Song Qianji was fighting ice sculptures on the snow plains. The endless, inexhaustible ice sculptures almost made him lose track of time.
Ziye Wenshu sat by the window, like an ice sculpture himself.
The window was wide open, allowing moonlight to stream in like flowing water, spilling over the desk.
Ziye Wenshu’s bedchamber was situated at an extremely high elevation. Looking out the window, one could see white funeral banners fluttering across the mountains.
The Calligrapher Sage had passed away, and Azure Cliff was draped in mourning white.
The elderly fisherman was no longer by the Ink Pond, and all vibrant colors had been concealed or erased. Under the cold moonlight, the mountains displayed only the austere shades of azure, white, and black, creating an atmosphere of utmost solemnity.
Azure Cliff was abundant with weeping willows, pine trees, cypresses, and emerald bamboo. Throughout the four seasons, layers of varying shades of green and blue could always be seen.
Azure Cliff was also home to many great scholars and avid readers. From morning till night, the sound of recitations could always be heard.
Young disciples enjoyed gathering together to practice calligraphy, debate, draw talismans, play chess, engage in card games, and feed the white deer in the mountains—there was always endless chatter.
Only Ziye Wenshu lived on the highest peak of Azure Cliff. This place had nothing—no lush greenery, no gentle calls of deer, and no lively human voices.
The people of Azure Cliff deeply admired, trusted, and revered him, yet they also stood in awe of him.
In his presence, they were reminded of the strictest laws and regulations, instinctively becoming restrained.
He practiced his blade at midnight and wrote in his diary early in the morning. When there were no affairs requiring his attention, he preferred to avoid seeing others.
At this moment, he sat alone by the window. On his desk, there was no diary, only a small jade box.
Ziye Wenshu opened the box with one hand, then closed it, repeating the motion over and over.
Since obtaining it, this repetitive action had almost become a habit for him.
Click, clack. The lid opened and closed, producing a crisp sound.
Tonight, however, this activity was forcibly interrupted.
"Overseer Senior Brother, we request an audience," Zimo announced from outside.
After receiving permission, a group of Azure Cliff disciples filed in, instantly filling Ziye Wenshu’s spacious residence.
The disciples appeared agitated, their chests heaving as if they had just concluded a rally.
"What is the matter?" Ziye Wenshu was somewhat surprised but remained composed.
The protective formations of Azure Cliff showed no fluctuations, there were no external threats, and the Academy Head had not sent him any messages, indicating that Azure Cliff remained secure.
In these chaotic times, nearly the entire Cultivation World had been dragged into the vortex of war, yet Azure Cliff Academy remained unusually silent, almost forgotten.
Zimo and Qingzhai, leading the group, exchanged glances, silently deciding who would speak first.
However, someone from the back of the crowd spoke up first: "Dare we ask, Overseer Senior Brother, are you planning to go to Thousand Canals alone?""
Ziye Wenshu slightly frowned. "Who said that?"
His frown caused the temperature to drop abruptly. The disciples, who had just finished their rally and were still fired up from chanting slogans, instantly cooled down.
"Senior Brother’s blade skills are exceptional, but he is not adept at acting," Zimo said with a bitter smile.
After leaving Blood River Valley, Ziye Wenshu had not mentioned Thousand Canals—not a single word.
It was precisely this silence that felt unusual.
"I’m not saying Senior Brother is acting. Having followed you for so long, we can somewhat sense... Ah, I’m not trying to speculate about your thoughts either. I just mean... what I’m trying to say is..."
Zimo only made things worse with his explanation, earning a sharp stomp from Qingzhai.
"Give me what you’re holding," Ziye Wenshu extended his hand to the crowd.
The disciple who had spoken first stiffened, unable to hide the paper in time, and could only obediently hand it over."Resist the Immortal Alliance, Aid Thousand Canals. Joint petition?" Ziye Wenshu's gaze swept over them, "Are you planning to boycott classes?"
"The instructors have approved this!" The young disciple met the Courtyard Overseer's gaze, his voice weakening again, "...Actually, the dean has also agreed, well, tacitly consented."
Qingzhai quickly came to his defense: "King Song is benevolent and righteous. Back in the Blood River Valley ice cave, we greatly misunderstood him, yet he didn't hold it against us. He saved us from danger and guided our cultivation, making us even more ashamed. Now that Thousand Canals faces crisis, how can we turn a blind eye? If we truly shut our ears to worldly affairs, how could we possibly focus on our studies?"
Seeing that Ziye Wenshu didn't refute them, the disciples finally dared to speak up:
"Even those Rogue Cultivators fear neither death nor danger, daring to see King Song off. How could we be cowards?"
"We disciples of Green Cliff are not scholars without responsibility. If senior brother takes on this burden for us, we might... develop inner demons later."
"We want to go to Thousand Canals with senior brother!"
Ziye Wenshu listened quietly, then suddenly turned to glance at the jade box on the table.
Zimo and Qingzhai were quite puzzled.
But then they saw Ziye Wenshu nod: "Good. I approve."
The disciples were overjoyed, but didn't dare cheer loudly in Ziye Wenshu's presence.
Zimo said excitedly: "What should we do? We'll follow Courtyard Overseer senior brother's arrangements!"
Ziye Wenshu uttered one word: "Wait."
"W-wait?"
Ziye Wenshu said: "Go back now. Continue your studies tomorrow."
Some disciples thought they saw a fleeting smile in his eyes, so brief it might have been an illusion.
Only after the disciples had gone some distance did they begin whispering among themselves.
"We've made our position clear, so why do we still have to wait?"
"If we're told to wait, then wait. Don't act recklessly. Be careful not to disrupt senior brother's plans."
Qingzhai: "What do you think is really in that box? Aren't you curious?"
Zimo: "Of course I'm curious, but we don't know, and we don't dare ask either."
...
In stark contrast to Green Cliff's surface calm but underlying fervor, Huawel Sect was truly silent.
Xu Yun was meditating in Cosmos Palace.
His avatar had died by Song Qianji's sword, injuring his main body in the process. Then he was assassinated at his weakest moment. If not for the elixirs and miraculous medicines he had collected over the years, and if he weren't at Huawel Sect, he would already be dead.
The assassin had been chased by everyone to Broken Mountain Cliff, where they jumped into the abyss. Their fate remained unknown.
Having practiced the cultivation method taught by Wuxiang, the Spirit Qi in his body had turned blood-red. He didn't dare seek treatment from renowned medical cultivators.
But his injuries were rapidly worsening. Combined with the ongoing war and tense situation, he had no choice but to compromise with He Qingqing.
He didn't trust He Qingqing - that female cultivator was like a beautiful serpent. He sent Yuan Qingshi to accompany He Qingqing, ostensibly as company but actually as supervision.
When He Qingqing arrived at Huawel Sect, before she could even meet Xu Yun, she found herself surrounded by people being given a tour of Huawel's scenery.
Viewing lotus flowers by the lake, watching koi at Fleeting Water Bridge. Huawel Sect put on a full display of hospitality for their honored guest.
"This is our sect's important location, the 'Star-Picking Platform'," Yuan Qingshi said.
However, the weather wasn't cooperating. A heavy fog had risen today.
Climbing high to gaze into the distance, they couldn't see the mountain scenery, only a vast sea of clouds, the world between heaven and earth blanketed in pure white.
That stone table still stood in the pavilion, along with the famous Hero Summons known throughout the land.
The Huawel Sect members present had complex feelings about it - it was both an honor and a disgrace.When Song Qianji wrote these four lines of poetry, he was merely a lowly outer sect disciple, yet now he stood as a ruler of his own domain and a formidable enemy to the sect.
He Qingqing sat before the stone table and suddenly drew her dagger.
A cold gleam flashed as her fair hands danced. The Huawel Sect disciples gasped in alarm.
"I'm just carving a few words. Why so tense?" He Qingqing chuckled leisurely.
Yuan Qingshi leaned closer to look and saw four lines of poetry appear on the stone table:
"Treading through dangers with warm blood, clouds weigh heavy on immortal paths hard to choose."
"One day holding the Taia sword's hilt, I dare command heaven and earth to change their hues."
"Excellent calligraphy! Excellent poetry!"
Disciples of the Celestial Sound Sect praised: "Our sect leader writes magnificently!"
Yuan Qingshi glanced at the poem, then at the endless sea of clouds, and smiled: "At noon this fog will disperse, revealing Huawel's splendid scenery in all its vibrant colors. If Sect Leader He prefers not to wait, I could employ the Huawel Sword technique to clear these blinding clouds with sword energy!"
He Qingqing stood up: "No need to wait. Treating Sect Leader Xu Yun's injuries is more urgent."
"Sect Leader He's righteousness is commendable!"
This time even the Huawel Sect members began praising her.
No one dislikes hearing compliments, though He Qingqing had heard so many recently that she'd grown somewhat weary of them.
Still, listening to people rack their brains for flattery was far better—a thousand times better—than being spat upon.
Amid the chorus of praise, a Celestial Sound disciple suddenly exclaimed softly in surprise:
"Oh, there's another poem on this table!"
"Zhuxin, don't spoil the sect leader's mood!"
She was immediately silenced.
But He Qingqing had already turned back and seen the writing on the table.
Beside the Hero Summons and her own poem next to it, there unexpectedly appeared a third poem in the corner of the stone table.
The brushstrokes were vigorous yet the handwriting elegant.
"I recognize this—this is Junior Sister Chen's, ahem, Chen Hongzhu's handwriting." Yuan Qingshi suddenly realized. "I remember now, she came to the Star-Picking Platform the night before she betrayed the sect and descended the mountain. She must have written it then."
Everyone crowded around again.
He Qingqing's fingertips traced the stone table as she softly read each word:
"The bright moon leaves the branch, flowers part from the wind. You go to Thousand Canals, I journey eastward."
She smiled—it turned out to be a farewell poem.
The bright moon departs the branch, fallen blossoms drift in the wind, that person returns to Thousand Canals, while I travel alone to the Eastern Continent.
He Qingqing thought to herself: Unable to hold on yet unwilling to let go, only daring to write farewell verses where none could see—how utterly ordinary.
Her gaze dropped lower and suddenly froze: "Wind, flowers, snow, and moon must laugh at me, my heart resides in the ninth heaven's peak—"
With these two lines, the previous moon and blossoms transformed into mere scenery along the journey, as a heroic spirit leaped from the stone table, soaring straight to the highest heavens.
He Qingqing stared blankly for a moment: "Just based on this line alone, my writing cannot compare to hers."
She actually drew her dagger again, intending to erase the poem she had written.
Unwilling to see her frown, Yuan Qingshi hurriedly said: "So what if it doesn't compare? No need to destroy it. No, I don't think it's inferior at all!"
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