Summer thunderstorms, unlike the lingering drizzle of spring, either hold back entirely or unleash themselves with earth-shaking intensity, drenching the world as if determined to reshape heaven and earth.
At the Celestial Sound Sect, a night of heavy rain left fallen blossoms and scattered crimson petals everywhere, while tender new leaves competed to sprout from the branches.
For He Qingqing, this was a rainy night of life-and-death transition—a time to destroy the old and forge the new.
On the same night, before the rain began, the Thousand Canals hunting team wrapped up their work, gathering around a bonfire to drink and roast meat.
Villagers from beyond the Poisonous Miasma Forest always selected the finest cuts from the demon beast carcasses, marinated them with spices, and presented them to the hunting team as tokens of gratitude.
The crimson firelight illuminated each young face. Fighting side by side had forged these youths into a tighter, more coordinated unit, and they laughed and bantered without restraint, their manners growing increasingly rough and bold.
"This is way more fun than life up on the mountain."
"To hell with the Huawel Sect! Come on, bottoms up!"
Ji Chen, ever the social butterfly, had initially tried to discourage everyone from cursing. But after half a night of immersion, he'd picked up quite a few new phrases himself, now casually tossing out expressions like "to hell with it" and "bury his damn father."
A low-rank demon beast—a wild boar with perfect proportions of lean and fat—was roasting on a spit. Sizzling with glistening oil and brushed with a layer of golden wild honey, its tantalizing aroma could make even ascetic cultivators' mouths water.
With each bite, the crispy skin crackled audibly. The outer sect disciples ate with such gusto that grease smeared their faces.
Though Ji Chen had once been accustomed to refined delicacies, even reduced to open-air barbecues, he maintained an elegance that set him apart. Not just elegant, he also had the leisure to chat.
"During your martial trials at the arena, my damn sister went to watch every single match. She even handed out colored paper slips to drag others along. Pity she never managed to catch any flowers you threw into the crowd—she'd just come back crying to me. Shows she really likes you..."
To Meng Heze, it sounded like ten thousand ducks quacking incessantly in his ears.
He thought, if I've done wrong, Senior Brother Song would punish me himself—not subject me to torture by some idiot who just learned to swear.
Meng Heze hugged his sword in silence, his profile cold and intimidating as he deliberately leaked a bit of menacing aura, hoping to scare the other off.
Instead, he only succeeded in making the other disciples keep their distance, leaving Ji Chen alone by his side, still chattering about his sister—from her personality and hobbies to amusing childhood anecdotes.
From a distance, they appeared close as brothers, deep in camaraderie.
Ji Chen blinked his large eyes: "Brother Meng, are you listening? Brother Meng, what are you thinking about?"
"I'm thinking I wish you'd shut up."
"So will you consider my damn sister or not?"
"I'll consider your damn—"
Before he could finish, Meng Heze's expression shifted abruptly as he suddenly stood up.
Startled, Ji Chen immediately grew alert: "A demon beast?! Where?"
Meng Heze gazed at the sky and murmured: "The wind's picking up."
The wind came from the direction of the Heavenly City.
The bonfire flickered, sending up tendrils of blue smoke and scattering sparks, while the wind carried the aroma of roasting meat in all directions.
"Boom!"
Thunder cracked suddenly.
In the distance, beast roars echoed, as if answering the heavenly thunder.
All the disciples looked up at the sky together. Clouds gathered and scattered, leaving the moon devoid of light.
Since practicing formation techniques, Ji Chen had grown more sensitive to shifts in the world's energy flows.
Now he muttered to himself: "What the hell kind of divine art is Brother Song cultivating."
...
The Great Heat solar term approached. While daytime blazed with fiery sun, the coolness of night became particularly precious.
Yet tonight, Little Mist Village felt unusually stifling, as if an iron lid had been clamped over the night sky, sealing the mortal world airtight.
Liu the Carpenter waved his large palm-leaf fan vigorously, creating a rustling sound, yet couldn't stir even a wisp of cool air.
Huan Niang smiled as she wiped his sweat: "Don't fan me anymore."
Young men went shirtless. Children ran about naked. Everyone dripped with sweat, their cotton clothes clinging damply to their skin.The old village chief picked up his walking stick. "Everyone, disperse."
The unusually stifling heat suggested no rain would fall tonight.
Women carrying children and men supporting the elderly rose to their feet, chatting and laughing without showing any disappointment. After three years of severe drought in Thousand Canals, dry scorching heat had become the summer norm. Rather than the rain itself, "waiting for rain with Immortal Official Song" had become a ritual, replacing temple visits and offerings.
This nightly rain-watching ritual made people believe that despite being thousands of miles from the Celestial City's Immortal Official Manor, they could still feel the immortal official's will and power. Some dug ditches along field ridges, while others placed large empty vats at the village entrance—as if telling the heavens they stood ready to collect and store rainwater.
This wasn't unique to Xiaolan Village. All hundred thousand residents of Thousand Canals did the same.
Huan Niang called back her wildly running son: "Haven't you played enough? Time for bed."
Since having enough to eat, the children seemed endlessly energetic, as if they never grew tired.
Xiao Hu reluctantly bid farewell to his playmates before turning to whine: "Carry me, Mother."
"None of that nonsense—your mother's carrying another in her belly!" Liu the Carpenter pulled his son aside. After two steps, he suddenly froze.
A rustling sound swept through the fields, wave after wave like ocean tides.
It was the sound of strong wind sweeping across the fields, stirring the grain ears.
"What's wrong?" Huan Niang tugged his sleeve.
Liu the Carpenter's eyes shone: "The wind's picking up!"
Such refreshing gusts!
Everyone instinctively stopped walking.
Like a giant hand lifting an iron lid from the sky, cool winds swept through, banishing the summer heat completely. Sticky sweat evaporated instantly from faces, and cloth garments billowed away from skin, making people squint in comfort.
Thunder rumbled across the wilderness.
The old village chief suddenly threw down his wooden staff, spreading his arms toward Celestial City as he swayed unsteadily.
His son hurried to support him: "Father, what are you doing?"
He soon stopped asking, touching his own cheek in wide-eyed astonishment.
Carried on the wind besides the fresh scent of grain was something cool and damp.
Earth-shaking thunderclaps roared.
All villagers, young and old, looked skyward, their shock transforming into excitement. Some lips moved soundlessly, but no one spoke aloud—as if uttering even one word might scare away that precious thing.
...
Song Qianji remained seated in Song Courtyard.
Amid the gale, flowers and leaves swirled chaotically while he sat motionless, eyes closed, breathing steadily.
He hadn't lit any lamps tonight. Thick clouds veiled the moon, plunging Song Courtyard into darkness.
Had any qi-observing cultivator opened their "celestial eye" at this moment, even a mere glance at Song Qianji would have made their eyes ache severely and tears flow uncontrollably.
Endless streams of luck converged from all directions, swirling around Song Qianji. After massive accumulation, they finally erupted in dazzling golden light.
The sincere devotion of over a hundred thousand souls in Thousand-Ditch Prefecture created a golden radiance piercing the sky, turning night bright as day.
Being intangible, Song Qianji remained unaware of the luck. He only felt his "Spring Night's Joyful Rain" cultivation method flowing with unimaginable smoothness.
"The time has come," he thought.
This very night, this very moment.
Every meridian, every bone, every pore in his body expanded in the wind, saturated with spirit qi.
"Boom!"
A thunderclap struck.
Song Qianji's energy reached its peak, though his expression remained unchanged.
Lightning split the night sky, illuminating the youth's lean figure.
Other cultivators meditating for breakthroughs necessarily absorbed external spirit qi, communicating with heaven and earth in an outward-inward process.
But Song Qianji possessed extraordinary treasures. The Pure Bottle in his Purple Palace chimed softly, rotating slowly as a thin stream from the Fountain of Immortality flew from its mouth.Invisible golden light of luck cascaded down like a waterfall, washing over his head and pouring through his entire body.
"Boom!"
Another clap of thunder suddenly roared.
"Plop!"
The first drop of water fell from the sky, dampening the potato flowers.
"Splash!"
The heavy rain finally began to fall.
From one drop to ten thousand drops, from a light drizzle to a torrential downpour.
It was as if countless spirits were dancing between heaven and earth. The mountains, fields, and wilderness were shrouded in a layer of white mist.
Mud splashed up, carrying a unique fragrance and moisture.
Xiao Hu stared blankly, the overwhelming unfamiliarity making him shrink into his mother's embrace.
Huan Niang's eyes welled with tears: "Don't be afraid, silly child, this is rain!"
The stunned crowd was awakened by the rain:
"It's raining! It's really raining!"
"Immortal Official Song has waited for the rain!"
Liu the Carpenter's knees buckled, and he knelt on the ground.
People ran wildly through the rain, gulping down the rainwater, splashing in puddles with laughter, rushing about and shouting.
Not just the people, but every stalk of grain in the fields and every sapling on the mountains stretched their roots, shook their leaves, and greedily drank their fill.
The rainwater filled the canals to the brim, overflowing the large vats.
The old village chief wept uncontrollably: "Three years! It's been three years!"
The entire Thousand Canals wept and laughed intermittently, interwoven with the sound of the rain.
After three years of severe drought, they had finally waited for a night of heavy rain.
In the Song Courtyard amidst the heavy rain, the Fountain of Immortality surged through Song Qianji's meridians, his Spirit Qi skyrocketing with the sound of the rain.
Breaking through Qi Refinement, shattering Foundation Establishment.
In one continuous motion, he broke through two realms, advancing as effortlessly as cutting melons and vegetables, reaching the half-step to Golden Core.
Song Qianji thought to himself, "This is bad," and forcibly suppressed the Fountain of Immortality, mobilizing his Divine Sense to guide the spring water back into the Pure Bottle, thus avoiding attracting celestial phenomena.
"That was close," he sighed in relief.
The joyful rain of a spring night should be a gentle cultivation method, nourishing all things silently and imperceptibly. It should progress gradually, merging with nature, achieving success as naturally as water flowing in a channel.
How could his cultivation surge so violently, almost beyond control?
Such a miraculous opportunity to break through two realms in one go should only happen to a savior.
Song Qianji felt somewhat helpless. In his previous life, he had worked hard and schemed, dreaming of increasing his cultivation.
In this life, while eating noodles and sleeping, his cultivation chased after him to grow.
...
Outside Thousand Canals.
Wei Ping was sleeping in the Bright Moon Tower tonight.
This kind of life was already habitual for him—sleeping in brothels when he had money, sleeping in ditches when he didn't; there was no place he couldn't sleep.
Half-asleep and half-awake, he suddenly heard raindrops tapping on the windows and tiles, fine and dense, like scattered pearls falling to the ground.
Wei Ping abruptly opened his eyes.
Pushing open the window, the damp moisture rushed toward him, instantly dispersing the strong scents of alcohol and cosmetics in the room.
Looking through the curtain of rain, the lights of the brothel across the way appeared hazy and indistinct.
"Red chambers glimpsed cold through the rain, beaded curtains swaying lanterns..." He took a gulp of cold wine and mumbled half a line of a song.
His gaze passed over the eaves of the brothel, looking further into the distance.
For him, this was just an ordinary rainy night.
Yet, for some reason, he felt inexplicably unsettled.
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