Wei Ping took a deep breath. Forget three days; he wished Lin Fei Yuan would disappear right now.

“Let’s eat.” Manager Wei smiled, opening the food box and working skillfully.

Thin slices of meat, washed and cut vegetables, and four small dipping sauce bowls were placed on the table.

The charcoal stove was set up, and the clear broth in the copper pot came to a boil. The four of them sat around the table, enveloped in warm white mist.

Seeing that Lin Fei Yuan had behaved himself, Song Qian Ji removed the silencing talisman from his back.

Lin Fei Yuan grabbed his chopsticks but stared at the sauce bowl in front of Song Qian Ji: “Let’s switch!”

Song Qian Ji looked confused.

Lin Fei Yuan pushed his bowl over, saying righteously: “I want to eat yours.”

Ji Chen’s face fell, showing rare displeasure: “Brother Song doesn’t kill you because of his kindness and compassion. He treats your wounds and provides you with food and drink, yet you still have the nerve to make trouble?”

Wei Ping transmitted angrily: “Eat your own! I didn’t poison it!”

Lin Fei Yuan remained unmoved. He didn’t trust Wei Ping and tapped his chopsticks, saying: “Indeed, Immortal Official Song is the most kind and merciful in the world. I am making trouble, but I insist on making trouble.”

Wei Ping suddenly slapped the table. The stone table and the delicacies remained unmoved, but Lin Fei Yuan’s sauce bowl flew up: “Troublemakers don’t deserve to eat.”

The small celadon bowl hovered in mid-air, struck by the tip of Ji Chen’s chopsticks, sending violent pressure directly toward Lin Fei Yuan’s face.

Lin Fei Yuan’s arms were injured, and he couldn’t use even a trace of spiritual energy. In that split second, he could only bend backward.

He knew he couldn’t dodge when suddenly there was a blur before his eyes—a halved white robe sleeve.

Song Qian Ji steadily intercepted the sauce bowl from mid-air, as if someone had handed it to him with both hands.

“Eat,” he pushed his bowl toward Lin Fei Yuan, his gaze sweeping over Wei Ping and Ji Chen. “They’re all the same.”

No family should fight at the dinner table.

The meat was already overcooked. Lin Fei Yuan quickly used his chopsticks to pick it up, dipped it in the bowl, and chewed it with big bites.

He suddenly froze, looked at Wei Ping, and slowly smiled, showing his white teeth: “This bowl is not the same!”

Wei Ping’s heart crawled: “Shut up!”

“Tsk, the fragrance of hundred-year Red Mountain Mushroom. I guess it was dried and ground into powder, mixed in the sauce.”

“Ah, South Sea Tiger Head Abalone, stir-fried, deep-fried, then chopped into bits, carefully spread on the bottom of the bowl.”

“And there’s White Jade Spirit Mushroom, Night Star Flower Honey…” Lin Fei Yuan seemed to have caught Wei Ping’s tail and exaggerated: “How luxurious! Mountain delicacies and sea treasures, make a seemingly ordinary but extraordinarily precious dipping sauce. No wonder Immortal Official Song doesn’t practice bigu fasting; eating like this every day, only a fool wouldn’t eat.”

Wei Ping smiled innocently at Song Qian Ji: “It’s all cheap stuff from the street. Friend Lin has mistaken the taste.”

While transmitting a threat: “Shut up, or let’s see who dies first!”

Lin Fei Yuan arrogantly ate large bites of meat and even picked up vegetables for Song Qian Ji: “Everyone eats! Friend Ji, what are you staring at?”

Song Qian Ji gave him a faint look, not saying any words of blame, but Lin Fei Yuan already knew what the look meant.

—It was about the silencing talisman.

He snorted lightly and said no more.

The hot pot meal was finally finished peacefully.

Lin Fei Yuan was like an explosive talisman that could detonate at any moment.

Wei Ping wanted to stay and keep an eye on him, but the suspicious person investigation in Thousand Canals had reached its final round. Spies from various forces were detained in the temple, waiting for his interrogation.

Ji Chen needed to reinforce the old formations and test new formations on a few lucky scouts. Neither of them could stay long.

Only Lin Fei Yuan was idle, swaggering about like a cuckoo in someone else’s nest, observing the formations of Song’s courtyard everywhere.

Song Qian Ji hadn’t spoken empty words; Lin Fei Yuan truly couldn’t escape from this courtyard.

Most cultivators’ cave dwellings had formations set to maintain a constant temperature throughout the four seasons, neither cold nor hot, and free from dust.

Song’s courtyard formations were different. In the eyes of ordinary cultivators, it was a dragon’s pool and tiger’s den, yet wind, snow, rain, and dew could pass through freely.

Occasionally, thin, small wild cats would dart along the base of the wall, jump over the roof ridge, or climb over the surrounding wall.

After examining Song’s courtyard formations, Lin Fei Yuan looked at Song Qian Ji.

He wanted to know what evil techniques Song Qian Ji was practicing. But Song Qian Ji didn’t practice sword techniques or meditate; he spent the entire day doing leisurely activities unrelated to cultivation.

These “leisurely activities” made Lin Fei Yuan extremely uncomfortable.

He was older than Song Qian Ji and had seen many young cultivators. Novice assassins who had just entered the profession weren’t that old and always had phrases like “nothing matters in the world except life and death” on their lips, making themselves seem cold and formidable.

After working for a long time, killing until numb, with their heads hanging on knife handles, even life and death became trivial matters.

When Lin Fei Yuan carried out assassinations, he made meticulous arrangements, linking every step and calculating to the last detail.

Outside of business, he was accustomed to living carelessly, listening to a few tunes, tailoring a few new clothes, as if his life wasn’t worth too much attention.

But in Song’s courtyard, there were no trivial matters.

Song Qian Ji put his heart into everything he did.

After the meal, he stood under a plum blossom tree, basking in the clear winter sunlight, holding up a small pot. Lin Fei Yuan thought he was practicing cultivation and quietly approached.

He saw only melting snow, crystal clear, dripping from the edge of plum petals into the bottle opening, making a crisp sound.

Lin Fei Yuan asked: “What use is this?”

“For brewing tea,” Song Qian Ji answered.

“And what are you doing now?”

“Selecting seeds to sow next year.”

Lin Fei Yuan couldn’t help asking: “Aren’t all seeds the same?”

“They’re not the same.” Song Qian Ji said: “Plump grains without blemishes are good seeds. If you want to learn, I can teach you. Look at this one, it’s a bit shriveled in the middle…”

Lin Fei Yuan: “Who wants to learn this?!”

Song Qian Ji continued to sort through the seeds on the table: “Besides killing people, you should learn something else.”

“Besides killing people, I have no use for other skills!” Lin Fei Yuan sneered, “I think you’re the one with issues.”

If he weren’t injured, he would have grabbed Song Qian Ji’s collar and shouted:

You are Song Qian Ji, unparalleled in chess and calligraphy. The youngest Nascent Soul of this age, with talent surpassing Midnight Manjusri and approaching Xian Jian Chen.

You are the master of Thousand Canals County. Your enemies are sharpening their knives, and so many people are watching you, wanting to kill you. What are you doing all day?

Song Qian Ji stood up: “You’re the one with issues. It’s time for your medicine.”

Soon, he brought a bowl of medicine from the kitchen.

Lin Fei Yuan turned his head away in disgust.

Song Qian Ji: “I just brewed it myself, not Wei Ping.”

Lin Fei Yuan lowered his eyes.

The black medicine rippled gently, reflecting his shadow.

“Why?”

Why treat my wounds, why not kill me, why not question me?

It was as if that assassination had melted with the snow, leaving no trace.

Song Qian Ji didn’t understand: “When Wei Ping brews it, you refuse to drink.”

“I, I…” Lin Fei Yuan wanted to say something but saw Song Qian Ji raise his hand.

A familiar gesture.

He instantly exploded in anger: “I’ll do it myself! Can I do it myself?!”

The iron-willed man made a crisp sound, dislocating his jaw, gulping down the medicine, and then with another crisp sound, pushed it back into place.

Song Qian Ji was speechless. As he collected the bowl, he couldn’t help reminding him: “…Since you’re doing it yourself, you could just open your mouth.”

Lin Fei Yuan was silent for a moment, then kicked and broke the bamboo fence: “It’s all because of your broken courtyard, I’ve gone crazy living here!”

Song Qian Ji wasn’t polite; he applied another silencing talisman to his back.

Lin Fei Yuan couldn’t make a sound when he opened his mouth and glared at him resentfully.

Watching him plant narcissus, trim branches, and repair the fence.

A day passed quietly, and before they knew it, the moon rose over the western tower, and the lanterns dimmed.

For Lin Fei Yuan, the day passed too slowly, yet too quickly.

In the evening, Wei Ping came to make a night snack: fragrant plum blossom glutinous rice cakes strung on bamboo skewers, covered with honey and nuts.

Wei Ping personally took one and handed it to Lin Fei Yuan, transmitting: “Tomorrow night at the third quarter after the hour of zi, three bird calls will be the signal.”

Lin Fei Yuan had a sweet tooth and was reluctant to throw it away.

He broke off half and called over the thin, small flower cat from the corner: “You eat first.”

The cat didn’t die. Lin Fei Yuan smiled, satisfied, and stuffed the other half of the cake into his mouth.

The earth-yellow kitten gently rubbed against his leg, making a weak cry.

Lin Fei Yuan thought, that in this strange place, even the cats were like dogs—clingy and without ambition.

In winter, the ground was barren, so there was no worry about cats and dogs destroying the vegetable garden. Therefore, Song Qian Ji turned a blind eye to Lin Fei Yuan keeping a cat.

…

At the border of Thousand Canals County, the north wind howled.

The guard team trained by Wei Ping patrolled through the night, fully armored, with orderly steps.

“Brother Ji, come to check the formations again?” Zhou Xiao Yun greeted.

“I’ll reinforce them a bit more. You all stay busy; don’t mind me.”

The vast night was suddenly illuminated by a faint glow of fire.

Ji Chen put down the formation materials and squinted into the distance.

The firelight wound its way, coming with great momentum.

Cultivators who wanted to sneak into Thousand Canals today to explore mostly did so stealthily, like thieves afraid of being discovered.

This time, so many people came—were they planning to besiege the city?

“The leader is Brother Meng!” A hunting team disciple on the city wall lowered his telescope and shouted.

A figure outside the city responded: “I’m back, open the gate—”

It was indeed Meng He Ze’s voice.

Ji Chen was unwilling to remove the formation: “Wait!”

Brother Meng went to pick up his family members, bringing back at most two carriages. How did he return with a team that had no end in sight?

In the team, apart from four ordinary people, all were low-level cultivators. Moreover, they looked dejected, with injuries, numbering several thousand.

It didn’t look right from any angle.

He stared at Meng He Ze’s figure approaching and cautiously said: “How can you prove it?”

Meng He Ze raised the sword that Song Qian Ji had forged for him: “Do I still need to prove myself? Look at me carefully!”

Ji Chen shook his head: “Not enough. Find a way to prove yourself.”

Earlier, he had carefully looked at Master Wuxiang; what was the result? It showed that he wasn’t good at judging people.

Seeing Ji Chen’s doubt, Zhou Xiao Yun immediately waved her hand, and two rows of crossbows aimed at those below the city.

All eyes were on them; the situation was tense.

Meng He Ze had no time for extra words. He just took out an iron token from his bosom and held it high: “Will this do?”

The characters on the token were crooked and extremely ugly. In the firelight, one could barely make out the four characters “Hunting Expert.”

Ji Chen was overjoyed: “Open the gate quickly! My handwriting is unique; no one in the world can imitate it! Brother Meng, it’s so good that you’re back!”

A wave of admiration rose from the team behind Meng He Ze:

“Such special calligraphy, truly difficult to imitate!”

“Is this the first in the calligraphy examination, Formation Master Ji Chen?”

Meng He Ze felt utterly embarrassed and immediately stuffed the iron token back into his bosom.

The team finally entered the city gate, like a small stream merging into the sea.

“Brother Meng, who are they, your relatives?” Ji Chen asked.

Meng He Ze: “They are this year’s outer disciples of Huawei Sect. It’s a long story; many things happened on the way. Let’s settle them down first.”

Xu Kan Shan was shocked: “Goodness sent out one, brought back a group!”

“Come with me.” Zhou Xiao Yun smiled and said to the small disciples with anxious expressions yet uncontainable excitement, “Now that you’re back, everything will be fine.”

For some reason, a burst of sobbing erupted from the team.

Meng He Ze examined the formations and city defenses: “What happened? These weren’t here when I left.”

Ji Chen hesitated. Xu Kan Shan’s expression was bitter.

Meng He Ze sensed something was wrong: “Tell me quickly!”

Ji Chen transmitted: “Brother Song was assassinated during the Harvest Festival…”

Meng He Ze’s vision darkened, and the world suddenly turned upside down.

Ji Chen quickly supported him: “Fortunately, there was no serious harm. Brother Meng, Brother Meng, what’s wrong with you?”

After Meng He Ze recovered, he squeezed four words through gritted teeth: “Where is Wei Ping?”