On a winter morning, the sun rose late, and dawn arrived slowly.
Outside the paper window, fine snowflakes fell, their gentle rustling occasionally interrupted by the creaking of dried branches and haystacks weighed down by accumulated snow.
This year's snowflakes must have loved Thousand Canals dearly, falling again and again, lingering without end.
The colder the weather, the more one cherished the warmth of heated brick beds and stoves. No one enjoyed rising early in the harsh winter, yet today, Thousand Canals was already lit with lanterns, and cheerful voices echoed from all directions as neighbors exchanged festive greetings:
"Happy Harvest Festival! May this year's bounty lead to next year's abundance!"
"Our village's team is sure to win awards and even shake hands with Song Xian Guan!"
Before Thousand Canal Bazaar opened, households across the city had already stepped out. People hung lanterns at their doorways, each one illuminating the night.
Husbands lit lamps and pasted paper-cuttings on windows, while mothers dressed their children in new clothes, combing their hair and tying red ribbons.
Then families lit incense and candles, paying respects before the small shrine dedicated to the Immortal Official.
The shrine was discreetly embedded in the wall, concealed behind a curtain. Only when the curtain was drawn aside could one see the exquisitely crafted, lifelike statue of the Immortal Official.
Liu the Carpenter, inspired as if by a flowing spring, had created unique postures for each household's statue—some standing, some seated, some stern, some smiling, some in ceremonial robes, others in white gowns.
Using the wooden statues handcrafted by the Minister of Agriculture as models, artisans across the region innovated upon them, applying colors that were vibrant yet not garish.
A prayer before sleep marked the end of the day, ensuring peaceful rest. A prayer upon waking signaled the start of a new day, grounding one's efforts in steadiness.
Except for the night he got drunk on fruit wine, Song Qianji lived with extreme regularity, waking at roughly the same time regardless of the season.
He pushed open the door, taking several breaths to fill his lungs with the cold, fresh morning air.
A row of sparrows on the steps fluttered their wings at the sound but showed no fear, as if kindly making way for him, alighting unhurriedly on the plum branches.
The snow had stopped, and a waning moon with a few scattered stars hung among the twisted, sturdy plum branches, casting a faint glow before dawn.
Song Qianji walked into the courtyard and had just picked up a broom when he suddenly paused: "Trouble."
A gray sparrow alertly turned its dark, round eyes, fluttering its wings and shaking a dusting of snow onto his shoulder, as if asking what could be wrong on such a fine morning.
"Is my cultivation level about to rise again? Even with the Fountain of Immortality, it shouldn't progress this quickly."
The river was frozen, and the water level hadn't risen, yet Song Qianji's cultivation was swelling like spring waters.
Some cultivators, desperate for breakthroughs, overdosed on elixirs, only to find their realms unstable and their Spirit Qi unsteady afterward.
Others, with solid foundations, refrained from using Spirit Qi to force breakthroughs, instead repeatedly tempering their meridians until their base was firm before secluding themselves to advance.
Song Qianji had been compressing the Spirit Qi within him, suppressing his realm.
Now, his "foundation" was so solid there was no room left to reinforce it. To progress further, he could only ascend to the next level.
Song Qianji closed his eyes. The mist-like Spirit Qi in his meridians continuously contracted, gradually condensing into a few drops of silvery liquid that trembled lightly.
The sky gradually brightened. The winter sun broke through the thin mist, and the accumulated snow in the courtyard reflected a brilliant, shimmering silver light under its rays.
Song Qianji opened his eyes, the snow so bright it dazzled. His clothes and hair were damp with morning dew as he exhaled a long breath of white air:
"May today be uneventful. Otherwise..."
"Master Song!" Wei Ping entered carrying a food box. "Your breakfast is ready."He usually dressed in simple, unadorned clothes, but today he wore a new jacket of clear mountain blue, its collar trimmed with a band of white fur, making his ordinary face appear warm and endearing.
Song Qianji ate steaming hot century egg and lean pork congee, along with thin, crispy pancakes brushed with sauce. Wei Ping wiped his hands for him and fastened a thick black fox-fur cloak.
The Guard Squad waited at the entrance of the Immortal Official Manor to escort Song Qianji to his palanquin.
As the palanquin entered Thousand Canal Bazaar, the snow had melted and the temperature instantly rose. Red silk ribbons fluttered throughout the bazaar, blazing like fire under the sunlight, while colorful drapes arched overhead like rainbows.
Thousands of people gathered on both sides of the street, their cheers shaking the heavens.
Song Qianji waved somewhat awkwardly, which only provoked more screams.
When other county Immortal Officials traveled occasionally, the ceremonies were solemn and dignified, with the common people prostrating themselves on the ground, not daring to breathe loudly.
Song Qianji’s procession, however, gave off a peculiar feeling—as if the wooden, clay, or bronze statues they secretly worshipped at home had suddenly come to life, turning into a real person advancing toward them under the protection of the Guard Squad.
“It’s Song Xian Guan! The real Song Xian Guan has come!”
“Song Xian Guan, happy festival, look at me!”
“Ah, he just glanced at me!”
Along the way, the River workers clad in soft armor and holding shields had been trained and rehearsed. They calmly held back the crowd to clear a path for the palanquin while loudly maintaining order:
“No crowding, no chasing, no throwing flowers, fruits, embroidered handkerchiefs, undergarments, or any miscellaneous items—”
Song Qianji thought to himself, Why not just set up a sign beside my feet that says, ‘No feeding, group photos five coins.’
Steward Wei maintained a smile. The curve of his lips remained stiff and unchanging, but his eyes alertly scanned the surroundings.
He lifted his head, his gaze piercing through the excited crowd to the wide-open windows along the street.
“Clear out the second and third floors of Thousand Canal Bazaar entirely. Station guards at every window, and make sure there are people on all the rooftops.”
“If you see anyone suspicious, signal me immediately. Work hard this time, and I’ll treat everyone to barbecue.”
When Xu Kanshan and Qiu Dacheng heard his arrangements, they assumed he was worried about stampedes in the crowd or that someone might get too excited upon seeing Song Xian Guan and try to rush the palanquin for a hug or handshake, startling the reclusive Song Qianji:
“Steward Wei, you’re too kind. We’re all here to ensure the Harvest Festival goes smoothly. It’s no trouble at all.”
Wei Ping then glanced at the roof tiles and upturned eaves, nodding subtly to himself.
“I need you to set up a Blade Net Array in Thousand Canal Bazaar. If anyone causes trouble and the Guard Squad can’t react in time, you must act immediately.”
“Brother Wei, on festival day, the place will be packed with people, all eyes watching. Who would be foolish enough to cause trouble in broad daylight? The crowd alone could drown them in spit.” Ji Chen said lazily, “Isn’t the original Thousand Canal Protective Array enough? It’s the festival—you’re not actually planning to kill anyone, are you?”
Wei Ping was resolute: “I don’t want a protective array. I want a Killing Array—one that can annihilate a Golden Core cultivator in a single strike or leave a Nascent Soul half-dead. Do you have that?”
“Brother Wei, with my current cultivation level and how little time I’ve studied arrays, if you want my Killing Array to have that kind of power, it can only be activated once.”
Wei Ping: “That’s enough. The enemy will only have one chance too.”
Ji Chen yawned pitifully: “It’s so cold today, and you dragged me out of my warm bed into the wind, then ordered me to set up an array. Given our deep brotherly bond, won’t you consider my sister?”
Wei Ping ruffled his messy, bird’s-nest-like hair: “I’ll barbecue for you.”
“I don’t want your barbecue. I want you to consider my sister.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll ‘consider your sister.’”Wei Ping coaxed and deceived until he finally tricked Ji Chen out of a set of formation techniques.
The palanquin arrived at the central platform of Thousand Canal Bazaar and slowly descended.
Amid Ji Xing's clear announcements, Song Qianji ascended the platform and took his seat, with Wei Ping standing behind him. Flanking him were his right-hand men: Liu the Carpenter, the Minister of Agriculture, and Tie Sanniu, the Minister of Works.
Finally came the segment Song Qianji had been most anticipating. Crops like millet, corn, sugarcane, mung beans, soybeans, and various potted plants were presented one after another. Whether he asked about daily watering during cultivation or types of fertilizer used, the contestants answered fluently, eager to share all they knew.
Song Qianji inwardly cheered with delight: "During Huawel Sect's Grand Audience Assembly, some held 'flower appreciation parties' in small towers. I heard there were many famous blooms, so I went in high spirits, only to find they were all amateurs who knew nothing about proper planting techniques. Today, my 'Harvest Festival' is the real deal."
Such plump seeds, each gleaming with luster; such vibrant sprouts, pushing forth tender green shoots even in winter. So many farming experts and cultivation masters gathered in one place.
Ji Xing proclaimed loudly: "After a round of intense competition, the 'Bridge Repair Team Returns Home to Plant Beans' squad from Hedong Village has won first prize at the Harvest Festival for their six-catty soybeans. The Minister of Agriculture will present the award—please send a representative to the stage."
Song Qianji extended his hand: "Congratulations."
The village chief of Hedong Village gasped sharply and fell straight backward.
Song Qianji hurriedly reached out to support him.
A fellow villager patted the chief's cheeks with cold snow: "Don't faint! This chance comes only once—if you faint, you'll miss the handshake! The artists below are all set up!"
The chief immediately regained consciousness and firmly grasped Song Qianji's hands: "Immortal Official Song, thank you!"
Song Qianji replied: "It is I who should thank you, sir. I've learned a great deal today."
The crowd below watched with envious expressions:
"Their whole village will bring honor to their ancestors now. Their chief is clever—he even brought a chef to compete, demonstrating boiled beans, fried beans, and braised beans on the spot. The aroma was irresistible."
"Our village isn't doing badly either. The Hongfu Trading Company just saw our cotton and wants to place an order, paying the deposit immediately."
At the peak of the fervor, the noise in Thousand Canal Bazaar nearly lifted the roofs.
Wei Ping never let his guard down. Only when the competition concluded and Song Qianji waved to the cheering crowd while descending the platform toward the palanquin did he finally exhale in relief.
The festival wasn't over—Thousand Canal Bazaar still had lion and dragon dances parading through the streets, a thousand fireworks glittering in the sky, opera troupes performing on stage, and free hot rice congee for everyone in Thousand Canals to enjoy with laughter and cheer.
But Song Qianji's most anticipated event had concluded, and he was preparing to return home.
Wei Ping followed behind Song Qianji, his nerves easing as he finally embraced the festive atmosphere, a natural smile blooming on his lips.
Just then, a flash of blade light gleamed among the crowd, reflecting the sunlight—dazzling and cold as snow.
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