The Western Sea stretched vast and boundless, its ink-black waves raging furiously beneath the shrouding night mist as fierce winds howled.
A flying sword wobbled unsteadily, streaking like a meteor across the night sky.
Two figures stood upon the sword—one upright, the other seated.
The one controlling the Sword Kinesis Flight at the front was covered in wounds, yet his posture remained erect. Gritting his teeth, he maintained the sword’s top speed, letting his blood spill into the dark sea.
The person seated behind him was completely unharmed, legs swinging lightly as if lounging on a railing to admire the moon and enjoy the breeze:
“Song Qianji, in all this vast world, where do you plan to take me?”
One seemed like a fugitive fleeing to the ends of the earth, the other like a leisurely traveler on a spring outing—yet they shared the same sword.
“Back to Thousand Canals,” Song Qianji replied before beginning to mutter to himself.
This time, the two were extremely close, with no laughter, singing, or dancing around—only the roaring sea winds. Meng Zhengxian finally caught that muddled phrase:
“Want to go back to Thousand Canals and farm.”
What nonsense?
Meng Zhengxian narrowed his eyes slightly. “How intriguing.”
Red Dust Wine could amplify desires and expose one’s true nature.
Meng Zhengxian firmly believed that human nature was inherently evil. Year after year at the Golden Palace’s night banquets, he had witnessed countless righteous gentlemen shed their virtuous disguises and reveal their disgraceful true selves.
The renowned orthodox sects? He scoffed at them.
But Song Qianji, after drinking, spoke of wanting to farm, drew his sword to fight through the encirclement, and even said he wanted to save him.
If Song Qianji weren’t drunk, why would he spout nonsense Meng Zhengxian couldn’t understand, rambling incoherently, clearly not in his right mind?
If he were drunk, how could he still rely on years of experience to plan an escape route and evade the “pursuers”?
“Where is Thousand Canals?” Meng Zhengxian was genuinely curious now. “Could it be the Thousand-Ditch Prefecture under the Huawei Sect’s jurisdiction in the Western Sky Continent?”
Song Qianji nodded.
Meng Zhengxian asked, “Why?”
Born among mortals, Meng Zhengxian paid more attention to the mortal world compared to cultivators raised in the Cultivation World.
He had heard earlier that Thousand Canals suffered years of severe drought, plagued by epidemics and famine, leaving the people in dire straits. Because the God Temple couldn’t collect offerings, the Huawei Sect couldn’t be bothered with the local mortals’ survival.
A desolate land starved of Spirit Qi—what could make a drunkard cling to such a place?
Song Qianji found the question strange:
“Don’t you go home? Your parents, your housekeeper and cook, and your friends are all there… You’ve been away so long, don’t you miss them?”
Meng Zhengxian froze as if struck by lightning, his face shifting abruptly. “How dare you mock me!”
Enraged, he swung his sleeve, ready to shatter the man’s skull with a single palm strike.
Before his words faded, the furious sea churned, clouds and waters clashing violently!
A waterspout erupted skyward, and over a dozen dark figures surged through the waves, breaking the sea’s surface.
The leader, standing nine feet tall, wielded a trident wreathed in black energy, bringing it down toward the flying sword:
“Song, you old villain! Release the Evil Buddha at once, and we’ll spare your life!”
The others shouted in unison, “Your Excellency, your subordinates have arrived late to your rescue!”
The strike carried immense force.
Song Qianji’s flying sword twisted lightly, evading like a swimming fish, as he flung a stack of Explosive Talismans from his sleeve: “Western Sea Yaksha! When did my business of taking someone out to sea become your concern?”
The talismans detonated instantly, igniting bursts of flame and rolling thunder across the sea.
“You refuse a toast only to drink a forfeit! Don’t blame us for chopping off your head to go with our wine!” the attacker roared. “Activate the formation!”
Song Qianji laughed heartily. “My head is right here! Anyone with the skill is welcome to take it!”
Suddenly, he turned back, his expression softening. “Hold on tight, Little Meng. Your senior brother will carve a path out for you.”
Meng Zhengxian withdrew his palm into his sleeve, his gaze shifting slightly as he coldly watched the other fight desperately, bathed in blood.Heretical path cultivators excelled in gu poison and toxins, their attacks leaving no room for mercy.
Crimson toxic mist, hideous venomous insects, and all manner of ruthless techniques assaulted Song Qianji with reckless abandon.
For a moment, a sinister wind howled, and dark clouds blotted out the moon.
The flying sword rose and fell between sea and sky like a wounded silver serpent, its wild bloodlust only further provoked.
Song Qianji charged left and right, pinpointing weaknesses before slapping three "Light Cloud Talismans" onto his flying sword.
The blade shot forth like the wind, instantly breaking through their formation.
The pursuers chased for ten miles but could not catch up, cursing Song Qianji vehemently.
Yaksha shouted, "My Lord, your subordinate is incompetent! I will regroup our forces and return to rescue you! Please take care, my Lord!"
Meng Zhengxian chuckled softly, thinking what a bunch of fools.
Those from the Western Sea's heretical path couldn't possibly be unaware that he was the one who had driven back the Golden Blades and Jin Lu, voluntarily leaving with Song Qianji.
They merely seized the chance to display loyalty, putting on a desperate rescue act to gain future benefits.
"You're quite impressive," Meng Zhengxian remarked leisurely. "But your Spirit Qi is nearly depleted. We can't fly across this sea."
Song Qianji wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand. "I have a stealth armor in my storage bag. Put it on and run west."
"What about you?" Meng Zhengxian probed.
"I'll head east, leaving traces to lure the pursuers. Then we'll circle around and meet at Thousand Canals in three days."
"But you're injured." Meng Zhengxian's gaze fell on the gruesome gash across Song Qianji's chest and abdomen.
"Just a minor wound." Song Qianji tilted his head back and swallowed an elixir.
Meng Zhengxian glanced at it—a low-grade Blood-Ceasing Rejuvenation Pill.
Such a poor Rogue Cultivator.
"What exactly are you after?" Meng Zhengxian asked.
Song Qianji wanted neither treasures nor power. He couldn't see through him.
"After what?" Song Qianji retorted.
"Why treat me this way?"
The bloodshed and smoke were left behind as the sea returned to calm.
A full moon emerged from layered clouds, illuminating Song Qianji's blood-spattered profile.
Meng Zhengxian saw him sigh helplessly:
"I didn't want this either. I only wished to farm, tend flowers, and live a leisurely life. But since you call me 'shixiong,' I have no choice but to look after you a little more."
In that moment, Meng Zhengxian found it utterly absurd.
Song Qianji was truly drunk.
"Shixiong? Look after... me?" Meng Zhengxian murmured. "I, the Lord of the heretical path, the greatest demon of this era, am actually being protected by a drunkard."
He laughed self-mockingly. "Ha, so there really is someone in this world willing to risk their life for me."
The moon's shadow was full, like a massive silver plate.
Colored clouds drifted, and the sea breeze brushed their faces.
Meng Zhengxian spoke slowly, "I host a banquet on the full moon. Every year, countless assassins come to kill me. Because on this night, my cultivation method backfires, and every meridian and bone aches as if scraped by a thousand blades, devoured by ten thousand ants. Everyone knows it's a rare opportunity. Those who want my life must seize the chance."
"The moon waxes and wanes. From the fifteenth day of the eighth month to the first day of the ninth month is precisely when I'm at my weakest each year. You took me away like this. Beyond this Western Sea, the entire world wants me dead. You're just a Rogue Cultivator—what can you do..."
After listening, Song Qianji thought for a moment and simply said, "Then we can't split up. We must travel together."
Meng Zhengxian's gaze darkened. "You want to protect me? Aren't you afraid of being scorned by thousands, condemned for consorting with a demon?!"
Song Qianji shook his head. "I'm not afraid.""Aren't you afraid of being relentlessly pursued, with no chance to turn back?"
"I'm not afraid."
"Aren't you afraid of eternal damnation, dying without a burial place?"
"I'm not afraid."
Meng Zhengxian laughed. Though his hair was silver as moonlight, his smile carried a touch of youthful innocence:
"Then let's go together. Let's see how far we can go."
He wanted to see just how far Song Qianji could go.
He only hoped this man wouldn't regret it when he sobered up.
"Alright," Song Qianji said with drunken, bleary eyes, "back to Thousand Canals."
...
"The Venerable wants us to pretend to hunt him down? How could this be?"
After a great battle, the once glorious immortal island was left with only broken walls and ruins.
The four gathered in the underground secret chamber, carefully examining the Evil Buddha's secret orders.
"What should we do?" Jin Tao asked.
Jin Lu said: "What else can we do? We'll follow the Venerable's wishes."
Jin Chai shuddered: "Does the Venerable know something? How could Song Qianji possibly..."
Golden Blades shouted: "If the Venerable knew, how would we still be alive?!"
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