After witnessing the commotion with the Ji family of Bai Feng County, the hosts from Hua Wei Sect felt somewhat dispirited, missing the excitement from Qian Qu County’s Official Song.

“How are the preparations for Hong Zhu?” Xu Yun summoned the Head Steward to inquire.

There was still an hour before the ceremony officially began. According to the procedure, Chen Hong Zhu should be burning incense and preparing in the rear hall.

She would change into a ceremonial robe with four layers, trailing three zhang behind her, wearing a gold crown adorned with pearls from the Western Sea, and at her waist would hang exquisite spiritual jade with elaborate pendants and tassels.

Only when the bells and drums sounded, marking the auspicious time, would she appear before everyone.

“Just now, a maid from the Young Miss came with a message that she is already dressed properly,” the Head Steward hesitated, seeming unsure whether to continue, “the Young Master Wei has gone over.”

Xu Yun frowned slightly and turned to the middle-aged cultivator beside him: “Cultivator Wei.”

Wei Zhan Yang’s father feigned pleasant surprise and smiled: “He might have gone to see if there’s anything he can help with. The feelings between young people develop quickly.”

“Oh,” Xu Yun nodded, “Zhan Yang is thoughtful.”

Yesterday, Wei Zhan Yang had lost his composure at Passing Water Bridge, leading to some unsavory rumors. Though baseless, they had displeased Hua Wei Sect, who then pressured the Wei family.

Today, Wei Zhan Yang’s enthusiasm and early appearance with his family’s red candles were entirely normal.

The auspicious time was approaching. Regardless of feelings, there was no turning back.

The guests deliberately chatted loudly, especially the smaller sects and tributary states dependent on the Hua Wei Sect, who used this opportunity to demonstrate their loyalty:

“Young Master Wei is talented and handsome, the Young Miss is beautiful and noble. From now on, the two families will be united like precious jade. This is truly a joyous occasion.”

“It’s our good fortune to witness the engagement of such a perfect couple. Benefiting from the abundant blessing of this occasion, our cultivation path will surely be smoother.”

“Fellow Daoists, please,” Xu Yun raised his cup, “our crude tea and poor wine fall short; please forgive any inadequacies.”

All the guests poured wine and drank heartily.

Cultivators knowledgeable about wine were ecstatic, endlessly praising their host: “Six-hundred-year-old Green Ant aged wine, unobtainable outside even with spirit stones. You’ve truly spared no expense.”

“If not for the Young Miss’s engagement banquet, how could we have such a culinary fortune?”

Song Qian Ji knew what he was like when drunk, so he dared not touch the wine jug beside him, only eating fruits, desserts, and exquisite dishes.

When others invited him to drink Green Ant wine, he could only raise his jade soup bowl in response.

Hua Wei Sect’s home-brewed spiritual wine, though not as rich in flavor as those crafted by Da Yan Sect’s unique techniques, excelled in spiritual energy, infused with various spiritual herbs. It had the effects of clearing meridians, invigorating blood, and nourishment, perfect for replenishing energy in the depths of winter.

Song Qian Ji called to Meng He Ze and others: “Everyone drink, don’t waste it.”

Meng He Ze sternly refused. Lin Fei Yuan snatched the wine jug, took a large gulp, and passed it around to the disciples like a drumbeat in a game.

The disciples, who usually drank only cloudy grain alcohol when hunting, became spirited and flushed after a few cups of Green Ant spiritual wine as if they were back at the hunting team’s roast.

The great hall was splendid with gold and jade, with disciples from various sects standing respectfully behind their representatives.

Only the Qian Qu group was chatting, eating, and drinking cheerfully, as if in their backyard.

This scene made other disciples envious, while many expressed disdainful jealousy:

“A bunch of bumpkins. Doesn’t Song Qian Ji manage them at all?”

“No discipline, no sense of hierarchy—what kind of order is this? Are all cultivators in Qian Qu like this?”

Seeing this, Li Ying laughed: “So Senior Brother Song is so lenient with his disciples. I had heard that in Song Garden, there are few restrictions, yet everyone is utterly loyal. It seems this is true.”

“They are not my disciples, nor my subordinates,” Song Qian Ji said. “They’re just temporarily cultivating with me. By mutual agreement. Being true to oneself is the Way—why talk of ‘loyalty’ to me?”

“By mutual agreement…” Li Ying was momentarily stunned, murmuring, “How many sect rules can make people willing?”

“Daoist Zi Ye!” Over there, Song Qian Ji had already raised his soup bowl, inviting Zi Ye Wen Shu, “I’ll use soup instead of wine. Would you join me for a cup?”

Zi Ye Wen Shu raised his eyebrows slightly as if hesitating.

“Please forgive Official Song, the Academy Monitor never enjoys drinking,” Qing Zhai said sternly, refusing firmly.

“I’ll drink in place of our Monitor,” Zi Mo smiled.

Song Qian Ji smiled: “Rules and prohibitions can be broken occasionally. Come, I’ll first finish this half bowl of ginseng soup.”

The Qing Cliff scholars all felt speechless. How could there be someone like Song Qian Ji?

The Academy Monitor would certainly not indulge his habits.

Yet Zi Ye Wen Shu raised his cup and drank it all in one go.

After putting down his cup, his brows relaxed, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, and then immediately returned to normal.

Song Qian Ji secretly laughed.

When someone invited him publicly, in order not to be “discourteous,” Zi Ye Wen Shu would “reluctantly” raise his cup.

To be a model for all, one must certainly stay away from desires of the mouth and stomach—wine, sex, wealth, and anger.

The more dignified he was, the less others dared to offend him, fearing to tarnish an immortal.

But Song Qian Ji knew he wanted to drink.

In his previous life, they had grown weary from fighting in Blood River Valley. Countless, endless demons from all directions roared like tsunamis, surging forward like tides.

The sun and moon had no light. Only the two of them remained alive in the world.

Both had nearly exhausted their spiritual energy, drained of blood, numb and fatigued, sustaining their bodies only through the remaining will to survive.

Song Qian Ji wiped his face.

Gripping his sword, he used a torn half-sleeve to tightly bind the sword hilt to his hand.

“Hey, death face,” Song Qian Ji called, “if we don’t die this time, what would you most like to do?”

Zi Ye Wen Shu was again wiping his knife with a blood-stained, tattered cloth.

Even covered in disheveled filth, he maintained his habit, meticulously attending to every detail.

He said softly: “I want to drink wine.”

Song Qian Ji laughed and coughed, unconcerned that his abdominal wound burst open, bleeding profusely:

“No way, you’ve never drunk wine?!”

He hadn’t either, only having seen others drink, but at that moment, his face was more important.

“I have, it’s good. A hundred years ago.” Zi Ye Wen Shu asked, “What about you?”

Song Qian Ji spat out a mouthful of bloody foam and said loudly: “I want to see Miao Yan! They say she’s the cultivation world’s number one beauty, with the appearance of a celestial fairy, capable of toppling kingdoms. This old man hasn’t seen her with his own eyes yet—how could I be willing to die?”

Zi Ye Wen Shu frowned.

Song Qian Ji knew this meant he disapproved of his vulgarity, but he didn’t care: “If we don’t die this time, I’ll treat you to wine!”

“I’ll take you to see Fairy Miao Yan.”

“A prestigious sect must keep its word!”

They survived by luck but never drank that wine.

By the time Song Qian Ji saw Miao Yan with his own eyes, Zi Ye Wen Shu had been dead for a long time.

Long enough for one heavy snowfall after another to cover the cultivation world, long enough for forgetful cultivators to no longer mention his name.

“Fairy Miao Yan arrives—” the Head Steward of Hua Wei Sect announced loudly.

Amid gasps, Song Qian Ji came back to his senses, looking dazed as he picked up a piece of crab roe with his chopsticks.

The crab roe was rich in flavor, served in a transparent jade plate before him, golden-yellow with an orange tinge.

Just like Miao Yan’s orange trailing dress today and golden arm gauze.

“This Hua Wei Mountain is strange—think of someone, and they appear,” Song Qian Ji sighed.

Miao Yan’s demeanor was otherworldly. She strived for the aesthetics of “making the difficult seem effortless,” rarely wearing brightly colored clothes or extravagant jewelry.

But today was a special occasion. She had been invited by Hua Wei Sect to play a piece celebrating the ceremony.

So she dressed formally, with pearls and jade at her temples reflecting the hall’s brilliance, stunning everyone into dazed amazement.

Ji Chen said softly: “Brother Song is entranced. So he also likes looking at beauties.”

Meng He Ze: “Nonsense, Senior Brother Song never judges by appearance. He even has the famous saying, ‘Rouge and powder cover but a skull!'”

Ji Chen stuck out the tip of his tongue: “I almost forgot.”

In his previous life, Song Qian Ji had wanted but failed to see someone; in this rebirth, he had already seen thrice, up close, someone he didn’t want or care to see.

Passing Water Bridge, the flower-viewing gathering, and now Qian Kun Hall.

For other young cultivators, this would be considered three lifetimes of good fortune.

For Hua Wei Sect to invite Fairy Miao Yan to play was also an honor.

Miao Yan spoke, her voice as soft as silk: “Congratulations on Hong Zhu’s joyous engagement.”

All the guests stood up to show respect and gratitude.

Xu Yun said: “We are grateful to the Fairy.”

Surprisingly, Miao Yan didn’t summon a zither but took a pipa from her attendant’s hands.

The pipa’s face was painted with a phoenix’s tail feathers, its silk strings gleaming.

Only after she had taken her position in the center of the great hall did everyone sit down.

“I’ve had the fortune to hear Fairy Miao Yan play the zither, but never the pipa.”

“Good wine to clear the meridians, and celestial music to organize spiritual energy and aid enlightenment—Hua Wei Sect truly lives up to its name as a great sect.”

Only Song Qian Ji felt something was amiss: “Phoenix Terrace?”

Miao Yan was proficient in many instruments, with the zither as her primary magical tool. Her zither music is best-aided cultivators in cultivation.

Her pipa, named “Phoenix Terrace,” was also famous but rarely seen in public.

It was said that when the strings vibrated, the illusory image of a phoenix flying and dancing would emerge from the pipa’s face, truly “a phoenix playing on Phoenix Terrace.”

Song Qian Ji had once heard Miao Yan say: “The zither has nine virtues. If one has ulterior motives and an insincere heart, playing can damage the zither’s spiritual energy—better not to play at all.”

At that time, Song Qian Ji didn’t understand what “ulterior motives” meant.

He had advised: “When you don’t want to play, then don’t. No one can force you.”

Not until he was near death did Miao Yan rush to him, cradling the pipa, and play “Hegemon Disarming.”

He understood too late.

Song Qian Ji lowered his head and took another bite of crab roe.

On such a joyous day, what purpose could Miao Yan have?

…

Standing in the center of the great hall, Miao Yan’s gaze swept across the guests.

As she wished, she saw expressions of amazement, infatuation, and desire.

She enjoyed standing at the center of attention and being respected but disliked crowding.

The current distance was just right, and the atmosphere of the occasion was perfect.

Though it was Chen Hong Zhu’s engagement banquet, when people later recalled it, they might not remember Chen Hong Zhu’s attire but would remember that Miao Yan had played a piece.

In the past, she would have been quite satisfied with this.

But today was different. She was more anxious, more excited, like a little girl many years ago, unfamiliar with but curious about music and silk strings.

She wanted to find an answer to a long-troubling riddle that had gradually become a heart barrier.

Compared to the prison in her heart, solid as a mountain, the pressure He Qing Qing brought was as light as dust.

“Fairy, among all these guests, who do you most hope is here?” When her attendant was helping her dress, she couldn’t help but ask.

She shook her head without answering.

Now standing in the hall, Miao Yan kept her gaze straight ahead with her chin slightly raised, yet her peripheral vision could see the guests on both sides of the great hall.

Everyone was looking at her.

Except for Song Qian Ji, who was bent over eating crab roe.

“I only hope it’s not him.”

Miao Yan nodded slightly, indicating to the host that they could begin.

Xu Yun raised his hand, suddenly lifting his whisk, its countless silver strands sweeping through the air.

The glazed tiles of Qian Kun Hall flashed with ripples, rapidly “losing color.”

As Xu Yun’s whisk fell, the other five peak masters of Hua Wei Sect rose together, summoning their primary magical tools.

The people in the hall looked up in amazement, able to see through the transparent roof the patterns of flowing clouds and the trajectories of flying birds in the azure sky.

The sea of clouds surged like a tsunami, forming a rapidly rotating vortex, while the jubilant five-colored carp sank deep into the cloud layers.

Five glowing streams flew out from the hall, piercing through the transparent glazed tiles, condensing into five petal shadows on the sea of clouds, merging into one flower.

The surging sea of clouds supported the flower shadow, which rapidly expanded to cover the entire Hua Wei Mountain like a giant umbrella holding up the sky.

In an instant, the spiritual energy between heaven and earth transformed, enough to shake the minds of cultivators.

“Hua Wei Sect’s Cloud Sea Formation has activated!”

Exclamations rippled through the hall, and the Qian Qu disciples were equally shocked.

“What an impressive formation,” Ji Chen murmured.

The people of the Hua Wei Sect suddenly felt proud.

This scene had originally been planned to impress at the Deng Wen Conference, but with the three saints gathered there, the hosts had been cautious, not daring to show off in front of experts.

Song Qian Ji had seen it in his previous life, and even an improved version.

He couldn’t help but smile for a moment.

This might fool inexperienced young people, but in a real fight, even the strongest illusory light pressure was ineffective—just a feint to confuse opponents.

He knew that the true killing mechanism of Hua Wei Sect’s formation was hidden in the seemingly peaceful and harmless Passing Water Bridge.

Lin Fei Yuan transmitted to Ji Chen, Meng He Ze, and Song Qian Ji: “Watch carefully, this is the power of a great sect’s mountain-protecting formation. When Xu Yun activates the formation and the five peak masters jointly infuse spiritual energy, all inanimate objects within Hua Wei Mountain—every flower and blade of grass, every stone, and every tree—are under their absolute control. The so-called thousand years of foundation and accumulation of a great sect cannot be broken by sheer force. Be more careful next time; don’t go delivering vegetables to someone else’s home!”

Meng He Ze knew he was referring to him and surprisingly didn’t argue, nodding instead:

“That night, if not for Young Miss Chen sacrificing herself to help, we might have been trapped within the sect.”

Ji Chen was full of ambition: “One day, I’ll make Qian Qu have such a powerful formation too!”

“That’s not right,” Song Qian Ji shook his head, “plants and trees are not inanimate.”

Lin Fei Yuan was choked by his focus and placated him: “Fine, fine, in your Song Garden, plants and trees are more human than humans, all listening to you.”

“No,” Song Qian Ji still insisted, “Plants and trees are not inanimate anywhere. Even on Hua Wei Mountain.”

Lin Fei Yuan let out a laugh, too lazy to humor him further:

“If they have spirits, make them bloom and see if they listen to you.”

Song Qian Ji said no more.

He recalled the old pine at the broken cliff’s edge.

That old tree, which had lived through a thousand years of wind and rain without dying, as old as the mountain itself—he wondered if it had accepted his wish.

As the formation reached its peak, suddenly there came three sharp “zing, zing, zing” sounds.

Like the clashing of knives and swords, it was startling.

The cultivators stopped their exclamations, and the great hall momentarily fell silent.

It was Fairy Miao Yan pressing the strings.

After three strong notes from the pipa, the sound flowed like a waterfall from the beauty’s fingertips, plucking at the heartstrings.

Song Qian Ji took a deep breath, his smile changing to a helpless, bitter one.

The adapted version of “The Wind and Snow Battle Formation Melody.”

Here we go again.

Not good.

…

Wei Zhan Yang followed Chen Hong Zhu’s gaze out the window, his heart stirring slightly.

Hua Wei Sect had undoubtedly spent many spirit stones and put in great effort to maintain face today.

So he could only succeed.

Failure was not an option.

He took a deep breath: “Hong Zhu, the matter I just mentioned, please consider it carefully. You only have this one chance.”

“Is that so?”

For some reason, Chen Hong Zhu seemed distracted, as if her mind was elsewhere, contemplating something more important.

The maids had already withdrawn.

In the spacious rear hall, with its faint incense burning, only the two of them remained facing each other.

Every word spoken produced echoes.

“Yes. I’m thinking of your best interests!” Wei Zhan Yang said with sincerity, “I know you have him in your heart. I’m most unwilling to take what belongs to another. More importantly…”

He deliberately paused, drawing Chen Hong Zhu’s attention, “I know how your father plans to kill him.”