Ji Chen noticed the smile at the corner of Song Qian Ji’s lips and thought to himself that Brother Song must have some feelings for Miss Chen after all.

Otherwise, with all those sect leaders and elders from the Hua Wei Sect harboring ill intentions, who would willingly venture into such a dragon’s den?

The young miss had helped him twice. Even if Brother Song had a heart of stone and no interest in romantic affairs, he must still feel somewhat moved.

Wei Ping smiled gently and said, “I’m just a steward who buys groceries and cooks. I don’t understand matters of the cultivation world and shouldn’t speak out of turn. But earlier when Disciple Meng brought back those outer disciples, he mentioned that we’d already broken ties with the Hua Wei Sect. I think they must have been preparing for this engagement ceremony…”

He glanced meaningfully at Ji Chen, silently urging him to dissuade Song Qian Ji.

Ji Chen misunderstood his intention and suddenly felt a surge of heroism. He slapped the table and stood up: “Even if they’re prepared, we’re not afraid! Since Brother Song has made his decision, I’ll accompany him on this venture!”

“…”

Wei Ping looked at the excited Ji Chen, then at Lin Fei Yuan who was lounging with a cat on his lap.

They’re impossible to manage.

Meng He Ze, where have you run off to now?

Song Qian Ji asked Ji Chen, “You want to go? Your family will send people too.”

“I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of before them, so I’m not afraid to meet them!”

Song Qian Ji nodded: “Then let’s go.”

He turned to Wei Ping: “You work hard for us daily. During this year-end time, would you like to join us for some fun?”

Wei Ping saw Song Qian Ji’s bright eyes, seemingly filled with expectation, and almost agreed immediately.

He bit his tongue and changed his response: “Thank you for your kind offer, sir. But I don’t enjoy traveling far from home. I’ll stay in Thousand Channels County and wait for your return.”

Song Qian Ji felt slightly disappointed: “Very well.”

Lin Fei Yuan glanced at Wei Ping with a strange smile.

Who was that Wei Zhen Yu who slept in a different place every night?

Who was that Wei Zhen Yu who stood on the southern sea waves and watched the sunrise from the western mountains?

And who was that Wei Zhen Yu who traveled a thousand miles through the night to kill someone?

His tone twisted playfully: “Oh my, so Steward Wei doesn’t like traveling far from home.”

“I prefer staying at home,” Wei Ping turned away, giving him a cold glance from an angle where others couldn’t see.

Right now, Song Qian Ji venturing into the dragon’s den was more important. Wei Ping had no time to bicker with Lin Fei Yuan, so he turned back with a smile:

“Since you’ve decided to travel, sir, I’ll go prepare.”

“Prepare what?” Song Qian Ji asked.

“Naturally, enough talismans, magical tools, and spirit stones.” Wei Ping thought to himself that he would also need to intensify the training of the guard unit.

“No need to busy yourself. No need to prepare dinner today either,” Song Qian Ji said, “Just invite little Meng to join us for the meal.”

Ji Chen was shocked: “Senior Brother is going to cook himself?!”

“I’ll make noodles for you all,” Song Qian Ji asked, “How does that sound?”

Earlier, Meng He Ze had mentioned that his noodles were delicious, and everyone had said they wanted to try them. He had remembered this.

“That would be wonderful!” Wei Ping exclaimed happily.

Ji Chen let out a cheer of joy.

…

Meng He Ze had spent the day inspecting every city wall and tower, checking the security measures, and asking about Wei Ping’s arrangements for the upcoming Harvest Festival.

He had to admit that Wei Ping was indeed attentive and vigilant, having done the best possible job. Even he might not have been able to catch the assassins in time.

The assassination attempt on Song Qian Ji seemed to be an unexpected incident.

The fault lay with the assassins being too powerful and working as a team.

Have I wronged Wei Ping? Meng He Ze wondered as he walked toward his home in the Heavenly City.

Since bringing his parents and the household stewards, he now had a home in Heavenly City too.

Though it lacked the grand splendor and bustling household of the Meng family mansion, it was cozy and simple, giving him a sense of comfort.

A breeze blew past, carrying wisps of smoke over the courtyard wall. The cold air suddenly filled with a warm fragrance.

“That’s the smell of honey-glazed roast meat, seasoned with ‘Thousand Channels Sixteen Spices’!” Meng He Ze exclaimed with delight.

During his lonely travels, this was the hometown flavor he missed the most.

Or rather, he missed the times when the hunting party would hunt together, sit around a bonfire at night roasting meat, drinking wine, singing, and chatting.

Carried on the wind was not only the familiar aroma of roasted meat but also waves of joyful laughter.

Lady Meng was proper and formal, while Old Master Meng was stern – they rarely laughed so heartily.

“What are they chatting about at home?” Meng He Ze listened carefully, and among the voices was that of a young man.

The smile on Meng He Ze’s face instantly vanished. He burst through the door and shouted: “Wei Ping!”

The courtyard had a roasting stove lit, with half-eaten lamb legs hanging above it, and hot wine on the table.

Lady Meng was holding Wei Ping’s hand, her eyes glistening with tears: “Steward Wei, thank you.”

“Wei Ping, let go of my mother!” Meng He Ze strode forward.

But Lady Meng greeted her son: “Zheng Xian, how fortunate you are to have such a good friend! They say at home you rely on your parents, but outside you rely on friends. Your mother is happy for you. People used to say immortal cultivators are heartless, but that’s nonsense. Cultivators are people too. Being people, they should have parents and friends.”

Meng He Ze stood there stunned.

What was going on?

“Auntie, you’re too kind. Brother Meng looks after me far more,” Wei Ping lowered his head with a shy, humble smile.

He appeared to be exactly the kind of honest, diligent, hardworking good young man that elders adore. In a private school, all parents would encourage their children to befriend him.

Meng He Ze glared at him and transmitted: “Who’s your auntie?!”

Old Master Meng said appreciatively: “Steward Wei personally delivered Thousand Channels specialties, took care of our daily needs, and even cooked roast meat himself. Even our Zheng Xian isn’t as thoughtful as you.”

“I was personally brought into Song Estate by Brother Meng, and this steward position was obtained through his recommendation. We’re like brothers, sworn companions,” Wei Ping said to Old Master Meng: “Uncle, Auntie, please don’t stand on ceremony with me. If you don’t mind, consider me as your godson. Just call me ‘Little Wei.’ When Brother Meng isn’t around, I’ll look after and respect you both.”

Meng He Ze gritted his teeth: “Since when are we like brothers? How come I don’t know about this?”

Wei Ping showed no embarrassment, only a dim, forced smile that evoked sympathy:

“In my heart, it has always been so… but my cultivation is inferior to Brother Meng’s, so I’m truly reaching above my station.”

Meng He Ze looked at him in shock.

Are you speaking human language?

Who beat me in the dark alley this morning? Wasn’t it you?

Old Master Meng saw this and coughed lightly twice: “Zheng Xian, although you’ve become a cultivator, the principles of being a person remain the same. Friendship is about connecting hearts, helping each other, and supporting one another, regardless of temporary differences in cultivation. The principles of conduct that your father taught you, do you still remember them?”

Meng He Ze forced a smile: “Yes, Father, I certainly remember.”

Old Master Meng admonished his son a bit more, and Meng He Ze agreed to everything.

Having Wei Ping witness him ‘being a son’ made Meng He Ze wish he could crawl into the roasting stove, but he stiffened his resolve and said:

“Father, Mother, Steward Wei and I have some matters to discuss.”

“Alright, you young people should talk more,” Old Master Meng said approvingly.

As Lady Meng was leaving, she turned back with a gentle smile: “Little Wei, next time you come, don’t bother cooking. Try Auntie’s cooking instead.”

“I look forward to it, Uncle and Auntie,” Wei Ping replied.

“What are you doing?! Why did you come to my home?!”

After his parents returned to their room, Meng He Ze’s face turned cold, and he grabbed Wei Ping, dragging him out of the courtyard.

“What am I doing?” Wei Ping allowed himself to be pulled along lazily: “I came once, and your father and mother are so happy! They’ve moved from Green Deer County, where they’ve lived most of their lives, to the unfamiliar Thousand Channels County. Even with a filial son and loyal servants by their side, they must still feel uncomfortable, right?”

“Today I introduced them to the local customs and culture of Thousand Channels County, took them around Thousand Channels Market, and bought many new items. Your mother enjoys playing cards, so I introduced her to some neighborhood aunties as card partners. Your father loves chess, so I introduced him to the old men who play at the street corner.”

“After doing so much, instead of thanking me, you scold me. Is that reasonable?”

Meng He Ze felt embarrassed after hearing this: “I—I thank you!” Then he came to his senses, “But if you have ulterior motives…”

“I don’t have time for ulterior motives,” Wei Ping interrupted: “Song Qian Ji is going to Hua Wei Sect to attend Chen Hong Zhu’s engagement banquet. That’s the real reason I came to find you.”

“What did you say?!”

Wei Ping repeated himself: “Are you going to handle this matter or not?”

Meng He Ze’s expression became calm and serious: “I can’t change Senior Brother Song’s decision. Our only option is to prepare early.”

Wei Ping thought that fortunately, there was Meng He Ze, who was much more reliable than Ji Chen.

“I suggest urgently training the guard unit, ideally to form a sword formation. You can be the formation pivot. When deploying the formation, everyone advances and retreats together, which is more efficient.”

Meng He Ze nodded: “You don’t need to worry about this. I’ll arrange it.”

Having secured his promise, Wei Ping felt quite pleased.

He coughed lightly a couple of times, then imitated Old Master Meng’s tone: “Zheng Xian, I know you’re competitive and devoted to seeking the Dao. But you should also get along well with your friends. Good friends are lifelong companions. Cultivators live long lives; having friends for company prevents loneliness. Son, your father won’t say more…”

“Get lost!” Meng He Ze raised his sword sheath, pretending to hit him, but didn’t dare to strike.

If Wei Ping went back crying pitifully, his parents would surely beat him.

Wei Ping asked: “You tell me to get lost, so I’ll get lost first. Are you coming to Song Estate tonight for noodles?”

He connected two sentences as if he were the one making the noodles.

“I need to practice the sword formation.”

Wei Ping broke off a dry willow branch from the roadside and waved it in front of Meng He Ze’s eyes, causing him to turn away impatiently: “I’m not going.”

“Are you sure? No going back on your word?”

“I said I’m not going! Now leave!”

Wei Ping smiled: “Since you’re not coming, I’ll eat your portion of noodles personally made by Master Song.”

Meng He Ze suddenly realized that this was what Wei Ping had been waiting for.

He laughed inwardly. Karma comes around; you were too clever for your good.

Outwardly, he pretended to be regretful and snorted coldly: “Lucky you.”

…

That evening, Wei Ping also feigned regret: “Brother Meng is busy and can’t come. He’ll miss out.”

For this dinner, Ji Chen had bought a round red sandalwood table and placed it beside the courtyard well.

Even with seven or eight people dining together, there would be enough room.

With Meng He Ze’s earlier promise of protection, Ji Chen and Wei Ping obediently sat at the table, holding their chopsticks in eager anticipation.

Lin Fei Yuan sneered: “Cultivators who can go without food, yet acting like starving ghosts. How peculiar.”

Ji Chen: “When Brother Song finishes cooking, let’s see if you have the guts not to come and grab some!”

“Who would fight with you over communal food? I stay in Song Estate all day; he can make me a special bowl next time.”

Lin Fei Yuan snorted lightly and carried his cat back to his room.

Song Qian Ji approached cooking with the same seriousness as farming.

He tied on an apron and first cut carrots, potatoes, and other vegetables into small pieces. His knife moved so swiftly it left no shadow, each vegetable piece cut to exactly the same size.

Even the most critical chef would praise his knife skills.

Then he carefully tasted each seasoning, determining which was salt, which was sugar, which jar contained vinegar, and which soy sauce.

No matter what dish Wei Ping made, there was always a lingering sweetness on the tip of the tongue. Thinking of this, Song Qian Ji casually sprinkled a handful of white sugar while kneading the dough.

The noodles were dropped into the big pot used to brew medicine for Lin Fei Yuan, and the white flour noodles tumbled in the boiling water.

“The medicine for treating Lin Fei Yuan used thirty-eight rare spiritual herbs. The pot retains the fragrance and spiritual energy residue of those herbs, which shouldn’t go to waste,” Song Qian Ji smiled to himself, “Even as a nomadic cultivator from humble origins, I still know how to be economical when I have money.”

Noodles must have soy sauce and vinegar, so he poured in what he estimated to be the right amount.

After pouring, he saw the color was pitch black. Song Qian Ji shook his head privately, thinking that food should appeal to all senses – appearance, aroma, and taste. So he added fiery red chili oil, chili powder, dried chili strips, and more.

“Adding some red certainly makes it look better! It still needs some green.”

“Wei Ping’s homemade ‘Thousand Channels Sixteen Spices’ combines sixteen spices, creating a rich, fragrant aroma that’s popular throughout Thousand Channels and sells well in Hong Fu.”

“I’ll use ten kinds, which may not be as good as his, but it’s close enough. The last time I made noodles for Meng He Ze, I didn’t get to taste them. I wonder what they taste like.”

Song Qian Ji raised his chopsticks to sample the noodles, but from outside the kitchen came Wei Ping’s voice:

“Sir, do you need my help? You’ve been busy for so long, I’m worried…”

Song Qian Ji put down his chopsticks, ladled the noodles into a large bowl, poured in the broth from the pot, and untied his apron: “No need, it’s ready!”

Wei Ping took the bowl, slightly twitched his nose, and silently cursed that Lin Fei Yuan’s wound still hadn’t healed, causing the kitchen to be filled with medicinal smells all day.

As soon as the noodles were placed on the table, wisps of hot steam rose under the candlelight, and the broth glistened.

“I’ll go first!” Ji Chen grabbed his chopsticks eagerly.

In his heart, Song Qian Ji was capable of anything, both a genius and an all-rounder.

He wondered what the world’s most delicious noodles would taste like.

As the noodles entered his mouth, Ji Chen’s lips twitched: “This…”

“Is it not good?” Song Qian Ji felt slightly nervous, “I improved the recipe and added two more ingredients than last time.”

“Brother Song prepared it personally with such care, how could it not be delicious?” Ji Chen met Song Qian Ji’s bright eyes and pounded his chest dramatically:

“It’s too delicious!”

“Delicious?” Song Qian Ji said, “Let me taste a bit?”

“No!” Ji Chen quickly grabbed the entire bowl and handed it to Wei Ping, “Brother Wei, I’ll let you have this bowl of noodles personally made by Brother Song!”

Seeing Ji Chen’s passionate expression, Wei Ping couldn’t help feeling moved.

He thought to himself that this foolish young master truly considered him a brother.

He immediately accepted the bowl and took a big mouthful.

“Mmm!” Wei Ping choked.

Made with care indeed, and truly bitter.

“Does it suit your taste?” Song Qian Ji asked with concern.

Wei Ping’s tongue went numb, his mouth feeling like it contained a hundred firecrackers, and he nodded frantically: “Very delicious.”

“If it’s delicious, why are you crying?” Song Qian Ji handed him a handkerchief, gesturing for him to wipe his tears.

Wei Ping hurriedly wiped his tears: “I—I’m moved. Just thinking that after finishing this bowl, there won’t be any more to eat, I feel reluctant.”

Song Qian Ji smiled: “No need to feel that way. There’s still half a pot left. I won’t compete with you for it.”

Wei Ping’s vision blurred, alternating between brightness and darkness with waves of dizziness.

Looking at Ji Chen, he saw him with palms pressed together, a face full of apology as he stood up: “I’ll go get the pot for Brother Wei.”

Well well, when did you ever run so fast before?

Wei Ping wolfed down the noodles.

Better a short pain than a long one.

This bowl of sour, sweet, bitter, spicy sticky, mushy noodle-like substance—wasn’t it just like the ups and downs and unpredictable changes of life itself?

…

Wei Ping went back and vomited for half the night, yet in his heart, he didn’t blame Song Qian Ji.

He only thought: “Just wait, Ji Chen.”

In the latter half of the night, he lit a green lamp, laid out paper, moistened his brush with ink, and wrote furiously.

The next day in the morning, he changed into new clothes and, after careful preparation, visited Ji Xing.

In the deep winter, water froze instantly on the wasteland, and work on the river channels had stopped. The river workers had returned home to prepare for the New Year.

After Meng He Ze’s return, he naturally took over the city gate guards and internal patrols, while also training the guard unit with Zhou Xiao Yun.

With nothing to do, Ji Xing returned to Heavenly City to establish a private school.

Seeing Wei Ping enter, Ji Xing jumped up excitedly: “Little Ping, I’ve been waiting for you for a long time. You haven’t had time to visit lately, and I’ve missed you.”

Though she said she missed Wei Ping, her eyes were fixed on the food box in his hands, eagerly reaching out to take it.

Wei Ping wrapped one arm around, placing the food box behind his back, and with his other hand, he took out two booklets from his chest and handed them to Ji Xing’s outstretched fingers: “Immortal Ji, please look at these first.”

The two booklets were three fingers thick, filled with tiny characters densely packed together.

They contained many underlined spaces that made Ji Xing dizzy:

“‘Three Hundred and Sixty Basic Facts About the Cultivation World,’ ‘Seventy-Two Things You Must Know After Guiding Qi Into Your Body,’ what is this stuff?”

“You are a novice at the Qi Condensation stage. Tonight while meditating, you suddenly feel chest tightness and shortness of breath, with reduced efficiency in absorbing spiritual energy. You believe this is due to: A. This is the legendary bottleneck, I’m about to breakthrough; through B. The cultivation site lacks sufficient spiritual energy, should increase spirit stones nearby or find a new feng shui treasure spot; C. First look for causes within yourself, check if impurities are blocking your meridians; D…”

“This question requires selecting one option, correct answer scores one point, incorrect answer scores zero.”

Ji Xing read on, increasingly confused, flipping rapidly through the book to find multiple-choice questions, essay questions, analysis questions, and more.

Wei Ping smiled: “These are question booklets I compiled last night. After you complete them, I will grade them.”

“You—you’re testing me?” Ji Xing threw the books down hard, indignantly saying, “Why?!”

Wei Ping looked sincere: “Immortal Ji, don’t blame me. It was your brother who asked me to test you. If you don’t believe me, you can ask him.”

“My brother?” Ji Xing cursed her brother through gritted teeth: “Well done, Ji Chen, you’re asking for death!”

Then she smiled sweetly at Wei Ping: “My brother is mistaken. Instead of testing me, you should test him. His cultivation is much stronger than mine.”

Wei Ping gently shook the food box with one hand, regretfully saying: “Today I had some free time and specially prepared a red-faced snow frog soup, stir-fried honey chestnuts, and steamed three kinds of dumplings. If the immortal doesn’t want to do the test…”

Ji Xing glared at him and fiercely opened the first page: “I’ll do it, I’ll do it!”

In the afternoon, Wei Ping went to Thousand Channels Market to supervise work. Ji Chen came much earlier than he had expected.

Ji Chen’s eyes were slightly red, his face ashen. The sleeves of his magnificent robe were torn, his precious jade crown askew, and his hair was as messy as a chicken’s nest.

Wei Ping pretended not to know: “Brother Ji, what happened? Were you robbed?”

Ji Chen collapsed: “I said I’d consider my sister, and you agreed to test my sister. But not this kind of ‘test my sister’! Damn it! You don’t need to test my sister anymore!”

He thought, even cultivators with the best tempers could become abnormal after heartbreak.

Normal people who haven’t suffered heart-wrenching pain couldn’t write such abnormal question booklets as “Three Hundred and Sixty Basic Facts About the Cultivation World.”

Wei Ping straightened Ji Chen’s clothes, smoothing out the wrinkles with a sincere face:

“Brother Ji, how dare I make things difficult for your sister? I just noticed that the newly arrived outer disciples lack common knowledge, and it’s inconvenient to always trouble Master Song.”

“Our Thousand Channels County is becoming increasingly prosperous, and news will spread. Soon a batch of young cultivators from ordinary backgrounds will come to join us. With more people, we grow stronger, and only by increasing the number and strength of Thousand Channels cultivators can we contend with sects like Hua Wei.”

“So I thought of opening a library and compiling a set of teaching materials, printing hundreds of copies for them to borrow. This develops self-learning ability and saves Master Song’s time.”

Ji Chen’s trembling body gradually calmed: “Really?”

Wei Ping nodded: “Your sister, Immortal Ji, is innocent and lovely, raised under your protection since childhood. She lacks interest in cultivation and knowledge about navigating the cultivation world. By seeing her answers, I can tell which questions need to be modified and repeated to deepen memory. Which questions are truly fundamental that even your sister can answer without thinking? And how to improve the booklets to make dry cultivation practices interesting.”

Ji Chen felt something was vaguely wrong with this statement, but couldn’t pinpoint exactly what, so he could only nod:

“I misunderstood you. You do need to test my sister.”

Wei Ping held Ji Chen’s hand: “Brother Ji, I also need your help to compile these teaching materials. Are you willing to help?”

Ji Chen liked feeling needed and relied upon, which made him feel completely transformed from his former useless self.

“Since it’s for Thousand Channels and Senior Brother Song, I am duty-bound to help!” He clasped hands with Wei Ping, “From today onward, we’ll test my sister together!”

“With Immortal Ji, I’m afraid I’ll have to trouble you,” Wei Ping said.

Ji Chen said grandly: “She can’t hurt me with her punches, it’s just losing some face, I’m not afraid.”

No student struggling with difficult questions can maintain a good mood.

Ji Chen delivered the question booklets with trepidation each time. Ji Xing wouldn’t let him leave while she was working on them, and when she got frustrated, she would punch him a couple of times to adjust her mood.

She’d punch twice while thinking hard, to stimulate her thoughts.

After finishing, she’d punch twice more in celebration.

When the booklets were filled with densely written ink characters, Ji Chen’s mission was complete, and it was Wei Ping’s turn to appear with his food box.

“The immortal has worked hard on the questions, please rest and eat more.”

A nine-grid arrangement was placed on the table, with a balanced mix of meat and vegetable dishes in bright colors, giving off steaming hot vapors that moved Ji Xing to tears:

“Little Ping, your cooking skills are getting better and better. Today’s lily bulb and red-face flower sweet soup are sweet without being cloying. It requires slow simmering for three hours to bring out the flavor, and one sip leaves a lingering fragrance on the tongue. You treat me so well.”

Wei Ping humbly said: “The immortal praises me too much. All soups are the same.”

“Aren’t we the same too? Both working on compiling teaching materials,” Ji Chen scratched his head, puzzled, “How come you get praised every time, while I get beaten every day?”

Wei Ping held back his laughter: “Is that so? I don’t think so.”

Ji Chen angrily said: “Are you doing this on purpose?”

Wei Ping put his arm around his shoulder, coaxing: “Brother Ji, Young Master Ji, Great Formation Master Ji, when the question booklets are published, you’ll be ‘Editor Ji.’ On behalf of all the young cultivators of Thousand Channels County and the scholarly students, I thank you.”

Thanks to Ji Chen’s fearless sacrifice in the face of his sister’s iron fists, the first edition of the question booklets was soon completed.

Once published, it was immediately warmly welcomed by the outer disciples.

Under the title on the cover, however, Wei Ping’s name was not written, only “Compiled by Ji Chen of Thousand Channels County.”

The two characters “Ji Chen” were written in an elaborate, prominent style.

Ji Chen brought the booklets to Wei Ping, feeling quite embarrassed: “All the questions were compiled by you, how could I take credit?”

Wei Ping smiled: “No, this is what you deserve.”

Later, in countless solitary nights of studying by lamplight, the young cultivators of Thousand Channels County directed their most profound love and hatred not toward Hua Wei Sect, nor toward their companions or secret crushes, but toward the two characters “Ji Chen.”

Love because someone cared about their cultivation progress; after completing the questions and checking the answers, they discussed and benefited greatly.

Hatred because the questions were varied, and detailed, with sharp wording and a mocking tone, leaving deep impressions.

Just one attempt at answering made them feel as if they had personally experienced the dilemmas described in the questions:

“Have you seen Ji Chen’s new questions? They’re getting more and more extreme! That big question about ‘being blocked by a Foundation Establishment cultivator in front, chased by a low-level demon beast behind, with an unconscious, severely injured companion on my back, while I’m coughing blood’ – what did you choose?”

“Don’t remind me. I haven’t done that one yet. Last night I struggled through half a set with a friend, hugging each other and crying all night. Editor Ji has such a cruel heart.”

“What kind of ruthless person would create such questions!”

Steward Wei remained the popular, friendly, approachable Steward Wei.

Formation Master Ji, however, transformed into the strict, severe, and feared Teacher Ji.

When young students encountered Ji Chen on the road, they immediately gave way and bowed. If they had to speak with him, they would first address him as “Teacher Ji.”

Walking side by side through Thousand Channels Market, Ji Chen gradually noticed something was wrong: “They seem a bit afraid of me, why?”

Wei Ping calmly made up an excuse: “They’re new to Thousand Channels, timid, and shy around strangers.”

“Then why aren’t they afraid of you? They even joke with you.”

Wei Ping covered his mouth with a light cough: “Your cultivation has advanced rapidly lately, leaking pressure that makes people fearful.”

Ji Chen nodded: “Is that so?”

Wei Ping turned around, greeted a small vendor pushing a cart, and bought a string of crystal-clear candied haws, handing them to Ji Chen: “Eat this. Don’t think too much.”

The candied haws looked like red flames encased in ice shells. Ji Chen bit into the sugar coating with a crunch – sour and sweet, quite delicious.

Wei Ping smiled.

The flavor of noodles had finally been repaid.