"Let's go, we're leaving!"
No one knew who among the six was the first to turn and flee, but the other five scrambled to follow.
Though He Qingqing had opened her eyes and seen the youth helping her up, she lowered her head after just one glance, as if burned by the blazing sun.
Afraid of frightening him, she covered her face with her sleeve and turned to search for her veil.
During the chaotic stampede, Liu Tianhan had casually discarded the veil, which was then kicked and trampled by the crowd until it lay in tatters, smeared with mud and footprints.
Yet she hurriedly placed it on her head, like a drowning person clutching at floating driftwood.
"Wait." He Qingqing heard the youth speak again and froze in place, her entire body turning cold.
But the words weren't directed at her.
The six youths spun around in unison. To them, Song Qianji now seemed more like a ghost appearing in broad daylight.
"What more do you want?" Liu Tianhan blustered, his bravery thin and brittle.
"I want to ask—does the Academy Head know you do things like this? Does he not care?"
The speaker's voice remained cool, but the warmth had vanished.
Peeking through the soiled veil, He Qingqing felt her eyes inexplicably sting.
How strange—it had been so long since she last cried.
"Even if the Academy Head doesn't care, isn't Ziye Wenshu here? Does he not care about you either?"
When the neighbor's brats kick a ball and dirty your courtyard wall, you don't immediately strike the children. Instead, you usually ask: Where are your parents? Do they not care what you do?
In his past life, Song Qianji saw them as a troupe of clowns manufacturing laughs; now, he saw them as a pack of unruly children.
The six, however, felt deeply insulted, pointing trembling fingers as they stammered:
"How dare you! How dare you address Courtyard Overseer Senior Brother by his name!"
"Someone of your status could never even meet Courtyard Overseer Senior Brother—don't think you can threaten us!"
Song Qianji: "Alright, all of you, go back now."
As if granted a royal pardon, the six fled in panic, disappearing down the flower-lined path.
"Did you learn it?" Song Qianji turned back to ask.
"L-learn what?" He Qingqing's voice was as faint as a mosquito's hum.
She didn't know why she hadn't left, nor had she expected this youth to speak to her.
Flustered and utterly ashamed, she stood rooted to the spot.
"Next time something like this happens, do what I just did—ask those two questions."
Having said this, Song Qianji headed home.
Leaving He Qingqing standing there in a daze.
Had he stood up for her?
Meng Heze couldn't help but approach.
Though this was another sect's affair and he knew nothing of the circumstances, as a young man encountering injustice, he couldn't simply look away.
He asked, "Have they been bullying you like this all along?"
He Qingqing remained silent.
"They told you to come, so you came? Can't you fight back?"
He Qingqing retreated two steps, intimidated by his intensity, but still said nothing.
If she hadn't come today, her situation would have been even harder.
"I'd heard before that Azure Cliff Academy upheld strict rites and rules. If they bully a fellow student, can't you report it to the teachers?"
He Qingqing shook her head. She never "tattled" to teachers or senior brothers.
When faced with the many injustices fate dealt her, the only skill she possessed was endurance.
Ever since being rescued from the Demon Cave and sent to Azure Cliff Academy, she had grown accustomed to enduring—it was the survival skill she trusted implicitly, the one that had kept her alive.
Meng Heze, unable to elicit even a single word after three questions, felt frustrated by her resignation. With an angry flick of his sleeve, he strode through the gate.
The setting sun gradually sank behind the mountain ridge.
Stars lit up one by one in the darkening sky.
Song Qianji carried a watering pot, using the last rays of sunset to water each vegetable and every flower and plant.He could vaguely sense the vitality of the crops—how much water they needed, whether the nutrients were sufficient.
Meng Heze practiced sword moves under the trellis with one hand, careful not to harm the vegetable sprouts, not daring to channel even a trace of spirit qi.
"Senior Brother Song, do you think I can win the exhibition match?"
"Winning isn’t important."
"Then what is?"
"Looking good," Song Qianji said. "As long as the fight looks impressive, that’s enough."
"How does one look impressive?"
"Fluid movements, precise strikes, small but deep wounds—no gory mess. Make it pleasing to the eye, no underhanded tricks. Don’t worry, your appearance alone gives you an advantage."
Meng Heze thought to himself, So it’s not that you can’t distinguish beauty from ugliness—you just refuse to judge female cultivators by their looks.
What young man doesn’t appreciate beauty? How can I cultivate myself to reach Senior Brother Song’s level?
"Senior Brother Song, today’s seeds have arrived." Zhou Xiaoyun knocked and entered the courtyard, placing three storage bags on the stone table.
Song Qianji already had plenty of seeds, enough to cultivate a barren mountain after descending. Yet the outer sect disciples diligently continued collecting them for him.
Zhou Xiaoyun, however, did not leave after delivering the seeds. After hesitating for a while, she finally asked, "That junior sister from Azure Cliff Academy earlier—was she suffering from a serious illness?"
She felt she had overreacted earlier but didn’t know how to make amends.
Song Qianji shook his head. "Some cultivation methods in the demonic path specialize in refining gu poison using the flesh and blood of living people. Over time, the gu host’s appearance becomes distorted. Even if the gu can be removed to save their life, their face often remains irrecoverable."
Zhou Xiaoyun gasped. "Then she must be pitiable."
Meng Heze snorted coldly. "Six Sages of Green Cliff? Sages, my foot."
After saying it, he realized he could now blurt out phrases like "my foot" just like Senior Brother Song, and he felt a slight sense of pride.
"That’s a title they gave themselves." Song Qianji laughed. "Have you ever seen the Sword God introduce himself as the Sword God? Or the Calligrapher Sage go around calling himself the Calligrapher Sage?"
Both shook their heads like rattles.
Zhou Xiaoyun said, "I understand! Titles must be earned through others’ recognition. Those who give themselves titles and flaunt them are mostly frauds!"
Song Qianji replied, "You can drop the 'mostly.'"
Azure Cliff Academy was filled with great scholars and true sages; no one dared to arrogantly call themselves a "sage." Only those cultivation heirs sent by their families to gain credentials—unafraid of being laughed at behind their backs—would gather for fun, flatter each other, and call themselves the "Six Sages."
If they were truly important figures, the higher-ups of the Huawel Sect wouldn’t have merely sent a deacon to greet them, no matter how busy they were.
"Go back now. I want to stargaze," Song Qianji said.
He knew Meng Heze was the one truly busy without time to sleep—working odd jobs every day, cooking meals, and brewing tea for him.
To prepare for the exhibition match, he cultivated day and night. But if Song Qianji told him not to come and cook noodles to save time, he would act as if he had been deeply wronged.
The two took their leave, and the small courtyard returned to tranquility. Song Qianji slumped into his reclining chair and looked up at the night sky.
Aside from the visit from the six greenhorns, his day had been fulfilling: he had farmed diligently, eaten seriously, and now was stargazing earnestly.
The evening breeze gently carried the scents of blooming flowers, green grass, and fresh soil.
Song Qianji was very satisfied.
Until he heard a faint sobbing.
The sound was mournful and pleading, drifting into the courtyard with the night wind.
Song Qianji frowned slightly and pricked up his ears.
It was the female cultivator from dusk. She had actually returned.
Song Qianji closed his eyes, and the sound of weeping grew clearer in his ears.He stood up and opened the door.
If a bully had come to cause trouble, Song Qianji had ten thousand ways to make him disappear.
But He Qingqing was merely crouched by the doorway, weeping with her face buried.
His three clusters of phlox flowers drooped listlessly under her tears, their petals trembling as they shrank from the evening breeze.
The bean sprouts hung their heads in dejection, their leaves wilting under the moonlight.
They had feelings too—how could they endure such grievance? Song Qianji saw it and felt the pain in his heart.
"Why are you crying?" he asked.
Startled by the sound of the door opening, He Qingqing stumbled backward.
Song Qianji grabbed her arm. "Be careful!"
The innocent cauliflower—mind you don’t trample it!
He Qingqing hadn’t expected him to reach out for her. She held her breath nervously.
Yet the faint scent of wisteria still drifted into her nostrils, enveloping her entirely.
Dizzy and disoriented, it wasn’t until Song Qianji released her that she regained her senses and returned to reality.
"I-I’m sorry," the girl whispered.
She wore a new veil, tightly covering her face even in the pitch-black night.
"Why are you crying here?"
Song Qianji asked, meaning she could cry somewhere else.
He Qingqing froze, misunderstanding his question as asking for the reason.
No one had ever asked her before. No one had ever cared.
The taut zither string inside her snapped at last, and long-suppressed emotions crumbled completely.
The girl poured out everything almost recklessly:
"My zither is gone—they smashed it. Without a zither, I can’t attend the Grand Audience Assembly. It’s over, completely over..."
Having never confided her grievances to anyone, her words came out jumbled and incoherent.
After listening for a while, Song Qianji finally understood.
She saw the Music Examination at the Grand Audience Assembly as her last hope, a turning point in her life.
Now, she had no zither.
No matter how desperately a camel struggles in the desert, fate’s final straw still crushes it in the end.
"You can buy another one."
"Impossible. I traded everything I had for that zither."
Song Qianji wanted to say, "Isn’t it just about money? I’ll give you the funds, go buy one quickly."
We’re mere strangers—no grudges, no grievances. Don’t cry in my vegetable patch and block my farming path.
He reached into his pocket—it was emptier than his face.
Suddenly, he realized that since his rebirth, he hadn’t engaged in any productive work and had been living off others. A wave of embarrassment washed over him.
"Not a big problem," Song Qianji said.
When he emerged again, he was holding a sword.
The long sword appeared weathered, but within the Huawel Sect’s Outer Sect, it was considered a rare, fine blade.
"You, you!" He Qingqing trembled in horror.
Gritting her teeth, she uttered the clearest, most complete sentence of the night:
"If you want to kill me, just do it! I’ve had enough—who in this world still wants to live? I should have died long ago. I’d rather die by the hand of someone like you!"
Her voice was piercingly desolate from despair.
Song Qianji: "...Wait here for me. I’m going out now."
He Qingqing stared blankly.
He took two steps, then turned back to admonish, "Don’t move around."
Seeing her sitting on the doorstep, hugging her knees and curled into a ball, keeping a distance from the bamboo fence, he nodded in satisfaction and left.
Isn’t it just about buying a zither?
How could a living person be stumped by a few Spirit Stones?
He Qingqing sat hugging her knees in the night breeze, watching the young man’s slender, upright figure.
Until he disappeared down the path, merging into the starry night sky, no longer visible.
She thought, This can’t be real.
It feels like a dream.
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