Song Qianji saw the God Temple up close for the first time.
Compared to ordinary ancestral halls or temples, it more closely resembled a resplendent and magnificent palace.
Under the azure sky, the golden roof reflected the sunlight, vermilion walls stretched continuously, and rows of jet-black carved doors and windows stood wide open.
Majestic and imposing, sacred and solemn.
If one looked up, they would feel small and insignificant, not even worth a single tile of the temple.
Since ancient times, the God Temple had only one path: eighty-one steps made of layered white jade.
Cultivators could use Spirit Qi or Magical Artifacts, while the wealthy could ride in palanquins. Only mortals had to kowtow with every step when they came to worship.
The Outer sect disciples following behind Song Qianji exclaimed one after another:
"So this is the God Temple! It's truly magnificent and majestic."
"It's so high. Wouldn't it be exhausting for anyone coming to offer incense?"
Zhao Ren looked at them as if they were country bumpkins just entering the city.
They truly had no experience of the world. Thousand-Ditch Prefecture was barren, and even its God Temple was just a small shrine.
"Junior Brother Song, this is your first time as an Immortal Official, right?" Zhao Ren asked knowingly while turning to gesture, summoning someone from the management team behind him.
That person bowed obsequiously and saluted Song Qianji.
Song Qianji was puzzled: "Who is this?"
"He is the best painter in Thousand-Ditch Prefecture," Zhao Ren said with a smile. "After painting your portrait today, craftsmen will work day and night to create a golden statue, completing it within three days. Then you will consecrate it with a drop of blood and enshrine it in the God Temple to enhance your luck."
Song Qianji immediately became alert: "No need!"
Many things that had happened in this lifetime were already somewhat off.
If he increased his luck further and attracted heavenly opportunities, it might really summon Xian Jianchen and interfere with his farming plans.
He absolutely could not accept worship and offerings.
Zhao Ren thought to himself: I'm lending you the painter as a goodwill gesture, yet you're ungrateful.
But he still smiled and said: "Junior Brother Song's 'Hero Summons' is famous throughout the Cultivation World. Since calligraphy and painting are closely related, surely your painting skills are unparalleled. Naturally, you'd look down on a painter from this small place."
Song Qianji didn't respond. Instead, he pointed at the mortals kneeling in the square below the jade steps:
"Are they all here willingly to worship at the God Temple?"
"Of course, they're all very sincere!" Zhao Ren declared firmly, afraid Song Qianji might become suspicious.
"Why?" Song Qianji didn't understand. "The worshipped cultivators get benefits, but what do they gain?"
"Great benefits!" Zhao Ren shared his experience with Song Qianji. "According to tradition, the Immortal Official randomly selects one mortal from those attending the worship ceremony and grants them one wish. However, most mortals are insatiably greedy. If their request is excessive, don't feel obliged—just choose another person. But publicly, we can't say it's random; we must say we choose the most sincere worshipper, so they'll be even more devout.
"Last year, the mortal I selected said he had no food, so I directly had the Minister of Agriculture give him a thousand catties of grain, making him wealthy overnight. The year before that, one was sick and dying, so I gave him a bottle of Life-Extending Elixir, extending his lifespan by a hundred years..."
As he spoke of these "benefits," he puffed out his chest with a proud expression.
The managers behind him skillfully chimed in with flattery: "Your generosity repeatedly creates miracles, truly a blessing for the people of Thousand Canals!"
"You're a living bodhisattva saving people from suffering. No amount of worship would be too much for you."
The flattery was suddenly interrupted by a clear female voice cutting in:"A windfall from heaven, but how to carry it home? It's easy to be robbed along the way, inviting disaster. Elixirs prolong life, yet the pain of illness doesn't lessen—one still endures torment. Their problems not only remain unsolved but may even worsen, so why do they willingly worship the God Temple..."
Ji Xing hadn't finished speaking when she turned to glare at Ji Chen. "Brother, why are you tugging my sleeve? I'm genuinely curious about how the Immortal Officials operate. Can't I even ask?"
Ji Chen offered an apologetic smile to Song Qianji. "Brother Song, my younger sister is still young and means no harm."
"It's fine." Song Qianji seemed lost in thought, still somewhat dazed.
Zhao Ren thought to himself that Song Qianji's subordinates were truly unruly—what kind of place was this, where a young girl dared question him? But the pretty female cultivator wore an expensive Magic Robe and had an innocent expression, clearly raised in privilege. Unwilling to offend rashly, he coldly replied:
"Mortals have their own destinies. Joy and sorrow, fortune and misfortune—all are their fate. What does it have to do with the Immortal Officials?"
As he spoke, the white jade steps came to an end.
The God Temple's threshold was higher than most, reaching knee-height and looming like the insurmountable path of immortality.
Incense burned perpetually within the hall, its faint blue smoke drifting out like ethereal auspicious clouds.
Song Qianji paused amidst the smoke and suddenly turned.
Zhao Ren was startled, about to ask what he was doing.
Then he saw Song Qianji take a deep breath and shout to the mortals kneeling in the square:
"Do not make offerings to me—I will not fulfill any of your wishes—"
He infused his voice with Spirit Qi, making it effortlessly carry far.
The crowd in the square looked up in confusion, glimpsing the new Immortal Official standing against the light.
The sunlight outlined his tall figure in gold, but his face remained unclear—only his voice echoed between heaven and earth:
"Do not worship me—everyone, stand up—"
No one moved. The people remained kneeling.
Song Qianji thought, This is bad. According to the laws of luck, any mortal who worships me is harming me.
No one gets to harm me!
Meng Heze had been observing Song Qianji's expression and immediately channeled his Spirit Qi, roaring furiously:
"Who—dares—still—kneel?!"
His menacing demeanor and imposing aura were like driving away unwelcome guests overstaying their welcome.
At the back of the square, one person trembled and stood up, then a second, a third.
Finally, like waves rising across the sea, they stood up one after another until everyone was on their feet.
Relieved, Song Qianji turned to enter the hall but froze—a group of people still knelt inside.
Though mortals, they held themselves with extreme reverence. Their clothing was elegant and luxurious yet understated.
Regardless of age, they all had ruddy complexions and robust vitality, clearly having long consumed Elixirs to strengthen their bodies—already different from ordinary mortals.
The elder kneeling at the front boomed, "May the Immortal Official be blessed."
Those behind him chanted in unison: "We wish the Immortal Official eternal youth, daily progress, and a swift ascension!"
Swift ascension? How unlucky. Song Qianji quickly waved his hand. "All of you, rise."
As they stood, he turned to whisper to Zhao Ren, "What is this about?"
Zhao Ren chuckled lightly. "By custom, they must present treasures to you."
"Can they not?" Song Qianji asked.
"No." Zhao Ren smiled. "If you don't accept, how can they feel at ease?"
Wasn't this what you were most looking forward to? Stop pretending.Meng Heze brought out the reclining chair, and Song Qianji sat down.
A group of Outer Sect disciples filed into the hall in a grand procession, standing in attendance behind him.
The wealthy gentry exchanged covert glances.
Although they had long heard of Song Qianji’s formidable reputation and had prepared accordingly, witnessing the scene firsthand still left them uneasy and apprehensive.
Zhao Ren made a gesture, and a steward behind him stepped forward holding a register, chanting in a drawn-out tone:
“In celebration of the new Immortal Official’s appointment, the Liu clan of Thousand-Ditch Prefecture presents four Spirit Jade Pillows of red marrow and three sets of ancient-style glazed tea sets…”
“The Zhang clan of Thousand-Ditch Prefecture offers two Sky Cloud Brocade Golden Thread Magic Robes…”
Leaning back in his reclining chair, Song Qianji listened with forced patience to the “recitation of the menu.”
As the list went on, page after page, until the very last one, the new Immortal Official remained uninterested and unresponsive.
The wealthy gentry grew increasingly anxious, gritting their teeth in secret.
Before the list could be finished, an elderly man stepped forward, bowed, and presented a gift box: “Immortal Official Song, this Sea-Suppressing Flood Dragon Pearl is a family heirloom. I offer it to you today.”
Song Qianji thought to himself, “Is this never going to end?” and responded with a faint acknowledgment.
One by one, the wealthy gentry stepped forward, taking turns to present their most treasured possessions.
Meng Heze maintained a cold expression, feigning ferocity.
Ji Chen and Ji Xing, having seen their share of treasures, remained unimpressed.
The Outer Sect disciples stood expressionless.
They all thought in unison: “You truly don’t understand Senior Brother Song. What could have been settled with a bag of seeds for farming has been made unnecessarily complicated.”
Seeing Song Qianji and his subordinates react with such disdain, the last person stepped forward, bowed, and spoke as if cutting flesh from his own body:
“This humble one has two daughters, young and graceful, skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. They are willing to serve by your side, offering tea and water…”
Song Qianji hastily interrupted, “That won’t be necessary!”
How absurd! As if the number of people I’ve brought along this journey isn’t already enough?
He urged impatiently, “Is there anything else? Bring it all up at once.”
Still more? The wealthy gentry were utterly panicked, feeling as though they were being stripped down to their last layer.
As the saying goes, “Immortal Officials come and go like flowing water, but the powerful families remain like iron.” In Thousand-Ditch Prefecture, three clans stood in a tripartite balance, interconnected through marriage and shared interests.
As the true rulers of Thousand-Ditch Prefecture, they maintained an outward show of respect but inwardly prided themselves on their experience, believing they had seen it all.
Until today, when offering treasures left them questioning their very existence.
Failing to grasp the new Immortal Official’s intentions was a dangerous situation. Everyone sensed that many things were about to change.
Zhao Ren was equally alarmed. To still be unsatisfied after all this—wasn’t that too ruthless?
Song Qianji was young, handsome, and charismatic—how could his actions be so merciless?
Even more ruthless than me.
Unable to hold back any longer, Zhao Ren finally whispered in advice:
“Brother, killing the goose that lays the golden eggs is unwise. These families have served me diligently over the years, and I must acknowledge some past goodwill. For my sake, let it go this time.”
Song Qianji frowned. He recognized every word the other man said, but when strung together, they made no sense to him.
However, he understood the last two words, “let it go,” and thought, “Why didn’t you say so earlier? Why waste all this time?”
He immediately waved his hand and said, “Forget it, forget it.”
At the Immortal Official’s decree, the wealthy gentry collectively breathed a sigh of relief.
Zhao Ren felt gratified, believing he had saved face, and announced loudly, “Let the three ministers step forward to report.”
The Minister of Military Affairs was the first to step forward, but Song Qianji finally perked up: “Let the Minister of Agriculture go first.”
The Minister of Agriculture hurriedly bowed: “Immortal Official Song, Thousand-Ditch Prefecture has three thousand dan of stored grain and one thousand livestock, all of which will be offered to the God Temple and to you today.”
Song Qianji cut him off: “I’m not asking about that.”
The Minister of Agriculture was startled.
Seeing him tremble, Song Qianji softened his tone:"I have quite a few questions. Write them down first, then answer them one by one. There's no rush."
The Minister of Agriculture reluctantly agreed.
Song Qianji asked: "What are the main crops grown in Thousand-Ditch Prefecture? What do the common people prefer to plant? Where are the most fertile fields located? How many hours of sunlight do they receive daily? How many times does it rain each year? What's the approximate yield per mu? Do they harvest twice or three times annually? And what about the conditions of the poorest land? Are there any pest problems? If so, what kinds of insects? During which season are they most prevalent?"
The Minister of Agriculture grew increasingly uneasy as he listened.
By the end, his face had turned crimson, and he stammered incoherently, unable to form words.
Meng Heze snapped fiercely: "Answer whatever he asks!"
Shaken by Meng Heze's Foundation Establishment pressure, the minister broke into a sweat: "This prefecture grows both millet and beans, with one harvest per year. The maximum yield per mu can reach a hundred jin. As for pests... this humble official isn't... isn't quite sure."
A hundred jin was the yield from the estates of wealthy landlords—ordinary farmers considered fifty jin per mu a blessing. But with no rain in the entire prefecture for three years, how could he dare speak the truth?
Song Qianji was utterly baffled.
That's it? Only a hundred jin?
Not quite sure? I thought that as the esteemed Minister of Agriculture, responsible for grain storage, farming tools, and agricultural equipment, you would have profound insights. Who would have thought you'd utter such crude remarks!
This is deeply disappointing.
The wealthy gentry observed Song Qianji's expression. Earlier, when accepting tributes, though displeased and impatient, he had remained casual without showing obvious coldness.
But now his expression was grim, his brows tightly furrowed.
The Minister of Agriculture had turned deathly pale.
The new Immortal Official was indeed dissatisfied with the treasures and looking for an excuse to make an example of someone.
The blade had fallen squarely on his own neck.
He dropped to his knees with a thud, kowtowing repeatedly: "Spare me, Immortal Official! Have mercy on this humble servant!"
"Thump, thump, thump." His forehead struck the cold floor tiles with crisp sounds.
The Ministers of Rites and Military Affairs watched, feeling a sense of shared despair.
The new Immortal Official was so difficult to please—it seemed someone might shed blood in the God Temple today.
"Why are you kneeling again?" Song Qianji didn't understand.
Meng Heze strode forward and forcefully pulled the man to his feet.
But the Minister of Agriculture thought Meng Heze was dragging him out for execution. Limp as rotten mud, he wept and struggled, refusing to rise:
"Immortal Master, I beg for your mercy!"
At that moment, a commotion erupted outside the hall.
Zhao Ren frowned slightly. Wasn't this chaos enough? Were they handing Song Qianji more excuses?
He coldly demanded: "Who's making that noise?"
"Forgive us, Immortal Official." The steward guarding the hall entrance hurried in to report. "It's Liu the Cripple from Xiaolan Village outside. He's gone mad, insisting on presenting a treasure. We couldn't stop him."
Zhao Ren asked: "What is he offering?"
"A farming tool he made himself. He claims it's a new type of plow. Should we allow him inside?"
Zhao Ren suddenly understood and sneered, unimpressed by their petty schemes.
How could a mere mortal cause such a disturbance in the square? It was clearly the three clans, seeing the tense atmosphere inside, allowing the mortal to make trouble.
They wanted to divert Song Qianji's attention to save the Minister of Agriculture's life.
Since the real tribute offering had already failed, someone needed to bear the new Immortal Official's wrath today. Better let a mortal die than one of their own.
When Song Qianji heard the word "plow," his eyes instantly lit up.
Thousand-Ditch Prefecture actually had wise talents who could innovate farming tools?
The mortal world truly hid dragons and tigers!
"What are we waiting for? Invite him in at once!" The notoriously ruthless Song Xian Guan suddenly stood up, looking excited: "No, I'll go out to welcome him myself."Before the words had faded, the figure moved like the wind, already dashing out of the hall.
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