"Wait." Xian Jianchen called out to Song Qianji, tossing him a storage bag. "Pack up before you go."
Song Qianji opened it, gave it a quick glance, and showed a satisfied expression that said "you know what's up": "I was just thinking the same."
Because of the storage bag, the tension between them eased, no longer hostile.
Song Qianji didn't want anyone to discover he was leaving Thousand-Ditch Prefecture—better to avoid trouble. After the Huawel Sect in the west was wounded and sealed their mountain gates, and Wei Zhenyu in the north was drawing all the attention and resentment, Thousand-Ditch had enjoyed three years of peace. People had long grown accustomed to Song Qianji's simple routine: farming when he went out, staying home otherwise.
He especially didn't want to alert his target. The person he intended to kill was severely injured and had infiltrated a secret realm, undoubtedly remaining vigilant and covering his tracks. With the enemy in the shadows, Song Qianji had to be even more concealed.
Thus, he needed a disguised face, false identity, and concealed cultivation level, along with top-grade elixirs, talisman paper, array disks, formation materials, and other supplies.
Xian Jianchen asked curiously, "I've given you everything. Why are you heading further inside instead of out the door?"
Song Qianji shook his head: "I'll go tomorrow."
He still had to write several letters explaining that he was preparing for seclusion. Daily operations in Thousand-Ditch Prefecture should continue as usual, and any unresolved matters should be decided by a vote among the Minister of Works, Minister of Agriculture, Minister of Education, and others.
Most importantly, they needed to take good care of his vegetable garden and four-season greenhouse, and regularly feed the black-and-white iron beast in the bamboo grove and the yellow-and-white stray cat in the yard.
They were growing bigger, eating more, and becoming increasingly picky about their food.
"Suit yourself." Xian Jianchen said, heading into the house.
Song Qianji: "What are you doing?!"
Xian Jianchen stretched lazily: "I'll make do and stay the night too, leave tomorrow."
"No." Song Qianji stopped him. "You can't stay."
Xian Jianchen sneered coldly: "What golden mansions or silver palaces haven't I stayed in? Why would I care about your broken tile-roofed shack?"
"If you don't care..." Song Qianji shoved a soft pillow at him and glanced at the recliner. "Then sleeping anywhere is the same. I only agreed to kill for you and get revenge—that doesn't include letting you stay in my place."
Xian Jianchen felt that even if he dropped dead right in front of Song Qianji, the latter would just bury his body on the spot and use it as fertilizer for the flowers.
This kid appeared gentle, restrained, and reasonable on the surface, but inside he was cold and unyielding.
Though he borrowed his name and used his influence to boost his own standing, he held not a shred of admiration or reverence for him.
He purely saw him as a sudden nuisance.
"Tch." Lying on the bamboo chair, hugging the pillow, he gazed up at the dense white magnolia blossoms overhead and, unusually chatty, asked, "Do you go to sleep and wake up on time every day?"
Song Qianji's voice drifted out through the latticed window: "Pretty much."
"Farming, eating, sleeping—aren't you bored? Don't you want to go out and make your mark? Are you really young? When I was your age, I challenged six major sects of the Western Sky Continent with my sword, fought until they fled at the sight of me, too scared to even utter my name!"
"...Impressive, impressive."Song Qianji is being perfunctory without sincerity."
Thinking, This counts as boring? Farming is so interesting. At least I don't keep a diary.
A while later, he heard Xian Jianchen tapping on the window: "I know you're not asleep yet. I heard you tossing and turning."
Song Qianji wanted to shove Xian Jianchen's head into the lotus-planting water vat and swirl it around fiercely to make him shut up forever.Xian Jianchen stirred restlessly: "That Hero Summons you wrote, I've seen it too. 'Who in this world can match the heroes? Cultivating immortality is not as...' What exactly is it not as good as?"
Song Qianji couldn't be bothered to explain: "Nothing."
"Those old fellows must be troublesome. With your limited experience, you can't possibly manage them. Do you need your master's help?"
"No need." Song Qianji felt too embarrassed to mention that the deceased elders of Huawel Sect had become laborers in his wheat fields.
Xian Jianchen's tone suddenly turned excited as he remembered something: "Of those young maidens, which one do you fancy most? Tell your master."
Song Qianji frowned: "There are only stray cats in my courtyard. Where would any maidens come from?"
Xian Jianchen: "It's written in the books. That's what they say in the taverns."
"...You're the world's number one swordsman. Mind your status and read less of those vulgar marketplace stories."
"Fine." Xian Jianchen suddenly said, "It's raining. Feels a bit cold."
"You have spiritual energy protection." Song Qianji said helplessly. If Xian Jianchen didn't want to be touched, not even a forest of spears and arrows could reach him.
Fine raindrops fell densely upon the roof tiles and among flowers and leaves, producing crisp pattering sounds.
The makeshift master and disciple chatted intermittently across the white wall and lattice window.
Their conversation meandered aimlessly, much like the boundless spring rain drifting down.
The wind carried the damp scent of soil and vegetation, mingled with several sharp notes of alcohol.
Song Qianji sniffed: "You're injured. You shouldn't drink."
Xian Jianchen scoffed: "You've got nerve, daring to tell me what to do."
The scent of wine disappeared.
Xian Jianchen asked: "You're quite good at making people like you, so why have you always been alone?"
The question made little sense. Thousand Canals had a million people who worshipped the Immortal Official as their faith, and Song Courtyard had thousands of disciples who all respected Senior Brother Song.
Song Qianji thought to himself that Xian Jianchen would be more likable if he didn't have a mouth.
"Learning my sword techniques, becoming my disciple - wouldn't that be good?"
"No. I have my own sword." Song Qianji murmured.
"I've never heard you practice swordsmanship."
"I used to."
Half dreaming and half awake, he heard Xian Jianchen laugh:
"This world is nearing its end. No sword, no matter how fast, can outpace time. Is practicing swordsmanship still useful?"
Song Qianji murmured with closed eyes: "There's still time."
"Not much time left." He faintly heard the man say, "It's been moved up."
The drizzling spring rain washed away the red haze from the sky.
Song Qianji pushed open the door, stretched, yawned, and welcomed the new day.
The soil was moist, moss green, and fallen petals covered the ground. The rocking chair beneath the lattice window stood empty.
Dawn had not yet broken, and last night's guest had already departed, as if he had never come.
Standing by the lounge chair, Song Qianji restrained himself repeatedly before finally bursting out: "Shameless! Utterly shameless!"
The disrespectful old Xian Jianchen had actually stolen something from his junior's home.
That cushion he had brought from Huawel Sect, which had accompanied him for years - so soft and fluffy that leaning on it felt like sinking into a cloud - he would never lean on it again.
...
At dawn, Song Qianji walked through the misty streets of Tiancheng. Early-rising spring birds flew from their nests, and diligent vendors had already set up their breakfast stalls.
Song Qianji normally avoided this busiest street. An Immortal Official walking through the market might cause onlookers to gather and traffic to congest, creating trouble for the city defense team.
But today he dared to walk here because absolutely no one on the street could recognize him.
He wore a bracelet from Xian Jianchen's Storage Bag, transforming into a thin, unremarkable young cultivator at the early Golden Core stage.Even his aura, walking posture, and breathing rhythm had completely transformed.
"This treasure is truly marvelous—crafted from the tail hair of an ancient fox demon adept at shapeshifting, combined with a transformation spell. Xian Jianchen, having been the world's number one for over two hundred years, indeed has substantial reserves. I doubt even a Great Adept at the Transformation Stage could see through this disguise."
Song Qianji thought his current appearance was utterly ordinary and would attract no attention, yet someone deliberately approached him, a lone cultivator:
"Brother, just arrived in Thousand Canals? Looking to acquire goods?"
Song Qianji noticed the man appeared nervous, as if wary of the city defense patrol nearby.
Observing his surroundings, he saw others exchanging knowing glances, actively shielding them from the patrol's view and covering for them.
Since when did Thousand Canals have such a large-scale underground black market? Song Qianji remained expressionless.
The man pulled him into an alley: "You're here to acquire goods, right?"
"Mm." Song Qianji nodded. "How did you know, brother?"
"You've been wandering alone for half a day, buying nothing, eating nothing, just looking around. Everyone knows this street has the best goods, but ordinary folks lack the connections. Consider yourself lucky to meet me—I see you're honest, so I'll show you the ropes!" The man thumped his chest.
Song Qianji coughed lightly: "May I see the goods?"
The man produced a palm-sized bundle wrapped in red cloth: "Be careful, this is a forbidden item!"
Forbidden item?
Song Qianji frowned. The object showed no spiritual energy fluctuations, and while the man was nervous, he harbored no ill intent. Why all the secrecy and hiding?
He'd only wanted to stroll through the streets once more before leaving, never expecting to encounter such a situation.
Song Qianji hastily unwrapped the red cloth and stared in astonishment: "This..."
It was actually a wooden statue, exquisitely carved with fluid lines and a vivid expression.
The more he looked, the more familiar it seemed—it was himself.
Misinterpreting his silence as dissatisfaction, the man hurriedly explained: "Last year's harvest festival red ceremonial robe design—beautiful as it is—was limited to five hundred pieces across the prefecture, long since unavailable. This one was personally carved by Minister of Agriculture Liu. The white robe never goes out of style, meant to be passed down through generations."
"How does one use this after buying it?" Song Qianji paid with difficulty.
"Of course you enshrine it at home, offering incense daily! No hidden place at home? No matter. Wrap it in red silk and carry it with you." Noticing Song Qianji's strange expression, the man grew wary. "Are you really here for goods? How long have you been in Thousand Canals? Do you actually believe in Song Xian Guan?! I'll test you with three questions—answer correctly and I'll sell it to you... Hey, don't walk away!"
...
Song Qianji traveled by Sword Kinesis Flight.
This sword also came from Xian Jianchen's Storage Bag—truly a rare fine blade.
When infused with spiritual energy, it took on a semi-transparent quality, cutting through clouds without leaving traces.
Light and stealthy—perhaps unsuitable for bloody battles, but perfect for assassination.
Thousand-Ditch Prefecture faded behind him, until only blurry green squares remained.
Those were spring fields, everywhere verdant.
People in Thousand Canals were secretly worshipping him? And not just a few—it seemed to have become organized.
Liu the Carpenter, haven't I treated you well? How could you carve my statue behind my back?
Song Qianji looked at the wooden statue, finding it both amusing and absurd. He thought, I'll clean this up when I return—not a single one will escape.
But this carving was so lifelike and quite handsome. Raising his hand to discard it, he couldn't bring himself to, and finally tucked it into his robe.
When Song Qianji reached the secret realm entrance, the passage had already begun to close.
Cultivators avoided greeting each other, maintaining mutual wariness—the atmosphere was tense.Flying Magical Artifacts and Flying Swords from various sects converged from all directions, their colorful lights intertwining as they vied to plunge into the whirlpool.
Like small boats charging toward the ocean.
Blood River Valley was an unclaimed secret realm, its time and location of appearance unpredictable—anyone could take their chances.
"Here we go again," Song Qianji sighed inwardly, clutching his statue as he merged into the roaring torrent.
The fierce wind cut like a bone-scraping blade.
For some reason, this whirlpool was more than twice as large as the one in his previous life.
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