting him in a good mood. He pushed the porcelain bowl on the table toward Song Qianji:
"Don't be angry. Have some noodle soup... Oh, this is what I left unfinished. My apologies."
Song Qianji seemed resigned. "Why have you come to my place, exactly?"
"You're right, I'm injured and have nowhere to go." Xian Jianchen sat at the table, crossed his legs, and swung them leisurely.
"If you're injured, you should go to a clinic!" Song Qianji pointed toward the vegetable patch. "This is a vegetable garden!"
"Which clinic could treat me? I might as well find a place to recuperate on my own." Xian Jianchen even poured tea for him. "Have some tea."
The more helpless Song Qianji appeared, the more it amused him.
"You could go to someone else. There are so many people in the world, why does it have to be me?"
As soon as Song Qianji said it, he regretted it—it was truly a pointless question.
Xian Jianchen had no sect, no clan, not even any friends.
No matter how many people existed in the world, none had anything to do with him.
Xian Jianchen said slowly, "Because you're my disciple. I have a disciple."
Well, they were back to this again.
On the surface, Song Qianji appeared furious, glaring with pent-up resentment, but inwardly he calmly calculated:
Xian Jianchen was injured. He needed a safe place to recuperate and someone who would absolutely not take advantage of his weakness to kill him.
He believed that the prosperous and peaceful Thousand-Ditch Prefecture was the most suitable place, and Song Qianji—this cheap "disciple" bound by his contract—was the most suitable person.But the line of people wanting to kill him could stretch from Thousand Canals all the way to the Sky-Supporting Tree at the continent's edge. Once news spread, how could Thousand Canals ever know peace again?
The elite disciples had already departed for the secret realm, leaving only the Guard Squad and city guards in the prefecture—the rest were all mortals.
Hardworking mortals who toiled every day like spring cabbages in vegetable patches.
If war reached Thousand Canals, Xian Jianchen could soar thousands of miles with a single sword flight. But Song Qianji's fields couldn't fly away, nor could the million people of Thousand Canals.
Song Qianji sat opposite him, raised his teacup and drained it in one gulp: "You can't stay here."
Before the other could react, Song Qianji added: "But I can do one thing for you. Once it's done, you'll dissolve the contract, and we'll have no further ties."
Wherever your sword is, I can retrieve it for you. Whatever rare spiritual herbs you need, I can seize them for you.
No matter how dangerous, I'll face it for you.
A mutual compromise. Without another word, Xian Jianchen understood his meaning.
The lampwick crackled. Silence fell. The spring breeze turned bleak.
"Then kill someone for me." Song Qianji heard the other's voice turn slightly cold.
Song Qianji thought, typical Xian Jianchen—injured like this, not thinking about recovery but still plotting revenge through murder.
He shook his head: "I haven't done that kind of business for a long time."
Killing a stranger without enmity for payment wasn't proper work.
He'd been an assassin in his previous life—initially Lin Feiyuan took the lion's share while he got scraps, later they split fifty-fifty.
His skills were decent. Lin Feiyuan once joked: "A few more years of this and you might take my top spot."
Xian Jianchen said: "This isn't business. It's a master's order. You're my disciple, I'm your master. When the master faces trouble, the disciple serves."
"Anyone who can injure you must be extremely difficult to kill." Song Qianji gave up arguing their tangled master-disciple relationship. "How could I possibly kill such a person?!"
Their second meeting as nominal master and disciple remained guarded, probing, calculating.
"He's far more injured than I am, barely clinging to life." Xian Jianchen slapped an object on the table. "He's infiltrated the secret realm. When you get within three zhang of him, this bead will glow."
A bead appeared beside the noodle bowl.
Song Qianji still wanted to bargain when he recognized the object.
A smooth, dark red bead with what seemed like blood veins pulsing inside.
Memories of the prayer beads on Meng Heze and He Qingqing's wrists flashed through his mind.
His heart stirred as he lifted the bead for closer inspection: "This belongs to you?"
Xian Jianchen shook his head: "That person created a unique Magical Artifact. This is a fragment. It contains sap from the heartwood of the Sky-Supporting Tree."
Song Qianji silently sighed in relief: "Who exactly is he? What's his background?"
"Why do you care so much?" Xian Jianchen sounded impatient. "Will you kill him or not?"
He hadn't spoken this much to anyone in ages. First because no one was around to chat with, second because chatting wasn't necessary.
Tonight's conversation contained more words than he'd spoken in the past ten years combined.
Song Qianji tucked the bead into his robe, stood up and took a deep breath: "I'll kill him. You leave my courtyard, leave Thousand Canals."
The spring night breeze carried blended floral scents that refreshed the heart. The sky remained divided—half crimson, half black.
"What are you smiling about?" Song Qianji asked.
Xian Jianchen also stood: "You're much colder and more ruthless than I was in my youth."
"Thanks for the compliment."
Song Qianji took a step forward.
From under the ink-blue sky, he walked into the blood-red heavens.
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