"How do we get in?" Wei Ping pointed at the crowded main gate.
Meng Heze patted his chest: "Through the back door, follow me closely."
As they walked, Wei Ping marveled: "Senior Brother, you must often accompany Song Xian Guan and enjoy his utmost trust!"
These words pleased Meng Heze more than any praise of his swordsmanship.
The young man grinned brightly in the sunlight, each of his eight white teeth radiating confidence:
"Brother Song and I met in humble times, went through life and death together, our brotherly bond runs deep—naturally, no one else compares. By the way, I'm Meng Heze."
Wei Ping lowered his head with a smile: "I know."
Meng Heze, Foundation Establishment sword cultivator, champion of the Public Hearing Grand Martial Competition, commander of the Thousand Canals hunting team.
The warning from the rainy night visitor flashed through his mind like a bright bolt of lightning:
"Meng Heze's swordsmanship and combat power may not match yours, but when Song Qianji is in danger, as long as Meng Heze is by his side, he gains an extra life."
The Immortal Official Manor was adorned with carved beams and painted rafters, yet Song Courtyard remained secluded and quiet.
Before entering the vermilion gate, they were greeted by the rich fragrance of flowers.
Wei Ping stood straight but kept his eyes lowered, focusing only on his feet without glancing around, which further satisfied Meng Heze:
"Brother Song, I've brought someone. See if he can be the head steward! His name is Wei Ping, Qi Refining Stage..."
"Watch your step." A calm voice suddenly spoke.
Meng Heze stopped, stepping around the earthworm wriggling on the path.
Only then did Wei Ping look up.
The first thing that caught his eye was a pair of soft cloth shoes. Most cultivators in the Cultivation World wore cloud-treading boots, and their robes usually covered their footwear.
Then came the hem of the robe, stained with mud, simple in style without extra patterns or talismans. This was quite different from renowned cultivators.
Further up was Song Qianji's sharply defined profile.
Contrary to his expectations, Song Qianji possessed handsome features and an elegant bone structure. With such looks, he should have appeared cold and aloof, yet this person carried a gentle aura with a faint smile.
Wei Ping was stunned.
"He looks so familiar—I must have seen him before! But where?"
His thoughts raced, yet he found no clue.
The autumn wind blew, white chrysanthemums swayed.
The man was squatting on the ground, picking up earthworms from the path and returning them to the fields.
Wei Ping watched in astonishment.
Song Qianji looked up, clear sunlight streaming over his thick, curled eyelashes:
"You're a cultivator. Why do you want to be the steward of Song Courtyard?"
"His background is tragic, and he has nowhere to go now," Meng Heze answered hastily.
"Xiao Meng, I'm asking him."
Meng Heze realized his mistake: "Yes, Senior Brother."
"I... my family was destroyed, my master died, my sect disbanded, my dao companion ran off with someone else. I have no great ambitions in life." Wei Ping snapped back to reality, reciting the story he'd told a hundred times.
Song Qianji shook his head: "Not suitable."
Meng Heze thought, who knows the backgrounds of those waiting outside? At least Wei Ping was brought in by him. He signaled to Wei Ping with his eyes:
"Brother Song, give him a chance first. Xiao Wei, go to the kitchen."
Go to the kitchen for what? Song Qianji was puzzled. Meng Heze kept talking to distract him: "Brother Song, when I went to Huawel Sect this time, I met many new outer sect disciples..."
Wei Ping seized the opportunity to head toward the kitchen. He observed the flower trellises, the vegetable patches, the water vats, and also things ordinary people wouldn't notice.
The formation in Song Courtyard wasn't the most intricate, resembling a beginner's work.
But the formation foundation and materials were extremely solid, lavishly using precious resources without regard for cost, making this formation immensely powerful—capable of killing a Nascent Soul Stage cultivator in one strike."Ji Chen, the top scholar in the written examination, failed to learn talismans but turned out to be a genius in formations. Even when he's not by Song Qianji's side, his formations are always present."
Wei Ping felt a headache coming on and brushed aside the bangs on his forehead.
Song Qianji was difficult to kill. But as the saying goes, money is hard to earn, and bitter pills are hard to swallow.
Just as the conversation reached a pleasant atmosphere, Wei Ping emerged from the kitchen carrying a carved food box, while Meng Heze brewed chrysanthemum tea: "Brother Wei's culinary skills are not as good as mine. I hope Senior Brother Song can bear with it."
Song Qianji's vision darkened, and the hand holding the teacup trembled slightly.
"Senior Brother, please," Wei Ping said.
The carved food box had three layers, each opening like a blooming lotus flower. With swift movements, Wei Ping produced a succession of porcelain plates and bowls.
Stir-fried lotus root with meat, braised chicken with chestnuts, red-braised pagoda pork, cold-tossed chayote, golden-fried phoenix-tail shrimp... each dish was vibrant in color and aromatic.
"Dried fruits, candied preserves, melon seeds, peanuts, a seasonal fruit platter, three cold dishes and three hot dishes, with vegetables mixed in the meat—I call it the Song Courtyard Nine-Square Grid," Wei Ping said with a slight bow.
Meng Heze's eyes nearly popped out: "This..."
No way, did I just randomly pick a chef off the street?
I asked you to cook a bowl of noodles, and you come out with a nine-square grid feast?
Meng Heze: "Where did you get all this stuff?"
Wei Ping replied matter-of-factly: "The plates came with me. The vegetables were picked fresh from the courtyard."
Song Qianji asked curiously: "What else did you bring?"
"Twenty types of seasonings, thirty varieties of flower seedlings, forty kinds of seeds, fifty tools including a compass, tape measure, pruning shears, and branch cutters. I may not have other skills, but I'm proficient in household chores like sweeping dust, cooking soups and dishes, gardening, laundry, and tailoring. I can repair roof tiles upstairs and raise chickens downstairs. As for external matters, I have some knowledge of celestial rituals, geology, climate, mountain excavation, and bridge construction..."
Meng Heze could no longer process the rest of the words.
He felt dizzy and unsteady on his feet.
Fortunately, Song Qianji caught him.
Meng Heze gritted his teeth: "You really came prepared."
Song Qianji remained silent, seemingly deep in thought.
Noticing this, Wei Ping's smile faded, his brow furrowed slightly, and his eyes instantly welled up with tears:
"I've suffered great misfortune and have lost all hope, no longer caring for cultivation. If Senior Brother Song doesn't take me in, I'll have to wander the skies, not knowing where I'll die..."
Meng Heze snapped angrily: "I'm warning you, don't play the victim! My senior brother is famously iron-hearted and impartial—he won't fall for your tricks!"
Song Qianji picked up his chopsticks and began to eat.
He ate slowly, chewing each bite carefully.
The dishes were varied but in small portions, elegantly arranged to avoid waste.
When he set down his chopsticks, Meng Heze habitually offered a handkerchief, but Wei Ping beat him to it.
A warm, damp towel wiped the corners of Song Qianji's mouth and his fingers.
Wei Ping stared at those hands.
Song Qianji not only had a face like jade, but his fair fingers also resembled carved jade, with knuckles like bamboo joints and nails tinged pale pink. Anyone seeing them would find it hard to believe these were hands that worked the land.
They seemed destined to hold chess pieces, brush pens, or wield a sword.
Wei Ping blinked lightly, his eyelashes cutting through the autumn breeze.
The warning from the rainy night visitor echoed once more:
"No one has ever seen Song Qianji make a move with their own eyes. So what cultivation method he practices, what killing techniques he possesses—no one knows."
After the damp towel wiped his hands, a dry handkerchief was presented. Wei Ping smiled and asked:
"Song Xian Guan, was the meal to your liking? I can also make fifty types of pastries—do you prefer sweet or savory?"Song Qianji reclined lazily in his lounge chair, squinting sleepily under the sun like a well-fed, boneless cat:
“Being called ‘Immortal Official’ feels awkward. Why not follow Little Meng and the others in calling me—”
Meng Heze knew the situation was beyond saving: “We call you ‘Senior Brother’ out of habit from our Huawel Sect days. Fellow Daoist Wei has just arrived—how can he call you ‘Senior Brother’ too? I certainly can’t call him ‘Junior Brother,’ can I?”
Song Qianji was taken aback. What was wrong with Meng Heze today? Normally, he was the most tolerant of others.
Before he could ponder further, Wei Ping immediately interjected: “It’s no trouble. ‘Immortal Official’ is too distant, ‘Senior Brother’ too intimate. How about I call you ‘Sir’ instead?” He smiled, “Sir Song.”
The address was dignified and proper, but when it came from his lips, Meng Heze detected a hint of intimacy and mischief, clenching his fists in anger.
Unfortunately, Song Qianji remained oblivious: “As you wish. Since you’ve just arrived today, let Little Meng show you around. Little Meng, take care of our new junior brother.”
“Alright.” Meng Heze took a deep breath and nodded slowly.
He hooked an arm around Wei Ping’s shoulder, and the two walked off side by side like close brothers.
As soon as they stepped out the back door of the Immortal Official Manor, Meng Heze’s expression shifted instantly. His left hand seized Wei Ping’s collar, slamming him against the wall, while his right hand pressed a sword horizontally against the other’s throat:
“Are you messing with me? You just said you only knew a little?!”
His strike was swift and forceful, lifting Wei Ping almost off his feet. Though his Adam’s apple was pressed by the cold scabbard, Wei Ping showed no anger. Instead, he grinned and clasped Meng Heze’s sword-wielding hand:
“When it comes to cooking noodles, I truly only know a little. But as for making dishes, I know plenty.”
Meng Heze shuddered violently, abruptly releasing his grip. He panted heavily, like an enraged beast, snarling a warning through gritted teeth into the other’s ear:
“I’ll find out exactly where you come from soon enough. You’d better not give me any reason to catch you! Otherwise, I won’t let you off!”
Wei Ping chuckled, unconcerned, and rubbed his ear.
Meng Heze’s eyes burned crimson. With one last glare, he turned and stormed off, sleeves flaring.
Wei Ping bowed to his retreating figure and called out loudly, “Safe travels, Brother Meng!”
With that, he turned and headed toward the manor gate. Though Meng Heze had only shown him the way once, he navigated as if he knew it intimately:
“Thousand-Ditch Prefecture, Song Qianji… Ah, how interesting.”
Back in Song Courtyard, Song Qianji lightly tapped the armrest of his lounge chair, murmuring, “Wei Ping… which ‘Wei’ character is it?”
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