This manner of appearance far exceeded the meager imagination of Outer Sect disciples.
No matter how experienced the two elders on the platform were, they couldn't fathom what Zhao Yuping was trying to pull off:
"Deacon Zhao, what's going on?"
Zhao Yuping felt utterly wronged.
Jiheng, your uncle has always treated you well. Why can't you be more sensible?
"Everyone holding chairs in the back, put them down now!"
As if this wasn't embarrassing enough. Zhao Yuping glared furiously.
Unfortunately, the distance was too great. When Zhao Jiheng met his uncle's intense gaze, he mistook it for praise and waved enthusiastically: "Release!"
As the chairs landed steadily, Song Qianji rubbed his temples.
Just how lazy have today's youth become, to keep a padded lounge chair in their Storage Bag?
And to have it carried around at will.
"Senior Brother Meng is back!" someone shouted first, and a dozen Outer Sect disciples immediately swarmed around Meng Heze.
"Senior Brother Meng, are you alright?" Those who usually received his help expressed genuine concern, "Are you injured?"
Meng Heze had just emerged from a cave, his hair crown askew, robes stained with mud and weeds—quite disheveled.
Seeing this, everyone assumed he had narrowly escaped danger and glared angrily at Zhao Jiheng's group, naturally not sparing Song Qianji on the lounge chair either.
Zhao Jiheng refused to back down, raising the hilt of his sword at his waist, while seven or eight followers behind him gripped their swords.
It seemed that with just one word from Meng Heze, the two sides would come to blows right then and there.
But Meng Heze only smiled: "No matter what demons and monsters stir up trouble, as long as Senior Brother Song is here, I can turn misfortune into blessing."
Everyone was baffled.
Huh? Which Senior Brother Song? Are you close with Song Qianji?
A female disciple skilled in medicine stepped forward: "Senior Brother Meng, are you hurt? Let me check you over."
She wanted to lead Meng Heze away from this tense and bizarre situation first.
But Meng Heze refused to leave: "Senior Brother Song was injured saving me. I need to take care of him."
Zhao Jiheng wasn't willing to let anyone leave either.
Thus, with Song Qianji's lounge chair at the center, dozens of Outer Sect disciples formed three chaotic circles, the two groups eyeing each other warily amidst thick tension.
Zhao Yuping would have loved to skin Song and Meng alive, but instead he walked briskly down from the high platform with a warm smile, positioning himself among the Outer Sect disciples to ensure his voice would carry far:
"The Deacon's Hall has been very worried about you! It's good that you've returned safely. This morning's assessment need not be postponed. In my opinion, let's start with Song Qianji."
Meng Heze met a gaze that appeared kind but was actually venomous. A chill ran down his spine, but he refused to look away, staring directly at Zhao Yuping.
Song Qianji smiled: "Thank you for your kindness. Unfortunately, this disciple was unexpectedly injured last night and must withdraw."
The crowd erupted in murmurs.
"Song Loser says he's withdrawing? Did I hear that right?"
"You heard correctly! He's unlucky—he's really become Song Three Losses now, haha!"
"That doesn't sound right! With Deacon Zhao showing rare concern, Song Loser should seize the chance to ask for a spiritual medicine. It wouldn't stop him from competing."
Hearing this, many found it reasonable. What counted as serious bone injuries for Outer Sect disciples could be healed with just one elixir in the Inner Sect. With everyone watching, Deacon Zhao probably wouldn't dare refuse.
"Keep your voices down! Don't give Song Loser any ideas!"
Withdrawing from Outer Sect assessments wasn't unusual. Every year, over half the participants voluntarily gave up their spots.
Showing up without skills would only bring humiliation—better to stay in the background and watch others showcase their talents.But no one expected Song Qianji to be willing to remain a spectator.
With a face like his, he simply didn’t look the part.
Zhao Jiheng leaned forward slightly, his right hand gripping his sword hilt while his left shot out to grab the armrest of the recliner. He sneered coldly under his breath:
“What tricks are you trying to pull? If you can truly give up joining the Inner Sect, I’ll eat this chair!”
Slap. Song Qianji flicked his sleeve, effortlessly swatting Zhao’s hand away. “Don’t come here looking for handouts.”
“You!” Zhao Jiheng’s anger choked in his chest. “This is my chair!”
Meng Heze stepped between them, warning, “Don’t touch Senior Brother Song.”
Zhao Jiheng leaped to his feet, ready to retort, but meeting Zhao Yuping’s gaze, he swallowed back the stream of curses. His chest heaved with suppressed rage.
“Of course, withdrawing is no problem! At worst, you can try again next year.” Zhao Yuping maintained his smiling facade, sighing as he gazed at the sky. “But you’re already fifteen this year—next year you’ll be sixteen. As a sword cultivator, bone age is crucial. If you enter the Inner Sect at sixteen, will any sword cultivation elders still be willing to take you? The difference between fifteen and sixteen… sometimes it’s a world apart…”
Song Qianji didn’t respond, lowering his gaze as if deep in thought, though in truth, his mind was wandering idly.
In contrast, Meng Heze’s expression grew increasingly grave.
He knew this was true. Those young masters from immortal clans and noble families started holding swords at six, practicing sword forms at seven, and “tempering their sword bones” at eight.
“Tempering sword bones” was typically guided by a master, using elixirs and cultivation methods to influence the growth of bones and meridians from a young age, shaping a foundation more suited to sword cultivation.
Senior Brother Song was already fifteen. Any further delay would only make it harder with each passing day.
Zhao Yuping reached out, and the deacon following him shrewdly produced a small jade vial, placing it in his palm.
He turned the vial, examining it, then condescendingly offered it to Song Qianji:
“I truly can’t bear to see a pearl cast into the dust. You’re still young and don’t realize that some opportunities, once missed, are gone forever. Some paths, once taken wrong, can’t be retraced.”
It was a meaningful hint. Zhao Yuping believed Song Qianji would understand—
It doesn’t matter that you changed your mind at the last moment yesterday. I can let bygones be bygones and give you one last chance.
The exquisite jade vial glimmered brilliantly under the morning sun.
Many outer sect disciples watched with envious eyes.
“‘Jade Dew Restoration Elixir’! Who said Song’s luck had run out? Isn’t fortune smiling on him now?”
Meng Heze was equally envious.
The vial’s radiance reflected in his eyes like a spark.
Rage burned in him, reddening his eyes.
Song Qianji had been injured saving him, yet he couldn’t produce a single decent elixir. Even as the culprit hypocritically offered charity, he could only endure silently, standing stiffly by like a wooden post.
To be so powerless—what kind of gentleman was he?
Song Qianji lifted his eyelids, scanning his surroundings.
Zhao Yuping was skilled indeed. If he were truly fifteen, he’d have been swayed long ago by the mix of threats and rewards.
In his past life, at this very moment, he had endured public scorn, interrogation, conviction, and a whipping before being sent away.
This time, having given up and freed himself from desires, he lounged basking in the sun, warmth soaking through him.
The Fountain of Immortality within the Pure Bottle in his Purple Palace brimmed with vitality. The youthful, immature faces around him were ones he had seen long ago but had long forgotten.
Song Qianji slowly reached out, so deliberately that those around him itched to take the elixir for him.
His fingers finally touched the jade vial—only to push it away."Deacon Zhao, I appreciate your kindness. But this would be unfair to others. I wish to enter the Inner Sect through my own capabilities. If I miss this opportunity due to bone age, then it simply means I'm not fated to walk the immortal path. I'd have no one to blame but myself."
Unexpectedly, the square fell silent.
Song Qianji refused? Apart from Meng Heze, no one had anticipated this.
"Are you insane?" Zhao Jiheng exclaimed in shock, "Do you know what's in this bottle? You couldn't afford it even if you were ten times wealthier!"
This scene felt strikingly familiar.
Many people's memories were stirred, recalling when Song Qianji first came up the mountain and refused to become a personal attendant to a direct disciple.
Back then, he was that confident and proud youth, standing straight as a pine tree. Now, injured and leaning weakly on the lounge chair, he still uttered the same words without hesitation.
You'd think three years of frustration would have worn away his pride, leaving only gloom and isolation. Yet deep in his bones, he remained proud.
He still wanted to rely on his own abilities.
He still sought fairness.
At this realization, complex emotions welled up in everyone's hearts.
Even those who usually disliked Song couldn't bring themselves to mock him now, at most muttering sourly:
"This Song Qianji is quite tough."
But Song Qianji wasn't being tough. He simply had no better excuse to explain his refusal.
If he truly said he no longer wished to cultivate immortality, no one would believe him anyway.
Zhao Yuping's pupils slightly contracted. He suddenly felt he couldn't see through the young man before him.
He had changed, but where exactly was different?
The smile finally completely vanished from his face.
The two hall elders on the high platform, though unclear about what Zhao Yuping was scheming, had lost their patience.
Elder Li urged sternly: "Since he has returned, shouldn't we begin soon?"
Zhao Yuping acted as if he hadn't heard, still maintaining his posture of offering the jade bottle.
The atmosphere turned sharply tense and stiff.
No one envied Song Qianji anymore.
If Deacon Zhao insisted on giving it, would he dare refuse? Would he dare not compete?
Suddenly, a hand shot out from the side, fingers snatching the jade bottle.
Like a swift sword striking diagonally, fast as lightning, leaving no room for refusal.
Meng Heze clenched the jade bottle, his right hand trembling slightly, his left hand gripping the lounge chair armrest. Fire seemed to burn in his eyes:
"I'll do it! I'll compete in Senior Brother Song's place!"
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