"This fellow cultivator, are you looking for Song Qianji?" asked the cosmetics shop owner using the alias Wang Tugen, whose real name was Hua Liu.
The woman remained silent, clutching the qin in her arms tightly, her fingertips turning pale.
"Don't be afraid, I'm not a bad person!" He showed a simple, honest smile. "I just came from Song Courtyard. Senior Brother Song is having noodles right now. May I ask which sect you're from, and what brings you to seek Senior Brother Song? I'm familiar with him and can pass along a message for you."
The woman clearly didn't believe him and refused in a low but firm voice: "That won't be necessary."
Shopkeeper Hua touched his face, thinking this person was highly guarded, unlike the easily fooled Zhou Xiaoyun from earlier. It was a pity that after his disguise, he looked poor and rustic—no wonder no one paid him any attention when he tried to strike up a conversation.
He should have sent the rice shop assistant Xiao Mi instead; that kid was smooth-tongued and skilled at charming pretty female cultivators.
The "Overseas Cultivation Survival and Anti-Scam Manual" mentioned that the convenience of working in a team lay in this: each person had their role, each played to their strengths. If one failed, there was always another.
He smiled and bid farewell, firmly committing the other's figure and attire to memory.
He Qingqing stood before the tightly shut vermilion gate of Song Courtyard, hesitating for a long time, her hand raising and lowering repeatedly.
The night grew darker, the wind rustled through the flower branches, and the moon climbed the western tower.
She sat hugging her knees by the bamboo fence, gazing at the blooming balsam flowers under the moonlight. Her posture was the same as last time, but her state of mind was vastly different.
On the other side of the gate, Meng Heze paced in the courtyard.
After his breakthrough, his senses had sharpened. He knew full well someone was waiting outside but subconsciously resisted opening the door to deal with them.
Who knew what kind of trouble this person might bring to Senior Brother Song.
"Senior Brother Song, tomorrow I'll go to draw lots." Meng Heze felt somewhat anxious. "Will I succeed this time?"
Song Qianji was eating noodles and didn't respond.
At chenshi tomorrow morning, the Grand Assembly of Distinguished Appraisals combat trial lottery would begin. The prizes were abundant, the rules simple: pairs would face off, and the winners would advance.
Meng Heze didn't need an answer at this moment—he just needed to vent:
"I've waited too long for this day. I left my hometown to seek the path of immortality, thinking I could enter the Inner Sect, but I've been stuck in the Outer Sect all along. I thought working diligently and cultivating earnestly would bring a turnaround, but the days remained unchanged, the hardships seemingly endless. Until we were schemed against by Zhao Yuping and fell off the cliff together... I don't know what kind of life I'd be living now if not for you, Senior Brother. I must have done many good deeds in my past life to have met you in this one."
Song Qianji thought, I never realized in my past life that you, the Lord of the heretical path, were so sentimental.
Meng Heze continued: "I need the opportunity from the Grand Assembly of Distinguished Appraisals, I need the cultivation methods and resources offered as victory prizes. Countless others like me need them too, but why are those things always held in others' hands? One day, when I transcend the ordinary and enter sainthood, I will surely replace the sun and moon, create a new world, and let all cultivators under heaven practice my cultivation methods—without giving me Spirit Stones or doing my bidding!"
How can we get mansions covering ten thousand miles? Shelving all the poor scholars and making them beam with smiles.
Song Qianji laughed: "When that time truly comes, even if you're willing to give, what about the sect behind you, the disciples under you, the descendants of your family to support? Will they be willing to give?"
Meng Heze thought, then I won't have a sect, won't take disciples, won't have descendants. I only need to support Senior Brother.
"I wonder who I'll draw tomorrow... but no matter who it is, they're out of luck! I'll defeat all my opponents and win the final victory."Before life's major turning points and countless battles, no matter how dull or thoughtless your words may be, you always hope someone would sit beside you and listen.
Even if they do nothing and say nothing.
Meng Heze grew increasingly agitated as he spoke, until Song Qianji finished his noodles and set down his chopsticks.
The soft clink of chopsticks against the bowl's rim acted like a Talisman of Stillness.
He abruptly stopped talking, then deftly cleared the bowls and chopsticks, handing Song Qianji a towel and brewing him some light tea.
Song Qianji stood up and walked into the vegetable patch, slightly bending over.
"Senior Brother Song, I'm sorry for talking so much," Meng Heze said sheepishly. "...My mind isn't right tonight. Please ignore me, I'll be going."
"Wait."
Song Qianji plucked two potato flowers and handed one to Meng Heze.
The small purple flowers, freshly picked from their stems, still carried glistening dewdrops from the night. Their petals were delicate, trembling in the breeze.
Meng Heze accepted it, somewhat bewildered. Should this potato flower be stir-fried or served cold? One flower wouldn't be enough to eat.
"Are we having a midnight snack, Senior Brother?"
Song Qianji was at a loss for words. In his previous life, he had no sons, let alone close friends or family. What did ordinary people say when giving blessings?
In the end, he simply said: "May you be victorious in every battle, and may all things go smoothly for you."
Meng Heze stared blankly for a moment, then his eyes instantly brightened.
Song Qianji pushed the door open and stepped out.
He Qingqing, startled by the noise, jumped up: "Fellow Daoist Song! Am I... am I disturbing you here?"
Song Qianji grunted in acknowledgment, thinking to himself that she couldn't possibly disturb him—at most, she might disturb his bean sprouts.
He Qingqing lowered her head and stammered: "I've already mastered the qin composition you taught me. For the Music Examination at the Grand Assembly of Distinguished Appraisals... would you, would you come listen to me play?"
She had been sitting desolately outside Song Courtyard for a long time, just mustering the courage to ask this one question.
"I'll go if I have time."
Song Qianji thought that if he finished his farm work, it wouldn't hurt to go listen.
After all, this was the first time he had ever composed a melody.
The young girl suddenly became excited: "Alright! I'll definitely..." She wanted to say she would surely win the top rank, but felt it improper to speak so presumptuously, as it would make her seem arrogant. So she only said, "I'll definitely play very well!"
Song Qianji handed her the other potato flower.
"What's this?" He Qingqing stared in bewilderment.
"For you."
"For me?!"
No one had ever given her flowers before. Even though it looked delicate and inconspicuous, like a wildflower from the fields.
"Mm, wishing you success," Song Qianji said. "You should head back now."
Once these two were gone, he could lean back in his recliner and enjoy the leisurely night.
He Qingqing carefully cradled the potato flower as she walked along the dark mountain path.
Many years later, people would scramble to give her flowers, and she would possess nearly every rare treasure in the world.
Yet no one would ever know which flower was her favorite.
※※※
Late at night, a solitary lamp on the table flickered faintly like a bean.
Eleven people sat around a circular table, their expressions dejected, the atmosphere heavy.
Suddenly, a young man entered, and everyone immediately stood up, surrounding him with eager anticipation:
"Xiao Mi, you're finally back! You saw that female cultivator's true appearance, right? What did she look like?"
"Well? Did you manage to get any information from that female cultivator?"
"Why did Song Qianji give her a qin? What's their relationship?"
The rice shop clerk named Xiao Mi plopped down into a seat and slammed the table forcefully: "Don't even ask! I didn't see anything!"
"How could that be?!" Shopkeeper Hua, who had disguised himself as "Wang Tugen" during the day, exclaimed in shock. "There are female cultivators who don't like wealthy, handsome young men?""That's right, I'm so young and handsome, dressed in fine clothes, and full of enthusiasm, yet she ignored me and even scolded me? Told me to get lost, or she'd report me to the Courtyard Overseer." Xiao Mi was deeply aggrieved. "This job is impossible! It's not a job for humans. There isn't a single normal person around that Song Qianji!"
The pawnshop assistant Xiao Zhuo rolled his eyes and muttered, "All show and no substance. I should've gone instead."
"But she must have a close relationship with Song Qianji. So let's change our next plan to the 'Beauty Trap,'" suggested the pawnshop manager. "Not the aloof, ethereal type like Miaoyan, but a delicate, pitiful little white flower."
Manager Hua Six opened The Overseas Cultivator's Guide to Avoiding Scams to the section on the Beauty Trap and had everyone study it carefully:
Throwing yourself at someone is too crude—
A performance can't be so rude.
A beauty in distress hoping for rescue,
Playing hard to get is the cleverest ruse.
Everyone brainstormed and shared their ideas. Late into the night, they finally settled on a plan.
"Step one: Lure the snake out of its hole. Step two: Play hard to get. Step three: Offer yourself in gratitude. Any questions?" asked Manager Hua of the rouge shop.
The pawnshop manager asked, "The question is, who will play the distressed little white flower?"
Manager Hua flared up, "Why are you all looking at me again? Can't we find a real woman?"
"I'm a woman. Do you think I can do it?" Zhang the blacksmith patted her sturdy arms.
Everyone quickly shook their heads:
"Song Qianji is all skin and bones—you'd twist his head right off!"
"Old Hua, your disguise skills are the best. Go one more time. We'll act as your props and provide support anytime."
"Yeah, first time awkward, second time familiar—it's just one more time!"
Manager Hua gritted his teeth and said with double meaning, "I'll go."
After nightfall, the Flying Cloud Tower was brightly lit.
The Academy Head presented a thin sheet of paper: "This is their progress today. Manager Hua failed before even starting—he was chased out of Song Courtyard. Their next plan is the Beauty Trap."
The Calligrapher Sage read it with great interest and laughed, slapping the table.
The Academy Head tentatively asked, "Are you doing this on purpose?"
"You noticed?" the Sage chuckled. "Whoever I choose as my disciple, they will accept. In the future, when I'm gone, they will give their full effort to support him. But full effort isn't enough. Only an heir they genuinely believe in will they risk their lives for, giving twelve-tenths... This past year, Wei Ping has been swindling them left and right, taking many good things from them. But that kid Wei Ping is truly likable. They don't say it, but they already have a soft spot for him in their hearts."
The Academy Head understood: "Only if Song Qianji can endure this will he truly win these people over."
The Sage nodded. These people each had their own expertise and unique temperaments. Usually, the "black shops" were spread across the four continents, forming an intelligence network. In times of trouble, when these people gathered, they became a protective net.
He couldn't accompany his disciple as he grew into a powerful figure, so he had to leave a few safeguards for him.
The Sage sighed, "I haven't involved myself in the affairs of Azure Cliff Academy for a long time."
The Academy Head immediately knelt and said solemnly, "The academy will always be your academy!"
The Sage helped him up, laughing, "This has nothing to do with you."The larger any organization grows, the more difficult it becomes to control, inevitably splitting into numerous factions that no longer share the same purpose. His control over the academy had waned compared to his younger years. While the academy's members revered his strength and regarded him as a spiritual symbol, they were not necessarily willing to risk their lives for the successor he had chosen.
The Calligrapher Sage pushed open the window, his gaze piercing through the starry sky and layers of night mist, looking toward the rear mountains of the Huawel Sect:
"This time, I've finally beaten that old ghost by a step!"
As the night wind grew colder, Song Qianji, lying on the recliner, suddenly felt an itch in his nose and couldn't help but sneeze.
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