Xian Jian Chen looked at Song Qian Ji with surprise, his mouth slightly open, his face reading “There’s someone in this world who dares speak to me like this.”

Song Qian Ji understood this feeling well. After being number one in the world for too long, people became arrogant, believing they could pluck stars from the sky and capture dragons from the sea, capable of anything.

Naturally looking down on others, naturally proud.

“If you need a disciple, it certainly isn’t me. I will not take anyone as my master,” Song Qian Ji spoke bluntly.

He had originally intended to be more tactful and polite, but facing someone as narcissistic and self-centered as Xian Jian Chen, he was more afraid of being misunderstood as playing hard to get.

Xian Jian Chen smiled.

Their first hasty meeting, Song Qian Ji had been angry and impulsive, like a hot-blooded youngster who didn’t care about consequences.

The second time, Song Qian Ji was polite but distant, cautiously dealing with him, not trying to please him, but preparing to counter his sword.

Xian Jian Chen found it quite interesting.

This kid had originally wanted to put on airs to dismiss him, but because he broke a branch of flowers in the courtyard, immediately dropped all pretense.

Ordinary peach blossoms are not at all a rare variety.

“Kid,” Xian Jian Chen came closer, saying softly, “you can refuse Year Enters Divinity, refuse Child of Many Emotions because they care about face. No matter how displeased, they wouldn’t embarrass a junior. I don’t care about face. If I’m unhappy, I’ll just kill you. Are you afraid?”

A straightforward threat.

The wind fell silent, insect sounds from the grass disappeared, and crows on the branches folded their wings, making no sound.

The small courtyard was enveloped by a chilling sword aura, isolated from the world. Terrifyingly quiet.

An invisible sharp sword hung over Song Qian Ji’s head.

“A little afraid.”

His mouth claimed fear, but his feet didn’t retreat half a step.

Song Qian Ji thought that Xian Jian Chen was the person he least wanted to deal with; he feared trouble.

“A little?” Xian Jian Chen raised his eyebrows.

“I should be very afraid,” Song Qian Ji slowly spoke, enduring the invisible sword above his head and waves of cold aura. “But you’re injured, and not lightly.”

As soon as these words left his mouth, he met Xian Jian Chen’s eyes.

Xian Jian Chen’s gaze changed, and the smile in his eyes instantly disappeared, transforming into coldness.

A coldness that looked down upon all living beings, like the ice and snow at the edge of the continent.

Song Qian Ji knew that this time, the other truly had killing intent.

The killing intent of the world’s strongest was naturally most terrifying. But he could not retreat at all. This was a moment of narrow road encounter; he could only stare at the other like a fierce wolf.

Whoever stepped back first would have their throat bitten by the other.

In those amber eyes, he saw star tracks rotating, fields of white bones, and ten thousand sword shadows flying past. It was the phantom of Xian Jian Chen’s “domain.”

“How do you know?” Xian Jian Chen’s voice was slightly hoarse, like a sword slowly being unsheathed.

“There’s no alcohol scent on you, only flower fragrance.”

“That’s only because your flowers are too fragrant,” Xian Jian Chen said coldly.

“You’re addicted to alcohol, yet for the sake of healing your wounds, you’ve had to abstain. Though my flowers are fragrant, they don’t have this kind of rich scent; you’re trying to use perfume to cover the residual medicinal smell on your body. If your life-bound sword were with you, no one in this world could harm you, so the rumors must be true—your sword is indeed not by your side.”

No reason was needed. Song Qian Ji saw Xian Jian Chen’s ruddy face and vigorous spirit and guessed that something must be wrong. He must have taken some kind of spiritual medicine that strongly replenished blood and qi.

When Xian Jian Chen wasn’t injured, he reeked of alcohol, walked lazily, and never looked at people directly—this was his normal state.

Because he was powerful, he did as he pleased, unrestrained, not needing to appear particularly spirited.

Only when injured would he be unwilling to let others see his pale and weak condition?

Song Qian Ji said word by word: “You’re not fully recovered from severe injuries, currently at the end of your strength, and without your sword. This Immortal Official’s Mansion has had layers of formations, both visible and hidden, accumulating for nearly three years—ninety-nine layers in total, large formations overlapping with small ones. Do you want to kill me here? At worst, we both perish!”

His voice was resolute. Even though the other was injured, to be able to infiltrate Song’s courtyard silently still made him a formidable opponent that Song would find difficult to handle.

“Not bad. I am indeed injured,” Xian Jian Chen smiled, the surging killing intent receding like the tide.

Song Qian Ji relaxed slightly when suddenly the other’s pressure erupted as he extended a finger.

The two were extremely close. Song Qian Ji groaned, his entire body instantly frozen like stone, watching helplessly as that finger fell on his brow.

The fingertip was ice-cold, like a sword point.

Xian Jian Chen smiled: “Fortunately, I left something behind. Otherwise, if you had trapped me tonight, how could I ever show my face again?”

“Tss!” The red mark on Song Qian Ji’s brow suddenly burned with pain, making him inwardly curse violently.

A contract!

In Hua Wei City, Xian Jian Chen recited the names of departed souls to dispel death qi and resentment, then extended a finger toward Song Qian Ji’s forehead.

At that time, Song Qian Ji had been resisting the souls, his spirit at its limit, barely tilting his head to avoid it, and this contract was left on his brow bone. Usually, it was just a faint red mark, neither painful nor itchy.

He knew Xian Jian Chen wasn’t lying; this person truly had no shame.

The invincible master of the world uses such means to force a younger generation to submit to him.

Even in his previous life, after reaching the peak, Song Qian Ji wouldn’t have done such a thing.

If his Purple Palace didn’t have the Immortal Spring for protection, and he was just an ordinary cultivator who had perfected the Yuan Ying stage, this contract would be enough to control his life and death.

Song Qian Ji pretended to be furious, eyes wide, breathing rapid, chest heaving: “You are so despicable! Unworthy to be called a master!”

Xian Jian Chen withdrew his hand, smiling slightly, unable to hide his satisfaction.

At this moment, he felt a sense of achievement, like taming a wild horse with superior skills, naturally in a good mood. He pushed the porcelain bowl on the table toward Song Qian Ji:

“Don’t be angry. Have some noodle soup… oh, this is what I left, sorry.”

Song Qian Ji seemed helpless: “What exactly do you want, coming here?”

“You’re right, I’m injured, with nowhere to go,” Xian Jian Chen sat at the table, crossed his legs, and swung them leisurely.

“If you’re injured, you should go to a medical hall!” Song Qian Ji pointed toward the vegetable garden. “This is a vegetable garden!”

“Which medical hall could treat me? I might as well find a place to recover on my own.” Xian Jian Chen poured tea for him. “Drink tea.”

The more helpless Song Qian Ji appeared, the happier he became.

“You could find someone else. There are so many people in the world, why must you find me?”

As soon as Song Qian Ji finished speaking, he regretted it. This was truly a meaningless question.

Xian Jian Chen had no sect, no family, not even friends.

No matter how many people there were in the world, none had any relationship with him.

Xian Jian Chen spoke languidly: “Because you’re my disciple. I have a disciple.”

Well, they had come full circle again.

Song Qian Ji outwardly glared in anger, appearing to be furious but not daring to speak out, while inwardly calculating calmly:

Xian Jian Chen was injured and needed a safe place to heal, as well as someone who absolutely wouldn’t kill him during his weakness.

He believed that the peaceful Qian Qu County was most suitable, and Song Qian Ji, his convenient “disciple” bound by contract, was most appropriate.

But the people who wanted to kill him could line up from Qian Qu to the towering tree at the edge of the continent. Once the news spread, how could Qian Qu remain peaceful?

The outstanding disciples had already left for the secret realm, leaving only the guard squad and city defense team, with everyone else being ordinary people.

Hardworking ordinary people, striving every day like the spring cabbages in the vegetable garden.

If Qian Qu were caught in the flames of war, Xian Jian Chen could fly a thousand miles with one sword strike. But Song Qian Ji’s fields couldn’t fly away, and the million people of Qian Qu certainly couldn’t fly away either.

Song Qian Ji sat across from him, raised his teacup, and drained it: “You cannot stay here.”

Before the other could change expression, Song Qian Ji added: “But I can do one thing for you. After it’s done, you release the contract, and we have no further connection.”

Where is your sword? I can retrieve it for you. What rare spiritual medicines do you need? I can seize them for you.

No matter how difficult or dangerous, I will go in your place.

Taking a step back. Without more words, Xian Jian Chen understood his meaning.

The candle flame sputtered. The atmosphere was silent. The spring wind howled mournfully.

“Then kill someone for me.” Song Qian Ji heard the other’s slightly cold voice.

Song Qian Ji thought, worthy of being Xian Jian Chen—injured like this, yet thinking not of how to heal quickly, but of revenge killing.

He shook his head: “I haven’t been in that business for a very long time.”

Killing someone he didn’t know, someone he had no grudge against, in exchange for payment wasn’t a legitimate business.

In his previous life, he had been an assassin. Initially, Lin Fei Yuan took the lion’s share while he got meager profits; later they split fifty-fifty.

His skills were excellent. Lin Fei Yuan had once joked with him: “If you keep this up for a few more years, I might lose my position at the top in this field.”

Xian Jian Chen said: “This isn’t business, it’s a master’s command. You are my disciple, I am your master. When the master faces difficulty, the disciple serves his labor.”

“Someone who could injure you must be difficult to kill,” Song Qian Ji gave up arguing about their inseparable, inexplicable master-disciple relationship. “How could I possibly kill such a figure?!”

This impromptu master and disciple, meeting for the second time, were mutually wary, testing, and calculating.

“He’s much more severely injured than I am, barely clinging to life,” Xian Jian Chen slapped down an object. “He has entered the secret realm. Within three zhang of him, this pearl will glow.”

Beside the noodle bowl appeared an additional pearl.

Song Qian Ji still wanted to negotiate, when suddenly he found this object extremely familiar.

A round, dark red pearl with what seemed like blood threads flowing within.

Meng He Ze and He Qing Qing’s prayer beads on their wrists flashed through his mind.

His heart stirred slightly as he raised the pearl to examine it: “Is this yours?”

Xian Jian Chen shook his head: “That person created a kind of magical tool; this is a fragment of it. Inside is the juice from the core of the Towering Tree.”

Song Qian Ji silently breathed a sigh of relief: “Who exactly is he? What’s his background?”

“Why do you need to know so much?” Xian Jian Chen seemed somewhat impatient. “Will you kill him or not?”

He had gone too long without speaking this much to anyone. First, there was no one to chat with; second, there was no need to chat.

The words he’d spoken tonight exceeded what he had said in the past ten years.

Song Qian Ji tucked the pearl into his bosom, stood up, and took a deep breath: “I’ll kill him. You leave my courtyard, leave Qian Qu.”

The spring night breeze mixed with various flower fragrances, is refreshing to the heart and mind. The night sky remained distinctly divided, half red, half black.

“What are you smiling at?” Song Qian Ji asked.

Xian Jian Chen also stood up: “You are much more cold-blooded and ruthless than I was when young.”

“Thank you for the compliment.”

Song Qian Ji stepped forward.

From beneath the ink-blue curtain of the sky, he walked into the blood-seared heaven.