A sudden rain fell in the night.
The sound of water filled the world. Raindrops danced wildly across the roof tiles, gathering along the eaves to form a broken curtain of pearls.
Beneath the eaves, Song Qianji lay in a rocking chair, eyes closed as he listened to the plants in Song Courtyard drinking their fill, savoring this rare moment of solitude.
He was a tree, and the flora of Song Courtyard had accepted him as one of their own. If he wished, he could control every vine’s growth, every flower’s bloom, every root’s absorption of water—but he had no desire to command or control.
In the deep silence, the courtyard was filled with sounds only he could hear, and a profound sense of contentment and joy welled up within him.
Adopting a new identity and perceiving the world from another perspective had truly brought him many rewards.
An old cat seeking shelter from the rain tried to snuggle closer, but as it lifted its paw, it passed straight through his body.
"You know, that’s rather impolite," Song Qianji remarked with some resignation.
The old cat meowed in confusion—why could it see this person but not touch him, like the moon reflected in its water bowl?
Even without a physical form and unable to till the land with his own hands, Song Qianji still loved to linger in the fields, watching others labor. During the day, he had to trouble others to hold an umbrella for him, but at night, things were much simpler.
By the third year of his return to the mortal world, his soul had grown strong enough to bask in the moonlight after midnight, move freely, and even touch inanimate objects.
Before long, the night rain ceased, and the moon emerged, clear and bright, casting a silvery glow over the sky and earth.
The plants of Song Courtyard, sated with rain, stretched and shook their branches under the moonlight.
Meng Heze excelled at growing vegetables, Wei Zhenyu at cultivating flowers, and Ji Chen at tending low shrubs and vines. But lately, Song Qianji had often been observing a wildflower. No one knew which bird had dropped its seed into the flowerbed, but it had inexplicably sprouted in a corner of the wall—unplanted, untended, yet stubbornly budding and branching.
When it bloomed, it revealed itself as a green peony, its petals full and vibrant, like a beauty in a jade gown, standing alone in sublime elegance.
Tonight’s spring rain had not battered the delicate peony; instead, it had blossomed even more luxuriantly, its beauty shining all the more brilliantly.
Song Qianji rose from the rocking chair, intending to take a closer look, but he paused abruptly.
A faint, ethereal melody drifted to him on the spring breeze.
The tune was simple and soothing, not one of sorrow or lament, yet it carried the hidden melancholy of the player, as if sighing for the fallen blossoms swept away by the rain-fed streams.
Song Qianji looked up. The spring night was neither cold nor hot, the moonlight so exquisite—why would someone playing the lute under such a moon sigh so?
Then, a voice joined the music, singing: "Fine flowers must be bought, bright moonlight borrowed on credit—yet the bitterest of life’s sorrows is parting…"
The voice was shrill, its tone frivolous and ornate, lingering and sentimental, like the lament of a heartbroken woman.
Song Qianji walked to the courtyard gate, picked up the white umbrella painted with golden wheat stalks leaning against the door, and snapped it open with a sharp click.
Pushing the gate open, he stepped into the back alley of Song Courtyard, where the moonlight flowed like water.
Beneath the umbrella, his soul was no longer a translucent phantom. Unless touched, he appeared no different from an ordinary person.
When venturing out late at night, he always carried a soul-manifesting Magical Artifact to avoid startling passersby.
The chirping of insects grew urgent after the rain, and a gentle breeze whispered through the night. The scene was tranquil, with only a few scattered lights glowing, evoking a sense of serene peace.
Holding the umbrella, Song Qianji walked alone, seeking the source of the song and lute music.
As he passed by walls of varying heights and crossed a small bridge where water murmured below, the lyrics finally became clear.
But then the light singing faded, transforming into a low, slightly hoarse male voice: "From the tower I gaze, upon layered spring hills—where is my home? Beyond misty waves. On my pillow, I urge myself to return, yet return I cannot…"
It was like the song of a wanderer gazing from a high tower toward his homeland, beating the railings as he sang aloud.Song Qianji quickened his pace and entered a derelict garden.
The singing abruptly ceased.
Surrounded by silent flowering trees, a young girl with double buns sat alone in a pavilion, playing the zither.
"Pardon me, miss. Which way did the singer go just now?"
The girl, still lost in the lingering echoes of the song, absently plucked the strings. Hearing his voice, she suddenly looked up:
"Ah, you, you are..."
Zhu Xin hurriedly stood up, straightening her hairpins and dress while stealing glances at the newcomer.
The man wore white robes and held a white umbrella. His gentle countenance didn't match the legends; he looked more like a scholar who'd lost his way in the middle of the night.
She hugged her zither and bowed: "Divine King Song!"
As Song Qianji was about to ask again about the singer's whereabouts, his gaze suddenly fixed: "Miss, this zither of yours..."
The instrument's body was elegant, its seven strings trembling gently like ripples on emerald waters.
Layer upon layer of ripples splashed up fragmented images that flashed before his eyes.
"This isn't my zither. I play poorly, I'm ashamed to say."
This wasn't Zhu Xin's first time in Thousand Canals. Her elder brother Zhu Ping served as Director of Studies here and had arranged this small courtyard for her, hoping she would settle down permanently.
After the great war, the cultivators of the Immortal Alliance scattered like birds and beasts. The Celestial Sound Sect's mountain gates closed, its disciples dispersed and scattered.
"He only gave you a zither, never said you were the sect leader. That mess of the Celestial Sound Sect isn't your burden to bear!" Zhu Ping had tried to persuade Zhu Xin.
But Zhu Xin wouldn't agree, leaving alone with her zither.
The small courtyard remained untended for years, overgrown with wild vegetation until it resembled a derelict garden.
"What's your name?" Song Qianji gestured for her to sit.
"My name is Zhu Xin, disciple of the Celestial Sound Sect."
She still identified herself as a Celestial Sound disciple.
Ten years after the war ended, more and more Sound Cultivators were willing to call themselves Celestial Sound disciples again.
They traveled across the continent, using their music to heal the wounded and dispel grief, composing new songs from their experiences.
The Celestial Sound Sect still existed, just no longer on those lonely, icy immortal mountains.
Song Qianji paused slightly, then lifted his robe and sat opposite Zhu Xin.
This person played He Qingqing's zither, yet her fingering technique was uniquely Miaoyan's creation.
The "Twin Beauties of Celestial Sound" - two generations of deep-seated enmity, hatred as vast as the sea. Yet after one was gone, they ended up teaching the same disciple.
"You play quite well, why be so self-deprecating?" Song Qianji said gently.
"You think I play well?!" Zhu Xin exclaimed in surprise, her eyes shining.
"Mm." Song Qianji nodded.
His posture was so relaxed that Zhu Xin, watching him, felt as if she were sitting in the shade of a great tree, and gradually relaxed herself.
"I know you're just comforting me." The girl rested her chin on her hand and sighed. "At my age, Senior Sister Miaoyan was already called 'the Number One Beauty of the Cultivation World.' And me? I'm still wandering around with a few junior sisters, barely getting by."
Song Qianji remained silent, quietly listening as she spoke of her wandering journeys across the lands these past years.
"I'm really, really too clumsy. Compared to true zither prodigies, no matter how hard I try, it's never enough. If Senior Sister were still here..." Zhu Xin suddenly realized her slip and softly gasped.
He Qingqing was a name that couldn't be mentioned.
After the great war, people cursed this nearly-world-destroying figure with the vilest language. Strangely, those who had participated in the Immortal Alliance cursed her the most.
"Never trust any miraculous medicine that drastically boosts cultivation; never consume the sap of the Sky-Supporting Tree."
These two absolute laws were carved into the deepest souls of all cultivators, passed down to future generations.People loathed and feared He Qingqing, afraid she would survive calamities and make a comeback, so alarm bells rang incessantly.
The young girl cautiously observed Song Qianji. Seeing his expression remain unchanged, she finally spoke: "This Green Ripple Platform, is it..."
"Indeed, I gave it." Song Qianji lowered his gaze.
Under the moonlit night, the spring breeze scattered peach blossoms that drifted onto the zither.
Whether you're a solitary figure beyond the heavens or a king beloved by all, no one can achieve perfect fulfillment in all matters.
Zhu Xin inexplicably felt the great tree above her head was about to shed leaves. In this moment, she actually wanted to comfort him.
She reached out to pat Song Qianji's shoulder, just as she would comfort her junior sisters.
"Ah!" The girl's slender fingers passed through his phantom form. "S-sorry!"
"It's fine, I startled you." Song Qianji said.
"You must feel sad too?" Zhu Xin withdrew her hand and whispered, "Able to save the world, yet unable to save yourself. In this state now..."
Without even a physical body.
She had played the zither for many cultivators who failed in breakthroughs or fell in realm after injuries, all of whom were utterly miserable, longing for their former selves.
Just as mortals find it hard to adapt from luxury to frugality, cultivators are the same—having experienced power, who could accept weakness?
Song Qianji was once the world's strongest. Could he endure such a gap?
The more she thought, the sadder she became, grief welling up from her heart: "I don't understand, isn't there any fairness in this world?"
Song Qianji was startled. Based on his years of experience, this expression signaled imminent tears.
He quickly explained: "My current state—isn't this also a form of fairness?"
So even as a tree, he still feared human tears.
"You're lying to me!" Zhu Xin didn't believe him.
Song Qianji sighed: "Miss Zhu, even if I were to bear fruit and develop a physical form, I wouldn't possess strong cultivation."
"Why?!" Zhu Xin jumped up. "As long as you harness the power of the Sky-Supporting Tree, what difficulty is there in reclaiming your position as number one under heaven?"
Song Qianji smiled and shook his head: "Have you ever seen flowers that never wither, or clouds that never disperse? As the saying goes, 'All things carry yin and embrace yang, achieving harmony through balanced energy.' The way of heaven and earth lies in balance. If someone could support the heavens and earth, approaching divine status, while freely walking the mortal world with omnipotence—would such unrestrained power truly be good? Should it exist?"
Zhu Xin thought for a moment, then whispered: "But I believe in you. Everyone believes in you."
Song Qianji laughed: "I'm just a rogue cultivator who once climbed ruthlessly upward. I don't believe in myself. If this world could let people farm in peace, what use would I have for a sword?"
Zhu Xin suddenly understood.
He wasn't enduring weakness—he never wanted to be number one under heaven to begin with—
Only wishing to turn swords into plowshares, for the world to be free from war.
Song Qianji didn't know what she was imagining now, only that it was getting late and time to return to tend his plants:
"I should go."
Zhu Xin mustered her courage and picked up the Green Ripple Platform: "You taught Senior Sister Qingqing with wind and snow formations, taught Senior Sister Miaoyan with flowers, moon, and falling clouds—will you teach me something?"
But Song Qianji shook his head: "I have nothing to teach you."
"...My talent is too poor."
"I said you play well because you play melodies you composed yourself." Song Qianji stood up. "Where there are stories, there is music. My story has ended, my music has been fully played—now it's your turn to take the stage as protagonists. Farewell, Miss Zhu."After speaking, he opened his white umbrella and stepped into the clear moonlight.
Zhu Xin murmured, "Am I truly capable?"
Song Qianji turned back: "I await the day when new waves push the old, and fresh chapters replace bygone melodies."
The figure receded into the distance as falling blossoms swirled before her eyes.
Holding her qin alone, Zhu Xin blinked suddenly, shedding two tears.
Before meeting Song Qianji, a knot had formed in her heart over He Qingqing's death. There was even a moment when she wanted to ask that person: "Why did you pawn your own sword just to exchange for a qin to give her? Did this qin ultimately save her, or harm her?"
After meeting Song Qianji, it felt like sitting under the vast shade of a great tree, where gentle breezes gradually dispersed all dust.
Watching the retreating figure vanish, Zhu Xin parted her lips as if to speak more, but ultimately remained silent.
He was Song Qianji.
Who could make moonlight linger forever?
...
Song Qianji walked along the moonlit path after rain, umbrella in hand, until reaching the alley leading to Song Courtyard's back gate. He suddenly remembered why he had gone out tonight.
Just as he turned to search for someone, a lazy voice called from atop the wall:
"Hey, off for a midnight rendezvous with a beauty?"
Song Qianji thought, it was clearly you who deliberately lured me out—you know that girl.
He halted but didn't turn, saying only: "If you hadn't spoken, I'd have thought you were here to assassinate me."
"I've washed my hands of that trade. Changed professions.The speaker leaped down from the wall, clad in a brocade robe embroidered with clusters of floral patterns, the garment fluttering during descent like scattered blossoms in bloom.
The old cat of Song Courtyard had its tail draped over his shoulder, its long, dense fur resembling a fluffy scarf.
This ill-tempered cat always appeared for meals, slipped away once full, and had even scratched Wei Zhenyu before, showing no awareness of living on others' charity.
Yet now nestled in the newcomer's arms, it was uncharacteristically docile, emitting continuous soft mewls.
It remembered the first person who had picked it up and fed it.
As Song Qianji walked forward, the other naturally fell into step beside him, complaining disdainfully: "What are you wearing? For the renowned Thousand Canals, can't you find a decent tailor?"
Despite the sharp words, Song Qianji didn't retort, merely quirking a slight smile: "I'm but a wandering spirit—what I wear matters little."
"Your defensive formations here are subpar too. I entered so easily, which shows Young Ji's arraycraft isn't as divine as the rumors claim. If assassins really came, what would you do? Are neither Meng-dog nor Wei-dog around? Letting you wander alone at midnight?"
What could Song Qianji say?
He could only turn at the doorway and sigh helplessly: "Song Courtyard's formations have never been meant to keep you out."
...
Under the same bright moon, Chen Hongzhu also heard the ethereal qin music.
The melody rose as she stood on Fleeting Water Bridge.
Thousands of peaks and ravines, vast seas of clouds—all lay spread before her unobstructed.
The scenery remained as before, with only one difference: no five-colored carp leaped and swam beneath Fleeting Water Bridge anymore.
These creatures, seemingly exquisite yet inherently cruel, had gradually vanished after prolonged deprivation of flesh and blood nourishment.
When Chen Hongzhu returned, she saw only pure cloud seas draped in silver radiance.
Fleeting Water Bridge had once been among her most familiar places.
She had left this place carrying the Hundred Flowers Kill, enduring countless scornful glances and mockery during her hardest times, treated as a disgrace by her sectmates.
She had traveled all mortal wrong paths, witnessed every worldly suffering.
Only to return here in the end.
The moon shines brightest in one's homeland.
Tomorrow would be her succession ceremony.The "Little Huawel Sect" had long ceased to exist, and many couldn't understand why Sect Leader Chen had only now agreed to formally assume the position.
She had clearly long been the rightful sect leader in all but name.
Yet Chen Hongzhu's mind was unsettled.
"Today I revive our sect and win everyone's support, but ten years from now, fifty years, a hundred years later—will I become like my father? Huawel Sect rises from the ashes today, but what will become of it two centuries hence? The rolling sea of clouds beneath Fleeting Water Bridge has witnessed how many heroes of past generations vanish with time?"
The lingering melody of a zither perfectly mirrored the thoughts weighing on her heart tonight.
Which disciple was playing the zither under the moonlight? But how could any young disciple possess such profound skill?
Following the music across the bridge, Chen Hongzhu found herself drawn forward almost involuntarily.
The more she listened, the more familiar the melody seemed, her steps quickening until she finally channeled her Spirit Qi, gliding swiftly over the ground.
Who was playing the zither?!
Reaching the Star-Picking Platform at night, the zither music abruptly ceased.
"Sect Leader!" A group of young disciples in the mountain pavilion waved at her, then suddenly remembering themselves, switched to formal bows.
Chen Hongzhu entered the pavilion. "Who was playing the zither here earlier?"
They shook their heads in unison:
"No one was playing the zither."
"Though the night insects' chirping did sound somewhat like zither music."
Chen Hongzhu scanned her surroundings, finding only the solitary moon hanging high and the surging sea of clouds, leaving her with an inexplicable sense of loss.
Feigning annoyance, she chided, "What are you all doing here in the middle of the night instead of resting or cultivating?"
The Star-Picking Platform was no longer forbidden ground—any disciple could come here to enjoy the view.
Zhu Mian stepped forward to explain: "With the grand ceremony tomorrow, everyone's too excited to sleep. We had some drinks, and someone suggested coming up to see the 'Hero Summons' that Deity King Song composed while drunk."
Seeing Chen Hongzhu showed no intention of scolding them, the platform grew lively again:
"Sect Leader, your poem is excellent too!"
"Especially the last two lines!"
"Excellent nothing!" Noticing the stone table in the pavilion, Chen Hongzhu felt slightly embarrassed, unable to bear looking at it again. "I'd been drinking too—it was all nonsense!"
In truth, she had originally intended to write: "How many tread the same path in this world? A lone boat drifts through misty rain."
But catching sight of the Hero Summons, competitive spirit surged within her, and she'd carved instead: "The romantic charms may laugh at me, My heart resides in the Ninth Heaven's mystery."
Now surrounded by young disciples reciting those very lines, Chen Hongzhu's cheeks flushed slightly. "Enough! All of you, return to your quarters!"
Amid laughter, they escorted the youngest sect leader in Huawel Sect's history away from the platform.
Suddenly someone exclaimed: "Hey! There's another poem here. 'One day wielding the Taia Sword's might...'"
A quick-witted disciple hurriedly interjected: "Zhu Mian, don't ruin the mood!"
Chen Hongzhu paused, turning back to gently trace the stone table with her fingers.
The slate felt cool, the carved characters clear and distinct.
A disciple remarked: "She's a sinner through the ages—how dare she leave her writing on the Star-Picking Platform?"
"Right, she killed the Sect Leader's father. How can Huawel Sect keep such things?"
As he spoke, he drew a dagger, preparing to erase the carving.
"Leave it," Chen Hongzhu said suddenly. "With so few talented zither practitioners these days, the musical essence in these characters is rare. It would be a pity to destroy it."
The disciples stared blankly for a moment before recovering with praises:
"The Sect Leader's magnanimity can encompass all things!"
"The Sect Leader is right—we should keep it as a warning for future generations!"
"Enough flattery. I've made a decision," Chen Hongzhu announced. "After the ceremony, I'm moving."
"Ah?" Zhu Mian scratched his head. "Sect Leader, we just arrived. Where are we moving to?"Chen Hongzhu laughed, "I'm moving to the former Outer Sect disciples' courtyard. If you need anything, come find me there."
Zhu Mian said, "Sect Leader, may I move there too? I can't get used to living on the mountain—it's too empty and lonely."
Another voice chimed in, "Then I'd like to move down the mountain as well!"
"Suit yourselves!" Chen Hongzhu's laughter rang out heartily.
It felt as if they had returned to those days when they roamed the Tiandong Region together, enduring wind and dew.
"Why don't we move voluntarily and choose our own residences?"
"Those grand halls on the mountain, with rooms so far apart—whoever likes them can live there."
A group of disciples, like a flock of chirping sparrows, surrounded Chen Hongzhu as they descended the mountain, their laughter filling the mountain path.
The young sect leader suddenly glanced back.
The Star-Picking Platform stood beneath the bright moon, deep within blooming flowers.
The night breeze stirred peach blossoms along the mountain path, scattering them like a spring rain.
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