“Wait until you’ve healed,” Zi Ye Wen Shu said.

Song Qian Ji waved his arm to show it wasn’t a problem: “Just flesh wounds.”

Earlier when he had touched the Endless Fire, the Undying Spring had thrown a tantrum, and now it was reluctantly refusing to heal him.

He’d keep some wounds, to appease the Undying Spring when it saw them.

Where there is life, there is death. Where there is water that nurtures all things, there is a fire that burns heaven and earth.

He had just entered a sea of fire and now emerged from an ice cave. Meanwhile, Wei Zhen Yu’s age, experience, and cultivation were not yet equal to his previous life, yet he had obtained the Endless Fire ahead of schedule. It seemed he would have more suffering to endure.

Zi Ye Wen Shu stopped trying to persuade him and tossed something over: “Take this.”

The pitch-black snowblade flew through the air, carrying a biting chill as it landed in Song Qian Ji’s arms.

Song Qian Ji was slightly surprised. He tossed it up and caught it—quite heavy.

He figured that since the other saw he had no magical weapon, was injured, and looked disheveled, Zi Ye Wen Shu must have thought his situation was dire and was worried he couldn’t defeat the spirit beast guarding the ice leaf grass, so he lent him the blade for protection.

Song Qian Ji was about to say it wasn’t necessary—why use a butcher’s knife to kill a chicken?—but then he remembered the complex factions within the cave and Zi Ye Wen Shu’s circumstances. He smiled and said: “You lend out your life-bound blade so easily, yet you can’t bring yourself to say a kind word. Don’t you want to say something like ‘thank you’?”

Zi Ye Wen Shu uttered two words: “Many thanks.”

Song Qian Ji: “…You’re welcome.”

Zi Ye Wen Shu watched Song Qian Ji leave the ice chamber, then closed his eyes to meditate, his brow slightly furrowed.

He had felt a sense of familiarity from the first words this person spoke.

Song Qian Ji had always been unpredictable in his words and actions.

In his letters, he would complain about iron-eating beasts destroying vegetable plots, knocking over flower stands, and breaking tree branches, saying “I must have the worst luck for eight lifetimes to raise these two ancestors.”

When sending new bamboo shoots, he would add a note saying “Being able to eat these is truly a blessing that couldn’t be cultivated in three lifetimes.”

Now Song Qian Ji had concealed his identity to enter the secret realm, and his first words upon meeting were to mock him for “keeping true to his original heart across two lifetimes” and saying “You’ve done this to yourself again.”

It was as if he had personally witnessed him being injured before as if they had known each other previously.

Years ago at Hua Wei Sect’s back mountain, Song Qian Ji had approached him to talk in the same way.

In all the years Zi Ye Wen Shu had lived, only Song Qian Ji would say such inexplicable things and do such extremely baffling deeds.

The etiquette and rules of the cultivation world were things he either couldn’t see or didn’t care about.

He didn’t need to struggle to “break out” of any framework, because he had always been leaping about freely in the world.

These past three years, the cultivation world had undergone tremendous changes, with major sects and noble families facing unprecedented challenges.

Blue Cliff was an academy, a place of learning far from the conflicts. Unlike Prince Wei and the Zhao family, they weren’t fighting life-and-death battles over territory.

But with new ideological trends frequently arising in the cultivation world and debate societies arguing heatedly over various topics, the academy had become the center of these ideological storms—a battlefield without swords or blades.

Sometimes Zi Ye Wen Shu felt as if he were separated from the world by a glass dome, with people outside fighting daily for reasons he couldn’t understand.

After the Academy Chancellor learned about his correspondence with Song Qian Ji, he hinted that Zi Ye Wen Shu should ask about Song Qian Ji’s plans—whether he intended to formally declare war on Hua Wei Sect to contest the Western Heavens Prefecture, or if he had any interest in allying with the academy.

Zi Ye Wen Shu never asked.

What plans could Song Qian Ji possibly have?

Everyone in the cultivation world knew that times were chaotic, yet Song Qian Ji, who people said would eventually become king, was still tilling the fields of Thousand Channels, earnestly writing in every letter about flowers blooming and withering, seed selection, farming tool improvements, and insights on raising iron-eating beasts.

Zi Ye Wen Shu just hadn’t expected this day to come so soon.

Song Qian Ji leaving his fields behind, setting down farming tools to take up magical weapons, infiltrating the secret realm to kill someone.

Would Thousand Channels still grow new bamboo in the future?

…

The cultivators who had led the way earlier remained in place, watching. Seeing Song Qian Ji emerge unharmed and even carrying the snowblade, they were quite surprised.

“So you are Academy Supervisor Zi Ye’s—” the lead scholar looked at the blade, then at the person, reluctantly uttering those two words, “friend?”

Song Qian Ji walked forward: “Old friend.”

The group followed behind, both shocked and pleased. They were shocked that Zi Ye Wen Shu had a friend, and pleased that since this person was Zi Ye Wen Shu’s friend, he must have some real skills and could help them escape their predicament.

“You can’t judge a book by its cover! Earlier I failed to recognize the spring mountain painting. I have offended you greatly; please don’t hold it against me!”

“May I ask how Daoist Friend is called? Under which master’s have you studied? What magic do you practice?”

Song Qian Ji: “Song Xun, a wandering cultivator, studied various arts and techniques.”

Never heard of him. The cultivators fell silent again.

This person had “ordinary” written all over him from head to toe—what was there to praise?

“Good name! ‘Sought him through hundreds and thousands of degrees,’ and now Daoist Friend Song has found us!” A familiar voice rang out from the crowd.

Song Qian Ji turned to look and saw Qing Zhai and Zi Mo emerging from a side passage.

“The echoes are heavy in this place. Earlier we heard that a friend of the Academy Supervisor had arrived.” Zi Mo cupped his hands toward Song Qian Ji. “Let me first introduce myself…”

The awkward atmosphere dissolved as the scholars silently expressed their admiration to the two with their eyes: “You’re finally back, Senior Brothers!”

“Why are only you two Senior Brothers back? Couldn’t you bring others?” the lead scholar looked behind them.

Zi Mo’s smug expression instantly vanished as he said helplessly: “Don’t mention it. Some were unwilling to come, and others said to let the Academy Supervisor come over himself.”

Someone angrily said: “We told them that the Academy Supervisor’s condition has worsened and that we need everyone’s joint effort to break through together. Why don’t they believe us?”

“It’s not that they don’t believe, it’s that they don’t want to believe, don’t dare to believe,” Qing Zhai sighed. “Even now, everyone is still making their calculations.”

Gloom and despondency. Anxiety and worry.

“I’ll go report to Senior Brother first.” Zi Mo was about to head to the ice chamber, but a black blade blocked his path.

Zi Ye Wen Shu’s Snow Blade.

Song Qian Ji: “I’m holding this blade, which means your Senior Brother needs to rest. From now on, I’m in charge here.”

“Don’t believe me? Go ask your Senior Brother.” Song Qian Ji spoke as he walked.

Zi Mo hurriedly said: “Senior Brother never parts with his blade. We naturally believe in our Daoist Friend Song Xun. Who would want to disturb Senior Brother’s rest unless necessary? However, Daoist Friends may not know that the current situation here is complex, with troubles both inside and out. Yesterday we nearly came to blows…”

Song Qian Ji nodded to indicate he was listening.

“The noble family disciples from Yan Shui County and Fu Yang County number more than forty. Their families have been related by marriage for generations and are branches of the same tree. They can be considered one team now. Their team has six Nascent Soul stage guardians, and the rest are all young masters and ladies from wealthy families, pampered and unwilling to step out of the cave.”

“Three teams of wandering cultivators, all from the Western Heavens Prefecture, knew each other before and formed a temporary alliance of thirty people. Now they’ve gathered in one place, determined to seize magical tools and pills from other teams to break out. They act without rules or reason—it’s impossible to communicate with them!”

Song Qian Ji continued walking forward, his expression unchanged.

He thought to himself if you try to communicate with them using scholars’ methods, which rough wandering cultivator would be willing to listen?

“Then there are the female cultivators from the Flower Stream Sect. Although few in number and not high in cultivation, their methods cannot be underestimated. We still need to be on guard. Daoist Friend may not know that the Flower Stream Sect was originally… was that, that Harmonious Union Sect.”

The scholars’ expressions turned strange. Some of the younger ones blushed, while the older ones deliberately laughed to tease them.

Song Qian Ji just nodded: “I know.”

As if hearing about the Harmonious Union Sect was no different from hearing about the Hua Wei Sect.

Zi Mo suddenly found it uninteresting and gestured for Qing Zhai to continue.

“Additionally, there are more than thirty people from the Celestial Sound Gate. They don’t get along with the Flower Stream Sect, calling them ‘demon women’ when they meet while being called ‘fake immortals’ in return. The Celestial Sound Gate is a major sect. Originally, they had hundreds of disciples entering the secret realm together in an impressive procession, but Immortal Lady Miao Yan’s team got separated from the others. Just like our Blue Cliff team, they lost contact with their fellow students…”

“Who did you say?” Song Qian Ji stopped.

“I said Celestial Sound Gate, Immortal Lady Miao Yan.”

The scholars snickered, nudging and winking at each other.

No matter how calm and composed you are, you’ll still change your expression upon hearing “Immortal Lady Miao Yan.”

“How could it be,” Song Qian Ji murmured as he continued walking forward.

“Indeed, times have changed. In the past, for ordinary cultivators to see the ‘First Beauty’ even once was as difficult as ascending to heaven! Has a Daoist Friend seen her before? Would you like to meet her? Shall I introduce you?”

Miao Yan and the secret realm were two concepts that simply didn’t match.

When cultivators thought of Miao Yan, they imagined jade zithers and fresh flowers, banquets with singing and dancing, brilliant clouds, and magnificent ebony carriages—all the glory and splendor of the upper cultivation world.

When they thought of secret realms, they only imagined struggle, blood, and slaughter.

Miao Yan never participated in secret realm trials, nor did she need to.

Why had she come? Song Qian Ji thought that the Celestial Sound Gate must have undergone some change.

As they spoke, the ice cave grew narrower. Below, the ice pit was like a deep well, so dark its bottom couldn’t be seen.

The scholars’ teeth chattered from the cold, their faces turning blue.

Zi Mo couldn’t help but stop: “Where is the Daoist Friend going? The deeper we go, the colder it gets, and the slower spiritual energy circulates. If we go any further, I’m afraid we’ll freeze to death.”

“Indeed, and we don’t know what’s down there that’s so terrifying even those things outside dare not enter.”

Song Qian Ji: “I’m going down to gather something. You don’t need to follow.”

“Hey, wait—” Qing Zhai reached out.

Song Qian Ji leaped, plunging into the ice well.

Qing Zhai was on the verge of tears:

“I wanted to ask if he couldn’t return, could he leave Senior Brother’s blade? It’s his life-bound magical weapon!”

“Bah, bah, you ill-omened crow!” Zi Mo said worriedly, “Where did this person come from, and why does Senior Brother trust him so much?”