Wuxiang’s gaze turned toward the tightly closed door.

As he brushed past the two men, he patted Wei Ping’s shoulder, his touch very light, like a senior encouraging a junior.

“Brother Song!”

“Song Qian Ji!”

The pressure on their bodies disappeared, and Ji Chen and Wei Ping spoke simultaneously, one joyful, one anxious.

The north wind eased slightly, and the flowers and trees became still once more.

Wuxiang stood before the door, raising his hand to push it open, first introducing himself:

“This humble monk visits late at night, only to see Benefactor Song!”

His voice was deep and resonant, like temple bells.

“Why not?” The person inside laughed, “As long as the Master doesn’t regret it.”

Wuxiang lowered his eyes, his lips moving slightly.

Wei Ping didn’t know what spell he was quietly chanting, nor did he know why Song Qian Ji had mentioned “regret.” He only felt that the door was extremely thin and fragile, and would explode with a crash the next moment, injuring the person inside.

Wuxiang opened his eyes, a flash of red light appearing in his pupils before sinking deep into his eyes.

“Benefactor Song, this humble monk…”

“Creeak!”

Before he finished speaking, the door suddenly opened from within, like a huge black hole.

Ji Chen was about to step forward when he saw the old monk’s body shudder as if severely injured.

Wuxiang’s pupils dilated, and he stepped back ten paces, returning to his original position.

He hurriedly closed his eyes, but two streaks of tears flowed down, which were blood.

Ji Chen was shocked: “This…”

Wei Ping murmured: “He opened his wisdom eye!”

Purple Cloud Sect had a “Qi-observing technique” that opened the celestial eye, while the Buddhist sect had a similar technique called the “wisdom eye,” which could observe a cultivator’s fortune and vaguely glimpse fragments of the past and future.

“To see Benefactor Song” was naturally not just looking at a simple appearance.

Wei Ping didn’t know if Wuxiang regretted his visit tonight, but he guessed the other party was not feeling well, and couldn’t help smiling secretly.

The old monk’s voice trembled: “So that’s it, so that’s it…”

A person walked out of the room, passed through the shadow of the eaves, and stood in the moonlight that resembled snow.

Song Qian Ji asked Wei Ping and Ji Chen: “Are you alright?”

Both shook their heads.

Wuxiang opened his eyes, palms pressed together, his eyes turbid and dim: “Benefactor Song, I’ve disturbed you too much. I shall take my leave.”

Song Qian Ji didn’t know what the other had seen. But in his previous life, when the master of Purple Cloud Sect looked at him, he was almost blinded by the rolling black smoke around him.

He had never been afraid of being observed.

Wuxiang hadn’t seen Song Qian Ji’s face, only vaguely seeing the outline of a human form.

That person was bathed in golden light, incredibly bright, like a blazing fire burning fiercely, with threads of purple lightning mixed in the brilliant gold, which was the remnant power of the lightning tribulation.

Just one glance was like thousands of golden needles piercing his eyes, and his eyes were already injured.

This wouldn’t normally be the case, but tonight Song Qian Ji had just broken through not long ago, his fortune was at its peak, and the thunder and fire had not yet subsided.

He shouldn’t have looked.

The guest had already bid farewell, but Song Qian Ji didn’t let him leave: “Does the Master have any fate to bestow upon me? Even a string of prayer beads would be good.”

Wuxiang was stunned, shaking his head: “This humble monk has just seen, that there is no fate between us.”

Song Qian Ji feigned a sigh: “What a pity.”

Wuxiang stared at him with turbid eyes: “Benefactor Song’s fortune is so strong, it’s unparalleled in the world. You are naturally blessed by fate.”

Song Qian Ji smiled politely: “You’re too kind.”

As they spoke, Wuxiang had already reached the entrance of Song’s courtyard. Song Qian Ji said: “It’s already late tonight, heaven doesn’t detain guests. Please come again sometime.”

After the visitor left the Immortal Official’s Mansion, Ji Chen couldn’t hold back any longer: “Brother Song, do you feel unwell anywhere?”

Song Qian Ji: “I’m fine.”

Wei Ping: “That monk was suspicious?”

Song Qian Ji hesitated: “He was practicing orthodox Buddhist cultivation, without a trace of malicious intent.”

He couldn’t discern the other’s background, and even with the protection of Song courtyard’s formations, he might not have been able to detain this person tonight.

Wuxiang looked the same as he had in his previous life—a kind face and gentle eyes as if he was about to discuss life and Buddhism with him.

Neither his previous life’s memories nor the River of Time contained this person’s past.

If he hadn’t seen Meng He Ze and He Qing Qing’s red jade prayer beads, he would have considered the other just a highly respected monk.

Song Qian Ji suddenly remembered: “Where’s the assassin from earlier today?!”

After entering the domain created by the Immortal Spring, from day to night, and then waking up to Wuxiang’s visit, with all this time passing, hopefully, Lin Fei Yuan hadn’t died.

When the words “assassin” were spoken, Wei Ping felt a little anxious and lowered his head: “Locked in next door, given medicine, not dead.”

Song Qian Ji relaxed: “You’ve all been busy all day, go and rest.”

Ji Chen said happily: “Good. Today Brother Song had a thrilling breakthrough for Nascent Soul. Shall we celebrate with hot pot tomorrow?”

Wei Ping nervously said: “Master Song, that assassin is dangerous and has sinister intentions. I’d like to stay and keep watch.”

Song Qian Ji: “No need.”

Wei Ping didn’t have the confidence to insist: “The assassin is treacherous and cunning, skilled at sowing discord. Sir, don’t listen to his nonsense. Why not put a silencing talisman on him?”

Song Qian Ji simply said: “Go back.”

…

“If you’re going to kill or skin me, make it quick,” Lin Fei Yuan, leaning against the wall, said to the person entering the door.

Although severely injured, his mind was clear, and he could hear the commotion in the courtyard earlier.

He had thought that the people outside were in trouble, that Song’s courtyard would have a fierce battle, and that he might escape in the chaos.

But Song Qian Ji had awakened and somehow resolved the crisis without showing any weapons or making a move.

“Utterly hypocritical!” Lin Fei Yuan, hearing Song Qian Ji’s tone when saying “pity” and “come again sometime,” could almost imagine the fake, sickening smile on his face.

Based on his experience, the more dignified and righteous such people appeared on the surface, the more vicious and filthy they were behind closed doors.

Now Song Qian Ji had closed the door.

Moonlight was blocked outside, the candlelight dim, the silhouette blurred.

In the empty room, only the echo of footsteps could be heard. Lin Fei Yuan was unwilling to admit the fear in his heart. He thought, if I’m lucky enough not to die tonight, there will be a chance to repay this a hundredfold someday.

Song Qian Ji crouched down, and Lin Fei Yuan, seeing his face up close, finally realized there was no killing intent in his eyes.

Song Qian Ji undid the confinement formation and helped him up. Breaking Ji Chen’s small formation only required one finger from him.

Lin Fei Yuan’s arms were shattered, yet he seemed unaware of the pain:

“Immortal Official Song, I forgot to congratulate you on breaking through to Nascent Soul. Surviving great danger must bring great fortune; you should worship me.”

Song Qian Ji said nothing, checked his pulse, and sent spiritual energy, helping to organize the chaotic spiritual energy within the other’s body.

Lin Fei Yuan’s face looked even worse: “You’re playing the good cop? Then who plays the bad cop? Didn’t Wei Ping leave?”

After the spiritual energy was cleared, Song Qian Ji applied medicine to his wounds, bound his arms, and sealed all his major acupoints. In this way, a severely injured ordinary person would have almost no ability to cause harm.

“Rest and heal,” Song Qian Ji said before leaving. “You can’t escape this courtyard.”

Lin Fei Yuan stayed awake all night. He didn’t know what Song Qian Ji wanted to do, and he suspected there was poison in the medicine.

Or perhaps Song Qian Ji wanted to heal him and then beat him again.

The next day, Wei Ping brewed medicine as usual, and Song Qian Ji brought it in.

Lin Fei Yuan sneered: “Immortal Official Song, what’s the point of this pretense? Is Wei Ping not serving you well as a dog, so you’re hoping I’ll be your dog too?”

He remained defiant as if he had never been beaten.

Most cultivators with any dignity couldn’t tolerate this.

Song Qian Ji wasn’t angry, just somewhat helpless: “Must you speak to me this way?”

Lin Fei Yuan laughed exaggeratedly: “No way, Immortal Official Song, you want to hear nice words? I take money to kill people, not to perform!”

Song Qian Ji muttered to himself: “It’s my fault, I should have known…”

I should have known that a dog’s mouth can’t spit out ivory, so why waste words on you?

Lin Fei Yuan wasn’t Meng He Ze or Wei Ping, let alone Ji Chen; he couldn’t speak like a decent person.

“What? You’re wrong—Sss!” Lin Fei Yuan sucked in a breath of cold air.

Song Qian Ji said nothing, suddenly grabbing his collar and dragging him staggeringly to the edge of a well, pressing his head down into the well opening.

“The formation in this well was prepared for the last person who tried to kill me. Do you want to try it?”

Lin Fei Yuan saw only the deep well like an abyss, reflecting no shadow, emanating waves of cold air.

He was in so much pain that he broke out in a cold sweat, hissing: “Done pretending? Finally can’t keep up the act?!”

Song Qian Ji grabbed him again and with a crisp sound, efficiently dislocated his jaw.

Lin Fei Yuan struggled: “I won’t drink medicine brewed by Wei Ping!”

That Wei Ping wished he would die silently; who knew if there was poison in it?

Half the medicine spilled out, staining half of Song Qian Ji’s sleeve, but the other half was still forced down.

Lin Fei Yuan choked so badly he nearly coughed out his lungs, cursing profanely.

Song Qian Ji threatened in a low voice in his ear: “If you don’t drink, next time I’ll shatter your teeth!”

“Brother Song!”

Just as Ji Chen entered the courtyard, Song Qian Ji raised his hand with a silencing talisman. Lin Fei Yuan couldn’t speak the filthy words filling his stomach and returned to his room, slamming the door hard.

Ji Chen: “I found out that the assassin is the famous Lin Fei Yuan. Many Nascent Soul cultivators have died at his hands. Brother Song is amazing to have defeated him!”

Song Qian Ji laid out a Go board at the table, saying calmly: “I didn’t defeat him; I bullied him.”

He had met Lin Fei Yuan three years later in his previous life. Now the other didn’t yet have the “Wealth and Honor Blade,” while he had lived hundreds of years longer than this world’s Lin Fei Yuan.

What sense of achievement was there in bullying a child?

None at all.

Ji Chen, seeing Song Qian Ji take out the Go board, felt half happy and half worried, knowing he would be utterly defeated, yet hoping he could improve.

Ji Chen: “Why doesn’t Brother Song kill him?”

Song Qian Ji: “He’s not the one who wanted to kill me. He just took someone’s money, or negotiated some conditions.”

Ji Chen: “Brother Song is too kind.”

Song Qian Ji shook his head.

When he met Lin Fei Yuan in his previous life, he was still evading pursuit, destitute, and miserable. After many twists and turns, someone led him to find the homeless black market assassin leader.

On a snowy night, Lin Fei Yuan left his door open, sitting by the fire eating roasted sweet potatoes.

He sat with his legs crossed high, not bothering to look directly at visitors: “What cats and dogs are you bringing to me now?”

The introducer, afraid of angering him, agreed meekly with a few flattering words before hurriedly disappearing.

Leaving Song Qian Ji standing alone in the snow, looking at the dancing flames inside: “I’d like you to introduce me to a job.”

Lin Fei Yuan mocked him while eating his sweet potato: “Are you that short on money? I think your face looks decent enough. Go sell your looks at the ‘Spring Coming Pavilion’ next door; you’d probably earn more.”

Song Qian Ji suppressed his temper, knowing he couldn’t win in a fight: “I won’t be an assassin. I just need money temporarily.”

Lin Fei Yuan was enjoying his food and ignored him.

Song Qian Ji asked: “How much do you charge to kill a Golden Core cultivator?”

“Small jobs like Golden Core barely fetch a price, thirty thousand,” Lin Fei Yuan said.

“I only want three hundred; the rest is yours.”

Lin Fei Yuan looked up: “Why not say thirty?”

Song Qian Ji seriously considered: “That works too.”

“Really?” Lin Fei Yuan, after surprise, grinned maliciously and threw out a portrait. “In the Spring Coming Pavilion next door, someone wants this person dead. If you can kill him before this opera ends, I’ll give you three hundred.”

Song Qian Ji had seen this person before and knew Lin Fei Yuan was doing this deliberately. Although the target was only at the Foundation Establishment, he had a full Golden Core guardian protecting him.

But he had no choice. He turned and left with his sword, heading toward the bustling, music-filled brothel.

The singing and instrumental music pierced through the sound of the wind, entering his ears, becoming clearer and clearer.

The pavilion was a scene of singing, dancing, and harmony.

Song Qian Ji concealed his presence, mixing into the crowd.

It was another of Miao Yan’s tunes, popular in the mortal world. Cultivators occasionally descending to the mortal realm also enjoyed listening to these.

Years later, he couldn’t count how many people he had killed to such music.

That person died silently, eyes closed as if intoxicated by the music, only lowering his head.

The opera on stage continued, water sleeves fluttering, the singing melodious.

Song Qian Ji walked out of the music pavilion, blood only dripping after he left, screams and chaos only beginning then.

After that night, Song Qian Ji was considered officially in business.

His skills in teleportation, concealment, and lightness techniques, besides being suitable for escape, were also perfect for assassination.

Lin Fei Yuan kept him to make money, as he was cheap and useful, charging only three hundred per job.

Even when severely injured, he didn’t complain or whine, saving spiritual stones only to buy cultivation techniques, magical tools, and talismans, practicing desperately every day.

He didn’t touch alcohol, stayed away from women, and lived a dull life without any entertainment.

Lin Fei Yuan had never seen such a person. He felt that even direct disciples of major sects wouldn’t work this hard to such an abnormal degree.

Song Qian Ji either had a deep blood feud or was mentally ill.

The two lived under the same roof, winter passing into spring, rarely meeting or talking.

Lin Fei Yuan once warned him: “I’m just letting you stay here. If you have trouble coming to your door, I’ll turn and leave. Don’t expect me to care if you live or die.”

Song Qian Ji said: “I know. Don’t bother.”

“At least you understand.”

Despite these words, Lin Fei Yuan had more trouble, and they had to help each other.

Song Qian Ji was excessively understanding, and Lin Fei Yuan didn’t know what possessed him, but he made a connection for him once:

“The North Sea Sand Washing Sect wants to recruit a guest elder. I’ve submitted your name.”

Song Qian Ji sat under a tree, sharpening his sword. The broken tree shadows swaying in the wind covered his body.

“Did you hear me?” Lin Fei Yuan raised his foot, kicking his boot. “Are you looking down on the position of guest elder in an overseas sect? No matter how small or broken a sect is, it’s still a proper mountain gate. If you go, you’ll have your small peak, receive some offerings every year, and after a few years, take in some small disciples and young Taoist boys to serve you.”

“After a few more years, with your face, you could marry a blind cultivation partner, and spend your life comfortably and steadily cultivating. You’re still young, with good talent. Don’t always mix with people like us. What good will come of it?”

Most assassins had poor backgrounds, or were expelled from their sects, or had hidden injuries in their meridians, their cultivation path cut off, destined to forever remain at certain levels, knowing they would never advance further.

It was wandering cultivators who saw no future who chose to take risks, living for the moment.

Song Qian Ji didn’t want to waste time chatting: “Huawei Sect has issued a ‘kill on sight’ order for me, and Liu Hong Shan has offered a reward for my head. No small sect would dare take me in.”

Lin Fei Yuan frowned, looking up at the sky and cursing, then pointing at the ground and cursing Song Qian Ji: “How did you offend Huawei Sect?”

Song Qian Ji looked up at him: “I brought it upon myself.”

Lin Fei Yuan waited for a while, seeing that Song Qian Ji had no intention of speaking further. Before leaving, he kicked him again, neither light nor heavy: “Unlucky bastard.”

It was true that Song Qian Ji was an “unlucky bastard,” but he was also tough. He saved enough money and left, entering secret realms to seek opportunities, risking his life.

With a held-in fierce determination, he vowed to become a person of high status.

He never made any friends in his life. Whoever wanted to kill him, he killed them back.

Later, when he heard the news of Lin Fei Yuan again, it was his death.

Lin Fei Yuan died terribly; nine out of ten assassins didn’t end well. Song Qian Ji had anticipated this, but he remembered someone once telling him: “Spend your life comfortably and steadily cultivating…”

As one game ended, Ji Chen grabbed his messy hair: “I won’t play anymore today. I need to recover.”

Song Qian Ji put away the pieces: “Alright.”

He knocked on Lin Fei Yuan’s door: “Come out for dinner.”

Lin Fei Yuan opened the door, thinking, is this a mistake? Do I still get to eat?

Ji Chen smiled sincerely: “I’m envious of you, having Brother Song personally feed you medicine and call you for meals.”

Lin Fei Yuan had been placed under a silencing spell and couldn’t make a sound when he opened his mouth. His jawbone still ached faintly, and he shouted in his heart: “If you envy me, why don’t you come and take my place?!”

Are there any normal people in this damn place? Have they all been controlled by Song Qian Ji’s evil techniques?

He had heard before that Song Qian Ji was cultivating a kind of evil technique to control people’s minds, making them submit to him unconditionally, thereby enhancing his fortune.

Suddenly sensing an unfriendly gaze, Lin Fei Yuan turned his head to see Wei Ping carrying an ornately carved food box, staring at him with a complex expression.

Lin Fei Yuan smiled, feeling inexplicably pleased.

At an angle only Wei Ping could see, he opened his mouth, silently threatening: “Three days.”