The evening glow had faded, and the moon's shadow first rose, tracing the final golden edges on the continuous verdant mountains as the sinking sun vanished.
"The path down the mountain is familiar to me; no need to see me off," Meng Heze said.
Holding his sword, his expression was cold. The Daoist page seeing him off felt a bit fearful and hastily bowed before taking his leave.
Meng Heze walked alone on the familiar mountain path. The air in Huawel Sect was moist, and with each breath, the autumn night breeze carried the fresh scent of grass and trees.
He turned back to look up at the Cosmos Palace standing alone atop the mountain peak, enveloped layer by layer in the night mist. The flickering lights within the hall resembled an immortal palace amidst the clouds.
When he was an Outer Sect disciple, he dreamed of entering the Inner Sect and catching a glimpse of the Main Peak.
But now, it seemed nothing special—the Cosmos Palace was distant, cold, and unreachable. Even if others invited or carried him here in the future, he wouldn’t care to come.
He missed more the dry winds and campfires of Thousand Canals. When autumn arrived, the air was filled with the unique fragrance of grains.
He wondered what Senior Brother Song was doing at that moment. Without him, was the hunting going smoothly today? What meat were those trusted companions roasting to eat? Was the sharp-tongued Young Master Ji Chen busy eating meat or practicing formations?
Anyway, he could chat with anyone and was surely complaining to others: "Having a lot of money really isn’t interesting; it’s not as fun as your hunting."
In Huawel Sect, no matter how meticulous the etiquette and rules, human connections felt shallow. In contrast, the vast wilderness of Thousand-Ditch Prefecture could hold endless tears of sorrow and unspoken pasts.
It had become a second home to Meng Heze, Ji Chen, and countless Outer Sect disciples and new settlers.
Lost in thoughts of Thousand Canals, Meng Heze unknowingly arrived at the Outer Sect dormitories.
When he came to his senses, he was standing at the gate of Song Courtyard.
The peach blossom tree by the gate had withered, its sparse branches and leaves bleak and desolate.
The flower-lined path, untended for long, had long since become overgrown.
The vermilion gate was mottled, its bronze rings rusted green.
"What are you doing in the Outer Sect? Are you an Inner Sect disciple?" A young voice suddenly sounded from behind.
Meng Heze snapped out of his thoughts and turned to see a group of youths looking up at him.
The youths wore Huawel Sect Outer Sect disciple uniforms, their expressions weary and timid, faces covered in dust like a flock of dull, foolish pigeons.
Meng Heze suddenly smiled.
It wasn’t a mocking smile; he just found the scene familiar, each youthful face seemingly recognizable.
"Just off work? Returning from the Spirit Stone Mine?" he asked casually.
The foolish pigeons looked even more astonished. A young Foundation Building cultivator visiting late at night showed none of the airs of an Inner Sect disciple.
More people gathered curiously, surrounding Meng Heze.
"How did you know?"
"Because I was once like you, an Outer Sect disciple." Meng Heze lifted the hem of his robe and sat down in front of the vermilion gate of Song Courtyard.
The crowd was puzzled until someone suddenly exclaimed, "You’re the martial champion of the Grand Assembly of Distinguished Appraisals! The only martial champion in the assembly’s history to come from the Outer Sect—you’re Meng Heze, right?!"
"That’s me." Amid the uproar, Meng Heze felt a bit embarrassed.
"After you became the martial champion, what happened next?"
Most Outer Sect disciples didn’t understand chess or calligraphy. Compared to Song Qianji, who gained fame through the "Star-Plucking Game" and "Hero Summons," Meng Heze felt more relatable in their hearts.
Remaining undefeated on the stage under the spotlight, with hundreds responding to his call, was closer to their imagination of overnight fame.
Meng Heze smiled. "To tell that, it’s a very long story."
Weeds grew thick at the gate of Song Courtyard, the bright moonlight quietly spilling down as autumn insects chirped softly.
A group of Outer Sect disciples sat on the ground around Meng Heze, quietly listening to his story.Countless thoughts drifted away, flying out of the Huawel Sect, traversing countless mountains and rivers, arriving at the new world of Thousand Canals.
※※※
On the same night, there are always places the bright moon cannot reach.
Zhao Taiji stood respectfully in the courtyard, autumn frost clinging to his robes.
Throughout the four seasons, this courtyard was always colder than others. But he dared not complain, nor did he even circulate his Spirit Qi to ward off the chill.
The door remained closed, yet an aged voice emerged:
"You formed a grudge in early spring, yet only tell me in autumn—isn't that rather late?"
"Such trivial matters are unworthy of disturbing you. Song Qianji is merely at the Qi Refining Stage..."
"A person's prowess does not always lie in their cultivation level. Tell me, how much do you truly know about him?"
Zhao Taiji straightened his posture and replied solemnly:
"Song Qianji resides in a small garden within the Immortal Official Manor, locally known as Song Courtyard. He keeps a Sword Cultivator and a Formation Master by his side. The others are negligible and pose no threat."
"And what of the man himself? What is his cultivation level? His combat strength? Which school's Cultivation Method does he excel in?"
"He... he's only at the Qi Refining Stage..." Zhao Taiji found himself at a loss for words.
"You know nothing about him." The old man actually chuckled, "No one has ever witnessed him engage in combat personally because there are always others who fight on his behalf. Am I correct?"
Zhao Taiji could only affirm, cold sweat trickling down his back.
"Those individuals were all brought out from the Huawel Sect by him. Originally low in status and with nowhere to turn, they only progressed after following Song Qianji. Never underestimate young people who have nothing. After all..."
Old Ancestor Zhao spoke a phrase that sent a chill down Zhao Taiji's spine:
"Fear not those who buy death warriors with gold, but the youth who recognize subtle opportunities."
"Song Qianji has studied the Chess Devil's 'Formation Secrets,' acquired the Qin Xian's Seven Wonders Zither, obtained the Calligrapher Sage's Painted Spring Mountain, and it's said that Xian Jianchen also instructed him. Beyond these, how many other skills does he possess? How deep are his resources? Who knows? Do you?"
Zhao Taiji shuddered, lowering his gaze to his feet. "Your considerations are thorough."
Song Qianji was a famous figure—whoever could kill him would surely gain renown.
But any assassin who left traces would inevitably face retaliation from Song Qianji's powerful backers. Did such people exist in the world—those who sought wealth and fame over their own lives?
"So how exactly should this person be killed?"
"To kill him, you must find an unexpected place and an unexpected person. Remain dormant until the moment strikes, then ensure a single, fatal blow."
...
In the season of continuous autumn rain, the falling leaves of the parasol trees always added to one's melancholy.
The songhouse lights were extinguished, red candles burned to their ends, and the silken curtains hung dimly.
A hidden chamber door creaked open. Outside, the rain fell like fine needles, yet the visitor's brocade robes and jade crown remained impeccably clean and dry, untouched by the dampness.
"Finding you is truly difficult—like searching for a needle in a haystack." The guest called out, "Hey, wake up."
A muffled voice emerged from within the crimson silk curtains:
"I heard you're about to be engaged soon. What brings you here? Looking for a wedding gift? I have no money!"
The visitor sighed heavily, "Who do you think Chen Hongzhu is? She's the young mistress of the Huawel Sect, spoiled since childhood, with a temper like a tigress..."
The figure inside the curtains rose and strode out.
The latticed window swung open, wind and rain pouring in.
Wei Ping, his robes thrown open, tilted his head back and gulped down cold tea.
His movement was like a sleeping lion abruptly awakening, filling the entire room with an imposing, unrestrained aura.
In the faint chill of the autumn rain, half a pot of cold tea flowed down his throat, like a basin of icy water splashed across his face.The drunken haze faded from Wei Ping's eyes as he saw Wei Zhanyang seated by the table, dusting his sleeves with a faint smile:
"Little brother, it should have been you entering the marital alliance, you who should have married that tigress. I bore this immense burden for you—could you not do one small thing for me in return?"
With a clatter, Wei Ping casually tossed aside the teapot: "One small thing?"
"Kill someone for me."
"Life and death are no small matters."
Wei Zhanyang smiled: "All these years, you've made your living by killing for others and building reputations—for you, this is indeed a small matter."
Wei Ping raised an eyebrow: "Who do you want dead? Chen Hongzhu?"
"No, Song Qianji."
Wei Ping's brow furrowed.
Song Qianji. Why was it Song Qianji again?
This was the second time someone had sought to hire him to kill Song Qianji.
The first time was in the spring breeze of Hua Wei City, now it was in the autumn rain of Fenglin City.
It seemed Song Qianji had offended many people. So many wanted him dead.
"Why?" Wei Ping asked, "Give me a reason."
"Because I'm offering three hundred thousand Spirit Stones."
"Three hundred thousand is the price, not the reason. Is it because he defeated you in the Calligraphy and Painting Examination at the Grand Assembly of Distinguished Appraisals?" Wei Ping stepped back, collapsing lazily into an embroidered divan, chuckling mockingly, "Who among the world's heroes can rival him? Better to drink than seek immortality? Are you so consumed by jealousy that it has become your inner demon, hindering your cultivation until you break free?"
"Nonsense!" Wei Zhanyang's expression darkened, his voice cold: "The man does have some unconventional talent, but unfortunately, he treads no righteous path."
Wei Ping abruptly sat up straight: "How much do you know?"
"He cultivates a sinister art that bewitches minds and amplifies luck, making everyone around him submit to him. If you don't believe me, see for yourself. Moreover, after becoming the Immortal Official of Thousand-Ditch Prefecture, he launched massive construction projects, draining the people's resources and labor just to build a canal." Wei Zhanyang unrolled a map and tossed it to him, "Look from above Thousand-Ditch Prefecture—what do these seven rivers resemble when connected?"
"Half of the character 'Song'?" Wei Ping stroked his chin.
"Once the canal is completed, Song Qianji's luck will grow even stronger, shielded by golden light, and he will act with even greater impunity!"
"Even if that's the reason, this man is difficult to kill." Wei Ping shook his head gently, "You're not here for yourself today, are you? Is this the family's wish?"
Wei Zhanyang fell silent for a moment, then suddenly snapped:
"You refuse to go?"
Wei Ping spun his low-grade sword.
He had bought this sword from a pawnshop in Hua Wei City. It looked unremarkable, but it served him well.
Just as Wei Zhanyang thought the other would refuse, he finally heard Wei Ping drawl:
"Can we negotiate a higher price?"
"How much more?" Wei Zhanyang's face twitched slightly. He couldn't bear that the other had truly become a haggling commoner, a street ruffian.
"Enough to buy the name Wei Zhenyu."
Wei Zhanyang inexplicably relaxed:
"Fine. Once this is done, your name will be struck from the family registry as you wish. You and the family will be severed—I will never seek you out again!"
Wei Ping finally smiled with satisfaction: "Deal!"
Before leaving, Wei Zhanyang warned:
"Once you reach Thousand Canals, do not act immediately. Infiltrate his circle, win his trust, and cooperate with another person when necessary."
"You hired someone else too?" Wei Ping realized this matter was more complicated than he had imagined, "Who?"
"Because you were right—this man is difficult to kill."
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