Though her face remained unseen, she wept with such beauty. Under the silver moonlight, her skirt swayed like reeds in the wind, evoking a heart-stirring, fragile allure.
Making a beauty cry was undoubtedly a heinous crime. She didn’t even need to speak—a single tear was a blade sharp enough to kill.
This unique aura and atmosphere of beauty felt inexplicably familiar to Song Qianji, stirring a sense of caution within him.
In this lifetime, he had witnessed many people cry in front of him and considered himself well-experienced, yet this was the first time he felt he was about to be framed.
Would a group of Fairy Sound Sect Female Cultivators rush out in the next moment, surrounding him and condemning him for bullying a delicate Sound Cultivator?
The Green Cliff scholars and disciples of noble families would also question him, demanding to know why he had made her weep uncontrollably.
The Rogue Cultivators and female cultivators of Huaxi Sect would undoubtedly gather to watch the spectacle and stir up trouble.
Then that stubborn, stone-faced one would inevitably be drawn by the commotion and step forward to uphold "righteousness."
And they would end up arguing again.
Song Qianji glanced backward, suspecting that this tear was the prelude to "five hundred armed guards lying in ambush, waiting for the signal of a shattered cup."
"Please forgive my unsightly display," the female cultivator said, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her sleeve. "Hearing this melody tonight and gazing at the moon, I could not see my homeland, and was suddenly overcome with emotion."
After her tears, she exhaled softly, her posture relaxing slightly.
It was as if an invisible thread had been pulling her spine straight, her shoulders back, and her chin slightly raised.
Now that thread had snapped. Standing in the chaotic battlefield, she let her guard down in front of a stranger, revealing her natural state.
As long as it wasn’t a setup, things could be discussed calmly.
As her aura shifted, Song Qianji also relaxed and comforted her:
"This song speaks of one’s homeland. Yet blossoms bloom and fall without regard for their season, clouds gather and scatter without asking why—such is the impermanence of the mortal world."
"Such is the impermanence of the mortal world..." the female cultivator murmured softly. "The 'Song of Wind, Snow, and Breaking Formations' is filled with flashing blades, clashing swords, and the thrill of vengeance—seemingly arrogant and unyielding, yet in the end, all that remains is a vast expanse of white snow. 'The Melody of Flowers and Moon' is the opposite: enchanting and captivating, exuding elegance, yet upon closer listening, it carries a faint sense of loneliness. But these two pieces must have been composed by the same person—they could only come from one hand. Am I right?"
Song Qianji was taken aback.
Had she discerned it?
"The Melody of Flowers and Moon" was the land he had tilled in Thousand Canals, the Iron Beasts he had raised, the wheat he had watered, and the people he had encountered in this lifetime.
They were not the Meng Heze, Ji Chen, Lin Feiyuan, or Ziye Wenshu he had known in his previous life, nor were they the He Qingqing, Wei Zhenyu, or Xian Jianchen he had never met before...
Everything was different now. This song was his present life.
He had thought the two were entirely unrelated, that he had been reborn anew, yet an unknown junior Sound Cultivator had seen through it with a single remark.
Truly, the Cultivation World was deep and treacherous, hiding dragons and tigers in its midst.
Her invisible gaze pierced through the veil, fixed intently on him, demanding an answer:
"Do not try to deceive me again. I have played 'Song of Wind, Snow, and Breaking Formations' thousands upon thousands of times, etching it into my bones and blood day after day."
Her tone was resolute. Song Qianji was slightly startled. This was not good—the girl was likely trapped in an obsession.
He Qingqing held her breath, and at last, she heard that person say, "It was me."
She staggered two steps back.
At the peak of her beauty, she had exhausted all means but failed to find him.
Now, at her lowest, having concealed her identity, she had unexpectedly encountered him.
Her reputation was no longer at its zenith, her state of mind was unstable, and her circumstances were perilous—there could be no worse time for them to meet.
Yet at this moment, he had not seen her face, nor did he know her identity. The only one he recognized was "He Qingqing."They became acquainted through a new musical composition, joining forces to face a common enemy.
There could be no better meeting than this.
He Yun—no, it was more accurate to call her Miaoyan.
She didn’t know why she had chosen this false name. He Qingqing and Jiangyun were supposed to be her enemies. Who would use the names of their adversaries?
"May I ask Fellow Daoist Song some questions?" Miaoyan’s voice was strained, each word resolute. "You don’t have to answer, but please don’t lie to me!"
Song Qianji smiled bitterly. "Very well."
He lowered his head, organizing the formation materials.
"Fellow Daoist Song is a Rogue Cultivator. May I ask where you are from?"
"I was born among mortals. A small place called Pingning Town, not worth mentioning."
"You and Courtyard Overseer Ziye are friends. How long have you known each other?"
The deepest night before dawn enveloped the land. In the distance, the roars of beasts and the roar of flowing water echoed.
Song Qianji hesitated briefly before answering truthfully, "Many years."
For some reason, the shadow of another person flashed through Miaoyan’s mind. Her nails dug painfully into her palms, her emotions surging.
Thousand Canals was renowned throughout the Cultivation World—it was no small place. Cultivators lived long lives, and Song Qianji and Ziye Wenshu had met at the Huawel Sect a mere three or four years ago. That could hardly be called "many years."
It wasn’t him.
Thankfully, it wasn’t him.
"Tonight, you did this intentionally. You stayed here to resolve Ziye Wenshu’s crisis?"
"Yes." Song Qianji used his scabbard to lift another piece of formation material from the ground, smiling wryly. "Miss He, let’s stop here. If you ask any further, I won’t answer."
"I’m not afraid of you laughing at me, Fellow Daoist. Before I met you, I played the Wind and Snow Array Entry Tune over and over, often wondering about the composer’s age, whether they were male or female, where they lived, what cultivation method they practiced, what they usually enjoyed doing." Miaoyan took two steps closer. "Now that I’ve met you, you’re completely different from what I imagined."
Song Qianji scratched the hilt of his blade. "You must be disappointed."
People often deify things that are beyond their reach.
"No! Though you are different, my initial hopes could not compare to this." Miaoyan was startled by her own words.
He was completely different from what she had imagined.
Plain-looking, wearing an ill-fitting magic robe, swinging a borrowed Snow Blade, his demeanor not particularly noble, carrying the casual habits of a Rogue Cultivator—yet not truly unscrupulous.
He looked at everyone as if they were flowers or the moon, seeing neither beauty nor ugliness. Yet he would traverse thousands of mountains and rivers to save a friend in peril.
Only someone like Song Xun could have written those two compositions.
Song Qianji thought to himself, This female cultivator is intelligent and steady. After hearing a tune just once, she could guide her junior sister to replay it. She also works hard, practicing a single piece countless times. Yet, despite this, she remains obscure within the Celestial Sound Sect.
She is still young, talented but unrecognized. Likely frustrated by her lack of success, she fell into the trap of the Wind and Snow Array Entry Tune.
"Miss He Yun, look." Song Qianji shifted his blade to his left hand, using it to support himself on the ground. With his right hand, he extended a finger, pointing diagonally toward the sky.
In the ink-blue sky before dawn, a crescent moon hung at the treetops like a silver boat, capable of carrying one to wander the sea of clouds.
The woman whispered, "It’s truly beautiful."
As she looked up, she suddenly forgot she was Miaoyan, forgot the internal strife in her sect, forgot her master, forgot the titles "Head Senior Sister" and "Number One Beauty Under Heaven."
She only knew she stood on the chaotic battlefield of Blood River Valley, and someone was pointing out a crescent moon for her to see.
Beneath the moon, that person’s finger was not perfect—at least, it was not the hand of a qin player. The back of his hand bore burn marks and a scar from the Snow Blade.
She wondered what had happened to him in the past.Miaoyan regained her composure and averted her gaze: "My apologies."
"If you follow the direction my finger points, you'll see a beautiful moon." Song Qianji curled his finger slightly. "But if you only stare at this finger, you'll miss the stars and moon in the sky. Whether it's breaking formations in snowstorms or the falling blossoms and moonlight, even I myself - we're all just this insignificant finger, not your true moon."
"Not just musical compositions and the path of sound, but all methods and texts in this world are like a single finger." Song Qianji lowered his hand. "We see the moon through the finger. Upon seeing the moon, we forget the finger. Since you have the fortune to seek immortality and the Dao, why cling to superficial fame and appearances? You should ascend to the highest heavens and behold the true moon!"
His tone was gentle and smiling, yet carried an air of unrestrained freedom reaching to the highest heavens.
"The true moon." Miaoyan murmured. "Can I really see it?"
"Young lady, you're still young and so intelligent. Of course you can go wherever you wish. It only depends on your choices, whether you can let go of your attachments... Ah! Miss He!"
Before Song Qianji could finish, he saw the female cultivator tremble and hurriedly rush into the ice cave, disappearing from sight.
Song Qianji scratched his head, feeling somewhat regretful, thinking he might have messed up.
Even if he used Evasion Arts to chase after her, he couldn't say anything more, not knowing how to persuade her further.
They were like passing ships in the night - he could build a trellis for flowers, but couldn't determine how a flower should bloom.
Having just finished organizing the formation materials, with the waning moon set and dawn breaking in the east, he needed to check on Ziye Wenshu's recovery progress.
Before he could enter Ziye Wenshu's ice chamber, a group of Green Cliff scholars enthusiastically approached him, treating him like a hero. They surrounded him, massaging his shoulders and back. If they weren't in an ice cave, someone might have even brought a fan.
"Senior Brother Song has finally returned! We saw you speaking with the Celestial Sound Sect fairy from afar and didn't dare disturb you, so we waited here!"
Song Qianji found this amusing: "Has someone come to deliver gifts?"
"Yes! The Rogue Cultivator team sent two tiger beast hides, and the Flower Stream Sect sent three boxes of spiritual jade flower paste, saying they'd like Senior Brother Song to reserve more spots for them in the formation tonight." Qingzhai presented the items, feeling proud and elated. "When they came, they all paid proper respects and spoke much more politely."
Song Qianji thought to himself that guarding the formation had become a desirable duty. Those people thought the number of formation guards each night was limited, believing gains for some meant losses for others.
The major sects and noble families had seen more of the world and remained composed.
"I have no use for these things. Return them." Song Qianji said. "And spread the word - I'm asking all parties to contribute formation materials. Tonight I can add more star positions in the formation."
"No problem, Senior Brother Song!" Zimo responded.
"What did you call me?" Song Qianji asked.
"Since you're the Courtyard Overseer's friend, of course you're our senior brother. What exactly did Senior Brother Song do to make them so willingly gather to guard the formation? Everyone is really curious - could you give us a hint?"
"Really want to know?"
All the scholars nodded in unison.
"I'll pick two people to watch tonight." Song Qianji said. "I'll save you good star positions."
"I heard last night was a great victory. The Sprites have already suffered casualties - are we about to break free completely?" someone asked urgently.
"Not yet." Song Qianji said before entering the ice chamber.
Everyone consciously fell silent but weren't ready to disperse, communicating through voice transmission:
"So his earlier interactions with those people and chatting with female cultivators were to make them contribute - such foresight and planning!"
"Of course the friend of Courtyard Overseer Ziye is no ordinary person!""I also feel reassured and secure knowing my senior brother is friends with someone like this."
Ziye Wenshu did not find Song Qianji reliable at all.
After hearing Song Qianji's formation plan, he frowned:
"If one falls, all fall. This method is too risky."
"Are you worried they'll get hurt?"
"You are the strongest."
"Ah, you're worried I'll be dragged down. You're afraid I'll end up with teammates who hold me back, making me hesitant in battle when facing enemies, which would be worse than fighting alone. Right?"
Ziye Wenshu nodded.
"I'm not afraid." Song Qianji rested his head on his scabbard. "If the poor priest dies, his friends die too."
"Foolish talk."
"Understood, no more unlucky words."
He had told the other about last night's events because if he said nothing at all, Ziye Wenshu would grow concerned when major movements occurred later and would inevitably come to investigate.
Suddenly, Ziye Wenshu asked: "Have you found the person you need to kill?"
"Stood all night, talked nonstop, exhausted and sleepy." Song Qianji closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.
Song Qianji knew Ziye Wenshu never spoke idle words. If he asked this question, it meant he intended to help.
The other had received his antidote and would never agree to owe him this favor.
But killing was something Xian Jianchen had tricked him into—a dishonorable and troublesome matter that didn't align with Ziye Wenshu's principles. There was truly no need to drag him into this.
"Can't say?" Ziye Wenshu asked.
Song Qianji kept his eyes closed, his voice deepening: "Can't."
...
As night fell, the area near the cave entrance grew particularly lively.
New cultivators had joined from various factions. Azure Cliff Academy sent Qingzhai and Zimo.
From merely seven people last night, the group had expanded to twenty-one tonight, resembling a grand exploration team.
These twenty-one people didn't entirely believe Song Xun had some miraculous strategy—most came out of curiosity and suspicion, wanting to see for themselves.
The Celestial Sound Sect sent Mu Xia this time along with two other female cultivators named Meng Zhi and Liaohua. He Yun was not among them.
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