Meng He Ze raised the lotus stem as he was about to return, when unexpectedly, a hand extended from the side like a sharp sword, directly stabbing at his palm.

Silhouettes swarmed from all directions, charging and colliding, all rushing toward the lotus leaf in his hand.

Meng He Ze was bewildered. The lake was filled with lotus stems, and countless roots beneath the mud—why were they specifically fighting for his?

He recalled how these people had earlier mocked “outer disciples coming to enjoy the lake,” and believed they were deliberately antagonizing him, making him the butt of their jokes. Indignant, he channeled all his spiritual energy, moving even faster, leaving only a trail of afterimages.

Water waves surged violently across the lake, and the fresh lotus leaves bent as if ravaged by a fierce storm.

Everyone only felt a swift gust of wind before them, and the outer disciple who had snatched the lotus had already appeared elsewhere. In the scramble, some couldn’t stop their momentum, and two or three people crashed into each other, falling with a splash into the lake.

They emerged covered in mud.

Born into noble families, even in duels they would only be splattered with blood—when had they ever been splattered with filth?

Then they heard the female cultivators on the shore cheering for the young man. In anger and shock, several forgot the rules of the duel and summoned their spiritual tools to attack the youth.

Meng He Ze knew his cultivation was slightly inferior, so he didn’t confront them directly, relying only on evasion to make his opponents collide. But when the spiritual tools came fiercely, he tapped the edge of a lotus leaf with his toes, his form leaping high again, attempting to break through upward and jump onto the top of the pavilion at the center of the lake.

By the lakeside, those walking spirit beasts, writing and painting, reciting poetry, and exchanging elixirs—all stopped their activities, their attention drawn to the center of the lake.

Watching the young man’s agile maneuvering, cleverly using the few against the many, the weak overcoming the strong, they couldn’t help but cheer and exclaim:

“Who is that person?”

“When did Huawei Sect have such a formidable lightness technique!”

Then seeing the young man leaping toward the pavilion eaves, a Qingyan Confucian scholar shouted:

“Not good! Senior Brother Ziye is discussing the Dao with someone in the pavilion!”

“Senior Brother is on the verge of a breakthrough, be careful not to disturb him!”

In the gallery, the young women instinctively cheered for the lotus-picking youth’s beautiful lightness technique, only realizing something was wrong after they shouted, leaving them embarrassed.

Feng Zi Yi came to her senses and sneered at Chen Hong Zhu: “If you wanted to send an outer disciple to compete, you could have just brought him directly, there was no need for such a show of force. What, are you trying to show that any random minor disciple from Huawei Sect, appearing out of nowhere, can defeat all of us?”

She thought Chen Hong Zhu had arranged this deliberately to avenge her earlier mockery of Huawei Sect’s outer disciples.

When Chen Hong Zhu recognized Meng He Ze, she was also shocked.

Her gaze followed Meng He Ze’s path, and sure enough, she saw Song Qian Ji standing still by the lakeside, hands clasped behind his back, facing the sunset alone.

So the two outer disciples who had been mocked earlier were them.

Had Song Qian Ji been unable to swallow this insult and sent Meng He Ze to snatch the lotus?

Before Meng He Ze could step onto the pavilion eaves, he suddenly felt a powerful force surging from within, like an iron wall approaching head-on. But his momentum this time was too great, like an arrow released from its string—impossible to take back.

He violently collided with the invisible iron wall, as if hit by a heavy punch. His vision instantly went black, his chest churning like a stormy sea, unspeakably nauseated. With eyes wide open but unable to see, mouth agape but unable to breathe, he was like a broken-winged white crane, unable to control himself, falling straight down.

Below him were the murderous glints of various spiritual tools.

Meng He Ze’s heart sank. What kind of technique was this, able to injure someone invisibly?

“I haven’t yet reached this level of cultivation, mastered such a powerful technique—am I going to die or be crippled today?”

Suddenly, a gentle spiritual energy came from nowhere, like a spring breeze gently brushing him away, far from the corner of the pavilion.

Meng He Ze felt his body instantly relax, his mind returning to clarity. Opening his eyes to see who had come, he was overjoyed.

There was no spring breeze sending him off—only a sleeve.

“Senior Brother Song!”

Song Qian Ji saw how this person had just been in utter despair, but upon seeing him, immediately became spirited, as if he had already safely escaped and landed. He was truly thick-skinned.

He was both angry and amused, thinking: calling me “Senior Brother” is so formal and polite, why not just call me “Father” and be done with it?

Meng He Ze could have broken through by himself, but when Song Qian Ji heard someone on the shore reveal “someone is in the pavilion,” he immediately knew the danger and moved right away.

To the onlookers, he seemed to vanish into thin air, then reappear. No matter how sharp their eyesight, none could discern his movement.

Song Qian Ji shielded Meng He Ze with one sleeve while navigating through eighteen different spiritual tools, saying: “When someone comes to snatch, you should just drop the item and return. Why did you engage in a fight?”

Meng He Ze heard his reproachful words but noticed the smile in his eyes, not seeming truly angry.

Recalling how Song Qian Ji had risked his life to save him at the cliff bottom, just as today, never finding him troublesome, Meng He Ze felt inexpressible gratitude.

Song Qian Ji wasn’t having an easy time either. These people came from prestigious backgrounds, and the spiritual tools they wielded were naturally extraordinary. Without careful handling, he might be unharmed, but Meng He Ze wouldn’t escape unscathed.

Fortunately, in his previous life, he had often fled for his life, creating a technique of “using the enemy’s force against them and striking last to gain control.”

If enemies relied on superior numbers, attacking all at once, they inevitably disturbed the spiritual energy into chaotic patterns. The more chaotic the situation, the more opportunities he had.

Song Qian Ji guided the turbulent spiritual energy like threading a needle, causing A’s attack to land on B. This technique required calculation, anticipation, and the fastest reactions to leverage minimal force against overwhelming odds, killing one’s way out of an encirclement alone.

Song Qian Ji knew his current cultivation was weak and his spiritual energy thin, so he was extra careful. But he quickly discovered that his control over spiritual energy had become more precise.

It was as if the spiritual energy of heaven and earth had a life of its own, like the plants in his courtyard, developing an affinity for him and obeying his commands.

Was this the effect of possessing the Immortal Spring, or a result of his change in mental state after rebirth? Song Qian Ji couldn’t tell.

The crowd only saw him carrying someone with one hand, his other sleeve billowing, with each sweep and wave immediately dispelling danger.

They also saw him moving without touching the water, his posture graceful and nimble, and couldn’t help but cheer loudly.

The person in the pavilion had no intention to harm anyone; it was just that Meng He Ze’s momentum had triggered the protective pressure, which rebounded back. A moment later, it was completely withdrawn.

The lake pavilion returned to calm, and even three or four congratulatory voices were heard.

Someone laughed: “Friend Ziye’s cultivation has improved again, truly making us ashamed. When do you plan to go into seclusion for your breakthrough?”

“No hurry.” The black-robed youth only uttered two words.

The people sitting in the pavilion drinking tea mostly had relaxed expressions. But among them, his back remained straight, his gaze calm and stern, as if ready to draw his sword at any moment.

His features were deep-set, his skin unusually pale. People who looked at him once would feel a chill all over, inevitably wondering if he had grown up living in an ice cave.

Now he turned his gaze toward the figure who had rescued someone and was gracefully departing over the lake: “Who is that?”

“Just two outer disciples from our sect. They didn’t intentionally disturb you, please don’t take offense.” Yuan Qing Shi reminded him: “Our junior sisters are playing, it’s not appropriate for us to interfere.”

Ziye Wenshu didn’t respond, merely withdrawing his gaze indifferently.

Yuan Qing Shi felt helpless. What kind of life did the Qingyan students lead?

Living with a deity that had lost all human emotions, and having to obey him, must be very difficult.

In the waterside pavilion, everyone gazed at the lake surface, feelings mixed. They envied Huawei Sect for having such impressive disciples, while resenting their own representatives for failing them.

Feng Zi Yi sneered: “One person wasn’t enough, so you arranged two, each with greater skills than the last. Miss Chen, you’ve gone to great lengths!”

In her irritation, she forgot that she was the first to suggest comparing lightness techniques. If Chen Hong Zhu had explained things kindly, it would never have led to this mess.

But Chen Hong Zhu had always been proud and hated being wrongfully accused, especially disliking explaining herself to outsiders. Extremely impatient, she said:

“It wasn’t me! It’s because you offended them earlier with your words, so he wanted to get back at you. If you don’t believe me, ask him yourself!”

Feng Zi Yi suddenly stood up: “Fine, I will ask.” A purple silk ribbon flew from her sleeve, like a rainbow across the sky, accompanied by the young woman’s clear laughter: “You two friends over there, since you’ve arrived, why not come in for a chat!”

“What are you doing!”

Chen Hong Zhu hadn’t expected her to act so boldly within the Huawei Sect. Her crimson whip unfurled, pursuing like a fire dragon.

Song Qian Ji saw a purple silk ribbon with flowing brilliance sweeping toward his face. He recognized this spiritual tool and was about to dodge it, but then remembered that Feng Zi Yi was not a Yuan Ying powerhouse now, just a little girl who hadn’t even formed her Golden Core.

With one arm carrying Meng He Ze, he leapt onto the purple ribbon, his toes tapping repeatedly, using this “rainbow bridge” to glide from the lake to the shore.

Chen Hong Zhu feared hurting them and quickly withdrew her whip. Feng Zi Yi had intended to bind the two, but seeing her beloved spiritual tool being stepped on, her expression changed, and she hastily pulled back as well.

The two landed steadily in the pavilion.

Over ten people from the lake, now covered in mud, pursued the two with real anger.

Entering the narrow pavilion, with limited space to maneuver their weapons, and suddenly seeing a hall full of beautiful female cultivators with various expressions, it was like a bucket of ice water poured over their heads. They remembered the earlier agreement not to use spiritual tools.

They all withdrew, but couldn’t swallow their anger, their faces turning from green to pale.

Feng Zi Yi sized up the two. The first to appear was spirited and vibrant, now with an angry expression like an enraged beast. The one who came later was tall, thin, and handsome, but with a calm demeanor and composed bearing.

She thought, who knows if they’re Huawei Sect direct disciples deliberately dressed as outer disciples?

“Miss Chen, won’t you introduce us? May I ask these two gentlemen’s distinguished names?”

Chen Hong Zhu looked around, slightly frowning.

The Six Worthies of Qingyan all came from great families, and many people here were related to them. If she revealed Song Qian Ji’s name, they would likely be even less willing to let things go today.

She coldly said: “They’re just two outer disciples. What does it matter what their names are—who could remember!”

“That’s true,” Feng Zi Yi laughed lightly. “Outer disciples like them. In my Dayan Sect, they’d only be fit to shovel dung for my spirit beasts!”

Her fellow disciples burst into laughter behind her, but she turned and scolded them loudly: “Laughing? You’re not even as good as dung shovelers!”

Song Qian Ji was also smiling.

“Noble descendants” like you, when you encounter Wei Zhen Yu who rises later on, will only end up being humiliated by him.

This rule of the world is more iron-clad than the laws of heaven and earth, but unfortunately, you don’t understand.

Chen Hong Zhu warned: “How my Huawei Sect disciples behave is for my sect to discipline, outsiders have no right to interfere!”

Feng Zi Yi smiled: “Of course, I wouldn’t dare overstep my bounds. But we’ve already made a bet, how can we end it halfway?” She pointed to the table full of treasures, “To have everyone take back their items and disperse would be too disappointing.”

Chen Hong Zhu said: “That’s not difficult. My Huawei Sect is hosting, so naturally we should ensure everyone enjoys themselves. We can have another competition. What to compare—you decide!”

The Huawei Sect disciples behind her all responded in agreement.

Although their feelings toward Song and Meng were complex, Huawei Sect had just made a grand showing, intimidating all the other sects, and now their morale was high.

Song Qian Ji comforted Meng He Ze: “See, they were originally having a competition, not intentionally making things difficult for you. Don’t be angry, let’s go back.”

“Wait!” Feng Zi Yi interrupted. “We agreed to compare lightness techniques, so let’s stick with that. This time, compete with me.”

Chen Hong Zhu asked: “You’re personally participating?”

“No, I’ll sit right here, not moving at all.” Feng Zi Yi looked at Song Qian Ji and Meng He Ze: “One of you come forward. If you can get past all my fellow disciples and reach me within three breaths, you can take any of these items here. Life as an outer disciple is not easy, and with so many treasures for protection, future duels would be infinitely easier.”

Meng He Ze looked at the table full of magical treasures, his eyes revealing a hint of eagerness. The red jade prayer beads couldn’t be shown in public yet, and just now, if those people hadn’t relied on their spiritual tools, he would have been able to escape unharmed, never forced onto the pavilion roof to encounter danger.

But since Senior Brother Song hadn’t spoken, he kept his face cold, saying and doing nothing.

Feng Zi Yi laughed again: “What are you afraid of? You dared to fight on the lake just now. This time no one is allowed to use spiritual tools—isn’t that fair to you!”

The crowd was surprised. Feng Zi Yi sat in the pavilion while the two stood at the entrance, the distance no more than twenty paces.

With their lightness techniques being so fast, weren’t the rules too simple, giving them an unfair advantage?

Some wanted to protest but were held back by their companions, who whispered a warning: “This request has a hidden trick, she’s baiting them!”

Song Qian Ji just thought, are you sick? What do I want with a pile of spiritual tools? It’s not like they’re a part of seeds.

Suddenly his gaze focused, and he smiled: “What if I want to take something from your person?”

Feng Zi Yi was momentarily stunned, looked at the radiant purple ribbon in her hand, then slapped it on the table, saying proudly: “If you have the ability, feel free to take it!”

She secretly instructed her companions to form a formation in front of her.

She thought, I’m letting you get past these people, but I didn’t say they couldn’t attack you. As soon as you move, you’ll immediately get a good beating.

Since you’ve agreed on your own, you should accept the consequences. As long as they don’t hit too hard, Chen Hong Zhu and Huawei Sect can’t blame me.

“Good.” Song Qian Ji nodded.

Chen Hong Zhu transmitted: “Be careful of—”

Before the word “trap” could be uttered, Song Qian Ji had already moved.

He stepped forward, initially not very fast.

Almost simultaneously, over ten figures rushed out from the pavilion.

They truly didn’t use spiritual tools, but some had clenched fists, others extended palms, their attacks quick but not disorderly, their formation airtight—the exact method Dayan Sect used to subdue fierce spirit beasts.

“Senior Brother Song!” Meng He Ze cried out in anger and was about to rush forward.

Song Qian Ji looked back at him, his gaze stern, silently stopping him.

Song Qian Ji’s sleeves billowed as he moved through the formation, like passing through flowers and willows.

But fists hit palms, senior brothers crashed into junior brothers. Amid painful cries, people tumbled over each other.

“What sorcery is this person using?”

The Dayan Sect disciples were terrified.

Song Qian Ji continued walking forward.

Not only were his steps steady, but his movements also carried an overwhelmingly powerful aura.

Seeing him approach step by step, the Dayan Sect disciples thought “Not good” and hurriedly retreated, trying to regroup around Feng Zi Yi.

In a flash, Song Qian Ji increased his speed, becoming a blur.

If Meng He Ze’s movement was as fast as a swift wind, his was like a wisp of smoke scattering in the breeze.

Feng Zi Yi only felt a flicker before her eyes, smoke drifting over, and the man was already within arm’s reach.

She was greatly alarmed and instinctively drew her purple ribbon for protection. When she looked up and met his gaze, her mind inexplicably trembled, as if facing a great power like her father or master, her consciousness suppressed, unable to dodge—not daring to dodge.

She could only watch helplessly as he raised his palm high, apparently about to slap her hard across the face.

How dare he?!

The people in the pavilion were too shocked to breathe, and Chen Hong Zhu raised her whip to block but was still a step too late.

Feng Zi Yi was furious and terrified, her vision darkening, the world spinning.

To suffer such humiliation in public today—what use would it be to later chop off his hands or cut him into a thousand pieces?

She closed her eyes, uncontrollably shedding two lines of tears.

Some female cultivators couldn’t bear to watch and also closed their eyes.

Amid gasps, angry shouts, and screams, Song Qian Ji’s hand came down!

It landed very lightly.

Feng Zi Yi opened her eyes, shocked to find herself completely unharmed, and touched her face in confusion.

The man had already stepped back.

If they had any contact at all, it was only his sleeve brushing against her cheek, leaving a faint scent of wisteria.

“What variety is this, and how is it cultivated? The life force is so vibrant, and it blooms so beautifully?”

Song Qian Ji now held a white jade flower between his fingers, examining it carefully in the glow of the treasures on the table.

The flower was pure white and transparent, each petal like snow. Not a spiritual plant, yet it had a certain spiritual quality that made him marvel in admiration.

The crowd came to their senses and immediately surrounded Feng Zi Yi in the center.

They were still in shock, their ears buzzing, unable to hear clearly what the man was saying, only seeing him pinching the flower with a smile.

Tears still unwiped on Feng Zi Yi’s face, she breathed heavily, her cheeks flushed crimson, whether from shame or rage, it was hard to tell.

Her status was noble, and unlike Chen Hong Zhu with her fierce reputation, this was because her family and sect shielded her.

Chen Hong Zhu was independent, while she was always surrounded by attendants, scolding and punishing them for the slightest dissatisfaction.

Even her fellow disciples didn’t dare touch a single finger of hers, yet today, a young outer disciple had plucked the fresh flower from her hair.

“How dare you!” Feng Zi Yi shouted.

“We agreed earlier, this is what I want.” Song Qian Ji smiled.

A commotion erupted.

Was this person crazy?

Could there be someone who would ignore a hall full of treasures and only take a flower?

Chen Hong Zhu said to Song Qian Ji: “Since it was promised to you, it’s naturally yours.”

Fearing Feng Zi Yi might injure someone in her rage, she deliberately praised: “Miss Feng is the legitimate daughter of the Feng family of Lanshan County, the daughter of Dayan Sect’s Grand Elder, and her mother is the esteemed Guardian of the Celestial Sound Gate. Such a person honors her promises and would never go back on her word. You two, take the flower and leave quickly.”

“Wait a moment.” Feng Zi Yi called out, but couldn’t say another word.

***

Yaoguang Lake was like a glazed mirror embedded among the mountains. As dusk fell, the lake’s surface gleamed with golden light, making the surrounding mountains appear even darker.

Halfway up the eastern bank of the lake, a pavilion was lit with lamps.

On the stone table inside the pavilion were nearly a hundred boxes of pigments in various colors. On the brush rack hung over twenty brushes of different sizes and materials.

Someone was painting. Zhao Ji Heng stood while the other person sat.

The painter was in his twenties, wearing a soft white brocade robe, pure and spotless.

He hadn’t tied his hair, and his black hair spread over his white clothes like ink splashed across his back.

Normally, no matter how arrogant Zhao Ji Heng was, upon seeing this person, he would respectfully call him “cousin.”

With the Denwen Elegant Assembly approaching, many young relatives of the Zhao family had moved into the Huawei Sect. Zhao Ji Heng was having a lively time and rarely visited the brothels down the mountain.

Zhao Ji Heng gazed at the lake shore in the distance, vaguely seeing a group of people also holding brushes, writing talismans and characters in the air, seemingly praising and complimenting each other.

Discontented, he said: “If Cousin Bi were to act, he would surely overshadow them all.”

The young painter said: “I have already acted.”

“But, you’re painting people.” Zhao Ji Heng was puzzled. “You’ve almost finished painting all the female cultivators in the water pavilion! They are beautiful, so it’s fine to paint them ordinarily. But the Book Saint is coming soon, at this crucial time…”

What leisure did they have for this? He didn’t finish his sentence, not daring to disrespect Zhao Bi.

But the other’s recent days spent practicing portrait painting, without writing a single talisman, were indeed very strange.

“Why are those people drawing talismans?” Zhao Bi asked.

“Of course, it’s to make an impression on the Book Saint. Whatever we do during the trial period, the Book Saint will surely know.”

“That’s right. From the moment we stepped into Huawei Sect, the test had already begun.” Zhao Bi switched to a finer brush. “What kind of disciple do you think the Book Saint wants?”

Zhao Ji Heng answered without hesitation: “One who reads and knows propriety, is skilled in calligraphy and painting, excels in talismans, just like him.”

Zhao Bi shook his head: “Wait until I finish painting, then I’ll tell you.”

A respectful Confucian scholar, quick-witted and studious, who has read ten thousand books; with excellent calligraphy, where each stroke brings wind and rain; speaking with precision, always quoting the great principles of ancient sages.

Many aristocratic children, once they showed talent in talisman arts, were trained by their families according to these requirements from a young age, hoping to catch the Book Saint’s eye and secure a good opportunity.

Zhao Ji Heng had no patience and waited anxiously.

He no longer paid attention to the activity by the lake, focusing only on Zhao Bi’s painting, occasionally helping with brushes and pigments.

After each painting was completed, he would use spiritual energy to dry the ink, then carefully roll it up.

Zhao Bi looked down on Zhao Ji Heng and originally didn’t want to explain, but seeing his eager attitude and diligent hands, he thought since he had nothing better to do, why not tell him:

“Since arriving at Huawei Sect, those people show off their knowledge and brush skills every day by writing and drawing talismans and reciting poetry and books in public. But what kind of person is the Book Saint? How many such people has the old man seen? If he wanted disciples like that, he would have collected ten large carts full, stretching from Huawei Sect to the World Tree at the edge of the continent… If we want to stand out, we must be different from others.”

“Cousin is right.” Zhao Ji Heng was delighted, but more curious: “But how exactly should we be different?”

Zhao Bi said leisurely: “No one is born a Book Saint. He was once a spirited genius, not a bookworm buried in ancient texts. A master seeks disciples who remind him of his younger self.”

Zhao Ji Heng was startled: “But who knows what the Book Saint was like in his youth?”

At this point, Zhao Bi couldn’t help but feel proud: “This depends on who has greater ability, whose information is more reliable! In his youth, the Book Saint traveled across the four continents, and people called him ‘The Romantic One.’ This was because he once wrote two lines of poetry on a flower boat: ‘Once whipped a famous horse while drunk, fear that excessive passion would let down a beautiful woman.’ You didn’t know that, did you?”

Zhao Ji Heng was shocked and shook his head vigorously.

“His first fame came not from landscapes, but from beauty portraits. With this extraordinary skill, no matter how violent or arrogant a woman was, upon seeing him, she would become gentle and sweet, turning tempered steel into a soft ribbon around his finger. You didn’t know that either, did you?”

Zhao Ji Heng’s head was shaking so hard it might break.

Such wild tales, even if true, would be suppressed by the academy to protect the Book Saint’s reputation as a model teacher, rather than promoted.

“Cousin is amazing!” Looking at him now with his hair down and shoes half-worn, Zhao Ji Heng no longer saw it as deliberate sloppiness or untidiness but rather glimpsed the unrestrained spirit of a romantic scholar.

“Is my painting good?” Zhao Bi asked.

This time Zhao Ji Heng nodded frantically: “Exquisite and lifelike, breathtakingly beautiful! Your painting skills were already impressive, and after practicing portraits these past few days…”

“Alright, put these paintings away.” Zhao Bi smiled, particularly satisfied as he put down his brush. “The final touch, the stroke of genius.”

In the painting, the beauty in purple robes had a spark of light in her bright eyes, extraordinarily lovely.

He set down his brush and stood up. Zhao Ji Heng quickly approached, using spiritual energy to dry the paint on the paper, then massaging his wrist: “Cousin, you’ve worked hard.”

Zhao Bi looked at the darkening mountain scenery and smiled: “‘The moon rises over the willow tops, people meet after dusk.’ A beauty portrait as a gift for a beauty—it’s time for us to make our entrance.”

The two descended the mountain, passing through thousands of weeping willows by the lakeside.

For some reason, every one by the lake was looking toward the water pavilion.

The sky had darkened, and only the water pavilion was brightly lit. In the evening breeze filled with lotus fragrance, it stood like a bright pearl, radiant and dazzling.

Zhao Bi walked in with a dignified air, Zhao Ji Heng following behind him, dumbly clutching an armful of painting scrolls.

Zhao Bi walked with his chest out, feeling debonair and suave, twirling the folding fan in his hand before opening it with a “swoosh,” and smiling:

“Fairy maidens, pardon the intrusion.”

There was no response.

Feng Zi Yi was absent-minded, staring in one direction.

Chen Hong Zhu looked worried, also staring in that direction.

The pavilion was silent, with not a single person turning to look at him.

Everyone was looking at another person.

Although that person had already turned around, preparing to leave.

Zhao Ji Heng recognized the figure and exclaimed: “What are you doing here? Song Qian Ji!”

With this name uttered, everyone was stunned.

So he was Song Qian Ji?