"Alright, alright, it's not your problem, it's my problem. It's because I didn't want to fight and preferred farming that things have ended up like this."
After Song Qianji sincerely admitted his fault, the Pure Bottle trembled slightly. The rain ceased and the sky cleared, a seven-colored rainbow arching over the wheat field, making the undulating wheat shine even brighter.
Mystic Treasures originally possess no consciousness, but after recognizing a master and residing in the cultivator's Purple Palace, they are constantly influenced by the cultivator's soul day and night.
The higher the cultivator's cultivation level and the stronger their soul, the greater the consciousness of the treasure becomes. Swords have sword spirits, artifacts have artifact spirits. Song Qianji had no doubt that one day, he would nurture a spring spirit that wouldn't give him any face.
Truly a top-tier treasure of heaven and earth, even its temper was greater than other Mystic Treasures.
The boundless wheat field was captivating, but Song Qianji couldn't stay long.
The assassination attempt was out in the open, and the Tribulation Cloud was vast—there was no hiding it. By now, probably the entire Cultivation World knew he had been assassinated in Thousand Canals and that he had broken through two tribulations in a row, directly advancing to the Nascent Soul stage.
The situation within Thousand Canals was manageable, but outside, those who considered this bad news might want him dead even more.
Those who considered this good news might want him to cultivate even more, to save the world.
Was his peaceful life of farming while guarding Song Courtyard and Thousand Canals about to become an unattainable illusion?
No! Standing in the wheat field, Song Qianji raised his sleeves and refused to accept fate!
...
The north wind howled on a winter night, and Thousand-Ditch Prefecture lay sleepless.
Moonlight couldn't penetrate the thick clouds, but the Immortal Official Manor was brightly lit.
Song Qianji lay peacefully in bed, his complexion ruddy in the candlelight, breathing evenly as if asleep.
Wei Ping raised his hand and gently shook his head: "His bones and Meridians are fine. After absorbing the Thunder Tribulation, the Spirit Qi in his body is abundant and flowing smoothly. But since he has formed his Nascent Soul, my Divine Sense can't penetrate his Purple Palace. We can only wait for him to wake naturally. Light a calming Soul-Returning Incense first."
Ji Chen hurriedly lit the incense: "Should I invite a master from Red Leaf Temple to perform rites? Or a maiden from the Celestial Sound Sect to play the zither? Would that help?"
"It won't help." Wei Ping's expression was grave. "You're the Formation Master, responsible for all the formations in Thousand Canals. You can't leave easily now."
Ji Chen nodded: "Alright."
After Song Qianji fell unconscious from the tribulation, Wei Ping immediately sealed the news, ordered all city gates closed, and forbade anyone from entering or leaving Thousand Canals.
With no one in charge, he instructed Ji Xing to lead teams to comfort and evacuate the people, assigned Xu Kanshan and Qiu Dacheng to investigate potential dangers and suspicious individuals, and had Zhou Xiaoyun lead guards to watch over the severely injured assassins...
He acted like a true chief steward issuing commands—calm and composed in crisis, steady and reliable, with thorough consideration—winning everyone's trust.
Not wanting to disturb Song Qianji, the two lowered the bed curtains and tacitly withdrew to the outer room.
"Brother Wei, after going through this tribulation together, we're truly brothers who've shared hardships and fought enemies side by side. I never thought I'd make such good friends besides Brother Song and Brother Meng. When Brother Song recovers and Brother Meng returns, let's drink fine wine and eat roast meat together again!"
Wei Ping forced a bitter smile: "Alright."
Ji Chen sensed something was off with Wei Ping and tried to lighten the mood:"I once heard Brother Meng tell the story of how Brother Song jumped off a cliff and would rather sever his own arm to save him. I always thought he was exaggerating—who could selflessly sacrifice themselves without hesitation or second thought? When Brother Song severed his arm, he must have been calm and rational, strategizing carefully, only making that decision after calculating they could escape."
"But today I experienced a crisis myself, my mind went blank, my limbs wouldn't obey... It turns out no one can weigh pros and cons in a split second. How one reacts depends entirely on instinct."
Wei Ping suddenly interrupted: "Why did he save me?!" His voice was hoarse and desperate. Ji Chen turned and, by the moonlight filtering through the window, saw his bloodshot eyes. He couldn't help but pause: "You..."
Wei Ping looked toward the gauze curtain and gave a bitter smile: "Why go this far? Why save me?"
Ji Chen's expression shifted. The other had seemed normal during the day, but now he was clearly not himself.
"Given Brother Song's character, no matter which of us was by his side, he would have sacrificed himself to save them. If you blame yourself and sink into despair because of this, you'd only be failing him..." He gripped Wei Ping's arm, speaking gravely: "This wasn't your fault. Don't dwell on it anymore, or you might fall into delusion!"
Wei Ping screamed inwardly, How is it not my fault?
Why did I come to kill him?
During the day, Wei Ping had been busy with aftermath arrangements, not daring to let his focus waver.
The moment he relaxed, the image of the sword piercing Song Qianji's body flashed before his eyes.
The bloodstains had been wiped away, yet they seemed to still splatter across his face.
"Where are you going?" Ji Chen asked.
"I'm going next door to have a chat with the assassin," Wei Ping replied, turning back. "Call me if Master Song wakes up."
The assassin was placed in the next room, trapped within Ji Chen's confinement array.
"Steward Wei, you've come just in time!" Zhou Xiaoyun said angrily. "Senior Brother Song even said we should treat their injuries, but look at this man—he's nearly dead and still refuses to drink his medicine!"
Lin Feiyuan was pale as death, slumped in a pool of blood, his head drooping to his chest, his breathing faint as a thread.
Wei Ping took the medicine bowl and said gently, "I'll handle it. You must be tired, Senior Sister. Go rest."
Zhou Xiaoyun hesitated, wanting to speak but holding back.
"Senior Sister doesn't trust me?" Wei Ping asked softly.
Zhou Xiaoyun studied his expression. Under the cold moonlight, the young man's ordinary face was as it had always been, yet for some reason, it sent a chill down her spine.
"Your medical skills are better than mine, of course I trust you. But Senior Brother Song said this man cannot die. If you kill him, how will you explain it to him?"
Wei Ping assured her, "I won't kill him."
The dying Lin Feiyuan suddenly lifted his head and laughed, blood gushing from his mouth.
Only the two of them remained in the room. The lamp wick crackled, casting distorted, elongated shadows on the white wall, like two beasts locked in combat.
"Let's make a deal," Wei Ping said.
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