After three days and nights of fleeing, Meng Zhengxian had truly witnessed Song Qianji's real capabilities.
He contributed no effort and did no work, relying entirely on Song Qianji to repeatedly break through encirclements and interceptors, shake off pursuers, and hide east and west.
Countless times between life and death, he thought Song Qianji would abandon him, yet that person still stood in front of him, swinging his sword with all his might.
Song Qianji meditated under a tree to regulate his breathing, holding his sword to keep watch through the night, while Meng Zhengxian sat in the tree, leaning against the rough trunk, and fell into a genuine sleep for the first time.
In the latter half of the night, a cold rain began to fall in the mountains. Song Qianji woke him and found an abandoned hunter's thatched hut.
"Why don't you use your protective Spirit Qi to ward off the cold, instead hiding from the rain like a mortal?" Meng Zhengxian asked, puzzled.
"When fleeing in the wild, Spirit Qi recovers slowly, and Talismans and elixirs are limited. Save where you can."
Song Qianji didn't use a Talisman to light a fire but pulled a fire starter from his Storage Bag.
"Hah, is this how a cultivator lives?" The Lord of the heretical path looked disdainful.
"Since I pushed you off Broken Mountain Cliff, this is the kind of life I've lived all these years." Song Qianji said indifferently.
Meng Zhengxian fell silent.
In the rainy night, inside the thatched hut, a single lamp flickered like a bean.
The two built a fire to boil water and sat together by the window, listening to the rain.
Autumn mountains layered upon each other, autumn rain pattering softly.
Meng Zhengxian had leapt out from the splendid Golden Palace, spending his days rushing about, temporarily forgetting the grudges and disputes, the rights and wrongs of the Cultivation World.
Where did he come from? From the Golden Palace.
Where was he going? To Thousand Canals.
They flew over the Western Sea, crossed the desolate plains, and traversed mountains and rivers, knowing only that they were headed to Thousand Canals.
It was as if Thousand Canals was no longer a real, existing dead land, but an unreachable dream.
"What would I do in Thousand Canals when it rains?" Meng Zhengxian asked.
"What else? Have water fights with Xiao Ji and the others." Song Qianji was spreading out a straw mat and thought for a moment. "On rainy days, the seeds in the granary are prone to dampness. You'd also help dry them."
"Impossible." Meng Zhengxian shook his head.
But for some reason, he faintly wished the other wouldn't sober up from this drunken dream.
In the world of Song Qianji's drunken dream, there was no Evil Buddha Meng Zhengxian, only Thousand Canals' Meng Heze.
He called upon friends to go hunting, outings, and acted chivalrously—how joyful.
Young disciples adored him, the local people respected him, and both his parents were alive. His father enjoyed playing chess at the street corner and fishing in the Thousand Canals River on sunny days, while his mother loved shopping at Thousand Canal Bazaar and would tailor clothes for him.
What a dream it was.
Song Qianji: "If I remember correctly, you'd also practice swordplay in the rain, observing the rain's momentum to temper your sword intent..."
His voice gradually softened, but he still forced himself to stay alert and set up a warning array inside the thatched hut.
Meng Zhengxian sneered, twisting the Buddhist beads on his wrist: "I cultivate the Joyful Zen and never practice swordplay."
Suddenly, he struck out at Song Qianji's back, attaching a Talisman.
Having traveled with him these past few days, Song Qianji had no guard up against him and immediately fell into a deep sleep.
Meng Zhengxian helped him onto the straw mat and fed him an Elixir: "Sleep."
Then he took out a Fire Cloud Pearl to drive away the cold and warm him, slipping it into Song Qianji's palm.
After everything was settled, he walked under the eaves, facing a curtain of murmuring autumn rain alone.
He listened quietly to the sound of the rain for a moment, waiting until the person inside was sound asleep, then spoke: "Come out."
From the previously empty, dark night rain curtain, over ten figures suddenly appeared, kneeling and cupping their fists: "Honored One!"
Meng Zhengxian frowned: "Quiet."
The newcomers shivered, becoming even more cautious:
"The reconstruction plan for the Golden Palace, please review it, Honored One."
"Matters of the Western Sea, please decide, Honored One."The jade slip was passed into Meng Zhengxian's hands. Standing under the eaves, he issued a few instructions and finally called out to the crowd again:
"Wait, fetch some things for me."
...
By the time Song Qianji woke, the rain had stopped. Clear sunlight filtered through the dense forest, streaming into the old window frame and casting delicate patches of light across his body.
Outside, birds chirped cheerfully.
A bowl of noodles sat on the table, steaming with white mist.
"You're awake. Get up and eat," Meng Zhengxian murmured from his seat at the table, his back turned to Song Qianji. "When I was young, I was playful and restless, always getting into fights with the neighborhood kids. If I won, my father would beat me, scolding me for causing trouble. If I lost, my mother would cook me a bowl of noodles. She said if my stomach was full, the pain would fade."
Song Qianji rubbed his eyes and slowly sat up. He found himself covered by a soft, snow-white fleece blanket, his clothes replaced with a brand-new, high-grade magic robe. For a moment, he didn't know where he was. "The pain really is gone. Strange."
His spirit qi was abundant, old wounds healed, and his entire body felt refreshed.
Meng Zhengxian continued speaking to himself, his voice even lower:
"After surviving that cliff fall, I didn't want to return to the Huawel Sect. I wanted to go home, but the Southern Sky Continent was too far from the Western Sky Continent, separated by vast oceans. The world was treacherous, and my cultivation was weak. By the time I made it home, two years had passed."
"The day I arrived was the fifteenth of August, the night of reunion. I watched my entire family die before my eyes. I remember the night sky was red, with orange flames, crimson blood, and a purplish-red moon..."
"A monk saved me and asked if I wanted revenge. You know how it is—revenge must be swift, or your enemies might be killed by others while you're still a low-level cultivator. Orthodox cultivation methods progress too slowly, and I had nowhere to learn them, so I studied a heretical technique from that monk. Heretical cultivation methods are good—killing one person every ten steps suited me perfectly. Three years later, I slaughtered those heretical cultivators and avenged my family."
"Everything comes with a price. The stronger my cultivation method became, the more severe the backlash grew each full moon. In recent years, chanting scriptures could no longer suppress my bloodlust. If I stop cultivating, my enemies will come for me. If I continue, I'll eventually lose my mind and become a monster."
"I'm growing tired of being the Lord of the heretical path. Song Qianji, where did you even come from..."
Song Qianji draped the robe over his shoulders and sat across from Meng Zhengxian. "Xiao Meng, are you chanting scriptures again? Did you just say my name?"
Though the Evil Buddha was a false monk, he fingered prayer beads and meditated every night.
Meng Zhengxian turned to gaze out the window. "What could I possibly say to a drunkard? Eat your noodles!"
Green scallions, rich chicken broth, a drizzle of sesame oil.
Song Qianji took two sips of the soup and praised, "Your skills haven't declined."
Meng Zhengxian sighed, unsure whether he was angry at Song Qianji or himself:
"I regret it. If I'd known, I wouldn't have let you drink the Red Dust Wine. After you finish this bowl, you should leave."
Ordinary cultivators who drank Red Dust Wine would indulge in drunken revelry for three days, but Song Qianji's tolerance seemed particularly poor.
"Aren't we leaving together?" Song Qianji finished his noodles leisurely and asked curiously, "Are you tired? Do you need to rest?"
Meng Zhengxian's back remained still, as if he had suddenly resolved something. Softly, he said, "Forget it."Song Qianji said, "Once we cross these two mountains and reach Thousand Canals, everything will be fine. Thousand Canals has excellent feng shui. In spring, there are green fields with hundreds of flowers blooming. In summer, lush trees provide shade, filled with birdsong—you can lead the hunting team to the poisonous miasma forest. During autumn harvest, you'll help sun the grains. When heavy snow falls in winter, you and Little Ji will have snowball fights..."
"Enough! There is no such place as Thousand Canals in this world!" Meng Zhengxian whirled around, his eyes bloodshot, "I am not Meng Heze, and you are not my senior brother!"
Song Qianji froze in surprise.
He saw the Evil Buddha's hair as white as snow, tears glistening in his eyes.
"Leave now!" Meng Zhengxian shouted sharply, "I, the Lord of the heretical path, have no Rogue Cultivator senior brother like you!"
"Fine, I'm going." Song Qianji picked up his sword and strode out without hesitation, "No need to shout. Quite rebellious of you."
The sunlight was clear and pure, carrying the moist, fresh scent of leaves.
The mountain range had been washed by overnight rain, and unique white jade spirit mushrooms had sprouted beneath the trees. These mushrooms were delicious and could replenish Spirit Qi.
Having exhausted himself from days of travel, Song Qianji couldn't be bothered to deal with Meng Heze anymore. He decided to let the other party cry quietly and calm down on his own.
After gathering over thirty small spirit mushrooms and carrying them bundled in his outer robe, he suddenly sensed Spirit Qi fluctuations coming from the direction of the thatched cottage.
"Who tampered with my formation? The energy signature isn't Meng Heze's. Outsiders have arrived—more than one person."
Song Qianji's expression shifted slightly as he broke into a sprint.
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