As the morning sun leaped over the mountain ridge, Song Qianji had already woken naturally and was busy in the fields.
Well-rested and fully satiated, he worked with the rising sun.
The glistening dewdrops on the vegetable leaf tips reflected the first rays of dawn, sparkling brightly. The garden's flowers and plants swayed in the gentle breeze, cheering him on.
For watering alone, Song Qianji had crafted various tools—watering dippers, sprinkling cans, and sprayers.
Different crops communicated different needs—some required deep root watering, others only needed their leaves misted, and some didn’t need daily irrigation at all.
The purple-petaled, yellow-stamened potato flowers had already been plucked by him, leaving only the graceful green leaves.
The bright golden cucumber blossoms continued to bloom freely and exuberantly. If they wished to bloom a sterile flower, they bloomed a sterile flower; if they wished to bear a cucumber, they bore a cucumber.
The lotus roots planted last night showed no obvious changes this morning. But Song Qianji could sense they needed more sunlight.
The sun-drenched spots were already fully planted.
He possessed meticulously tended vegetable plots, staggered flower trellises, and the most rational, compact spatial arrangement.
The two water vats planted with lotus roots had to be placed under his eaves, cramped and discontent.
The eaves blocked the light, and the lotus roots might be unhappy.
Song Qianji had initially considered hanging two lanterns under the eaves to illuminate the water vats. But after a moment’s thought, he decided he couldn’t settle for that.
No matter how poor, one must not neglect the vegetable plot; no matter how tough, one must not shortchange the crops.
When it comes to farming, if conditions permit, farm; if conditions don’t permit, create them and farm anyway!
So when Meng Heze entered, he saw Song Qianji sitting at the stone table, mixing talisman ink and laying out talisman paper.
Meng Heze was greatly surprised.
After Senior Brother Song signed up for the Calligraphy and Painting Examination, the Outer Sect disciples had delivered a full set of brushes, ink, paper, inkstones, and tools for painting and talisman-making. But Meng Heze had never seen him practice.
It was as if Song Qianji had forgotten he’d signed up.
“Is Senior Brother preparing to practice drawing talismans?” Meng Heze asked.
Song Qianji nodded.
It was Meng Heze’s first time watching someone prepare a brush, and he found it quite novel: “What talisman is Senior Brother going to draw?”
“A Focusing Light Talisman.”
Meng Heze was taken aback. Unfamiliar with talismans, he wondered if it was his own ignorance: “There’s such a talisman?”
Song Qianji said, “There will be.”
Meng Heze inquired humbly, “What effect does this talisman of yours have, Senior Brother?”
Song Qianji smiled with satisfaction: “It absorbs sunlight and then emits light.”
“And then?”
“Nothing else, just emits light,” Song Qianji said.
Meng Heze was dumbfounded.
In the middle of a duel, activate one and shove it in the opponent’s face, relying on the light to blind them?
It could work, but it didn’t seem quite appropriate.
Outside Song Courtyard, Outer Sect disciples had gradually gathered, but no one made a sound to hurry him.
Meng Heze knew everyone was waiting for him: “Today is the sixth round of the martial examination. I want to try a different fighting style.”
“Good,” Song Qianji said only one word.
Hearing this, Meng Heze let out a long sigh of relief.
He watched as Song Qianji lifted his brush, wrist suspended, his breathing smooth and harmonious, his expression serious yet calm and composed.
Following his lead, Meng Heze adjusted his breathing, feeling reassured and his tension greatly eased.
“Senior Brother, I’m off.” He bowed to Song Qianji and turned to leave.
The Outer Sect disciples’ spirits soared. The group, looking spirited and triumphant, swept away noisily.
The surroundings of Song Courtyard grew quiet.
The morning sunlight, shining through the mountain mist, grew increasingly bright, making the talisman ink on the brush tip appear even more vivid red.
Wisteria petals drifted down silently. With sunlight concentrated at the brush tip, Song Qianji still held his brush poised, not yet making a stroke.
…
“Any news about that kid today?”After his morning tea, the Calligrapher Sage began his inquiries.
The dean had anticipated this: "I heard he's practicing talisman drawing."
The Calligrapher Sage's eyes lit up: "How is his progress?"
"Not sure yet. While the entire Outer Sect went to watch Meng Heze's martial examination, he alone stayed behind, shut indoors drawing talismans without stepping out."
The Calligrapher Sage felt reassured, his aged heart swelling with satisfaction: "While others revel in folly, he remains clear-headed. Enduring solitude is essential for mastering calligraphy. Good."
"Would you like to see him?" the dean asked.
The Calligrapher Sage smiled: "No rush. Let the boy steal the spotlight at the 'Calligraphy and Painting Examination' first, then I shall make my appearance."
A hooked fish won't escape, a cooked duck won't fly away, and a destined disciple won't slip through his fingers.
Gazing toward the back mountains, he thought to himself:
"This time, you shouldn't contend with me again. Song Qianji diligently practices talisman drawing—he might not even know how to play chess. As for that lad Wei Ping, I'll yield him to you."
※※※
The second day of the martial examination coincided with the second day of the chess tournament.
In Windy Mist Valley, pine and cypress trees stood verdant, while clear springs flowed over stone.
The rhythmic clatter of stones falling on boards rose and fell, harmonizing with birdsong and waterfall echoes that reverberated through the valley.
Twenty matches proceeded simultaneously. Players were scattered across the landscape—some perched on large rocks, others seated by stream banks.
Each pair played their game under the watch of Deacons and referees.
Medical cultivators and stretchers stood ready nearby.
Should any competitor collapse from mental exhaustion or divine sense overload due to insufficient calculation capacity, they could be promptly treated.
Though the chess tournament appeared elegantly tranquil, it concealed deadly undercurrents.
Spectators were arranged on a protruding platform halfway up the mountain. This position was sufficiently distant yet offered a commanding panoramic view. With cultivators' enhanced eyesight, they could observe the shifting situations across the valley's chessboards without disturbing the players.
Being young cultivators, how could they possibly remain silent while watching?
"Yao An's chess style is remarkably steady. He's already won three consecutive matches since yesterday—truly worthy of being called the strongest among Purple Cloud Temple's younger generation."
"Yao An plays too hesitantly. I find Zhao Lin's decisive aggression more impressive, living up to his reputation as the Northern Sky Continent's top chess prodigy."
"This year's champion will surely be one of these two. The others' performances merely serve to highlight their superiority."
Suddenly someone pointed toward a direction:
"Not necessarily. Look over there—that youngster hasn't lost a single match since he started."
"What's his background?" the crowd wondered.
"From some nearly-extinct minor sect, not worth mentioning. They say he only entered for the Grand Audience Assembly's prizes."
Another person sneered: "That kid's chess style is unorthodox—he fights tooth and nail like a street brawler. If Zhao Lin or Yao An lost to someone like that, where would they hide their faces?"
"Ha! You scions of great families enjoy all the advantages yet mock minor sects for their lack of resources. When someone actually breaks through, you complain they're too overt about seeking fame and fortune, that their demeanor isn't refined enough." This speaker wore plain clothes and looked indignant. "You call his style unorthodox, but can you even defeat him?"
The previous speaker flushed crimson: "So what if I can't beat him? Can you beat me?"
The viewing platform erupted in heated arguments over one competitor.
The crowd split into two factions, nearly coming to blows until Discipline Hall disciples intervened to maintain order.
Clouds drifted around the mountain peak.
In a cool pavilion sat an old man and a young girl.
The elder, dressed in black, looked weary and ill as he sat rigidly in his wheelchair.
Behind him stood a lively young girl in a goose-yellow dress.If one can fear not the floating clouds obscuring the view, this position still offers a commanding overlook of the valley.
Yet they were nowhere to be seen in the valley.
"Master, look at that person—their play is quite decent, isn't it?" the young girl said with a laugh.
Chess Devil, who had been half-dozing with his eyes partly closed, suddenly focused his gaze, his eyes gleaming with intensity, and burst out cursing:
"Wei Ping himself is still an unsteady amateur, yet he dares to mislead others by teaching them chess! That good-for-nothing! Good-for-nothing!"
The girl was startled: "You mean he was taught by Wei Ping?"
Chess Devil sneered: "Look more carefully."
The girl concentrated, peering intently as if she were standing at the center of the board, surrounded by endlessly shifting black and white stones. For a moment, she became entranced, her cheeks flushing with excitement:
"...It really is Wei Ping."
※※※
At the Main Peak square, the draw for the sixth round of the martial examination had just concluded.
The match list had not yet been announced, and betting pools had not opened, leaving the spectators scattered about.
A gentle and beautiful female cultivator, accompanied by over ten others, moved through the crowd, distributing exquisitely designed Colored Paper Slips.
Onlookers assumed it was some betting pool issuing gambling tickets and reached out to take them. Glancing down, they read:
"Are you already bored to sleep by the monotonous arena fighting styles?"
"Does the unchanging routine of cultivation life feel dull and tedious to you?"
"Ding San Liu Wu and Meng Heze—bringing you a performance match like no other!"
Huh?
Though baffled, they had to admit—this slip of colored paper had piqued their interest.
OpenNovel