Meng Heze was about to return with the lotus root when a hand shot out from the side like a sharp sword aimed directly at his palm.
Figures swarmed from all directions, charging recklessly toward the lotus leaf in his hand.
Meng Heze was astonished—the lake was full of lotus roots, with endless mud beneath their roots. Why were they specifically targeting his?
Remembering how these people had earlier mocked him as an "Outer Sect disciple who dares to tour the lake," he assumed they were deliberately opposing and mocking him. Enraged, he channeled all his Spirit Qi, moving so fast that only afterimages remained.
Waves surged violently across the lake, and the young lotus flowers seemed battered by a fierce storm.
The crowd felt a gust of wind, and the Outer Sect disciple snatching the lotus had already appeared elsewhere. Some failed to stop in time, crashing into each other and tumbling into the lake with a splash.
They emerged covered in mud.
Coming from prestigious backgrounds, they were accustomed to being splattered with blood in duels—never with mud.
Hearing female cultivators on the shore cheering for the young man, a few forgot the duel rules in their shock and anger, summoning their Magical Artifacts to attack him.
Knowing his cultivation was slightly inferior, Meng Heze avoided direct confrontation, relying on evasion to make his opponents collide. But the artifacts came fiercely. He tapped the edge of a lotus leaf, propelling himself higher, attempting to break through upward toward the pavilion roof.
By the shore, those walking spiritual beasts, practicing calligraphy, composing poetry, or exchanging elixirs had all stopped, captivated by the lake conflict, their eyes fixed on the center.
Watching the youth deftly maneuver against multiple stronger opponents, they exclaimed in admiration:
"Who is that?"
"Since when does Huawel Sect have such a formidable Light Body Technique!"
As the youth leaped toward the pavilion eaves, a Green Cliff scholar shouted:
"Watch out! Ziye is inside discussing the Dao with someone!"
"He's on the verge of a breakthrough—be careful not to disrupt him!"
In the waterside pavilion, the girls had instinctively cheered for the lotus-picking youth's elegant Light Body Technique, only to realize the situation was amiss, their expressions turning awkward.
Feng Ziyi snapped back to reality and sneered at Chen Hongzhu, "If you wanted an Outer Sect disciple to compete, you could have sent him directly. There's no need for such a showy display. What, are you trying to prove that even a random Huawel Sect junior can outshine all of us?"
She assumed Chen Hongzhu had orchestrated this to retaliate for her earlier mockery of Huawel Sect's Outer Sect.
Chen Hongzhu was equally startled when she recognized Meng Heze.
Her gaze followed his path and soon spotted Song Qianji standing quietly by the shore, his back to the setting sun.
So the two Outer Sect disciples ridiculed earlier were them.
Had Song Qianji, unable to swallow the insult, sent Meng Heze to seize the lotus?
Before Meng Heze could reach the pavilion eaves, an immense force surged from within, like an iron wall rushing toward him. But his momentum was at its peak—an arrow already loosed, water already spilled.
He crashed into the invisible iron wall as if struck by a heavy blow. Darkness instantly clouded his vision, his chest churning with nausea. Eyes wide but unseeing, mouth agape but breathless, he plummeted like a white crane with broken wings, utterly helpless.
Below him gleamed the menacing light of various Magical Artifacts, sharpened and ready.
Meng Heze's heart sank. What Cultivation Method could harm someone invisibly like this?
I haven't cultivated to such a level or mastered such powerful techniques. Will I die or be crippled today?Suddenly, a gentle stream of spirit qi emerged from nowhere, brushing him aside like a spring breeze, carrying him away from the pavilion’s edge.
Meng Heze felt an immediate sense of relief, his mind clearing as he opened his eyes and recognized the newcomer. Overjoyed, he exclaimed, “Senior Brother Song!”
Song Qianji observed how this person, who had seemed utterly despairing moments before, now appeared revitalized at the sight of him—as if he had already landed safely and escaped danger. Such carefree confidence both annoyed and amused Song Qianji. Calling him “Senior Brother” felt so formal and distant; he might as well have shouted “Dad” instead.
Though Meng Heze could have broken through on his own, Song Qianji had acted swiftly upon hearing the lakeside cry of “Someone’s in the pavilion!”—aware of the imminent danger. To onlookers, he seemed to vanish and reappear out of thin air; none could clearly trace his movements, regardless of their visual acuity.
With one sleeve shielding Meng Heze, Song Qianji maneuvered through a barrage of eighteen magical artifacts, chiding lightly, “If someone tries to snatch it, just drop the thing and come back. Why engage in a fight?”
Though his words carried reproach, his eyes held a hint of laughter, suggesting he wasn’t truly angry.
Meng Heze recalled how Song Qianji had risked his life to save him at the cliff’s base, much like today, never once treating him as a burden. Moved beyond words, he felt a deep gratitude.
Song Qianji, however, was not at ease. These opponents came from prestigious backgrounds, wielding extraordinary magical artifacts. A misstep might not harm him, but Meng Heze would not escape unscathed.
Fortunately, in his previous life, frequent escapes had led him to develop a unique cultivation method: “borrowing force to counterforce, striking only after the opponent.” When enemies relied on numbers and attacked together, they inevitably stirred and tangled the surrounding spirit qi. The more chaotic the scene, the more opportunities it presented him.
Song Qianji guided the violent spirit energy like threading a needle, redirecting one opponent’s strike onto another. This technique required calculation, anticipation, and lightning-fast reflexes to leverage minimal effort against overwhelming force, enabling him to break through encirclements single-handedly.
Aware of his current low cultivation level and meager spirit qi, Song Qianji proceeded with extra caution. Yet he soon realized his control over spirit qi had grown remarkably precise. It was as though the spirit qi possessed vitality, akin to the plants in his courtyard, feeling an affinity for him and yielding to his command.
Was this the effect of carrying the Fountain of Immortality, or a result of his changed mindset after rebirth? Song Qianji couldn’t be sure.
The crowd watched as he, with one arm supporting his companion and the other sweeping his wide sleeve in graceful arcs, defused dangers with each effortless motion.
Seeing him glide over the water without touching it, his demeanor poised and agile, they couldn’t help but cheer loudly.
The individuals in the pavilion had no intention of harming anyone; their protective aura had merely reacted instinctively to Meng Heze’s aggressive energy, rebounding the force. Within moments, they had completely withdrawn their pressure.
Tranquility returned to the lakeside pavilion, accompanied by three or four voices offering congratulations.
Someone laughed, “Fellow Daoist Ziye, your cultivation advances yet again, putting the rest of us to shame. When do you plan to enter seclusion for a breakthrough?”
“No rush,” the black-robed youth replied tersely.
Most of the pavilion’s occupants lounged idly, sipping tea with relaxed expressions. Yet he sat among them with a straight back, his gaze steady, cold, and solemn, as if ready to draw his blade at any moment.
His features were sharp, his skin unusually pale. A single glance from him sent chills down one’s spine, prompting suspicions that he had grown up in an ice cave.
His eyes shifted, following the retreating figure that had just saved someone on the lake. “Who is that?”
“Merely two outer sect disciples from our sect. They didn’t mean to offend; please don’t take it to heart, Fellow Daoist,” Yuan Qingshi interjected, adding, “The junior sisters are amusing themselves—it’s best we don’t interfere.”
Ziye Wenshu offered no reply, calmly withdrawing his gaze.Yuan Qingshi felt a wave of helplessness. What kind of life did the Green Cliff students usually lead?
Living with a deity who had lost all human emotions and desires, while being subjected to his discipline—it must have been quite arduous.
Inside the waterside pavilion, everyone gazed at the lake, their hearts a turmoil of mixed emotions. They envied the Huawel Sect for having such impressive disciples who could flaunt their prowess, yet resented their own sect’s representatives for their lackluster performance.
Feng Ziyi sneered coldly, "One isn’t enough, so you arranged for two, each more capable than the last. Miss Chen, you’ve truly gone to great lengths!"
In her anger, she forgot that she was the one who first proposed the Light Body Technique competition. Had Chen Hongzhu explained things calmly and politely, it wouldn’t have led to the ensuing conflict.
But Chen Hongzhu, always arrogant and domineering, detested being wronged and had little patience for reasoning with outsiders. She retorted impatiently:
"It wasn’t me! It was your earlier offensive remarks that provoked them. If you don’t believe me, go ask them yourself!"
Feng Ziyi suddenly stood up. "Fine, I’ll ask."
A stream of purple silk shot out from her sleeve, arching through the air like a rainbow, accompanied by her clear laughter: "You two fellow cultivators over there, since you’ve arrived, why not come in and join us!"
"What are you doing?!"
Chen Hongzhu hadn’t expected Feng Ziyi to act so boldly within the Huawel Sect grounds. Her crimson whip unfurled like a fiery dragon, chasing after the purple silk.
Song Qianji saw the radiant purple silk sweeping toward him. Recognizing this magical artifact, he initially intended to dodge, but then remembered that Feng Ziyi wasn’t yet a Nascent Soul expert—she was just a young girl who hadn’t even achieved Core condensation.
Holding Meng Heze with one arm, he leaped onto the purple silk, his feet lightly tapping as he used this "rainbow bridge" to glide from the lake to the shore.
Chen Hongzhu, fearing accidental injury, hastily retracted her whip. Feng Ziyi had intended to bind the two, but when she saw her beloved artifact being trampled underfoot, her expression shifted, and she hurriedly withdrew it as well.
The two landed steadily inside the waterside pavilion.
The dozen or so pursuers on the lake, incensed and covered in mud, chased after them into the narrow pavilion. Inside, they found their movements constrained and were suddenly confronted by a room full of stunning female cultivators wearing varied expressions—like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on their heads. They recalled their earlier agreement not to use magical artifacts.
They collectively withdrew their attacks but couldn’t swallow their pride, their faces alternating between green and white.
Feng Ziyi scrutinized the two. The first to appear was spirited and heroic, now seething with rage like an enraged beast. The latter was tall, slender, and handsome, yet calm and composed with an air of tranquility.
She thought to herself, who knows if they’re actually direct disciples of Huawel Sect, deliberately dressed in outer sect disciple robes.
"Miss Chen, aren’t you going to introduce them to us? May we ask the esteemed names of these two gentlemen?"
Chen Hongzhu glanced around and slightly frowned.
The Six Sages of Green Cliff all came from prominent families, and many people present were related to them. If she revealed Song Qianji’s name, today’s conflict would likely escalate beyond control.
She said coldly, "They’re just two outer sect disciples. What does it matter what their names are? Who would remember them!"
"Well said." Feng Ziyi chuckled lightly. "Outer sect disciples like them—in our Dayan Sect, they’d only be fit for shoveling dung for my spiritual beasts!"
Her fellow disciples burst into laughter behind her, but she turned and scolded them sharply: "Laugh? You’re not even fit to shovel dung!"
Song Qianji was also smiling.
Noble descendants like you—when you encounter Wei Zhenyu who rises to power later, you’ll only end up being humiliated by him.
This law of the world is more unyielding than the Esoteric Arts of heaven and earth. Pity you don’t understand it.
Chen Hongzhu warned, "How our Huawel Sect disciples conduct themselves is for our sect to discipline. Outsiders have no right to interfere!"Feng Ziyi laughed, "Of course, I wouldn't dare overstep my bounds. But we've just made a bet—how can we call it off halfway?" She pointed at the table full of rare treasures. "Having everyone take back their items and disband now would be such a letdown."
Chen Hongzhu said, "What's so difficult about that? Since Huawel Sect is hosting, we ought to ensure everyone enjoys themselves. We can have another contest. You decide what to compete in!"
The Huawel Sect disciples behind her echoed in unison.
Although their feelings toward Song and Meng were complicated, Huawel Sect had just stolen the spotlight and intimidated the other sects, filling them with soaring morale for the moment.
Song Qianji reassured Meng Heze, "See, they were already competing and didn’t mean to target you specifically. Don’t be upset—let’s head back."
"Wait!" Feng Ziyi interrupted. "We agreed on the Light Body Technique, so it’s the Light Body Technique. This time, compete with me."
Chen Hongzhu asked, "You’re stepping in personally?"
"No, I’ll stay seated right here, completely still." Feng Ziyi looked at Song Qianji and Meng Heze. "One of you two step forward. If you can bypass my fellow disciples and reach me within three breaths, you can take any of these items here. Life isn’t easy for Outer Sect disciples. With so many treasures for protection, future battles would be much simpler."
Meng Heze glanced at the table full of Mystic Treasures, a flicker of eagerness in his eyes. The red jade Buddhist beads couldn’t be revealed for now. If not for his opponents relying on their Magical Artifacts earlier, he could have escaped unscathed and never been forced onto the pavilion roof, facing danger.
But since Senior Brother Song remained silent, he kept a cold expression, neither speaking nor moving.
Feng Ziyi laughed again, "What are you afraid of? You dared to act on the lake just now. This time, no one is allowed to use Magical Artifacts—surely that’s not unfair to you!"
The crowd was astonished. Feng Ziyi sat in the waterside pavilion, while the two stood at the entrance, a mere twenty zhang away.
Given their speed with the Light Body Technique, the rules seemed too simple—wasn’t this just handing them an advantage?
Some wanted to protest but were held back by their peers, who transmitted a warning: "There’s a hidden mechanism in this demand—she’s luring them into a trap!"
Song Qianji thought, Are you insane? What would I do with a pile of Magical Artifacts? They’re not a cartload of seeds.
Suddenly, his gaze sharpened, and he smiled. "What if I want to pick something from you?"
Feng Ziyi paused briefly, glanced at the shimmering purple silk in her hand, slapped it onto the table, and declared arrogantly, "If you have the skill, come and take it!"
She secretly transmitted orders to her fellow disciples, instructing them to form a defensive array in front of her.
She thought, I told you to bypass these people, but I never said they couldn’t attack you. The moment you move, you’ll get a sound beating.
Since you agreed yourself, you’ll bear the consequences. As long as it’s not too severe, Chen Hongzhu and Huawel Sect can’t blame me.
"Alright." Song Qianji nodded.
Chen Hongzhu transmitted a warning: "Be careful, there’s a tr—"
Before she could finish "trap," Song Qianji had already moved.
He stepped forward, initially not very fast.
Almost simultaneously, over a dozen figures rushed out from the waterside pavilion.
True to their word, they didn’t use Magical Artifacts, but some clenched fists, others struck with palms—their attacks swift and orderly, their formation impenetrable, employing the Dayan Sect’s method for taming fierce spiritual beasts.
"Senior Brother Song!" Meng Heze cried out in alarm and anger, ready to charge forward.
Song Qianji glanced back at him, his gaze stern and silent, stopping him without a word.
Song Qianji’s sleeves fluttered as he moved through the formation, graceful as brushing past flowers and willow branches.But when fists met palms, senior brothers collided with junior brothers. Cries of pain rose incessantly as bodies tumbled in disarray.
"What sorcery is this man using?"
The Dayan Sect disciples were horrified.
Song Qianji continued advancing.
Not only were his steps steady, but his movements carried an overwhelming aura that seemed invincible against ten thousand foes.
Seeing him draw closer with each step, the Dayan Sect disciples panicked, hastily retreating to protect Feng Ziyi.
Suddenly, Song Qianji accelerated, transforming into a blur.
If Meng Heze was swift as a gust of wind, Song Qianji resembled ethereal smoke dissipating with the breeze.
Feng Ziyi only saw a flicker before her eyes—a wisp of mist drifted by, and the man was already right before her.
Startled, she instinctively drew her purple silk for defense. Lifting her gaze to meet his eyes, her mind inexplicably trembled as if facing a Great Adept like her father or master. Her Divine Sense felt suppressed—she dared not evade, nor could she.
She could only watch helplessly as he raised his hand high, seemingly about to deliver a harsh slap.
How dare he?!
Everyone in the waterside pavilion gasped in shock, forgetting to breathe. Chen Hongzhu swung her whip to intervene, but she was a step too late.
Feng Ziyi, consumed by shock and fury, felt her vision darken and the world spin.
To suffer such public humiliation today—what use would it be to later chop off this man’s hand or slice him into a thousand pieces?
Her eyes closed involuntarily, and two lines of tears streamed down uncontrollably.
Some female cultivators, unable to bear the sight, also shut their eyes.
Amid the gasps, angry shouts, and cries of pain, Song Qianji’s hand descended!
It landed gently.
Feng Ziyi opened her eyes, stunned to find herself unharmed, and dazedly touched her cheek.
The man had already retreated.
If there was any contact between them, it was only his sleeve brushing her cheek, leaving a faint scent of wisteria.
"What variety is this, and how is it cultivated? Its vitality is so vigorous, blooming so splendidly?"
A Jade Bloom now rested between Song Qianji’s fingers. Bathed in the radiant glow of the treasures on the table, he examined it closely.
The flower was pure white and translucent, each petal like snow. Though clearly not a spiritual plant, it possessed a certain spirituality that made him marvel in admiration.
The crowd snapped back to reality and immediately surged forward, encircling Feng Ziyi protectively.
Their hearts still racing, ears ringing, they couldn’t make out what the man was saying—only saw him smiling as he held the flower.
Feng Ziyi’s tear stains remained undried as she breathed heavily, her cheeks flushed crimson, whether from shame, anger, or hatred.
Her status was noble; she lacked Chen Hongzhu’s notorious reputation only because her family and sect shielded her well.
Chen Hongzhu operated alone, while Feng Ziyi was always surrounded by attendants, quick to scold or punish at the slightest displeasure.
Even her fellow disciples dared not lay a finger on her, yet today a mere Outer Sect disciple had plucked a flower from her hair.
"How dare you!" Feng Ziyi shouted.
"We agreed earlier—I only want this." Song Qianji smiled lightly.
An uproar ensued.
Was this man insane?
Could someone truly forsake a hall full of treasures just to pick a single flower?
Chen Hongzhu said to Song Qianji, "It’s yours, as promised."
Fearing Feng Ziyi might harm someone in her rage, she deliberately praised, "Feng Ziyi is the esteemed young lady of the Feng family in Lanshan County, daughter of the Dayan Sect’s Grand Elder, with a mother who serves as a guardian of the Celestial Sound Sect. Such a person honors her word and would never go back on a promise. You two, take the flower and leave quickly."
"Wait—" Feng Ziyi called out, but could say no more.
※※※
Yaoguang Lake lay embedded among the mountains like a glass mirror. As dusk fell, the lake’s surface shimmered with golden light, casting the surrounding peaks into shadow.
Yet on the eastern mountainside, a lone pavilion was lit with lanterns.On the stone table inside the pavilion lay nearly a hundred pigment boxes, a riot of colors. The brush holder displayed over twenty types of brushes with varying thicknesses, sizes, and bristle materials.
Someone was painting with vigorous strokes. Zhao Jiheng stood while the other sat.
The painter appeared to be around twenty years old, dressed in soft white brocade robes as pure and unblemished as snow.
His hair was unbound, black tresses cascading over his white garments like ink splashed across his back.
No matter how arrogant Zhao Jiheng usually acted, when facing this person he would properly address him as "cousin."
As the Grand Assembly of Distinguished Appraisals approached, many junior members of the Zhao Family had taken up residence in the Huawel Sect. Zhao Jiheng had been enjoying the lively atmosphere, even visiting the pleasure quarters less frequently.
Gazing toward the lakeshore below, Zhao Jiheng vaguely saw a group of people similarly holding brushes, drawing talismans and writing characters in the air while seemingly exchanging compliments.
He grumbled discontentedly: "If Cousin Mu were to take action, he would surely overshadow them all."
The painting young man replied: "I already have."
"But you're clearly painting people," Zhao Jiheng said, puzzled. "You've nearly finished portraits of all the female cultivators in the waterside pavilion! They are beautiful, and normally painting them would be fine. But the Calligrapher Sage is arriving soon, at this critical moment..."
How could there be time for this? He left his sentence unfinished, not daring to show disrespect toward Zhao Mu.
Yet it was truly strange that the other had been diligently practicing portrait painting these past few days without writing a single talisman.
"Why are those people drawing talismans?" Zhao Mu asked.
"Of course to gain face before the Calligrapher Sage and leave a good impression. Whatever we accomplish during our trial period will certainly become known to him."
"Correct. The examination began the moment we stepped into the Huawel Sect." Zhao Mu switched to a finer brush. "What kind of disciple do you think the Calligrapher Sage wishes to take?"
Zhao Jiheng answered without hesitation: "One who is well-read and courteous, skilled in calligraphy and painting, proficient with talismans - just like him."
Zhao Mu shook his head: "I'll explain after I finish painting."
A courteous scholar, bright and eager to learn, having read ten thousand books; wielding exceptional brushwork that astonishes like wind and rain; speaking precisely, every phrase filled with wisdom from ancient sages.
Many scions of noble families, once showing talent in the talisman path, were raised from childhood according to these standards, hoping to catch the Calligrapher Sage's eye and secure a great opportunity.
Zhao Jiheng lacked patience, waiting with ants in his pants.
He stopped paying attention to the lakeside activities, focusing solely on Zhao Mu's painting while occasionally assisting with brushes and pigments.
Each time the other completed a painting, he would use Spirit Qi to dry the ink traces before carefully rolling up the scroll.
Zhao Mu inwardly looked down on Zhao Jiheng and initially couldn't be bothered to explain. But seeing the other's attentive attitude and diligent assistance, he thought since he had nothing better to do anyway, there was no harm in enlightening him:
"Since arriving at the Huawel Sect, those people have been publicly writing talismans, reciting poetry, and flaunting their knowledge and brush skills daily. But what kind of figure is the Calligrapher Sage? How many such people has the venerable master encountered? If he wanted disciples like that, he could have filled ten large carriages long ago, enough to form a line from the Huawel Sect all the way to the Sky-Supporting Tree at the continent's edge... To stand out, we must differentiate ourselves from others."
"Cousin speaks truth." Zhao Jiheng brightened, growing more curious. "But how exactly should we be different?"
Zhao Mu said leisurely: "No one is born the Calligrapher Sage. He too was once a brilliant genius, not some bookworm buried in ancient texts. When a master takes disciples, he wishes to see his younger self reflected in them."
Zhao Jiheng stared blankly: "But who knows what the Calligrapher Sage was like in his youth?"At this point, Zhao Mu couldn't help but feel smug: "That depends on who has greater skills and better sources of information! When the Calligrapher Sage traveled across the four continents in his youth, people gave him the nickname 'Romantic Scholar'. That's because he once wrote two lines of poetry on a pleasure boat: 'Once whipped famed steeds in drunken pride, Fear to wrong beauties, by love tied.' You didn't know that, did you?"
Zhao Jiheng was startled, shaking his head like a rattle-drum.
"What first made him famous wasn't landscape paintings, but portraits of beauties. With this exceptional skill, no matter how fierce or arrogant a woman might be, she would become gentle and tender upon meeting him—like tempered steel softening to wrap around a finger. You didn’t know that either, did you?"
Zhao Jiheng shook his head so hard it nearly snapped off.
Such unofficial histories, even if true, would never be spread by the academy to preserve the Calligrapher Sage’s authoritative image as a mentor. Instead, they would be suppressed.
"My cousin is incredible!" Now, as he looked at the other man—disheveled hair, slippers dragging—he no longer saw it as deliberate sloppiness or neglect of appearance, but rather as the untamed aura of a romantic scholar.
"How is my painting?" Zhao Mu asked.
This time, Zhao Jiheng nodded vigorously: "Lifelike and breathtakingly beautiful! Your brushwork was already exceptional, and after practicing portraits diligently these past few days…"
"Enough, put these paintings away." Zhao Mu laughed, especially satisfied as he set down his brush. "The final touch, the spark in the eyes—truly a stroke of genius."
The purple-clad beauty in the painting had a subtle glimmer in her bright eyes, exuding extraordinary charm.
As he rose and set aside his brush, Zhao Jiheng hurried forward, using Spirit Qi to dry the ink on the paper, then massaging his wrist: "You’ve worked hard, cousin."
Zhao Mu glanced at the dim mountain scenery and smiled. "‘The moon climbs the willow tops, lovers meet as dusk descends.’ A portrait of a beauty, gifted to a beauty. It’s time for us to take the stage."
The two descended the mountain, passing through layers of weeping willows along the lakeshore.
For some reason, everyone by the lake was gazing toward the waterside pavilion.
The sky had darkened, yet the pavilion blazed with light. In the evening breeze carrying the fragrance of lotus blossoms, it stood like a tranquil pearl, radiant and dazzling.
Zhao Mu strode in leisurely, with Zhao Jiheng following closely behind, clutching a bundle of scrolls in a daze.
Chest out and pacing with an air of elegance, Zhao Mu twirled his folding fan, snapping it open with a flourish. He laughed:
"Fair maidens, pardon the intrusion."
No one responded.
Feng Ziyi stared distractedly in one direction.
Chen Hongzhu, her face etched with concern, also gazed in that direction.
The pavilion was eerily silent—not a single person turned to look at him.
Everyone was watching someone else.
Even though that person had already turned and was preparing to leave.
Zhao Jiheng recognized the figure and exclaimed, "What are you doing here? Song Qianji!"
The moment the name was spoken, everyone froze.
So this was Song Qianji?
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