Ji Chen calculated the timing and jumped down from the treetop:
“Even if Senior Brother Song cooked three large pots and used up all the kitchen’s seasonings, that kid Wei Ping should have finished eating by now!”
Meng He Ze glanced at the sky: “Let’s go, the rain is getting heavier.”
The darkness was dense and murky.
The two walked through the fine spring rain toward Song’s courtyard, not forgetting to mock Wei Ping for honestly eating his noodles.
Rolling thunder sounded, and suddenly a shrill laughter was heard from the courtyard.
“Something’s wrong!” Ji Chen’s expression changed.
Meng He Ze was the first to break through the door, only to see Song Qian Ji and Wei Ping facing each other across a stone table in the rain.
The candles on the table had been extinguished, leaving only an old sword and an empty porcelain bowl.
“I prided myself on being clever all my life, yet I misjudged you. Consider me blind,” Wei Ping laughed loudly toward the sky.
“Swoosh!”
The lightning was ghastly white, and the sword gleamed snow-bright. He drew his sword and pointed it directly at Song Qian Ji.
Meng He Ze’s mind buzzed, the world spinning: “Wei Ping, have you gone mad!”
“Don’t call me Wei Ping!” Wei Zhen Yu turned and shouted.
Ji Chen glanced at the noodle bowl and forced a smile: “Brother Wei, it’s my fault! Today I should have been the one eating noodles. If you want to blame someone, blame me. Don’t be angry with Brother Song. We can talk this through, put down your sword first.”
He deliberately joked, trying to break Wei Ping’s frenzied mood.
Song Qian Ji, however, raised his hand, not allowing Meng He Ze and Ji Chen to approach.
The two could only stand beneath the plum tree, watching helplessly as the sharp sword tip hovered at Song Qian Ji’s throat.
“I taught formations to little Ji, and forged a sword for little Meng, yet I never taught you anything. Inside and outside Song’s courtyard, your hard work was invaluable. I’ve wasted half a year of your time. This sword, if you want to strike, then strike. I won’t fight back.” Song Qian Ji’s voice was indifferent as he lowered his eyelids.
The rain poured heavily, fallen flowers and broken leaves danced wildly. Night clouds were torn apart by lightning, the two silhouettes flickering between light and shadow.
The one holding the blade trembled like a madman, while the unarmed one remained as steady as a mountain, fearless with confidence.
“Is that what you think?” Wei Zhen Yu’s eyes reddened.
So in Song Qian Ji’s heart, loyalty and friendship were things carefully weighed on scales, always measured precisely. Tonight I stood before you after narrowly escaping death, yet you say a year’s worth of kindness can be repaid with one sword strike, and then we’re even.
“You not only lack courage, you have no heart!” he shouted, his spiritual energy exploding throughout his body.
Countless raindrops shattered, turning into misty water vapor, not daring to approach his body.
Meng He Ze and Ji Chen were shocked.
“Crack!” Wei Zhen Yu forcefully broke the long sword, “If you won’t do this thing, I’ll do it. Not because everyone says I should, not because I want fame, fortune, or beautiful women, but because I want to do it.”
He flung his sleeve, sending the broken sword flying.
The flower trellis not far away collapsed with a crash, creating a mess on the ground.
Wei Zhen Yu turned around, his left hand cut by the sword edge, bleeding profusely: “The bond between us, like this sword, from today onwards, has nothing to do with each other!”
Old wounds burst open, warm blood flowing down, dispersed by rainwater.
Ordinary people would cut their robes to end a friendship or split a mat to break off relations, but they were all swordsmen—to break ties, they could only break swords.
Meng He Ze reached out, wanting to grab Wei Ping’s sleeve.
Song Qian Ji exploded with a shout: “Let him go!”
Wei Ping’s clothes were soaked through, his face expressionless as he brushed past Meng He Ze and Ji Chen, like passing two small trees.
As he crossed the threshold, he suddenly remembered something:
“Song Qian Ji, has no one ever told you that the noodles you cook are truly awful?”
Song Qian Ji closed his eyes, seemingly unmoved.
Wei Zhen Yu disappeared into the pitch-black rain curtain, never looking back.
After a long while, Song Qian Ji opened his eyes to look at the collapsed flower trellis, staggering a step. Ji and Meng hurriedly stepped forward, helping him inside to sit down.
Ji Chen, following the spiritual pressure of the treasures, retrieved the Painting of Spring Mountain, the Seven-String Zither, and the Go manual from the vegetable garden, wiping away the mud and water from their surfaces: “Brother Song and Brother Wei, how did things end up like this?”
Song Qian Ji shook his head without speaking.
Meng He Ze looked toward the courtyard gate, angrily saying: “Wei Ping, that bastard, I’ll go drag him back!”
“No,” Song Qian Ji said hoarsely, “if you meet him outside, don’t provoke him.”
“Outside?” Ji Chen was stunned, his expression somewhat flustered, “Does Brother Song want us to leave too?”
What was Song Qian Ji thinking?
Chen Hong Zhu swore to sever ties with him on Shi Shui Bridge.
Lin Fei Yuan jumped off the ship’s deck, leaving without a trace.
In the heavy rain, Wei Ping broke his sword and spoke the harshest words.
Yet he seemed accustomed to it, at least showing no outward signs of heartbreak.
Ji Chen felt confused, almost unable to distinguish which part of this person was gentle, and which part was distant and cold.
Song Qian Ji hadn’t thought that much. He wasn’t without feelings or loyalty, he simply had a much higher tolerance for loneliness, separation, and misunderstanding than ordinary people.
“When you travel outside in the future, there will always be moments of unavoidable encounters. Remember, don’t go looking to provoke him.”
Song Qian Ji thought, that even if you don’t leave Qian Qu for the next two years and focus on closed-door cultivation, after three years when the secret realm opens, cultivators from all over the world will flock there, competing for opportunities and resources. You should also go to temper yourselves and try your luck.
But Ji Chen and Meng He Ze had terrible fates in their previous lives, showing their fortune was tainted. If they became deadly enemies with the savior blessed by destiny, they would likely lose in a confrontation. Better to avoid his edge.
Meng He Ze frowned, picking up the broken sword stuck in the mud: “Wei Ping is extreme and arrogant, yet in Song’s courtyard he suppressed his nature, humbling himself. Now that he’s left harboring resentment, he must feel dissatisfied. If we let this go, I fear he may harm Master Brother in the future.”
Song Qian Ji took the sword, saying flatly: “Let him be.”
Meng He Ze thought, even though Wei Ping had pointed a sword at Master Brother tonight, Master Brother still remembered their old friendship, unwilling to hurt him.
“Let’s go back,” Song Qian Ji said, “I’ll rest now.”
Meng and Ji hesitated, wanting to say more.
As they were about to leave, they suddenly heard him ask: “Were the noodles really that bad?”
Meng He Ze was startled, hastily explaining: “Brother Song, don’t listen to Wei Ping’s nonsense. They weren’t that bad, just ordinary bad… Ah! Ji Chen, why are you kicking me!”
…
Of course, they were extremely bad, but those who ate them never said so.
Song Qian Ji had always thought himself a cooking genius until he tasted his food and understood its hundred bitter flavors.
It was more bitter than life itself.
Spring rain came hurriedly at midnight and departed by dawn.
With Steward Wei gone, Qian Qu seemed to have a huge hole dug into it, with the cold wind whistling through.
The marketplace, household registry office, city defense team, temple prison, and court lost their spokesman, and the bridges and roads still under construction stalled in progress. Steward Wei had incredible energy, with his decisions and deployments covering all aspects.
Xu Kan Shan and Qiu Da Cheng took over hastily, temporarily thrown into disarray, and had to seek Song Qian Ji’s decisions.
Ji Xing and Zhou Xiao Yun missed Wei Ping’s sweet soup and pastries, and even more missed his understanding nature, sweet talk, and conversational skills.
Ji Chen could only comfort his sister: “Brother Wei left temporarily to confuse enemies. Brother Song gave him a secret mission… you absolutely cannot tell anyone!”
After saying it many times, he almost believed it himself.
Even Meng He Ze’s parents missed Wei Ping, often mentioning their godson in front of their son.
Meng He Ze didn’t want his parents to be sad, so he vaguely made up lies: “Master Brother Song sent him out on an errand, he’ll be back when it’s finished.”
When Wei Ping was around, he would pick on him, finding fault with everything.
With Wei Ping gone, he felt most uncomfortable.
Only Song Qian Ji was the exception.
In others’ eyes, his life hadn’t been affected at all.
He still slept until he naturally woke each day, spending his days rebuilding the flower trellis, planting new vegetables, and busily preparing for spring plowing.
He also marked out a fertile “seed field” in Tian City, personally planting the excellent grain seeds selected during winter, beginning to cultivate superior varieties.
At dusk, Song Qian Ji received visitors and answered questions, responding to the myriad of strange inquiries from Qian Qu’s disciples.
In the evenings, he mostly reclined in his lounge chair watching the sky, and occasionally playing a game of Go.
Before Wei Ping came, he had lived day by day like this.
If there was any difference, it was that he no longer let others cook, occasionally making noodles for himself, his culinary skills improving extremely slowly.
“So I don’t have a talent for cooking.”
Ji Chen couldn’t bear to see Song Qian Ji torture himself and suggested to Meng He Ze: “Let’s hire another steward who can cook.”
“Bring in another Wei Ping to point a sword at Master Brother?” Meng He Ze disagreed.
“When we came to Qian Qu, Song’s courtyard had only the two of us. After going in circles, it’s just us two again, oh, and it.” Ji Chen patted the orange wild cat curling around his knees.
Meng He Ze scolded the cat: “The two people who raised you both abandoned you, yet you still dare to come here for free food!”
The wild cat also knew how to read the situation, immediately exposing its soft belly fur, rolling around innocently, leaving Meng He Ze without any temper.
From then on, he took over the responsibility of feeding the cat.
Bold Qian Qu’s disciples took the opportunity during question time to ask why Steward Wei suddenly left Qian Qu.
Song Qian Ji found it difficult to explain this matter, so he said: “He said my noodles taste terrible.”
One told ten, ten told a hundred, and it became known as “the falling out caused by a bowl of noodles.”
…
Wei Zhen Yu left in anger, riding his sword through the wind.
Three days later, when his temper subsided, he was already a hundred miles from Qian Qu.
He hesitated, unable to move forward, and finally couldn’t resist turning back. He changed his appearance, filled out an entry exam paper, and snuck into Tian City.
The short half-year in Qian Qu was more abundant than the memories of the past decade.
“It’s not that I can’t bear to leave, I just want to see how miserable you all are without me.”
Qian Qu was lush with spring red willows and green leaves, the spring river rising, full of vitality, completely different from when he first arrived, and now it had nothing to do with him.
Walking in the streets, hearing others mention Steward Wei, he felt both joyful and sour.
Hearing that Immortal Official Song had issued an order: All disciples of Song’s courtyard, when traveling outside, must not harm Wei Zhen Yu. His heart became troubled, and he cursed Song Qian Ji for being hypocritical.
“The envoys from Da Yan Sect have arrived! Come, let’s go see the excitement!”
Suddenly there was a commotion around him, and the crowd gathered, sweeping Wei Zhen Yu toward the Immortal Official’s Mansion.
Song Qian Ji was in front of the mansion gate, receiving guests.
Ji Chen and Meng He Ze brought two young cultivators wearing purple disciple robes from Da Yan Sect.
They carried two large bamboo boxes on their backs, which made thumping sounds. Wei Zhen Yu suspected there might be hidden weapons and stared intently.
After exchanging greetings, the two men brought out two iron-eating beast cubs from the boxes, as if carrying baskets of fruit, and tried to push them directly into Song Qian Ji’s arms.
No one had seen such strange beasts before, only feeling that these creatures were soft and lazy, with endearing appearances.
“Miss Purple Robe sent us to deliver these. A humble gift. Not worthy of your respect.”
Song Qian Ji looked embarrassed: “Spirit beasts are precious, I can’t keep them alive.”
But the two cubs clung to his legs and tried to climb up, frightening him so much that he dared not move, only dodge.
Wei Zhen Yu found it amusing, but sourly thought, you’re certainly living comfortably, with people remembering you and sending you spirit beasts.
“Outside the Hundred Flowers Pavilion of Hua Wei Sect, the young lady said she wanted to give you iron-eating beasts. If she couldn’t deliver them, she feared people would laugh at her for breaking her word. The spirit beasts are a small matter, but the young lady’s face is important, please bear with it, Immortal Official Song,” the Da Yan Sect disciple persuaded. “Don’t be fooled by their current appearance; when they grow up, they’re quite fierce. In peaceful times they guard the house, on the battlefield, they lead the charge. Immortal Official Song, accept them as mounts!”
Song Qian Ji showed a doubtful expression.
Guard the house, lead the charge? These?
Am I supposed to ride an iron-eating beast slowly into battle, release a wheat field domain, and make my enemies laugh to death?
Zhou Xiao Yun, Ji Xing, and other female cultivators, however, liked them very much and volunteered to learn spirit beast rearing.
In the end, the two iron-eating beasts stayed. Song Qian Ji returned the gift with ten jin of wheat.
The next day, an envoy from Qing Cliff came to visit, bringing a thick book of laws.
“Immortal Official Song’s letter has been received by Master Brother, the Supervisor. This book is the answer,” Zi Mo smiled. “Although many of Qing Cliff’s laws may not be entirely suitable for Qian Qu, there are always common points.”
Wei Zhen Yu thought, Song Qian Ji, when did you write a letter? How come I didn’t know?
After one trip to Hua Wei Sect, you’ve made quite a few new friends, all rushing to help you.
Then he heard the Qing Cliff envoy say: “All matters should follow laws and precedents. This way, regardless of who is missing, everything can operate as usual.”
Song Qian Ji smiled: “Little Meng, bring the thank-you gift I prepared. All grown at home, take them back for a taste.”
At the front of the mansion, the host and guests were in high spirits, with thunderous applause.
Wei Zhen Yu turned away with a cold smile: “Qian Qu never really needed me. Fine, in this world there’s no shortage of barren lands and suffering common people. I’ll find some poor mountain and evil water, build a magnificent city, gather an army, and after a few years, we’ll see whose land is more prosperous… A hundred years later when heaven and earth collapse, you won’t save what I save.”
With that, he left, never looking back.
“What is Master Brother looking at?” Meng He Ze asked, “Are you searching for someone?”
Song Qian Ji shook his head: “I was mistaken.”
He seemed to have seen Wei Zhen Yu’s shadow, appearing and disappearing in an instant.
He thought for a moment: “From today on, every three days, I will personally spar with you both.”
“Why, Brother Song?” Ji Chen didn’t understand.
“To relieve my boredom.”
Song Qian Ji thought to himself, it was of course to prepare early for the opening of the secret realm three years later. This would prevent them from meeting Wei Zhen Yu outside and becoming targets of his anger, forcing him to save them again.