“Wait.” Xian Jian Chen called out to Song Qian Ji, tossing him a storage pouch. “Pack properly before you go.”

Song Qian Ji opened it, glanced through the contents briefly, and revealed a satisfied expression that said “At least you know what’s needed.” “I was just thinking the same.”

Because of that single storage pouch, the atmosphere between them eased, no longer tense like drawn bows and nocked arrows.

Song Qian Ji didn’t want people to discover his departure from Qian Qu. Better to avoid unnecessary complications. To the west, Hua Wei Sect had sealed their mountain gates after being damaged. To the north, Wei Zhen Yu was drawing attention and hatred. Qian Qu had enjoyed nearly three years of peace, and people had grown accustomed to Song Qian Ji’s simple life—going out only to farm, staying home otherwise.

Even more, he didn’t want to alert his prey. The person he intended to kill was severely wounded and had retreated into the secret realm, undoubtedly vigilant and concealing their tracks. With the enemy hidden in darkness, he needed to be even more obscure.

Therefore, he needed a false face, false identity, false cultivation level, and the highest quality pills, talismans, formation discs, and materials.

Xian Jian Chen asked curiously, “I’ve given you everything, but why are you walking deeper inside instead of heading out?”

Song Qian Ji shook his head. “I’ll go tomorrow.”

He still needed to write several letters explaining his planned seclusion, instructing that Qian Qu County’s daily affairs should proceed as usual, with any unresolved matters to be voted on by the Office of Works, Office of Agriculture, Office of Learning, and others.

Most importantly, he needed to arrange for someone to tend his vegetable garden and four-season greenhouse, and to feed the black and white iron-eating beast in the bamboo grove and the yellow and white wild cat in the courtyard on schedule.

They were growing larger, eating more, and becoming increasingly finicky about their food.

“Suit yourself,” said Xian Jian Chen as he walked into the house.

Song Qian Ji exclaimed, “What are you doing?!”

Xian Jian Chen stretched lazily. “I’ll just stay the night here, then continue my journey tomorrow.”

“No,” Song Qian Ji blocked him. “You can’t stay.”

Xian Jian Chen smiled coldly. “I’ve stayed in gold and silver palaces. Do you think I crave your shabby tiled house?”

“Since you don’t crave it…” Song Qian Ji stuffed a soft pillow into his hands, glancing at the recliner. “Sleeping anywhere is the same. I only agreed to help kill someone for your revenge, not to let you stay in my place.”

Xian Jian Chen thought that even if he died right in front of Song Qian Ji, the latter would simply bury his corpse on the spot and use it as fertilizer for flowers.

This young man appeared outwardly mild, restrained, and approachable, but inside he was cold and unyielding.

Although Song Qian Ji borrowed his name and reputation as a banner, he held no admiration or reverence for him in his heart.

He purely regarded him as a sudden nuisance.

“Tsk.” Lying on the bamboo chair, hugging the cushion, and looking up at the dense white magnolia flowers above, Xian Jian Chen unusually felt like chatting. “Do you always sleep and wake at the same time every day?”

Song Qian Ji’s voice drifted through the flower-patterned window: “More or less.”

“Farming, eating, sleeping—don’t you get bored? Don’t you want to venture out? Are you a young person? When I was your age, I challenged the six major sects of the Western Celestial Region with a single sword, making them flee at the sight of me, not daring to even speak my name!”

“…Impressive, impressive.” Song Qian Ji placated him without sincerity.

He thought, is this considered boring? Farming is quite interesting; at least I don’t keep a diary.

After a while, he heard Xian Jian Chen knocking on the window: “I know you’re not asleep yet. I heard you turning over.”

Song Qian Ji wanted to shove Xian Jian Chen’s head into the water vat where he grew lotus flowers and give it a thorough rinse to silence him forever.

Xian Jian Chen continued restlessly: “I’ve read that hero invitation you wrote. ‘Who can match the heroes under heaven, cultivation is not as good as…’ Not as good as what exactly?”

Song Qian Ji was too lazy to elaborate: “Nothing.”

“Those old fellows must be troublesome. With your limited experience, you can’t possibly manage them. Would you like this master to help?”

“No need.” Song Qian Ji didn’t have the heart to say that the departed souls of Hua Wei Sect had become his wheat field laborers.

Xian Jian Chen remembered something, his tone becoming excited: “Among those young ladies, which one do you fancy the most? Tell your master.”

Song Qian Ji frowned: “There are only wild cats in my courtyard. What young ladies?”

Xian Jian Chen: “It’s written in books. That’s what they say in the teahouses.”

“…You are the world’s number one swordsman. Mind your status and read fewer vulgar street novels.”

“Fine.” Xian Jian Chen suddenly said, “It’s raining. It’s a bit chilly.”

“You have spiritual energy protecting you,” Song Qian Ji said helplessly. As long as Xian Jian Chen didn’t wish it, even a hail of arrows couldn’t touch him.

The rain fell delicately on the roof tiles and flower leaves, making crisp pattering sounds.

The impromptu master and disciple conversed casually through the white wall and flower-patterned window.

The two chatted aimlessly like the endless spring rain falling outside.

The wind carried the damp scent of soil and flowers, mixed with a hint of sharp alcohol.

Song Qian Ji twitched his nose: “You’re wounded. You shouldn’t drink.”

Xian Jian Chen snorted with laughter: “You’re bold, kid, still trying to tell me what to do.”

The smell of alcohol disappeared.

Xian Jian Chen asked: “You’re quite likable. Why do you always stay alone?”

The question made little sense. Qian Qu had a million people who revered the Immortal Official. Song Academy had thousands of disciples, all respecting Senior Brother Song.

Song Qian Ji thought you’d be more likable if you didn’t have a mouth.

“Learning my sword, becoming my disciple—wouldn’t that be good?”

“No. I have my sword,” Song Qian Ji murmured.

“Never heard you practiced swordsmanship.”

“I used to practice before.”

Half-asleep, he heard Xian Jian Chen laugh:

“This world is almost finished. Even the fastest sword can’t outrun time. Is there any use in practicing swordsmanship anymore?”

Song Qian Ji mumbled with closed eyes: “There’s still time.”

“No, there isn’t.” He vaguely heard the man say, “It’s been advanced.”

The drizzling spring rain washed away the red glow from the sky.

Song Qian Ji opened the door, stretched, yawned, and welcomed a new day.

The soil was moist, moss was green, and fallen petals covered the ground. The rocking chair under the flower window was empty.

Before daybreak, last night’s guest had already left, as if he had never been there.

Song Qian Ji stood beside the recliner, and tried to restrain himself but couldn’t help cursing loudly: “Shameless! Utterly shameless!”

The disrespectful Xian Jian Chen had taken something from his junior’s home.

The pillow, which he had brought from Hua Wei Sect and had accompanied him for many years—soft and fluffy, like sinking into a cloud when leaned against—would never again be his to rest on.

…

At dawn, Song Qian Ji walked through the misty streets of Heavenly City. Early spring birds flew from their nests, and industrious vendors had already set up their breakfast stalls.

Song Qian Ji usually avoided this busiest street. An Immortal Official strolling the streets might attract crowds of onlookers, cause road congestion, and create trouble for the city guard.

But today he dared to walk here because nobody on the street could recognize him.

He had put on the bracelet from Xian Jian Chen’s storage pouch, transforming into a withered, plain-looking young cultivator at the early Foundation Establishment stage.

Even his aura, walking posture, and breathing rhythm had completely changed.

“This treasure is marvelous, crafted from the tail hair of an ancient shape-shifting fox demon, combined with a transformation spell. Xian Jian Chen has been the world’s number one for over two hundred years, so he naturally has some valuable possessions. I suspect even a Nascent Soul realm master couldn’t see through this disguise.”

Song Qian Ji thought this ordinary appearance would attract no attention, but someone approached this lone cultivator:

“Brother, new to Qian Qu? Looking to collect goods?”

Song Qian Ji noticed the man’s nervous expression, seemingly wary of the city guards patrolling nearby.

Looking around, he was surprised to see that the surrounding people were acting with a knowing air, actively blocking the city guards’ line of sight, providing cover for them.

How did he not know that Qian Qu had such a large-scale underground black market? Song Qian Ji maintained his composure.

The man pulled him into an alley. “You’re here to collect goods, right?”

“Yes,” Song Qian Ji nodded. “How did brother know?”

“You’ve been wandering alone for half the day, not buying anything, not eating anything, just looking around. Everyone knows this street has the best goods, but ordinary people don’t have access. Running into me is your luck! I can see you’re honest, so I’ll show you the way!” The man patted his chest.

Song Qian Ji coughed lightly. “Can I see the goods?”

The man took out a palm-sized package wrapped in red cloth: “Be careful, this is a forbidden item!”

Forbidden item?

Song Qian Ji frowned. But the object had no spiritual fluctuations, and though the man was nervous, he harbored no malice. Why all this secrecy, hiding from others?

He had only wanted to stroll through the streets one last time before leaving, but never expected to encounter this situation.

Song Qian Ji hastily unwrapped the red cloth, momentarily stunned: “This is…”

It was a wooden carving, with exquisite flowing lines and vivid expression.

The more he looked, the more familiar it seemed—it was himself.

The man, thinking he was dissatisfied, hurriedly explained: “Last year’s Harvest Festival red ceremonial robe edition looks good, but it was limited to five hundred pieces throughout the county and sold out long ago. This one was personally carved by Director of Agriculture Liu. The white robe is timeless, to be passed down through generations.”

“What is this used for?” Song Qian Ji paid and asked with difficulty.

“Naturally, it’s to be enshrined at home with daily incense offerings! If you don’t have a discreet place at home, don’t worry. Wrap it well in red silk and carry it with you.” Seeing his unusual expression, the man became alert. “Are you here to collect goods? How long have you been in Qian Qu? Do you truly believe in Immortal Official Song?! I’ll test you with three questions, and if you answer correctly, I’ll sell you… Hey, don’t leave!”

…

Song Qian Ji flew on his sword.

This sword, also from Xian Jian Chen’s storage pouch, was indeed a rare excellent blade.

When infused with spiritual energy, it became semi-transparent, leaving no trace as it cut through the clouds.

Swift and concealed, perhaps not suitable for bloody battles, but certainly ideal for assassination.

Qian Qu County was left behind, visible only as blurry green squares.

Those were the spring fields, green everywhere.

To think that people in Qian Qu secretly worshipped him? And not just one—it had already formed a scale.

Liu the carpenter, I’ve treated you well. How could you carve statues of me behind my back?

Song Qian Ji looked at the wooden figure, finding it both amusing and absurd. He thought, when I return this time, I’ll clear them all out, not letting a single one escape.

But this carving was so lifelike and handsome that he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away, ultimately tucking it into his bosom.

When Song Qian Ji arrived at the entrance to the secret realm, the passage had already begun to close.

Cultivators met without greeting each other, guarding against one another, creating a tense atmosphere.

Flying magical treasures and swords from all sects and schools converged from all directions. Streams of colorful light intertwined, rushing eagerly into the vortex.

Like small boats rushing toward the sea.

Blood River Valley was an ownerless secret realm, appearing at unpredictable times and locations. Anyone could try their luck.

“Here we go again,” Song Qian Ji sighed quietly, carrying his statue as he plunged into the surging current.

The qi-infused wind cut like a bone-scraping knife.

For some unknown reason, this vortex was more than twice the size of the one in his previous life.