The last golden ray of sunset vanished between the clouds and mountains.
Darkness surged like a tide over the courtyard walls. Song Qianji set down his shovel and drew a bucket of well water to wash up.
After a day of fulfilling labor, he carried out an old chair, found the most pleasing spot in the yard, and sprawled across it with unshakable conviction.
Wasting time was easy—the hardest part was doing it with a clear conscience, utterly free of guilt.
Song Qianji tilted his head back. The courtyard walls framed the night sky into a small, square patch, further obscured by the dense foliage of flowering trees. All he could see was a palm-sized fragment of starry sky.
The priceless cool breeze rustled through a peach tree beyond the wall, shaking loose a flurry of blossoms and stirring his loose, unbound hair.
"Tomorrow I'll move this tree a bit to the side and buy some vegetable seedlings and flower seeds. Which varieties are easier to grow?"
When people burst through the night into the small courtyard, they saw Song Qianji—hair disheveled, wearing a loose old robe and cloth slippers—leaning back in his chair to enjoy the cool air.
He looked so idle he might sprout moss, like a boneless, lazy cat.
This time, the quarrelsome crowd had become a swarm of headless flies, buzzing frantically around the old chair:
"He won't care whether Brother Meng lives or dies! What should we do?"
"Song Luo was the one who said Brother Meng was in danger—and he turned out to be right. Maybe he also knows how to resolve this."
"Enough!" Zhou Xiaoyun silenced the crowd. She stepped in front of Song Qianji and asked in a hoarse voice, "Brother Meng has been taken to the Discipline Hall. Did you already foresee this? What else do you know?"
They shouldn't have come, but the situation had arisen so suddenly that no one knew what to do. Unconsciously, they remembered Song Qianji's unshakable, mountain-like calm.
Before they realized it, they were already standing in his courtyard.
Song Qianji frowned.
The Cultivation World contained countless Esoteric Arts, vast as an ocean.
Yet foundational skills like the Light Body Technique and Breath Concealment Art were practiced by every sect, nearly identical in the early stages of cultivation.
What he had taught Meng Heze was simply more refined than the Huawel Sect's methods—not some evil or demonic technique.
Logically, Meng Heze shouldn't have been able to reach the second layer until after breaking through to Foundation Establishment, when the clear superiority of the two methods would become apparent.
For it to be exposed this early, only one explanation fit: someone with exceptionally sharp eyes and a penchant for meticulous study had witnessed Meng Heze's techniques. Moreover, combat spurred latent potential—Meng Heze had progressed too rapidly.
With talent like his, were the Spirit Root test results during his entry truly accurate? He should have directly entered the Inner Sect. Could someone have deliberately placed him in the Outer Sect?
Just as someone had deliberately given him the red jade Buddhist beads.
Had that person even anticipated his survival after the cliff fall?
In his previous life, who was truly behind the Meng family's massacre?
Meng Heze ultimately became the Evil Buddha. While each step seemed forced by circumstance for survival, was there a hidden hand pushing him along?
Song Qianji suddenly realized that even with rebirth and fragments of insight into the river of time, his understanding of this world and others' destinies was far from complete.
Many secrets and hidden truths remained, like a serpent's trail in the grass, stretching thousands of miles.
As Song Qianji pondered, the courtyard gradually fell silent.
Seeing his cold, indifferent expression, the crowd's hearts sank.
"Brother Meng risked his life to secure your place in the Inner Sect. And now you act like it's none of your concern? The Discipline Hall accused him of privately practicing another sect's techniques and will expel him from the mountain according to sect rules!" Zhou Xiaoyun cried out, overcome with emotion.Song Qianji suddenly looked up: "Say that again."
"No matter how they interrogated him, he wouldn't answer..."
"The last four words!"
"Expelled from the mountain."
Song Qianji abruptly stood up, the old chair crashing to the ground with a loud clatter, shattering into pieces.
Expelled from the mountain!
Such good fortune actually existed in this world?!
"Hey, where are you going?" Zhou Xiaoyun suddenly felt a gust of wind brush past her.
"The Discipline Hall!"
The crowd hurriedly chased after him out the courtyard gate, seeing Song Qianji's sleeves billowing in the dark night, his figure already distant, only his voice drifting back: "Prepare to receive him."
"Can Song Lu really save Senior Brother Meng?"
"Could it be that this person has a cold face but a warm heart? Have we misunderstood him?"
Zhou Xiaoyun: "You two go borrow a stretcher from the medical center, the rest come with me to guard outside the Discipline Hall!"
A group of fighting cocks regrouped and set off with fierce determination.
※※※
The Discipline Hall's main door was tightly shut, two bright yellow lamps lit at the entrance, particularly conspicuous in the night.
Meng Heze had made quite a spectacle today. Whether they disliked him, admired him, or just wanted to watch the drama, the Outer Sect disciples refused to leave easily, all gathered outside the hall discussing animatedly.
Some had even bought midnight snacks, forcing the Enforcement Hall disciples to remain on duty late into the night, wearing their vermilion armbands to maintain order.
Song Qianji finally squeezed through the impenetrable crowd, only to be stopped at the door:
"The hall is conducting a trial, idlers keep out."
Song Qianji had no choice but to identify himself.
The saber-bearing disciple stared at him for a moment, then suddenly exclaimed: "It's you! You're the one who was carried in the flower sedan chair during the day!"
Under the astonished gazes all around, Song Qianji was speechless: "...It was a reclining chair."
"You can't get in." Suddenly someone spoke, "I'll take you in."
Song Qianji turned to see Zhao Yuping slowly emerging from the shadows under the eaves.
He smiled: "Thank you for waiting so long for me."
Zhao Yuping also offered a hollow smile: "No trouble at all."
As they crossed the threshold, their voices were low enough that only they could hear each other.
"You two are really loyal brothers, playing heroes for each other. But can you save him?"
"I'll try."
"Last time you saved him, you lost an arm. What are you prepared to lose this time?"
"I don't know."
They entered the brightly lit Trial Hall, where Song Qianji bowed to the elders at the inquiry seat.
He's cutting off his own path of survival, Zhao Yuping thought.
Meng Heze knelt in a shallow pool of blood.
All the wounds from the daytime duel had split open, making him resemble a bleeding gourd.
Song Qianji glanced at him.
He saw his head bowed low against his chest, completely unresponsive.
Meng Heze had lost too much blood today.
He began to feel extremely cold, so cold his teeth chattered and his bones felt frozen, only the string of red jade Buddhist beads on his wrist faintly warm.
His consciousness drifted, thinking of his hometown and the moon a thousand miles away, thinking of his parents at home.
He knew he probably wouldn't survive this ordeal.
But at least he'd had his moment of triumph before dying.
Better to die on the most exhilarating day of his life than to perish meaninglessly at the bottom of a cliff.
In his dazed state, he intermittently heard a familiar voice:
"...I taught him. He didn't know what he was practicing."
"...This matter has nothing to do with him. I am willing to take full responsibility."
"...I've come to confess my crime. I'm willing to be expelled from the mountain, but I have something more to say."
The voice was like bolts of lightning, finally splitting open the darkness before his eyes.
Senior Brother Song!
Meng Heze's eyes snapped open.
He saw Song Qianji standing protectively in front of him.
The slender figure blocked the various stares and glaring lights.
Like a young tree stretching its branches and leaves with all its might, shielding the plants beneath from wind and rain."I learned these cultivation methods through a great, extraordinary encounter. This matter is of utmost importance and cannot be spoken of here," said Song Qianji.
"Impudent! This is the Trial Hall! If you won't speak here, where else would you speak?!"
"This disciple wishes to see the Sect Leader."
Elder Liu, who presided over the Discipline Hall, had been angrily questioning with his pressure radiating outward. Upon hearing Song Qianji's words, he suddenly laughed: "See who? Did I hear correctly?"
Other Discipline Hall disciples also laughed.
Song Qianji calmly repeated: "This disciple must see the Sect Leader."
From "wishes to see" to "must see"—he had even changed a single word.
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