When Song Qianji returned to his room to fetch his sword, he also brought along the talismans gifted by Chen Hongzhu.
His journey was unimpeded. He encountered three patrols from the Enforcement Hall, who initially stopped him for questioning but quickly stepped aside upon spotting the red paper crane pinned to his chest.
At the mountain gate, the guards greeted him politely and watched as he passed through the archway. Yet, their expressions turned peculiar—a mix of envy and pity, as if recalling something unsavory.
The moment Song Qianji’s figure vanished, they eagerly huddled together to gossip.
Night duty was dull, and this fresh incident offered enough material to chatter about all night:
“Why is he heading out so late? Didn’t you ask?”
“He carried the young lady’s talisman—dare I question him? Why didn’t you ask?”
“Ah, who says a man’s looks don’t matter? Those with handsome faces always get the advantage.”
The Huawel Sect was located in Shanglin County of the Western Sky Continent.
Across the entire Western Sky Continent, the Huawel Sect stood unrivalled—a towering giant with deep roots and sprawling branches. Countless mortal towns, kingdoms, and tribes relied on its protection.
Each territory housed Immortal Temples, where the populace, guided by royal or local Immortal Officials, regularly paid homage to the golden statues of the Huawel Sect Leader and Peak Lords, thereby enhancing the sect’s luck.
Huawel City was merely one such territory.
Situated just a few miles from Huawel Mountain, it thrived under the sect’s shadow, safe from evil cultivators. With a population nearing a million, it bustled with prosperity.
Strolling through this grand city on a spring night—a place without curfews, where doors remained unbolted—even the night breeze felt gentler, more intoxicating.
Had Song Qianji headed east, he would have encountered dazzling lanterns, song and dance halls, and profligates like Zhao Jiheng squandering fortunes amid wine and women.
Heading south, he might have found Xu Kanshan and Qiu Dacheng in raucous gambling dens, slapping cards and lamenting losses.
But Song Qianji went north.
The northern district was an old neighborhood.
Its residents retired early; the night’s only disturbances were the occasional barks, meows, or a child’s cry.
Wine shops, noodle stalls, silk stores, and cosmetic shops had already shuttered, leaving only faded wine flags fluttering in the wind.
The narrow, winding alleys sprawled like a spider’s web. Newcomers, without local guidance, often stumbled into dead ends, needing a month to navigate without getting lost.
Yet Song Qianji walked with unwavering certainty.
Not a single misstep, not one wrong turn.
Under the cool spring moon, the long street lay silent.
The weathered flagstones, polished smooth by time, reflected his elongated shadow.
Suddenly, he remembered walking this same path in his previous life.
Back then, the Huawel Sect—a prestigious major sect—had felt its dignity bruised when a mere Outer Sect disciple committed murder within its grounds and escaped imprisonment. They issued a bounty for his head across the entire Cultivation World.
Song Qianji’s survival relied not only on flight. Freshly descended the mountain and still at the Qi Refining Stage—a mere minnow—how could he evade high-level cultivators? He depended more on hiding.
On meticulous observation, careful planning, and the arrogance and negligence of his superiors.
He deliberately left false trails pointing toward the outskirts, then boldly doubled back to conceal himself in Huawel City. There, he disguised himself as a disfigured beggar while desperately cultivating.
He knew every dark alley, hidden path, and dog hole in Huawel City better than the night watchmen. A mental map was etched in his mind, constantly simulating enemy approaches and plotting the swiftest escape routes.Though many years later, the cultivation world would call him "Song Qianji the Hundred-Battle Survivor," the first thing he ever learned wasn't drawing his sword to fight, but turning on his heel to flee.
Returning to this old place, he happened to arrive on a full moon night.
Song Qianji strolled under the moonlight, a long sword in hand.
In this lifetime, he would never run for his life again.
The old street was quiet and dark, with only one shop still lit.
Song Qianji stopped before the shop door, a trace of nostalgia in his eyes.
The four-character plaque was peeling, but the last two words were still faintly discernible: Pawnshop.
The major pawnshops in Hua Wei City all operated beside gambling dens.
This one was truly too small and too old, its light as dim as a bean. The shopkeeper was clicking an abacus, the assistant was swatting flies, and an old cat was dozing.
Entering the hall, he faced a white wall bearing a couplet that broke all conventions of parallelism.
The first line: Since ancient times, who can escape death?
The second line: Wealth and possessions are but worldly attachments.
The horizontal scroll read: Instant Riches.
Standing in the hall, no one even greeted him. Only the stark character for "death" from the couplet seemed to leap out at him.
For a business like a pawnshop, this was far too inauspicious and unlucky.
"Business!" Song Qianji called out to the assistant first. "I want to pawn something."
"What?" The old shopkeeper lifted his eyelids, squinting slightly as he assessed him.
"My sword."
The old sword slapped onto the long table with a crisp clatter.
Startling the napping old cat by the window.
"Ten spirit stones. Non-negotiable."
At the shopkeeper's glance, the assistant went to the back to count out the spirit stones and shoved them at the customer with a take-it-or-leave-it expression.
"Ten spirit stones, just enough to buy a qin," Song Qianji said.
"How did you know we sell qins?" The assistant finally looked at him properly, astonished. "Wait, how did you know our qin costs exactly ten stones? You've never been here before!"
"How do you know I haven't been here before?" Song Qianji smiled. "Maybe you just forgot."
The young assistant retorted indignantly, "Impossible! I never forget a—"
"Too much talk!" the shopkeeper snapped, glaring fiercely at the assistant. "Get the qin."
A qin was placed on the long table alongside the sword Song Qianji had brought.
Song Qianji hefted it in his hands, testing two notes.
The qin body was sturdy, the tuning accurate. Its seven strings formed a small amplification array, perfectly suited for a novice sound cultivator.
In all of Hua Wei City, this was definitely the best qin ten spirit stones could buy.
"Not right." Song Qianji frowned.
"What's not right?" The young assistant bristled. "With one glance, I can tell what qin suits you best! In our shop, none matches you better than this one."
The shopkeeper, annoyed by the assistant's chatter again, picked up the abacus and rapped him on the head.
"It's not for me," Song Qianji said. "It's too heavy. Do you have a lighter one?"
A heavy qin body might be too much for a frail woman to carry. Heavy strings might not sound if her finger strength was insufficient.
"You're buying a qin for someone else?" Both the shopkeeper and the assistant's expressions shifted.
"Yes." Song Qianji nodded.
"A gift? For a female cultivator?" The usually lazy old shopkeeper suddenly beamed with extreme warmth. "Why didn't you say so earlier! Come, come, sit down and chat. Xiao Zhuo, what are you standing around for? Brew some tea for our guest. We've got business! Look at this unlucky child, no sense at all!"
The assistant named Xiao Zhuo rolled his eyes and went to prepare tea.
Song Qianji: "No need for trouble. I'm just here to buy a qin."
"When buying a qin for a female cultivator, trouble is unavoidable," the shopkeeper said cheerfully.
Song Qianji thought to himself, Don't try to fool me.Because of Miaoyan, he had bought more than one zither in his previous life.
Famous zithers were like famous swords—encountered by chance, not by search.
He had once gone through great pains to find ten volumes of rare ancient scores and the legendary zither "Ancient Echoes," which had vanished from the world, to give to Miaoyan as a betrothal gift.
Ten exquisite sandalwood cases were brought out and lined up in a row. The clerk opened them, and brilliance burst forth.
Some zither bodies were painted with gold phoenixes, some were adorned with pearl foil, some were carved with intricate patterns, and some were inlaid with luminous pearls…
The shabby little pawnshop was instantly transformed into a place of dazzling splendor, radiant and magnificent.
"Are any to your liking?" the shopkeeper asked. "If this batch doesn't suit you, there are more in the back."
"I just want an ordinary one, lightweight will do," Song Qianji said.
"No! A zither for a female cultivator—ordinary is too shameful. We don't deal in such things," the shopkeeper waved his hands repeatedly.
Song Qianji glanced at the price tags on the zither cases and felt a wave of dizziness:
"You set such exorbitant prices—can you even sell them? This isn't the Celestial Sound Sect. There aren't many female cultivators in the city who play the zither, are there?"
The shopkeeper showed no shame and said frankly, "Even if female cultivators can't afford them, there will always be people like you to foot the bill. That's why women's money is always easier to earn than men's."
Song Qianji had no rebuttal: "...Makes sense."
The shopkeeper was quite pleased: "Anyone who doesn't understand this principle will never succeed in big business! Leave this sword here, and I'll knock twenty off the price of the zither—how about it?"
He clearly saw Song Qianji as an easy mark, ready to fleece him.
Song Qianji shook his head: "I have no money."
"No money?!" The shopkeeper's expression instantly darkened. "No money and you want to buy gifts? No money and you're chasing after female cultivators?"
Song Qianji couldn't be bothered to explain. He retrieved his sword and stood up to leave.
The shopkeeper shouted after him, "Can't even afford a zither? You'll never have a dao companion in this lifetime!"
Song Qianji thought to himself, Hah, in my past life, I gave the finest zither in the world, and I still ended up without a dao companion.
"Forget it. He doesn't really have to buy one," Xiao Zhuo said with a laugh, seeming quite pleased that the shopkeeper hadn't closed the deal. His insincere advice followed: "Just look at him—you can tell nothing in this world matters much to him." What's a mere dao companion to someone like that?"
Song Qianji had already stepped over the threshold with his left foot when he suddenly remembered the wilted bean sprouts and balsam flowers by his doorstep, drooping from neglect.
How could one live in this world without a few cherished things? Who are you, a shady shop clerk, to say I have none?
He turned back and walked straight toward the old shopkeeper: "I have no money, but I want to buy a zither."
Since he was already here, he might as well make one more effort for the vegetable garden at his doorstep.
The shopkeeper laughed in disbelief: "Are you trying to rob us? Do you even know what kind of place this is? I thought you were someone who knew the ropes..."
"I want to go downstairs," Song Qianji said.
The shopkeeper's mocking laughter cut off abruptly. The plump old cat let out a whimper and vanished without a trace.
Xiao Zhuo leaped up like a startled bird, slamming the shop door shut with a loud clang.
"I want to go downstairs," Song Qianji repeated.
"Where do you come from?" the shopkeeper asked.
Song Qianji's expression remained unchanged: "No questions about origins!"
"Where are you headed?"
"No questions about destinations!"
"The goods may not be clean. There could be trouble."
"No questions about life or death!" Song Qianji answered finally.
"Good, please!"
The elderly shopkeeper's eyes gleamed sharply, the pressure of a Golden Core cultivator faintly emanating from him.
The youthful clerk stood ramrod straight—he, too, was actually a Foundation Building cultivator.The wall plastered with unlucky couplets silently parted, revealing a deep entrance.
The spring breeze rustled the wine banners on the street, yet couldn’t penetrate the wide-open windows of the pawnshop.
At some unknown moment, this place had become trapped in an Entrapment Formation, its energy sealed off, as stagnant as a pool of dead water.
This had always been an underground black-market shop.
Such a setup was enough to intimidate most people.
But for the Rogue Cultivator Song Qianji, visiting a black-market shop was like returning home.
He walked deep into the darkness, familiar with every turn.
There were six such black-market shops in the Cultivation World, with the Huawel City pawnshop being just one of them; the others were disguised as grain shops, rouge shops, butcher shops, and the like.
Once "downstairs" in the shop, buyers didn’t ask about the seller’s identity, and sellers didn’t inquire about the buyer’s purpose or use for the goods.
It was the perfect place for fencing stolen goods, dividing spoils, and profiteering. It had provided immense convenience for Song Qianji in his previous life, but even as he fled to the snowy plains, he never discovered who was behind the black-market shops, only vaguely suspecting it was a fallen powerhouse.
Though the person was gone, their subordinates remained loyal, managing the legacy as a tribute to their grief.
※※※
The full moon hung atop the peach blossom branches, casting dappled shadows on the courtyard wall, mottled and surreal.
He Qingqing sat hugging her knees at the courtyard gate. As the night deepened, the wind grew colder, and she couldn’t help shivering slightly.
She wiped her face and realized her tear stains had long dried, her fingertips colder than her cheeks.
Truth be told, it had been a long time since she last cried.
When other girls cried, it was like celestial maidens shedding tears, pear blossoms bathed in rain, evoking sympathy and pity in onlookers.
When she cried, it was a heart-wrenching, blood-soaked lament that others found terrifying, enough to give the faint-hearted nightmares.
The lively chirping of insects in the grass made the night feel even more desolate.
Cold and hungry, He Qingqing couldn’t help wondering, would that person ever return?
Could it be that he was just toying with her? If he really was, then, well, it didn’t matter. She was used to it anyway.
She could tell that person held considerable prestige and respect in the Huawel Sect’s Outer Sect, likely similar to Ziye’s status at the Azure Cliff Academy.
She was in the mud, while they were in the heavens. Human hearts were inherently disconnected, let alone when separated by such a vast gap.
At the end of the path, flowers swayed, and footsteps suddenly echoed as a figure approached from afar.
“Song…” He Qingqing sprang to her feet, but the light in her eyes dimmed as she recognized the newcomer.
It was a woman in red.
Her skirt fluttered, vibrant and radiant like a torch, almost illuminating the night sky.
He Qingqing felt both envious and fearful, not daring to look too long, and lowered her head, waiting for the other to pass by.
But the woman wasn’t just passing through; she walked straight toward He Qingqing, stopping only three steps away, face to face, exuding an overwhelming presence.
“Who are you?” the woman in red asked.
Her tone was like that of a host confronting an uninvited, trespassing guest.
“He Qingqing of the Azure Cliff Academy,” the girl in white replied with a curtsy, her voice soft. “Greetings, fellow cultivator.”
The next question should have been, “What are you doing here?” but Chen Hongzhu suddenly found herself unable to ask.
She felt the name He Qingqing was strangely familiar.
She had just visited all twenty households around Song Courtyard.
During the day, not a single person had told her Song Qianji’s whereabouts.
It was only through the movements of the Tracking Talisman that she learned Song Qianji had descended the mountain at night. After pressuring the Deacon Hall, she found out what had happened during the day: the six from Green Cliff had come to provoke him, bringing an unusually beautiful female cultivator to provoke Song Qianji, only to be scared off instead.
As for the twenty informants she had previously cultivated, they had left the Spirit Stones and communication talismans she gave them at the courtyard gate, without sending a single message.Their attitude couldn't be clearer—they were unwilling to continue reporting information, even if there were benefits to gain, even if withholding reports might earn them a whipping.
This was the first time Chen Hongzhu's words held no weight in the Huawel Sect. She expected to fly into a rage, but confusion outweighed her anger in her heart.
She could have kicked open those twenty doors, dragged out those ungrateful outer sect disciples, and given them a harsh beating. Yet she didn't do it.
She genuinely felt bewildered. Why did things always go awry when it came to Song Qianji?
When fear and whips could no longer intimidate people, and when temptations and spirit stones lost their effect—it was enough to make her hair stand on end.
Though lowly, the outer sect was the foundation supporting a behemoth like the Huawel Sect.
Outer sect disciples should be the most obedient and easiest to manage. Given even a sliver of hope, they would fight desperately and dedicate their blood and sweat to the sect.
What if there weren't just one Song Qianji, but thousands?
Would the Huawel Sect's control over outer sect disciples, vassal states, and all low-level cultivators in the Western Sky Continent remain stable?
After all, she was the daughter of Sect Master True Person Xuyun. Today's events suddenly made her realize that rule maintained through fear would inevitably be defeated by dignity.
In the outer sect, no one truly respected her, yet people respected Song Qianji.
Fortunately, there was only one Song Qianji. He wasn't a teacher at the academy and could only influence a group of outer sect disciples for now.
Thinking of the academy reminded Chen Hongzhu of earlier in the day when she and her senior brother went to greet the dean and courtyard overseer of the Azure Cliff Academy.
Even someone like Courtyard Overseer Ziye Wenshu, a peerless genius, had to maintain a stern expression all day, strictly discipline himself, and lead by example to uphold his authority and earn the genuine respect of the academy's students.
Why could Song Qianji achieve the same by merely farming, watering flowers, and eating noodles every day?
Wouldn't Ziye Wenshu be furious if he knew?
Chen Hongzhu's thoughts wandered, and at this point, a sudden flash of insight struck her mind.
She stared at He Qingqing, her gaze seeming to pierce through the thin gauze:
"You're the girl Ziye Wenshu brought back after he single-handedly stormed the Western Sea Demon Cave back then, aren't you?"
He Qingqing trembled all over.
Even before becoming the courtyard overseer, Ziye Wenshu was already famous throughout the cultivation world.
Every academy student could recite the story of how, at sixteen, he single-handedly stormed the Western Sea Demon Cave, slayed the Gu Demon, and rescued innocent people used as gu vessels.
The tale was thrilling and intense. With his early Golden Core cultivation, the courtyard overseer senior brother had slain a Nascent Soul stage evil cultivator, surpassing levels to make a name for himself in one battle.
In reality, that battle was fiercely fought, its power widespread, and in the end, only one of the rescued mortals survived.
A twelve-year-old girl.
For Ziye Wenshu, sending someone to the Azure Cliff Academy was as simple as saying a word, a mere gesture.
Then he continued his travels across the four continents, writing more legendary tales.
By the time he returned, he had forgotten about the matter.
As living proof of this story, with the scars on her face as evidence of the evil deeds of demonic cultivators, He Qingqing luckily entered the Azure Cliff Academy and stumbled into the gates of the cultivation world.
Year after year, whenever someone brought up the courtyard overseer's legend or praised the Azure Cliff Academy's virtue in sheltering victims, they would drag her out to display.
Everyone told her she should be grateful.
Because she couldn't feel grateful, He Qingqing often felt guilt and pain.
All she could do was endure.
But sometimes, the more you retreat, tolerate, and fear trouble, the more bullies you attract.
"I am," she heard herself admit with difficulty.She was afraid the other party would be like every female student in the academy—curious and excited, asking her about Ziye Wenshu.
She truly knew nothing and couldn’t answer. Moreover, based on her experience, no matter how she answered, it would be wrong.
But the girl in red said, "I am Chen Hongzhu. Do you recognize me?"
He Qingqing was astonished.
The only daughter of the Huawel Sect Leader. People called her the Young Lady of Huawel, the Great Princess.
She had actually met her, spoken face-to-face for so long in the dead of night.
"What are you doing here?" Chen Hongzhu asked.
The question returned to the beginning of their encounter.
"Fellow Daoist Song said to wait for him here," He Qingqing replied.
For some reason, an inexplicable anger flared in Chen Hongzhu’s heart.
"Why did he ask you to wait?"
"I don’t know. I was crying here earlier, and he came out to check on me. Then he told me not to move and wait for him to return." He Qingqing’s voice grew softer. "Senior Brother Song is a good person."
Chen Hongzhu thought, What kind of person my sect’s disciple is, you, an outsider, don’t need to tell me.
"Hah, you think he has a good temper? He may seem easy to talk to, but he’s actually the most stubborn, unyielding person—neither soft nor hard tactics work on him!"
Chen Hongzhu recalled the three solid rejections she had faced from Song Qianji, frowning coldly:
"He only asked you to wait because your crying annoyed him, and he went out to practice his sword to avoid you!"
"I—I believe him. If he told me to wait, I’ll wait." He Qingqing was startled by her own words.
This was the first time she had ever contradicted someone. And it was someone of Chen Hongzhu’s status.
Yet it wasn’t for herself—only to prove that Song Qianji kept his word.
"I bet he won’t return tonight." Chen Hongzhu smoothed her skirt and sat on the ground. "I’ll wait too."
The two girls sat side by side on the stone steps in front of the courtyard gate.
One in red like fire, the other in white like frost.
Gazing at the same bright moon, lost in different thoughts.
Chen Hongzhu thought, If the Huawel Sect is to last for generations, people like Song Qianji must not be too numerous.
He Qingqing thought, If Senior Brother Song truly doesn’t return, I won’t blame him. For someone like him, encountering him even once should be enough to feel grateful.
The mountain moon knew nothing of the secrets in their hearts.
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