In his previous life, the black magic robe that bore Song Qianji's wrath and was cleaved in two by his sword was now worn neatly upon him in this lifetime.
Ziye Wenshu had also agreed to his request to take over the ice cave.
They no longer argued endlessly or exchanged harsh words.
Qingzhai and Zimo waited anxiously at the exit for a long while but heard no sounds of fighting.
Suddenly seeing a pitch-black figure emerge, Qingzhai was about to call out "Courtyard Overseer, Senior Brother" but fell speechless.
Zimo exclaimed in astonishment, "Song, Fellow Daoist Song, why are you wearing Senior Brother's magic robe?"
Song Qianji did not answer: "Let's go, take me to meet the fellow daoists here."
The same blade, the same black attire—when worn by Song Xun, he didn't look like a proper person.
Zimo stared resentfully at the black-clad back: "How could he have the nerve? Even in a dragon robe, he doesn't look like a crown prince."
Qingzhai transmitted his voice: "Whether he looks the part or not doesn't matter. At least he didn't use the iceleaf herb to poison Senior Brother."
Zimo was distraught: "Are you serious? That counts as a merit?!"
Other Green Cliff scholars hurried forward:
"Fellow Daoist Song, wait, you can't just enter—"
In a moment of carelessness, Song Qianji had already entered the ice cave where the rogue cultivators gathered.
Ziye Wenshu's ice chamber was mirror-smooth on all sides and completely empty.
Here, however, three layers of beast hides insulated against the cold, dried beast meat hung from the walls, and discarded magical artifacts, formation materials, and cleaned beast bones were haphazardly thrown in a corner, resembling a garbage dump.
Over thirty rogue cultivators sat sprawled on the filthy beast hides, guzzling wine while cursing and laughing crudely.
The burly man seated in the center was as massive as a small hill, bare-chested, using a dagger to slice beast meat and spearing it with the tip to eat directly.
He suddenly looked up and laughed heartily: "Ha, I haven't had the chance to pay my respects to Fellow Daoist Song, and here you are, coming on your own!"
"Yan Bangzhu," Song Qianji addressed him.
"You know me? You've heard of my reputation? Of course, we're both rogue cultivators!"
The burly man stood up to greet him, rising like a mountain of flesh, and had to slightly lower his head to avoid shattering the cave ceiling.
The laughter and noise instantly ceased as the others stood up, over thirty pairs of eyes fixed intently on Song Qianji.
The ice cave was poorly ventilated, and coupled with a lack of cleanliness, the foul stench of blood and the strong odor of alcohol mingled unpleasantly.
The Green Cliff scholars chasing after Song Qianji caught a whiff of the fishy stench, heard the vulgar curses, and glimpsed the "demonic chaos" inside the cave with Song Xun "wallowing in the mire."" They immediately frowned and wrinkled their noses: "Let's not go in."
The rogue cultivators inside glanced at them and sneered contemptuously.
The scout who had just returned, seeing Song Xun enter the lion's den alone and with a gentle demeanor, felt a surge of pride: "Fellow Daoist Song, coming to our place personally—aren't you afraid of dirtying the Snow Blade you borrowed?"
Another added: "Yan Bangzhu, since he's here, why not let him lend us the treasure blade for a look?"
As he spoke, the other rogue cultivators subtly shifted their stances, preparing for the guest to erupt in anger.
"True, we've never had a close look at this blade." The man called Yan Bangzhu suddenly reached out, his five fingers like hooks grabbing for the hilt.
Song Qianji seemed to have anticipated it; with a swift flick of his hand, he was a step faster, casually tossing the black blade away.
He laughed: "This treasure blade in my hand remains sheathed, serving only as decoration. Feel free to take a look if you wish."
"Thud!"
Ice shards trembled and fell, dusting everyone's heads.The broad hilt was completely embedded in the ice wall, with only a section of the scabbard exposed.
The crowd’s expressions shifted subtly as their formation loosened.
“I’ll go first.” A Rogue Cultivator who specialized in blade techniques stepped forward, gripped the hilt, channeled his Spirit Qi, and shouted, “Out!”
A wave of cold energy surged from the scabbard, like a rolling avalanche striking straight at his crown. He staggered back ten steps before steadying himself.
The Snow Blade remained unmoved.
The onlookers burst into laughter. They were not sect brothers bound by honor or disgrace—mocking each other was their daily routine.
“Slippery hands, slippery hands,” the man muttered as he retreated into the crowd.
“My turn!” Another stepped forward.
The Rogue Cultivators rubbed their hands in anticipation, only to stare in astonishment and eventually shake their heads in disappointment.
Yan Bangzhu was the last to try, channeling his full Spirit Qi, yet he managed to pull the black blade out only half an inch.
Song Qianji observed carefully.
He knew that if he came here, these Rogue Cultivators would surely test his limits. By letting them act first, he turned the tables—he was testing them.
After every Rogue Cultivator had taken a turn trying to pull out the blade, his Spirit Pearl remained as lifeless and unresponsive as ever.
Wuxiang, or any of his avatars, was not present.
Song Qianji addressed the crowd: “We’re all commoners at heart, so let’s not beat around the bush. I came here for my own reasons. If you don’t interfere with me, I won’t interfere with you.”
He spread his fingers wide.
“Whoosh!” The Snow Blade tore free from the ice wall, as if guided by sight, and flew steadily into his palm.
The Rogue Cultivators fell into stunned silence, each wondering what esoteric Cultivation Method this man had used to command another’s Lifebound Magical Artifact.
“Impressive skill!” Yan Bangzhu boomed. “And straightforward!”
He transmitted a voice message to Song Qianji: “But that Ziye Wenshu is not an easy man to deal with. You’ve gained his trust to pursue your own agenda—aren’t you afraid he’ll come for you later…”
Song Qianji pretended not to understand his hint about collaboration and laughed heartily: “Fortune favors the bold. I’m not afraid!”
Before anyone else could speak, he had already walked away, cradling the Snow Blade.
The Rogue Cultivators exchanged bewildered glances.
—Who would have thought? This man was ruthless.
Once the outsider left, the warm, boisterous atmosphere in the cave vanished instantly, replaced by grim expressions.
“Ziye Wenshu always wears a stern face, flaunting his major sect’s arrogance and looking down on us brothers from the bottom of his heart. Fine, if he scorns us, we scorn him back. But this Song Xun appeared out of nowhere, mingling with the Green Cliff crowd… standing guard for Ziye Wenshu? Ha, who would do such thankless work?”
“This Song Xun is calm and composed, as if he could escape anytime—he must have backup and a plan. Perhaps our misfortune here is a blessing in disguise. There might be hidden treasures in this place.”
Yan Bangzhu said gravely, “Tonight, when he’s on watch, you go too. Keep a close eye on him! If necessary, pretend to lend him a hand.”
…
“Fellow Daoist Song, you’re back so soon?” a Green Cliff scholar asked in surprise.
“No trouble?”
Song Qianji replied, “Let’s go.”
The ice cave where the clan disciples gathered had been polished smooth, wide and even, with no sharp edges.
The cave was illuminated by forty large luminous pearls and maintained at a constant temperature by a formation powered by Spirit Stones.
When Song Qianji entered, he saw a group of youths dressed in splendid attire but with dispirited expressions.
Some wept softly, faces full of despair as if the sky had fallen and the world had ended: “I’ve suffered so much in this secret realm, endured so much hardship, and now I have to put up with Ziye Wenshu’s attitude!”
Others raged impotently: “You’re all useless! If I perish here, how will you explain it when you return?”
Among them, one youth stood out—flanked by three Nascent Soul guardians, he wore a magnificent five-colored brocade Magic Robe. He lifted his chin with arrogant pride, like a crowing rooster."So you're Song Xun? Why hasn't Ziye Wenshu come?"
From the garbage dump to the great greenhouse, the Green Cliff scholars wore expressions of fury. Seeing Song Qianji still smiling gently, they felt exasperated by his lack of resolve and withdrew from the ice cave one after another.
After they left, the rooster-like youth beckoned: "Come here."
"Young Master Cao is calling me?" Song Qianji stepped forward.
"You recognize me? Not bad eyesight. I'd say you're better than that Green Cliff Courtyard Overseer—Ah!"
A pained cry rang out.
"Young Master Cao!" Shouts of alarm erupted.
Song Qianji grabbed the youth by the nape like handling a chicken, pinching his pulse point, and hauled him out from his layers of protection: "I have a better temper than him, right?"
"I've come over." Song Qianji approached the others, lightly patting each on the shoulder while observing their reactions and monitoring the spirit pearl's movements.
"How—how dare you be so rude!"
The Nascent Soul guardians shouted insults and brandished their magical artifacts, but hesitated due to the hostage in his grasp.
The other brocade-clad youths huddled together like a flock of quails, trembling.
Someone yelled, "You can't do this! We demand to see Ziye Wenshu!"
"See your head!" Song Qianji sneered. "He's already been restrained by me with Iceleaf herb poison and trapped in an array formation. See if you can get through!"
"Green Cliff would never allow this! I don't believe it!" the captured youth cried out in despair.
"Then you try it too," Song Qianji said. "I still have one plant left."
A guardian urgently interjected, "Young Master, say no more! This man indeed emerged holding Iceleaf herb earlier."
Everyone paled in horror.
—Who would have thought this was actually a madman.
The spirit pearl showed no reaction.
None of them. Song Qianji frowned, then walked to the cave entrance and flung the youth aside.
The rooster-like youth was thrown toward the guardians, letting out a low groan of pain.
After Song Qianji walked away, the exaggerated expressions of panic and tension vanished from everyone's faces.
"This Song Xun truly has all the habits of a Rogue Cultivator—those with nothing to lose fear nothing. This won't be easy to handle."
"To deal with this kind of person, you must first stroke them the right way," the youth said. "Keep watch with him tonight, and be careful he doesn't go mad and release sprites inside."
...
"Fellow Daoist Song came out even quicker this time!" a Green Cliff scholar muttered. "They showed disrespect to our senior brother, yet you remained so mild-tempered..."
Suddenly he sneezed. The Hua Stream Sect's residence was approaching.
Billowing floral scents, thick perfumed breezes, and waves of warmth tickled at one's heart.
The Green Cliff scholars caught the unusual fragrance and found themselves inexplicably agitated, sneezing repeatedly with flushed faces.
"How strange, this weird scent wasn't here when we came earlier," Qingzhai remarked.
Song Qianji seemed not to hear, continuing forward.
"This den of wicked arts appears specially prepared for Fellow Daoist Song," Zimo said indignantly, flicking his sleeve. "If Fellow Daoist Song insists on going, go alone!"
The Green Cliff scholars watched with peculiar expressions as Song Qianji entered what they called the "monster spider lair."
The cave was cold, yet filled with pots of blooming flowers, their fragrance artificially enhanced.
It should have been a cool scent, yet it made one's entire body feel feverish.
Female cultivators stood in two rows, all wearing crimson gauze dresses. Finally, a graceful beauty more stunning than any flower emerged, softly laughing:
"You must be Fellow Daoist Song?"
"Greetings, Sect Leader Hua."
"You recognize me? Ah, those pedantic Green Cliff scholars must have told you about me. What nasty things did they say?" Sect Leader Hua's eyes sparkled as they darted about.
But after exchanging greetings, Song Qianji bent down to carefully examine the rouge-colored peonies.
Their petals overlapped, stamens tender yellow, brilliantly beautiful and delicate, adorned with cold dew, possessing a uniquely charming grace.The female cultivators stared at him, their eyes gradually growing dazed.
"Don't you find this place strange?" someone whispered.
"How peculiar—what variety of peony is this?" Song Qianji exclaimed in surprise. "So cold-resistant, remarkable."
In his previous life, he had encountered these people but never visited their residence or seen these flowers.
Even if he had seen them back then, he would have likely "viewed flowers as enemies," with no heart to appreciate them.
Hua Zhangmen was initially somewhat resentful, but seeing his relaxed demeanor, the Snow Blade dangling casually at his waist, and his genuine-looking astonishment...
"My Floral Stream Sect resides by the floral stream, surrounded by blooming flowers—naturally, we love and wear them. When planting these flowers, we use our sect's unique 'Yin-yang Soul-bewitching Skill' to stimulate their growth. Is it so strange they bloom so vibrantly?"
She stared at him deliberately mentioning the cultivation method.
"So it's because of the cultivation method." Song Qianji crouched down, leaning closer while murmuring, "The color and quality of these flowers are exceptional—rare indeed."
The female cultivators gasped in astonishment.
This person stood so close, completely unprotected yet enveloped in the floral fragrance, yet his gaze remained clear and free of wicked thoughts.
"It's a pity most people consider these gaudy and seductive, never as elegant and precious as pines, bamboos, or as pure as plum blossoms and orchids." Hua Zhangmen glanced toward the Celestial Sound Sect direction.
She used flowers as metaphors, implying something else.
Yet Song Qianji only cared about the flowers: "All flowers and plants in this world are born of heaven and earth, nurtured by nature—why distinguish between high and low, noble and humble?"
Just like the spring cabbages in his field—there were many varieties, only differing in thriving growth or slow development. If one insisted on labeling this variety vulgar and that variety elegant, wouldn't that be a joke?
Hua Zhangmen froze momentarily, then suddenly waved her sleeve.
Seeing this, the female cultivators simultaneously withdrew their energy—the thick fragrance vanished abruptly.
"Fellow Daoist Song speaks rightly! If this damned place had wine, I'd surely invite you for a few drinks!"
"I don't drink alcohol. May I take one flower?" Song Qianji asked.
"Just one flower? Since Fellow Daoist finds it worthy, take it freely. How could our Floral Stream Sect be so petty?"
Song Qianji took out a jade box, carefully plucked a flower, and placed it inside.
The female cultivators covered their mouths, chuckling softly—who would have thought he'd turn out to be such a fool.
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