"Either of you will do."
Zhao Yuping smiled and nodded, quite satisfied. Without giving him a chance to reconsider, he strode directly toward the high platform.
"Don't touch my chair." Zhao Jiheng slapped away Meng Heze's hand as it reached for the lounge chair, finally feeling vindicated.
Meng Heze paid him no mind, instead declaring clearly to the crowd:
"If I'm fortunate enough to win first place, I request that Senior Brother Song be admitted to the Inner Sect!"
"Cough, cough, cough!" Song Qianji choked in shock, waving his hands urgently. "That won't be necessary!"
Who the hell wants to join the Inner Sect? Don't drag me into this!
"What did you say?!" Zhao Yuping spun around sharply, his gaze sharp as a blade, piercing through Meng Heze.
The Discipline Hall elder on the platform shouted: "Nonsense! The assessment is meant to select the most outstanding disciples for the Inner Sect. There has never been such a thing as competing on someone else's behalf."
Meng Heze cupped his hands respectfully toward the high platform: "In both cultivation and character, Senior Brother Song surpasses me a hundredfold. If I can achieve it, it would be even easier for him. However, he is injured and cannot easily engage in combat." The young man showed no fear, his words ringing with conviction:
"This disciple is willing to face every participant in one-on-one battles!"
After speaking, the pent-up frustration in Meng Heze's chest vanished completely.
In a lifetime, how many words does one speak—truths, lies, drunken ramblings? He felt that no words had ever been more satisfying to utter than these.
Since leaving home to climb the mountain and join the Huawel Sect's Outer Sect, he had always been helping others, while others rarely had the chance to help him.
He yearned for the rich and diverse world of immortal cultivation, for genuine friendship based on mutual loyalty.
But life was dull and monotonous, repeating endlessly without variation, with no end in sight.
—Until he fell off the cliff with Song Qianji.
Given today's circumstances, forced to this point, if I can still endure it, then I would be too ashamed to ever use the skills Senior Brother Song taught me again!
Meng Heze wanted to prove to everyone, and to himself, that Senior Brother Song had not misjudged him, had not saved the wrong person, and had certainly not taught the wrong person.
Zhao Yuping suddenly laughed, for the first time today with genuine sincerity:
"Honored elders, although there is no precedent for this matter, the rules of the annual selection assessment change every year. It's rare to find such courage and loyalty among our Outer Sect disciples. Why not give him a chance to try?"
Meng Heze sneered: "Thank you for your support, Deacon Zhao."
Meng Heze has gone mad. Who would voluntarily request to fight in a battle royale?
Regardless of their stance, everyone present shared the same thought at that moment.
Zhao Jiheng voiced their collective sentiment: "Hey, what are you doing? Did Song Qianji put you under some kind of spell to control you?!"
"Please take care of Senior Brother Song for me."
Meng Heze offered no further explanation, only instructed the Outer Sect disciples following him before walking toward the center of the square.
Song Qianji's voice sounded behind him: "Don't do this."
Meng Heze turned to see Song Qianji frowning, seemingly troubled.
Song Qianji firmly refused:
"I don't need you to do this for me. This matter is meaningless and unnecessary."
"No, Senior Brother Song. I must go!"
Song Qianji sighed: "Then take your time fighting. I've already withdrawn, so I'll head back first."
He suddenly stood up. Zhao Jiheng was startled, as if seeing a paralyzed patient walk on his own:
"You, you're injured, how...?"
"My injuries are on my arms and back."
Zhao Jiheng was exasperated: "Your legs are fine?! Then why all the carrying and lifting when we came here? What was that about?"
Song Qianji walked away: "...You insisted on carrying me."
Meng Heze hadn't expected this reaction from Song Qianji.
That person wasn't pleased; in fact, he seemed angry.But he felt he hadn't done anything wrong, softly calling out "Senior Brother Song" as if wanting to say something.
Song Qianji paid no attention, passing through the crowd toward the bright spring light and green hills beyond the square.
It seemed Meng Heze's affairs had nothing to do with him - he wouldn't linger even for a moment.
So Meng Heze also fell silent, turning to walk in the opposite direction.
"I ask for your guidance!"
The young man's voice pierced the clouds, his expression resolute.
In that moment, his figure stood tall between heaven and earth, yet somehow appeared somewhat lonely.
......
The mountain path twisted and turned through deep vegetation.
Song Qianji walked unhurriedly, each step taken with care.
He was admiring the scenery - the emerald ancient locust trees along the path, the pure white drifting clouds in the sky, the carefree swallows on branches, and the dew-kissed peach blossoms trembling in the breeze.
Outer sect disciples had seen these sights thousands of times, grown accustomed to them, and overlooked them entirely.
But Song Qianji's eyes shone bright, like a child on his first spring outing.
The roads he needed to rush - he had already rushed them to their end in his previous life.
Since he was going to live differently, he should also walk differently.
Admiring scenery was just admiring scenery, no longer needing to visualize sword techniques or nurture sword intent through the landscape.
Spring sparrows competed in song, spring streams gurgled, spring light shone brilliantly.
At the mountain path's end, buildings with white walls and gray tiles suddenly emerged into view.
The dormitories of outer sect disciples appeared generally crude when viewed from afar.
Only upon approaching could one discern their unique characteristics.
Song Qianji lived in the most remote location, with the lowest terrain and poorest drainage and lighting.
During overcast or rainy weather, water would flood the area. The small courtyard would accumulate water like a lake, covered with floating leaves like little spinning boats.
He never cleaned up, nor did he care. He had neither the leisure mood nor spare time.
He had forced himself to focus solely on cultivation through this almost self-abusive lifestyle, wanting to leave this place as soon as possible.
This had been his fifteen-year-old self.
Humble, dull, monotonous, lonely. Sunk in mud.
Like a frog at the bottom of a well looking at the sky - though the blue sky remained distant, stretching his neck and standing on tiptoe, he still couldn't see the palace halls atop the mountains.
The old wooden door creaked unpleasantly. Song Qianji stepped into a puddle, shaking his head with a laugh.
He rolled up his sleeves, tucked his robe hem into his belt, picked up a worn broom from the corner, and swung it twice as elegantly as if performing sword flowers:
"Time to work!"
There are elegant sword techniques in this world, but no elegant manual laborers.
Clearing leaves, sweeping away standing water, repairing roof tiles... Song Qianji's movements were clumsy but patient and meticulous, as if performing the most important task of his life.
Time slipped quietly through the cracks between tiles, from high noon to late afternoon.
The sky gradually darkened as weary crows returned to their nests.
The undulating distant mountains bathed in orange twilight seemed about to melt into continuous spring streams.
Song Qianji's right arm was injured, leaving only his left hand agile. Though appearing somewhat disheveled, his mind was peaceful and free.
The more at ease he appeared, the more furious people became when they saw him.
When those six disciples entered his small courtyard, Song Qianji was turning soil with a shovel.
The narrow courtyard instantly became packed. The last person had to squeeze onto the doorstep, yet still managed to glare at him.
They resembled a flock of aggressive fighting cocks with ruffled feathers.
"Senior Brother Meng won his fights!" The leading female disciple spoke, her tone icy. "He fought three hundred matches all by himself."
Later participants weren't incapable of defeating him. They genuinely respected and feared him, intimidated by his life-risking fighting style, and dared not challenge him.
"Oh." Song Qianji didn't turn around, nor did he stop working the shovel.A few curses erupted from behind, clearly provoked by his attitude.
"He's severely injured and currently being treated at the Outer Sect infirmary. Before losing consciousness, he kept thinking of you, saying he must deliver this bottle of spiritual medicine to you."
The female disciple produced the elixir Zhao Yuping had previously offered.
Song Qianji: "No need."
The female disciple's delicate features twisted momentarily: "He fought desperately for you, and you won't even visit him? Are you truly so heartless and ungrateful? Do you not worry about him at all? He nearly... died!"
Her voice trembled toward the end, nearly breaking into sobs.
The soil-turning shovel paused, but Song Qianji still shook his head: "I'm not worried."
Meng Heze had a stubborn head and tough fate. In his previous life, he survived falling off a cliff, unified the demonic path without dying—how could he be killed by a bunch of Outer Sect disciples?
Worrying about that kid was less productive than worrying about when he could finally descend the mountain.
Meng Heze would never come farm with him anyway, so there was no need for further entanglement.
Song Qianji had no intention of letting the misunderstanding continue, allowing the other to mistakenly consider them brothers.
To many observers, Song Qianji and Meng Heze had no prior connection.
Suddenly risking life and death for each other overnight was undoubtedly peculiar.
"I don't know what happened between you last night, but Senior Brother Meng is inherently pure-hearted, upright and straightforward. He's easily deceived and exploited. I suppose you must be feeling quite pleased with yourself now?" The female disciple's eyes widened, rage burning her cheeks crimson, enhancing her striking beauty.
"But can your conscience bear it? I thought you were just aloof, but I never imagined you'd be so cunning!"
Song Qianji finally turned around.
These six probably maintained good relations with Meng Heze normally. Hence they came seeking justice on his behalf.
Song Qianji studied the leading female disciple. He vaguely recalled her name was Zhou Xiaoyun, skilled in some medical arts, lively and cheerful—also a renowned beauty among the Outer Sect.
Pity he'd grown accustomed to Miaoyan's face long ago, becoming indifferent to beauty and plainness alike.
"Junior Sister Zhou, you misunderstand." Song Qianji said calmly, "I also don't want..."
"Pah, hypocrite!" Someone at the threshold spat viciously, sullying the ground Song Qianji had just swept, "You finally get to enter the Inner Sect and cultivate immortality, yet you pretend to be reluctant after gaining the advantage!"
Song Qianji's expression cooled.
Mentioning this ignited his anger.
Who wanted to enter the Inner Sect? Who wanted to cultivate immortality?
Do I look like someone who's lost hope in life and faith in the future?!
"Who wants Meng Heze dead the most right now?"
Song Qianji asked.
The stream of insults cut off abruptly. Meeting his profound cold gaze, they inexplicably felt a tremor in their hearts.
Zhou Xiaoyun frowned: "What do you mean?"
"Whoever's plans he ruined, whoever's face he damaged—they want him dead. After all, he's severely injured and unconscious with no one guarding him. Whatever danger befalls him, he's completely defenseless." Song Qianji's voice grew gentle, almost amused.
"Do you know what medicine he's taking? What water he's drinking? What's the treating physician's surname? If his condition worsens and he dies in the infirmary, it would be a perfectly reasonable death."
Zhou Xiaoyun felt chills through her body, instinctively stepping back.
"The one who wants him dead isn't me, so why are you all gathered here?"
Song Qianji advanced two steps: "Waiting for me to invite you to dinner?"
"You... you..." Someone still wanted to argue, but Zhou Xiaoyun raised a hand to stop them, "Forget it. Senior Brother Meng's safety comes first."
The group that arrived with imposing momentum departed in haste.
The courtyard returned to its quiet solitude, only a few blustering voices drifting over the wall:
"You just wait!"Song Qianji smiled slightly, picked up the shovel again, and lowered his head to continue working.
Ah, after all, he’s still young and thin-skinned—even when cursing someone out, he runs out of words.
※※※
Meng Heze was just as young as them, and just as lost for words.
"Where did you learn such evil arts?"
The crushing pressure nearly shattered his organs, yet he pressed his lips together and remained silent.
As the victor of all his battles, he should have received blessings and celebrations from the entire Outer Sect.
But Zhao Yuping had sent someone to secretly record every match using a Shadow Stone.
As soon as the assessments concluded, the recordings were sent to the Inner Sect for review by an elder from the Teaching Hall, who was well-versed in myriad techniques.
Half an hour later, Meng Heze was carried out of the Outer Sect’s medical center and escorted to the Discipline Hall for interrogation.
"Who taught you these things? When were you taught?"
Meng Heze’s face remained expressionless. The excruciating pain wracking his body left him drifting between lucidity and delirium.
The Discipline Hall disciples’ interrogations pierced his ears, now distant, now near—like the fragmented shadows of trees in the twilight outside the window.
The young man kept his teeth clenched tightly.
Unwilling to speak Song Qianji’s name, he could only remain silent.
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