After his rebirth, this was the first time Song Qianji heard that name from someone else's lips.
The sound of wind and rain in his ears transformed into a melody played on the zither. In his memory, the woman playing the zither suddenly looked up, her eyes sparkling with a radiant smile.
Song Qianji intended to journey to the edge of the continent to save the Sky-Supporting Tree with the Fountain of Immortality. On the night before his departure, Miaoyan said she wanted to see his sword.
Not wanting to dampen the spirits of his future dao companion, he slowly and gently drew the sword from its sheath. "Be careful not to hurt yourself," he cautioned.
Moonlight streamed through the ornate window, illuminating the long blade. It gleamed like a stretch of autumn water, filling the hall with a cold, brilliant light.
Miaoyan received it with both hands, holding it carefully. A shallow dimple appeared at the corner of her lips as she murmured, "Solitary Light... truly extraordinary... Ah!"
A sharp, cold sword aura leaked out, piercing her delicate fingertip. A drop of crimson blood splattered onto the white jade tiles, like a red plum blossom blooming on snow.
At the same time, a mournful cry echoed from the sword.
The scene before her twisted.
A raging wildfire burned, smoke billowing into the sky as vultures circled overhead.
A figure emerged from the battlefield, his sword tip pointing to the ground. Covered in blood and grime, his wide sleeves flapped fiercely in the wind.
Miaoyan strained to see the person's face clearly, but a storm of blood and gore lashed against her tender cheeks, stinging her skin and forcing her eyes shut.
"Be careful," came Song Qianji's voice.
As soon as he spoke, the wound on her finger healed instantly, and the illusion vanished without a trace. She was still in the celestial palace above the clouds, bathed in the cool evening breeze and moonlight.
Finally, she could see the face of the person in the illusion clearly. He possessed an elegant and handsome demeanor, with a divine aura and noble bones.
—Song Qianji stood right before her, dressed in a moon-white brocade robe, his ink-black hair cascading like flowing clouds. His presence was serene and understated, like a tranquil shadow sinking into jade.
Miaoyan shuddered, feeling instead that the one who had tread through a sea of blood with a sword was his true nature.
How many powerful Great Adepts had this sword slain to accumulate such a terrifying spiritual pressure and create such a vivid illusion?
"What a fierce sword, just like you," she unexpectedly laughed.
"Have I ever been fierce with you?" Song Qianji felt somewhat wronged.
"When you draw your sword against others, even if I'm just watching from the side, I still feel afraid."
Song Qianji replied calmly, "After we unite in marriage, as husband and wife, our luck will be intertwined. There will be nothing in this world left for you to fear."
Only by reaching the pinnacle could one possess such extraordinary confidence.
Because if he said it, he meant it.
But Miaoyan was not satisfied. Her eyes, clear as autumn waters, reflected the cold gleam of the sword, tinged with a hint of chill:
"Including this sword?"
Song Qianji nodded. "No matter how fierce Solitary Light is, it is still my sword." He clumsily and awkwardly comforted his future dao companion. "Don't be afraid."
The beauty frowned slightly, her moth-like eyebrows furrowing as she murmured sorrowfully, "Our engagement was arranged hastily. I know so little about you, and I always fear I won't be able to satisfy you in every way. If one day I make a mistake, would you use this sword to kill me?"
Song Qianji couldn't understand. "Even if you make a mistake, as your dao companion, it's my duty to bear the responsibility for you. How could I ever harm you?"
Miaoyan seemed provoked by his words. She abruptly looked up, two streams of clear tears welling in her eyes. Her voice trembled like a zither string stretched to its limit:
"What if I truly commit an unforgivable sin? What if I betray you, deceive you, or bring harm upon you? Will you draw your sword against me then?"
She screamed inwardly.
Just like your formidable enemies and lifelong rivals, no matter where they flee—to the heavens or into the earth—they will inevitably die by the Solitary Light Sword. Don't speak of dao companion affection or loyalty. You are Song Qianji, the one who has survived a hundred battles. Someone like you only married me on a whim, drawn by my beauty and to flaunt your power. How could you possibly have an ounce of sincerity?
Why are you still pretending? Dare you show your true self?!
Song Qianji simply watched her quietly, gently pried open her delicate fingers, and retrieved Solitary Light.The long sword slid back into its scabbard with a soft, lingering chime.
Miaoyan abruptly snapped back to reality, wiping away her tears and forcing a faint smile. "My apologies."
But then she heard Song Qianji sigh. "I won’t kill you. I just… feel sorrow."
How unreasonable.
Only helpless weaklings wallow in sorrow. Song Qianji was the world’s foremost powerhouse—besides his divine sword, he possessed a hundred skills and a thousand Esoteric Arts.
Yet he had sworn an oath:
"The Solitary Light Sword will never be turned against you."
Miaoyan stood frozen.
After a long silence, she smiled again. "Let me play another melody for you."
Song Qianji couldn’t recall the name of that piece, only that its tune was soft and lingering, much like the spring rain that now threatened to cease yet lingered on.
Suddenly, the seven-stringed zither snapped, the moon waned, and blossoms scattered.
The piercing notes of a pipa rose, evoking clashing arms and armored steeds—an ambush on all sides.
The woman stood amidst the swirling snow, holding the pipa, her silken sleeves fluttering as she shed silent tears:
"Qianji, I’m sorry."
Sorry, sorry, sorry.
Sorry for what? Song Qianji thought bitterly. Did I owe you ten million Spirit Stones? Or did I wrong you so deeply that you had to set such an elaborate trap for me?
Had I ever treated you with anything less than respect?
He glanced at Meng Heze, whose eyes shone with admiration as he muttered, "If I marry, it must be someone like the celestial Miaoyan." The foolish look on his face made Song Qianji’s teeth ache and his stomach churn.
"Idiot. A dog’s brain can’t handle a beauty’s scheme. Better to go home and farm than seek a cultivation partner!"
Meng Heze didn’t catch the words and bounded over, half-kneeling before him:
"Senior Brother, what’s wrong? Are your wounds hurting? Are you thirsty or hungry? Cold? Has sitting too long made your legs numb? Let me massage them for you…"
The flickering campfire illuminated the youth’s anxious expression.
Song Qianji found it hard to stay angry and let out a soft chuckle.
Outside the cave, dawn’s light broke, the spring rain nearly ceased, and the mountains stretched lush and green.
"Youth… how wonderful it is to be young."
He mused silently.
※※※
"What do you mean, they’ve vanished? One at the early Qi Refining stage, aged fourteen, the other fifteen—combined, they’re not even half your age. Did they grow wings and fly away?"
Zhao Yuping’s face was dark as he glared at the trembling Deacons below.
Deacon Li, who usually followed him closely, stepped forward and explained with difficulty, "They might possess artifacts that conceal their aura. The Spirit Qi at Broken Mountain Cliff is cut off, making some of our tracking methods ineffective."
This only strengthened Zhao Yuping’s belief that someone was backing Song and Meng. How else could mere Outer Sect disciples possess such capabilities?
"The sect’s Grand Formation hasn’t been triggered, so those brats are still within Huawel Sect. Since they haven’t fled, they’ll return eventually. And when they do, they’ll die with clarity!" Suppressing his rage, he rubbed his temples. "Notify Jiheng immediately—he must not show his face until those two reappear today! If anything goes wrong, I won’t have him implicated."
While Outer Sect disciples were unaware of Zhao Yuping’s familial ties to Zhao Jiheng, his trusted Deacons knew well.
The last Deacon acknowledged the order and hurried off.
Just then, a bell tolled.
Birds startled by the morning chime took flight from the valleys, filling the sky with fluttering wings.
The Deacons, equally startled, stared wide-eyed at Zhao Yuping:
"The time has come!"
"What now? Should we postpone the assessment?"
Zhao Yuping straightened his robes, adopting a benign expression. "To the square."
The night had passed too swiftly.
After the third toll of the mountain gate’s morning bell, thousands of Outer Sect disciples had already gathered in Huawel Sect’s outer square, a bustling, noisy sea of people.For the annual Outer Sect examination, many disciples arrived before dawn to wait, from the beginning of the rain until it stopped.
A group of teenagers, not yet tempered with steady dispositions, gathered in such large numbers like a nest of chirping chicks.
"Has anyone seen Senior Brother Meng Heze this morning? I've been looking for him everywhere—I even brought him breakfast."
"Senior Brother Zhao Jiheng isn't here either. Did he go drinking down the mountain again last night and overindulge?"
"Hey, that 'Song Luo' doesn't seem to have come either."
"'Song Luo' dreams of entering the Inner Sect. If he fails again this year, he'll be 'Song Three-Failures'! Hahaha!"
Waves of laughter spread across the square. Three simple words had brought joy to thousands of people.
Song Qianji was indeed a famous figure in the Outer Sect, nicknamed Song Luo.
It was said that when he first came up the mountain, a female direct disciple had taken a liking to his handsome appearance and wanted to take him as a permanent attendant with a lifelong contract, but he refused. He said he didn't want to be someone's servant for life—he wanted to rely on his own ability to become an Inner Sect disciple.
Relying solely on ability to seek the immortal path was clearly a pipe dream.
The first year, he offended the Deacon collecting protection fees and couldn't purchase a good Cultivation Method, thus failing the exam.
The second year, he was swindled out of all his possessions and had no Spirit Stones to buy a Cultivation Method, failing again.
This was already the third year. Song Qianji had finally managed to acquire a decent sword manual and no longer had to practice basic sword techniques.
Meddlesome disciples had privately ranked the "Song, Meng, Zhao" trio as top candidates. Unexpectedly, all three were late this morning.
In terms of character, Meng Heze was upright and forthright, always willing to help others without fear of trouble.
Many dull-witted disciples had managed to cross the threshold into Qi Refinement thanks to his selfless guidance, making him naturally the most prestigious and popular candidate.
In terms of wealth, Zhao Jiheng was generous with his spending and had unknown background connections. He maintained close relationships with the Deacons and never had to do heavy or tedious tasks. His days were either spent cultivating advanced Cultivation Methods or gathering friends to sneak down the mountain to pleasure houses, treating everyone to drinks.
In comparison, Song Qianji was truly poor and reclusive.
He focused solely on sword practice, often forgetting to eat and sleep, always making others appear insufficiently diligent;
He kept to himself, having no friends. No matter how outstanding he was, he brought no benefits to anyone else.
Many people found him unpleasant, yet his cultivation level stood out among the Outer Sect disciples like a crane among chickens. Petty tricks couldn't touch him, so they could only sincerely wish he would fail for another year.
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