Compared to the towering Huawei Mountain that reached into the clouds, the down-to-earth Thousand Channels was naturally warmer.

Song Qian Ji stepped onto the familiar soil and took a deep breath.

The wind carried familiar scents—earth, trees, fields, flowing water… the breath of early spring spreading throughout Thousand Channels.

Ice in the river had just begun to thaw, tender buds sprouted on branches, and swallows carried mud to build nests under the eaves.

Song Manor had been well-maintained. Birds still recognized Song Qian Ji, chirping around him in a chorus.

The orange stray cat at the steps condescended to stroll over, gracefully rubbing against his ankles.

Crystalline jade plum at the corner of the wall, red-leaved camellia with fragrant petals, emerald radish greens, and coriander seedlings in the ground—all danced together.

Standing in the courtyard, Song Qian Ji felt welcomed by the entire world.

This was his land; he was the master here.

Meng He Ze looked around.

Just now, Thousand Channels disciples had all come out to welcome the treasure ship. The streets of Tiancheng were crowded with people wanting to see the Immortal Official, but Wei Ping alone was nowhere to be seen.

He disliked Wei Ping, but now felt somewhat unaccustomed to his absence: “I’ll go find Manager Wei.”

“Let him be busy; he’ll naturally return at mealtime. By the way, go get some soy sauce,” Song Qian Ji said. “We’ll have noodles tonight. I’ll make them.”

He added happily.

Senior Brother Song wants to cook.

Meng He Ze and Ji Chen, who were preparing to go out for soy sauce, suddenly turned pale, exchanged glances, and tacitly rushed out the door—

If someone must eat noodles tonight, that person definitely won’t be me!

Catch Wei Ping!

Song Qian Ji didn’t know that his joy in cooking noodles was built upon others’ suffering.

He changed into work clothes, rolled up his sleeves, grabbed a spade, and bent down to softly greet the plants:

“Are you all doing well? Have you been growing properly?” “This leaf is withered and yellow; I’ll pluck it first.” “You look like you need more fertilizer.”

Song Qian Ji attentively tended the field, enthusiastically indulging himself, not wanting to think about other matters.

Until, while cutting withered lotus leaves, he saw his face reflected in the water barrel.

The red mark on his brow bone was faint like someone had scratched the skin with a fingernail.

“What nonsense,” Song Qian Ji touched his brow bone and cursed softly. “Why not find Wei Zhen Yu instead of bothering me?”

Xian Jianchen had sliced off Huawei Mountain’s peak with one sword, forcing Huawei Mountain to close its gates for repairs.

Song Qian Ji wasn’t narcissistic enough to believe the other did it to avenge his so-called disciple; something he didn’t know about must have happened, causing Xian Jianchen to appear ahead of schedule.

The other had passed by Huawei City, merely glancing at him in passing, leaving behind one sword strike.

He Qingqing didn’t exist in his previous life; in this life, she was the first to discover that the sap from the World Tree’s root system could enhance cultivators’ cultivation.

Countless butterflies flapped their wings, and the iceberg hidden beneath the water gradually revealed itself.

Perhaps the world’s fate was changing more rapidly too. Would the end days come earlier?

Song Qian Ji cut off a withered lotus leaf with one snip:

“The end times will always have a protagonist to save everything. I only need to take care of my Thousand Channels County. Who can do anything to me?”

The golden-red setting sun hung on the treetops. Song Qian Ji pulled fresh young coriander from the ground and went into the kitchen to wash the vegetables.

He planned to make coriander noodles tonight for everyone to enjoy together.

The medicinal pot used to brew medicine for Lin Feiyuan was still there. Seeing it, Song Qian Ji recalled the nonsense Lin Feiyuan had said before leaving.

He thought about throwing it away, then reconsidered—someday someone might return to Song Manor injured and need it.

…

The sun slowly set, twilight deepening.

Mist gradually rose in Poison Miasma Forest, obscuring the sunset.

A patch of smoky red miasma drifted among the dense forest that blocked the sky.

Leaves collided with soft pattering sounds, occasionally accompanied by beast roars that chilled one’s heart even more.

After nightfall, as the miasma rose with the wind, it was the best hunting time for fierce beasts. This forest had toxic miasma as a natural barrier; one couldn’t see five fingers stretched out five steps away—suitable for secret meetings, and even more suitable for killing and disposing of bodies.

“Uncle,” Wei Ping leaned against a tree trunk, holding his sword with eyes closed, seemingly gathering his spirit.

Around him was only thick miasma without a single human figure, yet a voice came through: “Zhen Yu, you are a dragon soaring through the ninth heaven—why are you willing to stay in a small mortal county, being Song Qian Ji’s servant dog!”

Wei Zhen Yu thought, here we go again—why does everyone like to call me a dog?

“Compared to great clans and major sects, Thousand Channels indeed has nothing. But it has hope and a future. This is my new heaven…” the young man said nonchalantly. “Being a dog here is still better than being a human back there.”

That voice gave a cold laugh, extremely disdainful:

“Don’t think that just because Song Qian Ji and Thousand Channels have ‘that person’ backing them, no one dares to move against them, making them as impregnable as gold.

Let me tell you a secret: that person’s life-bound sword is no longer by his side. His sword energy will only grow weaker with each passing day. When he is no longer the world’s number one, the entire world will be his enemy. Can he protect his disciple forever?”

The dust cloud over Huawei Mountain in the Tianxi Region was so vast that one could faintly see it standing atop the highest mountain in the Tiannan Region.

Xian Jianchen’s sword energy had shaken heaven and earth, terrifying countless cultivators.

People naturally included Thousand Channels County within Xian Jianchen’s sphere of protection.

Wei Ping thought, but how would the Wei family know such a secret as the Sword God’s life-bound sword being absent? Who told them?

“Others’ life or death has nothing to do with me. Thousand Channels rise through the hearts of tens of thousands of people, not through a single invincible sword in the world.”

That voice trembled with anger: “Did Song Qian Ji teach you these words? He’s most skilled at bewitching people’s hearts—don’t be deceived by him!”

Wei Ping said: “He’s never taught me anything. This is the third path I’ve been searching for all along.”

This was true. Since coming to Thousand Channels, Song Qian Ji had only spoken to him about crops in the fields, and tomorrow’s weather, and arranged every specific task—never making declarations about ideals or philosophies.

The only moment that came closest to imparting the Dao was when Song Qian Ji resolved his misunderstanding about the “Song Character Canal”:

“If Thousand Channels had nothing, and my name stood lonely in heaven and earth, what would be the point?”

That voice continued persuading earnestly: “Since ancient times, there’s only been one path to immortality. What third path is there? The family has paved the way for you, ensuring you have everything, smooth sailing all the way…”

Wei Ping said: “If I follow the paved road and do my best, what then? I’d be nothing more than a second Midnight Manjusri. Midnight Manjusri’s rituals and rules can only govern Qingya. If you like them so much, why not invite him back instead?”

Another voice, sterner: “Wei Zhen Yu, the clan has indulged your concealed identity, allowing you to travel outside—a measure to cherish talent, not for you to forget your ancestors and betray your teachers!”

Wei Ping still kept his eyes closed: “Ha, Uncle has come too. Next time, will the old patriarch personally come to summon me?”

That voice grew angrier: “Let bygones be bygones, but now with the Huawei Sect incident, there’s no room for your willfulness! If you had agreed to the marriage alliance, things wouldn’t have come to this pass. This whole affair started because of you!”

On Fleeting Water Bridge, the Wei family completely fell out with Song Qian Ji and Huawei Sect.

Even if Song Qian Ji were willing to stand at the door of the Qiankun Hall and shout that he held no grudges and sought no revenge, no one would believe him.

The Wei family’s persuasion of Wei Zhen Yu this time came with two contingency plans.

If Wei Ping could be convinced, naturally they would bring him back to the clan, spare no resources, and carefully nurture him as the young master.

If Wei Ping would not yield to either soft or hard approaches, stubbornly determined to remain loyal to Song Qian Ji, he would naturally be useless to the family. The more extraordinary his talent, the more harmful he would be.

Better to knock him unconscious and implant a “mind-control worm.” Normally it would show no signs, but at a certain moment, it could control his mind.

A deeply buried poisonous thorn—if activated properly, it could not only take Song Qian Ji’s life but also throw Thousand Channels into chaos, allowing the family to take advantage of the disorder.

These two voices came from different positions, front and back. More footsteps approached, converging from all directions.

Wei Ping’s ears twitched slightly. Ten Golden Core realm cultivators, six Nascent Soul. Troublesome.

He looked around at the vast red miasma. The negotiations had reached a deadlock.

“I originally wanted to talk properly. I tried my best. Since that’s the case…” Wei Ping suddenly opened his eyes, a sharp light bursting forth.

He said softly: “Then nobody gets dinner tonight.”

The young man slapped the tree trunk hard. The large tree shook, dropping cold liquid similar to raindrops.

Simultaneously, he thrust his sword into the thick fallen leaves and humus on the ground.

The accumulated leaves flew up, and a buzzing sound erupted, like tens of thousands of cicadas flapping their wings at once.

Like an earthworm turning, the ground collapsed rapidly. The “raindrops” from above generated smoke upon contact, making a sizzling sound as they corroded skin.

Cries of alarm came from all directions; chaos ensued.

“This is a trap I designed and improved for the hunting team, with Ji Chen’s triple formation array, especially for hunting sixth-rank fierce beasts. Carefully arranged, solidly constructed—never tested before.” A golden barrier rose instantly around Wei Ping, tightly enclosing him.

True Person Wei burst out from the red mist, thrusting his sword toward Wei Ping: “You led us into a trap from the beginning? I am your blood relative—how dare you be so unfilial! I’ve always treated you like my own son!”

A more vicious sword light simultaneously attacked his back.

Wei Ping swept his long sword, smiling: “Uncle, Uncle since I’ve become a dog, how could I have human relatives?”

…

When Wei Ping walked out of Poison Miasma Forest, he looked up to see the sky darkening, swallows flying low.

Strong winds howled, but the air pressure was low, seemingly about to rain.

Lights flickered in Song Manor, paper lanterns emanating a faint warmth.

“I was busy today and couldn’t welcome Senior Brother. Was your journey smooth?” Wei Ping pushed open the door, his face wearing a gentle smile.

He had already taken pills to forcibly stop bleeding, retied his hair bun, and changed into clean clothes.

Only Song Qian Ji was in the courtyard. Meng He Ze and Ji Chen were absent. Today, upon their return to Thousand Channels, they should have all gathered together.

This made Wei Ping’s heart skip a beat.

Song Qian Ji leaned against the cushion of the rocking chair, looking at Wei Ping with slightly furrowed brows: “Your shoes are dirty.”

Wei Ping looked down: “Ah, today I watched someone slaughter a chicken at Thousand Channels Market and accidentally got splashed with a bit of blood.”

Even when killing a chicken in Song Manor, he didn’t want Song Qian Ji to see blood on him.

Once outside Song Manor, he killed people as if killing chickens.

Song Qian Ji thought, in my previous life I killed countless people—do you think I can’t distinguish human blood from chicken blood?

But seeing Wei Ping’s rosy complexion, not appearing wounded, he didn’t inquire further.

Wei Ping lowered his head and walked toward the kitchen: “Senior Brother hasn’t eaten yet, right? I’ll bring the grill, and we’ll have roast meat. With Thousand Channels Sixteen Spices, how about that?”

Song Qian Ji raised his hand, pointing to the stone table: “Eat.”

A bowl of noodles sat on the table, steaming with white vapor.

In the candlelight, an oily sheen floated on the noodle soup.

Wei Ping paused, then strode toward the stone table.

“Alright, I’ll eat!” His tone was resigned to fate as he sat in a position with his back to the recliner, picking up the chopsticks.

He felt Song Qian Ji’s gaze fixed on his back, carrying a scrutinizing meaning.

Song Qian Ji had never looked at him this way before.

Did Song Qian Ji know? How much did he know?

Had someone come to sow discord? What did they say? How much did Song Qian Ji believe?

Wei Ping was momentarily anxious.

Song Qian Ji watched and thought that there was still some medicine left at home, and the soup pot used to brew medicine for Lin Feiyuan was also there, but he didn’t know if Wei Ping was injured.

Young people were thin-skinned; if they got hurt fighting outside, they’d always be afraid of losing face and wouldn’t speak up on their own.

The soup still retained some warmth, but the noodles had already cooled.

The noodles had congealed into a sticky mass; Wei Ping poked them with his chopsticks but couldn’t separate them.

“Not tasty?” Song Qian Ji’s voice sounded from behind.

The night wind howled, flowers and leaves flying throughout the courtyard.

The voice, carried by the wind, seemed to hold a cold intent.