“I, Liu Hong Feng, have presided over the Disciplinary Hall for sixty years. The case files fill ten storage bags. I have heard all the world’s excuses, pleas, and confessions, but never such a request.”
Song Qian Ji continued: “Then it would be a pity if you didn’t hear this one.”
“Tell me, how do you propose to see the Sect Leader?”
The Disciplinary Hall disciples finally finished laughing and struggled to regain their serious expressions.
Working overtime at night, who wouldn’t harbor some complaints? Unexpectedly encountering such entertainment, they all watched Song Qian Ji with bright eyes.
“This disciple will write one sentence. Once the Sect Leader sees it, he will meet with me.”
“So simple?”
“Yes,” Song Qian Ji nodded.
Liu Hong Feng sneered: “If it were truly that simple, you wouldn’t need to see the Sect Leader at all—cutting your throat to meet the Dao Ancestor would be faster. Are you perhaps making fun of us?”
He thought to himself that the Sect Leader had been cultivating his mind and nurturing his nature in recent years and hadn’t left the Qian Kun Hall for three years. Even when various peaks and halls had matters to report, they rarely saw the Sect Leader’s true face, mostly relying on white cranes, young servants, and sound transmission talismans to communicate.
This wasn’t a secret; only outer sect disciples like Song Qian Ji wouldn’t know.
“Whether true or false, what’s the harm in trying?”
“Song Qian Ji!” Zhao Yu Ping suddenly shouted, feigning a pained and anxious demeanor. “This is the Disciplinary Hall, and we are in the middle of a public hearing. Joking during a hall trial adds another level to your offense. Even I cannot save you! Are you aware of this?”
“This disciple is aware!”
“If the Sect Leader does not see you, you will receive three hundred lashes, then have your cultivation base destroyed, and be expelled from the mountain. Do you understand?”
“This disciple understands!”
Zhao Yu Ping nodded with satisfaction.
The Disciplinary Hall disciples couldn’t help but whisper among themselves:
“He’s risking so much to save someone—is the one kneeling his brother?”
“Don’t guess wildly. One is surnamed Song, the other Meng. At most, they’re cousins.”
“If I had such an unfortunate cousin, offering incense would be fulfilling my brotherly duty.”
“As you wish,” Liu Hong Feng waved his hand. “Give him paper and brush.”
The disciple beside him hurriedly complied.
“No need to trouble yourself,” Song Qian Ji walked toward a small square table in the shadowy corner and smiled at the disciple responsible for recording the proceedings: “May I borrow some space?”
That disciple had been secretly dozing off and raised his head at the sound, suddenly seeing the entire hall’s eyes intensely focused on him, startling him into dropping his brush.
The brush was caught by Song Qian Ji in mid-air, who dipped it in rich ink.
He tore half a sheet of white paper from the table and wrote swiftly.
Some thought he was writing a petition to the Sect Leader, begging for mercy and pleading innocence, seeking a chance at survival.
But he truly wrote just one sentence.
Song Qian Ji put down the brush.
He folded the paper into a triangle, like a small rice dumpling, hiding the written part inside.
“Which senior brother is willing to make the effort?” he asked loudly.
Liu Hong Feng had casually pointed to one disciple, but after some thought, he added another to go along.
The two Disciplinary Hall disciples maintained outward calm as they took the paper and turned to leave, but their eyes were unusually bright with curiosity.
Song Qian Ji: “Don’t open it on the way. It’s for your good.”
One disciple looked back, his face flushing: “Who wants to peek?!”
“The messengers have departed, but we who remain here cannot simply wait endlessly. There should be a time limit.” Zhao Yu Ping turned to Liu Hong Feng. “Since the matter originated in the Outer Sect, Elder Liu need not worry that I will show favoritism. How about one incense stick’s time?”
Liu Hong Feng frowned. Zhao Yu Ping had suddenly become so upright and impartial that it made him uncomfortable.
Was one incense stick too short?
Going to the main peak after nightfall, one would inevitably encounter several patrols of Law Enforcement Hall disciples, requiring stops for questioning and verification. Then at the entrance of Qian Kun Hall, more waiting for the Sect Leader’s attendant to enter and report. After the Sect Leader saw the note, he would still need time to consider it.
But Song Qian Ji said: “Not necessary. Half an incense stick is sufficient.”
Everyone wore expressions as if they’d seen a ghost.
Liu Hong Feng reassessed Song Qian Ji.
The Disciplinary Hall was solemn, dignified, and chillingly intimidating, usually making newcomers anxious and uneasy. But since entering, he hadn’t changed his posture once or spoken a single unnecessary word.
Too calm, as if he was certain nothing would happen to him. What could a young Outer Sect disciple be relying on?
“Someone, light the incense.”
A stick cut in half, a white porcelain lotus-shaped incense holder.
The delicate fragrance rose with the blue smoke, permeating the entire Disciplinary Hall, mixing with the smell of Meng He Ze’s blood, refreshing everyone’s minds on this cool night.
“Senior Brother Song…” Meng He Ze’s lips trembled, producing a weak whisper.
Song Qian Ji walked toward him and bent down: “Hold on a little longer. You’ll be able to go back soon.”
“After I’m gone, my belongings, I entrust to you. This prayer bead bracelet…”
Song Qian Ji glanced at the surrounding Disciplinary Hall disciples and interrupted him: “You’ll be fine. Don’t talk nonsense.”
Meng He Ze: “I should have listened to you. I shouldn’t have acted on impulse. You must be very angry.”
“It’s nothing. I’m not angry.”
Song Qian Ji thought to himself, I should thank you for allowing me to leave the mountain.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Everyone fixated on the burning incense, only Song Qian Ji seemed unconcerned with time, occasionally exchanging low words with Meng He Ze.
Blue smoke wavered, the atmosphere tense and eerie. They looked like brothers awaiting the final judgment.
The incense tip flickered twice and finally extinguished.
Zhao Yu Ping let out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief.
Liu Hong Feng, however, seemed somewhat disappointed: “Do you have anything else to say?”
Song Qian Ji straightened up: “This disciple has nothing more to say.”
Two Disciplinary Hall disciples stepped forward, tacitly twisting his arms.
“Release Senior Brother Song!” Meng He Ze erupted with a roar like a dying beast. “Let him go—”
Who could have imagined that a person who had lost almost all his blood could still surge with such ferocity?
The guard disciples stumbled back two steps but quickly swarmed forward to hold him down.
Meng He Ze struggled violently, his eyes taking on a strange crimson hue.
Song Qian Ji inwardly thought: This is bad. “Calm down!”
If the red jade prayer beads activated now to protect their master, with all eyes in the Disciplinary Hall watching, Meng He Ze truly wouldn’t survive.
You’ve been pinned down all night without breaking down, what are you doing now?
With a loud bang, the main door was thrust open. A fierce wind rushed in, accompanied by the messenger disciple’s loud announcement:
“The Sect Leader summons Song Qian Ji! Depart immediately!”
The entire hall was stunned!
****
Hua Wei Sect had many peaks, but only six were renowned.
Just as there were five Peak Masters, there was only one Sect Leader.
The main peak where the Sect Leader resided rose from the earth, standing in solitary grandeur amidst a sea of clouds, unconnected to the surrounding peaks.
If one was not permitted to fly by sword or ride a flying magical device, there was only one path to the main peak.
Song Qian Ji was now walking on this path.
He followed the two messenger disciples, stepping onto a white jade arched bridge over a hundred meters long, spanning the sea of clouds.
This bridge was called the “Bridge of Flowing Waters.”
Below the bridge, clouds flowed like water, surging endlessly.
At such a high altitude, it should have been bone-chillingly cold, with howling winds threatening to blow people off the bridge.
But due to the protection of formation arrays, the temperature was pleasant, with a refined beauty of gentle breezes, clear moonlight, and sparse flowers.
With no one around and only stars and moon for illumination, the two disciples dropped their formal airs and couldn’t resist making conversation with Song Qian Ji:
“It’s your first time in the Inner Sect, and you can go directly to the main peak. How fortunate.”
“With the main peak at the center, within a radius of ten miles lies our Hua Wei Sect’s Cloud Sea Formation! It absorbs spiritual energy, provides daily defense, and repels external enemies—three functions in one, famously powerful.”
Song Qian Ji responded with a few sounds, and the two spoke with even more enthusiasm, like two chatty tour guides.
They avoided mentioning the contents of the note—not because they weren’t curious, but for fear of infringing upon the Sect Leader’s secrets.
When the note was delivered, the young attendant outside the hall went in to report. Shortly after, the attendant hurriedly came out, expressionless:
“The Sect Leader asks, have you read it?”
The two immediately swore an oath on their Dao’s hearts that they had not.
Until they dazedly walked out of the main peak, recalling the terrifying pressure emanating from within the hall, they were covered in cold sweat, as if they had died once.
Only then did they understand that when Song Qian Ji said, “Don’t open it on the way. It’s for your good,” he truly meant it for their benefit.
The taller disciple said: “The departed flow like this, unceasing day and night. Time flows like water, never to return. The name ‘Bridge of Flowing Waters’ reminds us to cherish every day, to cultivate diligently.”
The shorter disciple disagreed: “Common, that’s too mundane.” He turned to Song Qian Ji but saw that his expression remained calm. “Is this your first time seeing all this? Don’t you find it marvelous? Don’t you want to shout out loud? Aren’t you excited?”
Song Qian Ji could only nod: “I am excited.”
“I can’t tell.”
“…”
In his previous life, Song Qian Ji had been here but hadn’t crossed this bridge.
The rules and etiquette of Hua Wei Sect, and indeed most of the world, had not been designed for him.
By then, his name had already shaken the four seas. Invited by Sect Leader Immortal Xu Yun to discuss the Dao, a grand welcoming ceremony had been held here, with bells and drums resounding for half a day. Sect Leader Xu Yun had led all the Peak Masters to personally wait outside Qian Kun Hall.
Yet Song Qian Ji had not only arrived late but had come riding on clouds, disrupting the entire Cloud Formation’s energy flow, frightening the five-colored carp into flipping over. They hadn’t dared to complain even half a sentence.
If the Cloud Sea was rich in spiritual energy, it could nurture five-colored carp.
These small fish, formed from spiritual energy, swimming among the clouds, had the most beautiful scales.
In the sunlight, they reflected five-colored rays, leaping out of the cloud sea like rainbows; under the moonlight, they turned colorless, as exquisite and transparent as crystal.
The first time Song Qian Ji saw this, he didn’t understand why such naturally wondrous spiritual creatures, instead of dining on wind and drinking dew, had to be fed with fresh flesh and blood.
Later he understood that all beauty that stands high above is built upon the accumulation of countless white bones beneath.
Just like the cloud palaces at the summit of Hua Wei Sect—those who built each brick and stone had long turned to dust, while those who enjoyed this place would last for millennia.
“Are you excited? I feel like you, you don’t really…”
The voice abruptly stopped.
The two disciples froze in place, as if struck by an immobilization talisman, mouths agape, staring in the same direction.
Song Qian Ji followed their gaze and saw a figure approaching from the other end of the bridge.
It was a woman.
Walking on the same Bridge of Flowing Waters, in the dead of night, meeting face to face, one would naturally see the other.
But even in a sea of people, no one would miss her.
The moonlight’s silver radiance poured down, making her skin appear almost transparent. Her face was like an intricately carved ice crystal flower, flawless.
As she walked, her lake-blue skirt swayed gently, and the silk draped over her arms flew, as if about to ride the wind away.
Below the bridge, the five-colored carp flicked their tails and sank deep into the cloud layer, embarrassed to be seen by her.
Yet Song Qian Ji merely frowned upon seeing her.
Why was Miao Yan here?
At the moment Song Qian Ji saw Miao Yan, she also saw him.
Her first reaction was annoyance. If those two dull-witted Hua Wei Sect disciples suddenly shouted or became so excited they fell off the bridge, she couldn’t simply save them.
If she intervened to save them, it might cause even more trouble.
Then she noticed Song Qian Ji behind the two.
He wore an old outer robe, clearly not belonging here, yet his demeanor was composed.
His gaze was calm, without a trace of amazement or infatuation. His first reaction was actually to frown.
Though slight, Miao Yan was adept at capturing subtle facial expressions—not an innate intuition, but a skill honed over time.
His expression was as if… he had seen an object that shouldn’t be there.
Miao Yan had long known that not everyone enjoyed looking at her.
Like those Daoist priests from Purple Cloud Temple or Buddhist monks from Red Leaf Monastery—even when sharing a room with her, they would adopt an attitude of “seeing without seeing, hearing without hearing.”
As if only this way could they demonstrate the stability of their Dao hearts or the transcendence of their Buddha nature, untroubled by a beautiful exterior.
But that person was neither a Daoist priest nor a monk, nor did he possess profound cultivation.
At fourteen or fifteen years old, he should be at the most restless and least stable time of youth.
An Outer Sect disciple of humble status—why would he frown upon seeing her, and what right did he have to frown?
This puzzlement created a subtle discomfort in her heart.
Yet her smile remained faint, barely perceptible, her demeanor still flawlessly perfect.