Song Qianji quickly replaced the courtyard gate with a new one.
It was a peachwood door, painted in vibrant vermilion lacquer and fitted with gleaming bronze rings.
Two emerald gauze lanterns hung at the entrance, their silk surfaces adorned with elegantly painted peach blossom branches swaying gracefully in the spring breeze.
As the wind rustled, they swayed lightly, resembling peach petals from the tree outside the courtyard gate that had inadvertently brushed against the lantern surfaces.
Meng Heze’s friends worked swiftly—delivering the goods and installing them with efficiency, proving that many hands make light work.
Zhou Xiaoyun even hung an exquisite wooden plaque by the door, inscribed with two neatly carved characters: "Song Courtyard."
Song Qianji had to admit that the aesthetic sense of female cultivators far surpassed that of rough fellows like him.
Meng Heze, seated in his wooden wheelchair, nodded approvingly. "Not bad, quite impressive."
"Quite impressive" was an understatement—the entrance to Song Qianji’s dormitory was now undoubtedly the most dignified in the entire Outer Sect.
However, once the gate swung open, the stark contrast between the exterior and the interior only emphasized the courtyard’s emptiness and shabbiness.
The chair Chen Hongzhu had sat on and the teacup she had used had already been discarded. The ground had been turned over by Song Qianji, cleared of rubble and weeds, but he hadn’t yet had time to set up fences or plant flowers, herbs, or vegetable seedlings.
Everything awaited renewal, much like the spring of his rebirth.
While satisfied, Song Qianji felt a twinge of melancholy.
In his previous life, many people had fought to serve him. If he wanted a new gate, let alone a new palace, someone would have readily presented it to him.
But that was out of fear or because they needed something from him.
They spoke of gains and losses, of exchanges, but never of loyalty or sincerity.
"Thank you," Song Qianji said.
"What’s there to thank?" Zhou Xiaoyun beamed. "Senior Brother Song, you’re too polite. We have to go to work now, but we’ll come back tomorrow to replace the rest of your furniture!"
The Huawel Sect enrolled a thousand Outer Sect disciples, essentially recruiting a group of low-paid laborers provided with room and board.
Every day, they went to the Deacon’s Hall to receive tasks—such as mining spirit stones in the pits, grooming spiritual beasts and cleaning up after them, or running errands for Outer Sect disciples—earning meager spirit stones based on their completion rates.
Taking on sect tasks was jokingly referred to as "going to work."
Unless, like Zhao Jiheng, one had no shortage of money and treated the Outer Sect merely as a stepping stone or a life experience, "cultivation" and "work" were an irreconcilable contradiction in the lives of Outer Sect disciples.
Without working, they couldn’t afford to buy or borrow cultivation methods; working diligently left them no time for cultivation.
Due to his injury, Meng Heze was temporarily exempt from work for the next few days.
As the others chatted and laughed their way out, their footsteps suddenly halted, and the laughter died down.
A man stood at the entrance, blocking their path.
Dressed in emerald brocade robes and wearing a jade crown, he carried a sword at his waist, its scabbard inlaid with dazzling gemstones, exuding extreme opulence.
He lifted the wooden plaque by the door with one finger and sneered, "Song… Courtyard."
A chill swept in with the spring breeze, extinguishing the joyful atmosphere in the courtyard.
The group shielded Meng Heze and Song Qianji behind them, glaring at the man with wary anger.
The richly dressed young master looked up at the swaying lanterns and continued mockingly, "You probably don’t know this, but the night markets down the mountain are livelier than the daytime. When the courtesans in the pleasure houses hang peach blossom lanterns at their doors, it means they’re open for business. I’d say this ‘Song Courtyard’ has a similar charm."
Zhou Xiaoyun’s face flushed crimson. "Zhao Jiheng, you’re vile!"
"Oh, if it isn’t Junior Sister Zhou?" Zhao Jiheng feigned surprise, stepping closer as if noticing her for the first time. "There are so few pretty female cultivators in our Huawel Sect. A rare beauty like you, wasting your time with this lot—what a tragic misuse of nature’s gifts."Meng Heze coldly asked, "What are you doing here?"
He rotated his wheelchair, moving forward through the crowd as if he had more confidence than the standing Zhao Jiheng.
Zhao Jiheng instinctively retreated two steps, but then remembered this person was severely injured and laughed: "I came to deliver a gift! Isn't it improper that you don't even observe basic hospitality?"
With that, he called toward the door: "Bring it in!"
His four followers carried in a familiar lounge chair, neatly stepping over the threshold.
"Set it down," Zhao Jiheng said arrogantly. "Song Qianji, this sedan chair is for you. Why don't you try sitting in it again?"
After the Discipline Hall incident of "passing a note to see the Sect Leader," Song Qianji had become famous throughout the three halls.
Most disciples from the Discipline Hall and Enforcement Hall had never seen or known him before. Whenever someone asked "which one is Song Qianji," the answer would always be:
"The one who was late for the Outer Sect exam and got carried in on a sedan chair."
When these words reached Zhao Jiheng's ears, he laughed so hard he beat his chest and stomped his feet:
"How did I ever think of carrying Song Qianji to the square for public display? I'm a genius!"
Today he came specifically to mock, insult, and show off to his opponent.
Zhao Jiheng patted the armrest of the lounge chair: "Look at you all, causing so much trouble, almost getting expelled from the sect, and in the end I'm the one who entered the Inner Sect. I thought when you met the Sect Leader, you'd gained some powerful backing. How come you still came slinking back to the Outer Sect?"
Meng Heze was so angry he nearly stood up from his wheelchair. With one hand, he grabbed the lounge chair and flung it away.
Zhao Jiheng jumped aside, taking advantage of the fact that Meng Heze couldn't reach him: "Break it if you want, throw it if you want. I'll bring another one tomorrow. Even though I live in the Inner Sect now and it's a bit troublesome to come here..."
"Thank you."
Zhao Jiheng looked as if struck by lightning, whipping around to see Song Qianji catching the lounge chair with a smile.
"What did you say?"
"I said thank you." Song Qianji dragged the lounge chair and found a suitable spot to place it beside the stone table. "Quite comfortable."
Getting something for free saved him the trouble of buying one. A good deal.
Perfect for collapsing into after working in the fields, to enjoy the evening breeze with tea.
Zhao Jiheng stared blankly. He was about to ask "Are you sick?" when someone suddenly grabbed his arm.
"What are you doing here? Deacon Zhao has been looking everywhere for you!"
"Can't you see I'm busy? Wait." Zhao Jiheng saw it was a deacon under his uncle's command and didn't take it seriously.
He impatiently tried to shake off the grip but failed, his face showing astonishment.
"We can't wait!" A group of deacons rushed in, surrounding him from all sides.
Following Zhao Yuping's orders to prevent him from causing trouble, they bound his hands with an immortal rope. "Come back with us now!"
"Hey, what are you doing!" Zhao Jiheng panicked, flailing like a chick grabbed by the scruff of its neck, unable to break free.
His followers, seeing the Enforcement Hall members were serious, shrank back fearfully, not daring to intervene.
The lead deacon turned to Song Qianji, switching to a polite smile: "You don't need to collect tasks anymore."
Song Qianji nodded. It seemed Xu Yun had already spoken with the Enforcement Hall.
The Enforcement Hall could no longer cause trouble for him. At least they wouldn't openly make things difficult or leave any evidence or handles.
As for what Zhao Yuping might do secretly, or what other methods he might employ, that was another matter.
The lead deacon opened a storage bag: "Deacon Zhao said there were some misunderstandings between us before. Knowing you've been tidying your courtyard recently, he specifically asked us to prepare some small gifts. Please accept them."Tables, chairs, benches, beds, wardrobes, pots, bowls, ladles, and basins, along with various odds and ends of daily necessities, were taken out in an endless stream, piling up like a small mountain in the courtyard.
Song Qianji feigned a touched expression: "Thank you for your trouble."
The lead deacon was pleased by his compliance and added a few more empty words of goodwill.
For a moment, the atmosphere was harmonious, filled with laughter and cheerful conversation.
Zhao Jiheng was furious: "What the hell are you all doing?!"
His lounge chair was mixed in with a pile of brand-new furniture, as if he had really come to deliver gifts.
It was utterly absurd.
No one paid him any attention. Zhao Jiheng was forcibly dragged out by a group of deacons.
He had never suffered such humiliation, and to make matters worse, Song Qianji leaned against the doorframe and laughed:
"Since you’ve come all this way, why not stay for a cup of tea?"
"Song Qianji, I’ll fuck your ancestors! Don’t you dare gloat!"
Zhao Jiheng was cursing with vulgar language he’d picked up from the brothels at the foot of the mountain. Zhou Xiaoyun and the others had never heard such words before; their faces turned red, but they couldn’t muster a single retort.
His curses echoed loudly through the mountains and forests.
Disciples from other dormitories, who were preparing to head to work, stopped at the entrance of "Song Courtyard" upon hearing the commotion, pointing and gossiping as they watched the spectacle:
"Hey, has Song Qianji caused trouble again?"
Even after the deacons had disappeared from sight, Zhao Jiheng’s foul language could still be faintly heard.
With a sharp crack, Meng Heze, gritting his teeth, broke the armrest of his wheelchair.
Song Qianji remained expressionless.
Seeing no signs of shame or anger from him, the onlookers found it rather dull and were about to disperse and go about their work.
Suddenly, a clamor arose. At the end of the mountain path, dust swirled as a group of Discipline Hall disciples in black robes and tall white hats charged forward menacingly.
The leader shouted Song Qianji’s name, startling birds along the way, and in the blink of an eye, they reached the courtyard gate.
People immediately called their friends and gathered back:
"The deacons just left, and now the Discipline Hall is here?"
"Even if I have to skip work today, I’m staying to watch this drama unfold!"
Zhao Jiheng and the others were at a loss, a sense of bitterness and sorrow welling up inside them. Why was a good person like Senior Brother Song always trapped in such a dangerous situation?
But then they heard Song Qianji ask with a laugh, "What brings you here?"
Qiu Dacheng gasped for breath: "It’s urgent, Brother Song, you have to help us!"
Xu Kanshan: "Brother Qianji, you have to vouch for us! I bet fifty Spirit Stones with someone!"
Song Qianji had long known these two were gambling addicts.
After their trip to the Main Peak together, they insisted he had good luck and pestered him to go to the gambling den to make some money.
The Outer Sect disciples watching were utterly confused.
"Don’t you collude!" one of the Discipline Hall disciples stepped forward. "Let me ask the questions!"
The matter was simple. The chance of encountering the legendary "Number One Beauty of the Cultivation World" was rarer than picking up a top-tier Magical Artifact on the road. It was something worth bragging about for ten years, and missing a single day of bragging would be a huge loss.
When Qiu Dacheng and Xu Kanshan returned to the Discipline Hall, they boasted extravagantly. Unfortunately, no one believed them.
"If Fairy Miaoyan really came, where was her Jet-Black Gold Carriage?"
When the Jet-Black Gold Carriage flew, it radiated a crimson glow, dyeing the layers of clouds in its path like burning flames, as if black gold were setting in the west.
"She didn’t take the carriage. It was Chen— no, Senior Sister Chen— who escorted her out. I bet she’s staying in Senior Sister Chen’s Carefree Palace. She might even still be there now!"
"Keep making it up!" the crowd still didn’t believe them. "Who can verify your story?"
There were five people on the bridge at the time. The only ones who could vouch for them were Chen Hongzhu and Song Qianji.
Only someone who had lost all interest in living would dare to confront the Tyrant Chen.The two of them had no choice but to seek out Song Qianji, bringing along a crowd and their expectations of winning the bet.
The Discipline Hall disciple scrutinized Song Qianji: "That night on Fleeting Water Bridge, did you really encounter Fairy Miaoyan?"
As soon as the words "Fairy Miaoyan" were uttered, like some kind of incantation, the entrance to Song Courtyard instantly fell silent.
Countless pairs of eyes lit up.
Song Qianji's smile faded slightly: "Yes."
The dormitory area erupted. Shouts and gasps rose one after another, and astonished gazes seemed ready to pierce right through Song Qianji.
Qiu Dacheng and Xu Kanshan, basking in the envy of the crowd, floated on excitement:
"Quick, tell them how beautiful Fairy Miaoyan is—so beautiful she hardly seems real!"
Song Qianji thought for a moment: "Not bad."
Compared to her in his previous life, the current Miaoyan was at the peak of her reputation, untouched by hardships, her eyes free of complex schemes, with a trace of innocent youth still lingering between her brows.
"About the same as you all," Song Qianji added, looking at the crowd's expectant eyes.
He believed he was being objective and sincere, but others clearly didn’t share his view, as if they had heard some kind of joke:
"Huh? What kind of nonsense is that?"
"Are you even speaking human language?"
"How could the esteemed Fairy Miaoyan be merely 'not bad'? How could she be 'about the same' as ordinary people?"
Some insisted they had seen a "fake Miaoyan," calling it an insult to her. Qiu and Xu argued fiercely, debating the crowd with all their might.
As for Song Qianji, he became the target of furious outbursts:
"Fairy Miaoyan practices the Heavenly Sound Art, with extraordinary talent—she reached Foundation Establishment at just fourteen!
"Her appearance is flawless, with skin like ice and bones like jade, ethereal and transcendent, making one forget all worldly desires upon seeing her.
"The music she composes is pure gold, sung throughout the entire Cultivation World—surely you know that?"
Song Qianji: "Oh."
Infuriated by his dismissive attitude, the speaker nearly choked: "Oh? I’ve been talking until my lips are chapped, and all you say is 'oh'?"
With that, he grabbed Song Qianji’s sleeve: "You’d better explain today—exactly what does Fairy Miaoyan look like?"
Song Qianji lifted his gaze.
Meeting his cold eyes, the man suddenly fell silent, instinctively withdrawing his hand.
Song Qianji stood up. A spring breeze brushed against trembling flower branches, petals showering over him.
Spring ought to be a season for planting, where anything sown would thrive.
He was willing to seriously engage in the world’s most boring tasks amid the radiant spring scenery.
Except for chatting about Miaoyan.
Because there was nothing worth discussing about Miaoyan.
Song Qianji turned and left, leaving behind only a scornful laugh:
"A skeleton in pretty makeup—what’s so 'wonderful' about her?"
The vermilion courtyard gate shut coldly, its bronze rings clattering.
Everyone outside stood dumbfounded.
"...He, he actually insulted Fairy Miaoyan? He’s changed!" an Outer Sect disciple exclaimed in shock. "I remember the year he first came up the mountain, he even said, 'If I marry, it should be someone like Fairy Miaoyan!'"
"This isn’t change—it’s madness."
"Everyone says he injured his sword-wielding right arm saving Meng Heze, which is why he withdrew from the Outer Sect assessment. But now it seems..." The speaking disciple cried out in despair, "He’s damaged his brain!"
Those angry gazes turned to pity:
"So young, and already like this."
Meng Heze loudly defended him: "Senior Brother Song must have his reasons for saying that!"
Little did Song Qianji know that, from this day onward, the reputation of being "unable to distinguish beauty from ugliness"—a face-blind fool—would follow him for the rest of his life.
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