Over three years, rapid changes and hidden currents arose.

Song Qian Ji cultivated Qian Qu, burying himself in fieldwork, unaware of time’s swift passage.

When Meng He Ze found him, he was watering spring cabbage in the four-season greenhouse.

Following the development of his “seed field” for cultivating superior varieties, the four-season greenhouses built by Song Qian Ji were gradually promoted throughout Qian Qu County.

Inside the gauze enclosure, the soil’s temperature was maintained by formations, with improved light-gathering talismans controlling illumination. The people of Qian Qu could now eat fresh vegetables even in the cold, barren winter, no longer relying on pickled vegetables to get through the season.

The emerald green leaves hung with water droplets, crisp and tender like freshly unearthed water-grown jade. Song Qian Ji couldn’t help praising: “Looking good lately, keep it up!”

The cabbage was too lazy to respond, languidly basking in the golden light of the gathering talisman.

Meng He Ze thought he was being praised and immediately perked up: “Yes, Master Brother! I have prospects for the position of Qian Qu Library Director!”

Song Qian Ji froze momentarily, only then remembering this matter.

The “working souls” in the wheat field domain, in order to accumulate points, had been copying classics and Daoist texts day and night without rest.

The souls discussed and verified their learning with each other daily, not only recovering some long-lost ancient books but also eliminating flaws in old cultivation techniques, refining them into new methods.

After three years of daily accumulation, the collection in the Qian Qu Library had become more complete and advanced than that in the Hua Wei Sect’s library tower.

Previously priceless classics, which outer sect disciples had to risk their lives to borrow, had been printed and became ordinary books on the shelves.

The threshold for cultivation and learning was no longer unreachably high. In Qian Qu, even those without spiritual roots had to attend school to learn writing and principles.

With books came the need for teachers and librarians.

But Qian Qu had no specialized personnel available. Meng He Ze managed the hunting and city defense teams, Ji Chen handled all formations, and Xu Kan Shan and Qiu Da Cheng managed finances, commerce, household registration, and housing. Zhou Xiao Yun and Ji Xing managed the medical hall and sanitation, while Agricultural Officer Liu the Carpenter traveled to villages helping people build greenhouses, and Works Officer Iron Three Ox was busy constructing large bridges and reservoirs… Everyone had two or three responsibilities and couldn’t spare the time.

A year ago, Song Qian Ji posted an announcement recruiting teachers and a library director, offering favorable conditions.

Scholars and art enthusiasts from all over flocked to Qian Qu. Half came for the library’s rich collection, half to see Song Qian Ji’s authentic calligraphy.

After the Grand Assembly, the Calligraphy Saint had closed his doors to visitors, no longer writing or critiquing the younger generation’s calligraphy and painting. His “Hero’s Invitation” was thus known as “the last good writing,” unmatched in recent years.

Every day, talisman cultivators gathered in Tian City’s square, gazing up at the “Thousand Jin per Mu” plaque, tracing its characters in the air, contemplating brush techniques with unfocused eyes as if their souls had left their bodies.

Although Song Qian Ji’s authentic works were plentiful in Qian Qu, they contained no poetry or songs.

Most were words like “potato, round cabbage, wheat seedling, corn,” as well as flower names such as “wisteria, magnolia, azalea, balsam.”

Among them was an essay called “Exhortation to Study,” written to persuade youths in remote border villages to attend school. Its main idea was “sharpening the knife doesn’t delay woodcutting; finish school before farming,” encouraging people to first learn numbers and calculations, recognize characters and understand principles, and master basic agricultural knowledge.

The entire piece was only a hundred words, simple and easy to understand, both rational and emotional. The script had no ornate flourishes, with solid, simple strokes and a structure that showed great skill through apparent artlessness.

Many scholars who practiced copying it were moved and journeyed to Qian Qu.

With many literati gathering, they often held literary meetings, and competed in calligraphy and poetry, leaving many poems witnessing Qian Qu’s development. As these poems and prose spread widely, they attracted even more people to Qian Qu.

Meng He Ze, afraid of trampling the vegetable seedlings, carefully stayed on the ridge: “This man is just thirty years old. Although his cultivation is ordinary, he is widely read, knowledgeable about all kinds of classics and cultivation methods, has a gentle temperament, is patient with young disciples’ questions, and is skilled at organizing, cleaning, and storage. After a year of observation, among all the teachers hired at the same time, he’s the most suitable to be a director.”

Song Qian Ji ladled another scoop of water: “Then choose him.”

His answer was casual, but Meng He Ze hesitated: “I’ve just mentioned him, and Master Brother immediately agrees—that doesn’t seem quite right. Perhaps he has some major issue that I haven’t noticed… The position of director is of great importance, shouldn’t we wait and observe him for a while longer?”

“I’ll meet this person,” Song Qian Ji smiled slightly. “Whether he’s suitable or not, I’ll decide for myself, alright?”

He vaguely guessed what Meng He Ze was concerned about. It was nothing more than the backdoor appointment of a steward three years ago.

“Good, that’s excellent!” Meng He Ze finally breathed a sigh of relief. “Let’s go!”

“No rush,” Song Qian Ji said. “Let me finish watering this side first. Move your foot.”

…

Qian Qu Library was designed by Works Officer Iron Three Ox, with three connected buildings, each three stories high, and three paths inside each building.

A spiral staircase, a gentle slope, and a manually operated lift, to accommodate various groups of people.

Meng He Ze led Song Qian Ji upstairs, finding the young man on the third floor, bent over his desk writing catalogs and creating indexes for books.

“This is Mr. Zhu Ping,” Meng He Ze said.

The young man wore a long gown with a scholarly demeanor. He unhurriedly set down his brush and rose with composure: “Immortal Official Song, I’ve long admired you.”

“Hello, Mr. Zhu. Have you gotten used to life in Qian Qu?” Song Qian Ji silently recited his name, studying his features, feeling extremely familiar with him yet having only a vague impression.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Zhu Ping guessed their purpose, understanding this was an interview test, and naturally felt somewhat nervous.

Meng He Ze wondered why he was nervous; the backdoor incident with Wei Ping had been three years ago. Besides, today wasn’t a backdoor appointment.

Song Qian Ji flipped through Zhu Ping’s work notes, listening to his methods for book classification and indexing, as well as his suggestions for Qian Qu schools. He felt this person was indeed attentive and intelligent, and his handwriting was strangely familiar.

Two were nervous, one was silent, and an awkward atmosphere pervaded for ten zhang around.

Suddenly Song Qian Ji slapped the table and stood up: “Mr. Zhu, you’re still so young!”

He finally remembered. Wasn’t this the Academic Director of Qing Cliff seventy years later?

Mr. Zhu was startled, and seeing Meng He Ze’s equally bewildered expression, he could only stammer: “Immortal Official Song is even younger, no, more accomplished at a younger age.”

“Why did Mr. Zhu initially want to come to Qian Qu?”

Song Qian Ji was secretly surprised. Had their makeshift operation at Qian Qu County become so famous that they could even poach talent from major sects like Qing Cliff?

“I heard that Qian Qu has simple folk customs, rich book collections, and needed teachers, so I came,” Zhu Ping looked around at the towering bookshelves. “There are more books here than I imagined, truly a paradise for scholars.”

Song Qian Ji asked: “Qian Qu Library was established not long ago. In terms of scale, Qing Cliff’s library is ten times larger.”

“Four years ago, the population of Hua Wei City was also ten times that of Qian Qu, but what about now?” Zhu Ping said softly. “To be honest, my background is not good. Without someone’s recommendation, if I had gone to Qing Cliff, I might have had to spend over twenty years just to see some precious classics.”

“Indeed,” Song Qian Ji realized.

The larger the sect, the more they cared about one’s background, and the more complex their systems became.

Seeing him nod with a gentle expression, Zhu Ping’s tension mostly disappeared. He smiled and said:

“I’ve read ‘Exhortation to Study’ and agree with Immortal Official Song’s view of ‘education for all.’ Who says ordinary people shouldn’t be literate? Or farmers? The world outside is becoming increasingly chaotic. A group of young cultivators hold debate meetings every day, arguing at length, determined to refute each other, even drawing swords… I just hope there’s a place where regardless of gender, age, or background, everyone can write their name.”

Meng He Ze curiously interjected: “What do they debate about?”

Zhu Ping smiled bitterly: “All kinds of topics. Recently, the most heated debate was whether Immortal Lady Miao Yan is truly beautiful—and if even she isn’t considered beautiful, then what is the standard of beauty? Does beauty need a standard?”

Song Qian Ji thought that the world had indeed changed.

Unknowingly, even the consensus that Miao Yan was the most beautiful had become controversial, and going to Purple Cloud Temple or Qing Cliff was no longer the only path for scholars and intellectuals in the cultivation world.

He pondered for a moment: “Does Mr. Zhu still have a family? Would they be willing to settle in Qian Qu together?”

Zhu Ping said: “My parents died early. I’m the eldest, with two younger brothers and a sister. The four of us rely on each other to survive.” Speaking of his family, his expression softened considerably. “I prefer peace and tranquility, enjoying reading and teaching, but my second brother is naturally combative and exceptionally brave. Two years ago, he joined King Wei, determined to carve out a new world…”

Meng He Ze’s brow twitched upon hearing “King Wei,” and he anxiously looked at Song Qian Ji’s expression.

Song Qian Ji rubbed his eyebrows, still smiling warmly, gesturing for the other to continue.

Wei Zhen Yu had claimed self-governance in the Northern Celestial Region and officially proclaimed himself king last year.

His actions were flamboyant and high-profile, earning him many enemies, spending half the year fighting.

“My third brother neither loves academic research, unwilling to come to Qian Qu, nor enjoys combat, not wanting to go to Wei City. His character is slow but extremely steady and diligent. Hearing that Immortal Lady Chen is most patient, guiding cultivation daily hands-on, not disdaining disciples’ qualities, he went to the Eastern Celestial Region to join the ‘Little Hua Wei Sect’.”

Meng He Ze couldn’t help looking at Song Qian Ji again when he heard “Immortal Lady Chen.”

Song Qian Ji only asked: “Where is your sister now?”

“My sister’s spiritual veins aren’t strong enough for sword practice, but she has a talent for sound cultivation. She’s now under the tutelage of Senior Sister He from the Celestial Sound Gate. The split and opposition between the two factions within Celestial Sound Gate is an open secret. In recent years, Immortal Lady He has been selecting confidants from outer sect disciples, and it’s a time when she needs people.

“These four places no longer restrict entry based on background. Our four siblings are now scattered across the four Celestial Regions, each pursuing their path, with an agreement to reunite at our old home every Lantern Festival.”

At this point, the three fell silent, feeling both hopeful for the future and sorrowful about the uncertain road ahead.

Song Qian Ji spoke first: “Each excelling in their strengths, following their paths, yet watching out for each other—not bad.”

Zhu Ping said happily: “Immortal Official Song is indeed open-minded.”

Song Qian Ji continued: “But this world is vast yet also small. If one day, King Wei and Celestial Sound Gate compete for something, or Little Hua Wei Sect opposes Celestial Sound Gate, what will your siblings do? Have you thought about it?”

Zhu Ping sighed deeply: “Since ancient times, it’s been difficult to fulfill both loyalty and righteousness simultaneously. Each must strategize for their own master.”

At this point, the discussion seemed complete. Yet Song Qian Ji insisted on asking thoroughly:

“What if it’s not just strategizing, but meeting on the battlefield, with you holding a sword, and your brothers and sister also holding swords, facing each other and recognizing one another—what then?”

Meng He Ze was startled, his heart suspended, secretly wondering if Master Brother Song was asking about the four Zhu siblings or himself and his old acquaintances.

Mr. Zhu was silently speechless, then suddenly shouted: “What kind of world forces siblings to kill each other? If it truly comes to that, we’ll throw down our swords! No matter which king or sect leader, whatever grand ambitions they have, we siblings will become wandering cultivators roaming the world!”

He slammed the table in anger, no longer scholarly and gentle.

Meng He Ze’s vision darkened, thinking it was over—he wouldn’t be chosen as director.

But then he heard Song Qian Ji laugh: “Sir is suitable for Qian Qu, and Qian Qu is suitable for sir. Starting today, Qian Qu has established a new position of Education Officer, overseeing all schools, compiling teaching references, and educating the people. Would Library Director Zhu be willing to also serve as Education Officer?”

…

When Song Qian Ji left the Qian Qu Library, dusk was approaching, with lights just beginning to illuminate.

Someone was reading aloud in the school behind the library, their voice carried by the spring breeze, rising and falling like willow branches along the street.

New willow colors, familiar scenery.

Year after year, Song’s courtyard remained much the same, while outside, dramatic changes occurred, with warfare everywhere and new shipping routes covering the four great Celestial Regions.

“At the beginning of my rebirth, I never anticipated today’s changes.”

Although Song Qian Ji was more concerned with the four-season greenhouse harvests and the quality of the seed field, occasionally hearing news from the outside world still left him melancholic.

Changes began first in the mortal realm and outer sects, forcing major sects to improve treatment, or they couldn’t recruit mortal disciples.

Some immortal officials no longer dared to levy taxes arbitrarily, fearing they might suddenly receive a death threat from some meddling assassin, or a group might storm their mansion, declaring self-governance.

Some officials still refused to yield, using even more brutal methods to suppress resistance.

Whether this world would become better or more divided, with intensifying conflicts leading to accelerated destruction, even Song Qian Ji didn’t know.

Chen Hong Zhu hadn’t stayed at Hua Wei Sect to assist her senior brother Yuan Qing Shi, but instead established “Little Hua Wei Sect.”

The Celestial Sound Gate had split into two factions. After Immortal Lady Jiang Yun accepted He Qing Qing as a disciple, her influence surpassed Immortal Lady Wang Shu. Wang Shu might not be able to assume the position of sect leader as she had in her previous life.

Wei Zhen Yu hadn’t experienced the early, long period of concealing his abilities, finding a master, and quietly gathering resources—could he still reach the perfect ending of his previous life?

Young cultivators now had more choices. They could go to any of the Celestial Regions, and those who survived could achieve great things.

“Is Master Brother Song worried right now?” Meng He Ze suddenly asked.

“Who do you think I’m worried about?”

“Worried about those not in Qian Qu…” Meng He Ze’s footsteps faltered, “…others.”

“So I’m worried,” Song Qian Ji’s mind stirred as he looked up at the sky.

Before his words faded, the sky darkened, a great wind suddenly rose, and commotion erupted all around.

Dark red light surged from the horizon, rapidly covering half the sky like a rising tide.

Song Qian Ji narrowed his eyes slightly. Some enclosed space was shaking, and the violent change in airflow caused celestial anomalies.

“The secret realm is about to open!” he said.