Song Qianji plummeted at breakneck speed, the howling wind roaring past his ears. Instinctively, he willed his Lifebound Flying Sword to rescue them: "Come!"
Nothing happened. The screams of the falling youth continued unabated.
It turned out the most unbearable thing wasn't "self-destruction at dead end," but "rebirth after extreme joy begets sorrow."
The current "Song Qianji" was merely an Outer Sect disciple of the Huawel Sect—low in cultivation and shallow in spiritual attainment.
That Lifebound Sword that answered his call and roamed the world wouldn't be forged for another hundred years.
Gritting his teeth, Song Qianji kicked violently against the cliff face, borrowing momentum to launch himself like an arrow toward the falling youth. His long arm shot out, catching a sleeve of the other's garment. Before the fabric could tear, he firmly grasped the boy's wrist while simultaneously drawing a short dagger from his robes and driving it deep into the cliff wall.
Shattered stone fragments sprayed, grazing his face as they flew past.
The descent halted abruptly, the screams cutting off instantly. Finally, peace returned to his ears.
The boy gasped for air, clutching Song Qianji's right wrist desperately. Their attire was similar—the standard-issue Outer Sect disciple robes of the Huawel Sect, nothing more than coarse white robes with indigo sashes. Now their sleeves billowed with night wind, swaying in the air like two hanged ghosts.
The combined weight of both "ghosts" rested entirely on Song Qianji's left hand, veins bulging as he gripped the short dagger.
The cold, lonely full moon shone over countless peaks, yet couldn't penetrate the bottomless abyss below.
This particular cliff had unique geological properties that naturally suppressed a cultivator's Spirit Qi circulation—an excellent place for murder and corpse disposal.
Bestial roars echoed like thunder through the mountains as white mist rose from the chasm. Ten zhang away on the rock face, an ancient tree stretched out horizontally with lush foliage.
"Hold tight!" Song Qianji shouted.
The panicked boy, his palms slick with cold sweat, babbled through sobs: "I can't hold on, I can't do it. Father, Mother, I've failed you."
"See that tree? I'll count to three and swing you over."
Song Qianji looked down. In the bleak moonlight, he met a pale, bloodless face—a boy of thirteen or fourteen with delicate, youthful features filled with utter despair.
For a moment, he couldn't recall the boy's name. This first stepping stone should have been a nobody, and with so much time passed, his memory was naturally fuzzy.
"Song Qianji!" the other unexpectedly shouted his name first, eyes crimson with rage, "I, Meng Heze, have always acted with integrity! I've never harmed anyone, much less held any grudge against you. Why would you—"
"Three, two." Song Qianji began counting down, draining every last bit of his meager Spirit Qi before exerting explosive force. "One!"
The boy named Meng Heze soared through the air, tracing an arc: "Ahhh!"
The old tree's branches shook violently, leaves rustling down.
Meng Heze clung to the branch with all four limbs, his composure shattered as he screamed: "Are you insane?! Throwing me without warning! Couldn't you give me some mental preparation? What if you'd missed? I almost died!"
When he turned back, he saw Song Qianji's right arm hanging unnaturally, twisted at a grotesque angle.
It was already broken.
Song Qianji's forehead was drenched in cold sweat, but his expression remained calm, only pursing his lips slightly to endure the pain—clearly having anticipated this outcome.
Meng Heze stared blankly, his anger slightly dissipating: "Hey, are you okay?"
His mind had been reduced to mush by tonight's life-threatening rollercoaster of extremes.
To save him, Song Qianji had sacrificed an arm without hesitation.
And it was his sword-wielding right arm.
Every Outer Sect disciple knew how diligently Song Qianji practiced his sword—through heat and cold, spring and autumn, rain or shine—with abnormal-level dedication, all to pass the examinations and enter the Inner Sect.
With the Outer Sect competition tomorrow morning, breaking his arm and falling from a cliff tonight was equivalent to destroying his own future, severing his own path to immortality.If Song Qianji hadn't injured his right arm, he could have climbed up alone using the dagger. No, Song Qianji never needed to jump down in the first place.
Why?
Could it be that he likes me? Since we cannot "share a blanket in life," he seeks to "share a grave in death," planning to kill me first before leaping off the cliff in a lovers' suicide? Then, after striking, he suddenly came to his senses and risked his life to save me?
But I'm not into that sort of thing. Meng Heze's emotions were complicated: "Senior Brother Song, are you alright?"
If Song Qianji knew what the other was thinking, he would have cursed aloud—what kind of teenage nonsense was this, with no serious thoughts, just a head full of romantic drivel!
But for now, he couldn't bother to reply. It wasn't because of the pain; having endured all kinds of suffering in his past life, a minor injury like this was nothing to him.
It was astonishment.
Just moments ago, when his right arm dislocated, he discovered that although this body's foundation was extremely shallow—so much so that he couldn't even use the Light Body Technique—there was a faint glow within his Purple Palace, as if it were nurturing a powerful Magical Artifact.
A gentle, flowing warmth seeped from his Purple Palace, quietly nourishing the meridians in his right arm. This was actually a healing Magical Artifact.
But that shouldn't be. The fifteen-year-old Song Qianji had never even touched a real Magical Artifact.
He only owned a low-grade sword, bought from an Inner Sect Deacon, forged from scraps left over by a direct disciple's sword-making. It had emptied his entire savings.
Since it wasn't a Magical Artifact, it couldn't be refined or stored within his Purple Palace for nurturing. Every day after practicing with his sword, Song Qianji would meticulously clean it and hide it in its case. When going out, he only carried a short dagger for self-defense—the very one now embedded in the cliff rock.
Poverty could drive a person to despair. If his sword were damaged, he had no money to repair or reforge it. What would he use to fight in the Outer Sect assessment?
Song Qianji cautiously probed his Purple Palace. His Divine Sense was still weak, but he managed to employ the self-reflection technique, catching a glimpse of a faint white outline resembling a precious vase.
It was the Pure Bottle!
The Spatial Artifact he had personally crafted to hold the Fountain of Immortality, capable of preserving Spirit Qi from dispersing and keeping the water from stagnating.
Song Qianji trembled slightly as he saw the multicolored Gathered Light radiating from the Pure Bottle.
No one knew the contents of the bottle better than him—the Fountain of Immortality. Something he had obtained after countless life-and-death trials, which had sparked a worldwide pursuit. A treasure of heaven and earth, brimming with boundless vitality.
It should have vanished with his self-destruction, yet here it was, still quietly suspended within his Purple Palace, emitting a soft glow.
In his previous life, right up until his death, Song Qianji had never discovered that the Fountain of Immortality had healing properties. Or rather, he had never attempted to explore its other uses.
Everyone suspected he intended to keep the treasure for himself, but in truth, he had tacitly regarded it as "public property." He hadn't even stored it in his Purple Palace, instead keeping it in a portable Spatial Artifact.
Song Qianji tried to retrieve the Pure Bottle, but his Divine Sense seared with pain as if scorched by flames. The treasure emitted a spiritual pressure, similar to the aura of a Great Adept. With his current low cultivation and weak Divine Sense, he couldn't touch an artifact of this level.
He possessed a mountain of treasure, yet it remained beyond his reach.
Song Qianji wasn't anxious, only sighing deeply, overwhelmed with emotion.
Since the savior was destined by heaven, the fate of humanity was none of his concern. Better to find a quiet, secluded place in the mortal world. With the endless vitality of the Fountain of Immortality, any barren mountain or desolate land could be transformed into a paradise.
The average lifespan of mortals was fifty years. With proper care, he could live to ninety. The great cataclysm wouldn't begin for another hundred and twenty years. Before the calamity, the world would be peaceful and prosperous, and he still had many good days ahead.
A brand-new path unfolded before him. On this path, there was no bloodshed or slaughter—only a stretch of fertile fields, a flock of chickens and ducks, and a spacious estate...He dangled mid-air, clutching the dagger as the mountain winds buffeted him, his appearance utterly disheveled.
Yet his heart felt remarkably unburdened, as if a great gale had swept away the obstructions in his chest, granting him true rebirth.
Let whoever wishes to cultivate the path to immortality do so. Let whoever desires to uphold the heavens bear its weight.
Tonight, he would leave Huawel Mountain behind, vanish into the mortal world as an ordinary man—raising dogs, fighting cocks, tilling the land—living a carefree, albeit short, life.
"Senior Brother Song, say something!" Meng Heze persistently called out to him.
"I'm fine." Song Qianji opened his eyes, his mood genuinely light. "The terrain here is unique—the mountain and river formations create a 'Dragon-Binding Lock.' Your previous Spirit Qi pathways won't work. I'll teach you a new Light Body Technique mantra. Memorize it carefully. Once you master it, you'll come and go freely."
"Why did you try to kill me, then save me, and now teach me a cultivation method?" Meng Heze's expression was conflicted.
Song Qianji replied, "Focus your spirit, calm your breath, embrace the origin, guard the one."
Unwilling to miss this opportunity, Meng Heze settled cross-legged on the branch, assuming a proper meditation posture. Initially skeptical, he grew increasingly astonished as he listened—this was clearly no ordinary mantra. Profound and intricate, yet explained with remarkable clarity, he wondered where Song Qianji had obtained it.
Outer sect disciples were nominally disciples, but in reality, their status within the sect was little better than servants. They tended spirit fields, fed spiritual beasts, mined Spirit Stone veins, and served Inner Sect disciples and deacons—all to earn meager Spirit Stones to purchase cultivation methods. Beyond the most basic food and clothing, the sect provided nothing.
In the Cultivation World, cultivation methods, Spirit Stones, and treasured lands were tightly controlled by major sects and noble families, divided among themselves until almost nothing remained for those at the bottom. The path to advancement was nearly severed.
If you weren't willing to trade labor for resources, it didn't matter—for every one of you, countless mortals waited for their chance to ascend the immortal path.
Meng Heze felt a complex mix of emotions. This exquisite movement technique from Senior Brother Song must have been obtained through great difficulty, intended as his "trump card" for tomorrow's Outer Sect assessment. Yet now, he was imparting it without reservation.
"Have you memorized it all?" Song Qianji frowned, displeased by the other's distraction.
"Every word, without error. Thank you, Senior Brother, for imparting the Dao."
Song Qianji's expression softened. He hadn't expected this youngster to have such aptitude—able to memorize everything even while distracted.
For the sake of that "thank you, Senior Brother" and the lad's teachable nature, he decided to save him thoroughly:
"Find a place to rest properly tonight. Don't see anyone. Only show yourself after tomorrow morning's assessment ends."
Meng Heze was shocked: "You want me to miss the assessment? With your right arm injured and me absent, wouldn't the Inner Sect spot be handed to that Zhao fellow on a silver platter? I can't accept this—can you?"
Song Qianji thought of his past life experiences and felt an immediate, massive headache. "Zhao Jiheng is a nephew of Inner Sect Deacon Zhao's family. Deacon Zhao has served Huawel Sect for fifty years. Dealing with a few Outer Sect disciples is as easy as turning his hand. This assessment is just a formality—Zhao Jiheng is practically pre-selected. Understand? Otherwise, why do you think we're out here dangling in the wind instead of sleeping? Enjoying the cool breeze?"
In his previous life, he had been instigated by others and made a deal with Deacon Zhao, believing that eliminating Meng Heze would secure him an Inner Sect spot.
At the assessment assembly, the recording of Song Qianji pushing someone off the cliff was played repeatedly—a public execution of reputation.
The crowd was incensed. He faced universal condemnation. The death penalty decided, he received three hundred Soul-Lashing Whips on the spot.
Zhao Jiheng smoothly entered the Inner Sect, even gaining a reputation for upholding justice for his fellow disciples. As for Meng Heze, who had been pushed into the abyss—no one truly cared whether he lived or died, and no one searched the mountains to recover his body.Song Qianji risked his life to escape prison and became a Rogue Cultivator from then on.
Meng Heze was not foolish and understood immediately: "So Zhao Jiheng actually has this kind of relationship with Deacon Zhao, no wonder. Deacon Zhao wanted you to eliminate me and—[missing text]—if you hadn't pretended to agree, he would have used other methods. So you turned their scheme to your advantage, making them think we were dead. Once the assessment is over, we'll be safe." His expression turned slightly awkward, "Senior Brother Song, you went to such great lengths, and I actually thought you had feelings for me..."
Song Qianji was puzzled: "Feelings for you how?"
"No, it's nothing!" Meng Heze changed the subject, "After this incident, I've truly come to know Senior Brother Song. Your character is noble and pure, disdaining to collude with petty people. You saved my life and taught me a Cultivation Method. I had many misunderstandings about you before."
"Misunderstandings!" Song Qianji quickly interrupted, "It's absolutely not like that! Just consider it as me repaying a debt from my past life, alright?"
With Meng Heze's talent, if he hadn't died from the cliff fall in his previous life, he should have become a notable figure.
Song Qianji felt a sudden appreciation for his potential and sincerely advised:
"The path of immortality is long; don't be too concerned with temporary gains and losses. What regret is there in missing a mere Outer Sect assessment? On the third of next month, the once-in-a-decade Grand Assembly of Distinguished Appraisals will be held, and it's Huawel Sect's turn to host it this time. Even Outer Sect disciples can participate. Prepare early, conserve your energy until then, and you won't lack opportunities to distinguish yourself."
He had said all that needed and could be said. It was time to fake his death and escape, to go down the mountain and farm!
Song Qianji, filled with ambition, loosened his grip.
Meng Heze was deeply moved. Such important information, and Song Qianji had shared it unreservedly, pointing out a path for him. He didn't even seek repayment for his kindness, saying something as absurd as "consider it a debt from my past life."
He wanted to thank heaven and earth, thank the malicious Deacon Zhao, thank the privileged Senior Brother Zhao, for allowing him to make a true friend in the Outer Sect, where people often flattered the powerful and looked down on the weak.
"Alright, we'll wait for the Grand Audience Assembly. The two of us brothers will join forces..."
Before he could finish, he suddenly saw Song Qianji give a weak smile, the short dagger in his left hand slipping and falling straight into the abyss.
Tree branches crisscrossed the cliffside; he broke seven or eight of them in his fall, yet his momentum did not slow.
"Senior Brother Song!" Meng Heze's smile instantly froze, the color draining from his face.
The youth's heart-wrenching cry echoed through the abyss: "No—"
Song Qianji nearly laughed aloud.
Goodbye, you little brat!
Goodbye, Huawel Sect!
Good... damn it, why is he jumping after me?!
Can't young people think for themselves? Even jumping off a cliff has to be a trend?!
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