A silver crescent moon hung on the treetops, making the mountain forest feel colder.

The red stream flowed gently, and the smooth pebbles along the riverbank glimmered in the moonlight like giant eggs left behind by demonic beasts.

Night dew dripped from leaf tips, dampening Song Qianji’s shoulders, cold and chilling.

Captain Lu Zhou said in a low voice: “Little Song, no need to stand guard tonight. Prince Wei’s men will patrol in shifts throughout the night. You should rest.”

Song Qianji nodded. He was distributing talismans to his teammates when he casually glanced up, looking toward Wei Zhenyu’s retreating figure.

In this night heavy with dew, there was still a spirit creature watching from the shadows. His men were all meditating inside the protective formation, so what was he doing going out alone?

Surely he couldn’t just be looking at the moon.

…

“Look, the moon,” Ji Chen gazed at the sky, pointing to a silver arc in the night, “Senior Brother Song must be reclining in his lounge chair right now. I wonder if the moon at Song Academy is as bright tonight…”

He stood on the empty cliff, one hand pointing at the moon, his wide sleeves fluttering.

Below the cliff, the valley dipped inward, with a great river rushing through.

Unbroken mountain ranges stretched along both banks and miasmic forests blotted out the sky.

Only the cliff where Ji Chen stood was without trees or grass, just a lone ancient pine standing tall among strange rocks.

From the river came cursing: “Bright your Song Academy head! You’re vicious and sinister, may you die horribly!”

The cursing couldn’t overcome the mighty sound of water but was finally carried up the cliff by the night wind, leaving only fragments of crude words.

Ji Chen looked down with a smile: “Friend Zhao Ren, I kindly invite you to enjoy the moon from the river, and you curse me—that’s not right. The secret realm is so vast, yet you happen to meet me again. We must have an unfinished destiny.”

The great river surged, its raging waves filling the air, occasionally stones would fall and be instantly swallowed by the angry waters.

But there was a man in the water as if tied to the middle of the river by invisible ropes. Despite his desperate struggles, he could only endure the impact of the huge waves, opening his mouth to swallow the dark red river water: “Who the hell has a destiny with you!”

Ji Chen’s moon-pointing finger moved slightly, and golden threads flashed in the water. Zhao Ren screamed miserably as he drifted westward.

Thousands upon thousands of fine threads activated from the rocks and trees on both sides of the river, criss-crossing the entire river surface.

A person entering this formation was like a flying insect plunging into a spider’s web.

Ji Chen sighed: “I didn’t want to do this either. You ambushed me while I was away from my team. It’s unreasonable for you to curse me.”

Zhao Ren felt immense regret. Initially, he had discovered the Thousand Channels team in the secret realm and was about to take another route when he saw Ji Chen leaving the team alone, going farther and farther. Believing his luck had turned, he immediately led several Zhao family elders to follow quietly.

The night was dark and windy, an opportunity rarely found. It was the perfect chance to capture Ji Chen and return the torment he had suffered a hundredfold, then kill him to silence him, to satisfy the hatred in his heart and avenge the great grudge from the bottom of the well at the Immortal Official Manor.

“You did this deliberately! You turned the tables on us, lured us here, and set up this formation to torture people!” Fear grew in his heart, but he held on with one breath, still cursing nonstop.

“Don’t think too highly of yourself. I buried a hundred formation materials. How could it possibly be just for you?” Ji Chen smiled, “I’m merely letting you test its effectiveness in advance. Friend Zhao, please move a little more to the east.”

Ji Chen manipulated the formation disc, and the golden threads in the river interlaced, guiding Zhao Ren eastward.

He usually pondered formation changes and would always place a few mice to test their power. Finding a live person to test his formation, his eyes lit up with excitement.

Another figure suddenly appeared on the cliff. Zhao Ren looked up and called loudly for help, then his heart sank like a stone. It was Meng Heze.

Meng Heze held his sword, leaning against the old pine, not looking at the river: “It’s him.”

Ji Chen irritably scratched his head: “We’ve been advancing like an unstoppable force, morale is high, with a string of scattered cultivators following us to join. Yet we have to change our route because of him. What will outsiders think?”

Song Qianji knew that even if Wei Zhenyu harbored resentment and intended revenge, he wouldn’t truly harm the Thousand Channels disciples.

But he might speak with subtle sarcasm, deliberately picking fights. Both sides were young and hot-blooded; a single glare could make tempers flare. With no one to restrain them, things could more easily spiral out of control.

So he warned Meng Heze and Ji Chen to avoid Wei Zhenyu if possible.

The two agreed verbally, but the more Song cautioned them, the more defiant they felt.

First, they didn’t believe they were inferior to Wei Zhenyu; second, Wei Zhenyu had lived grandly outside all these years but hadn’t sent a single letter back.

When “Wei Ping” was around, Meng Heze was annoyed by his affectation and pretense, yet he won the hearts of everyone, regardless of their closeness.

He and Wei Ping didn’t get along, relying entirely on Ji Chen to mediate between them.

In the spring of the first year after Wei Ping left, Meng Heze finally mastered Ji Chen’s handwriting, stole Editor Ji’s seal, and secretly wrote letters by lamplight.

He ruined too many letters, with paper balls filling the room, until his parents discovered him and he had to confess: “I’m writing to your godson.”

His mother said happily: “Then you must write well. Ask him how he’s doing outside, if he has new friends, if he has new clothes to wear…”

Meng Heze agreed to everything. Eighteen letters were sent, yet they seemed to sink like stones, with no response.

In the winter of the second year, Meng Heze broke his brush, smashed his inkstone, and never wrote another letter.

“He broke his sword and our brotherhood first. If anyone should avoid us, it should be him avoiding us. Brother Song is kind and doesn’t lower himself to his level, but with thousands of disciples in our Thousand Channels, must we always bow our heads to Prince Wei’s subordinates when we walk abroad?” Meng Heze said coldly, “If we don’t teach him a lesson to curb his arrogance, he’ll truly believe he’s invincible.”

“Just…” Ji Chen paused, then raised his eyes to look at the moon again, his voice slightly lower: “Don’t let Brother Song know, to spare him the worry.”

Meng Heze nodded: “You don’t need to tell me that. I’ve already instructed everyone, and they all understand.”

Everything that happens in the secret realm will stay in the secret realm, washed away by the surging blood river.

…

As dawn approached, Wei Zhenyu appeared covered in night dew, saying concisely: “Let’s go.”

Zhu Sheng shouted: “Move out!”

The Silver Armor Guards, who had been resting with weapons at the ready, immediately rose. Their armor clanged rhythmically as they formed neat ranks and departed swiftly.

The scattered cultivators’ team was startled, scrambling to get up.

The fat formation master stuffed all his formation materials into his storage pouch: “Such a large group—you’d expect it would take them the time of an incense stick to break camp, but they just leave at a word?”

“They are disciplined like no other cultivators, more like a mortal army,” Captain Lu Zhou marveled. “What kind of team could withstand these Silver Armor Guards?”

“We’re lucky this time, backing the right horse.”

The scattered cultivators’ team rubbed their hands in anticipation. If Prince Wei became the biggest winner in the secret realm, it would undoubtedly be most beneficial for them.

The Blood River Valley’s miasmic forest covered four great mountains. A team of silver-armored guards climbed over mountains and ridges, like a majestic silver dragon.

Today, the scattered cultivators’ team changed their strategy. The captain led the team’s combat strength ahead of the Silver Armor team to clear the path.

Zhang Hou ran ahead alone, seeking out lone demonic beasts to lure back.

The medical cultivators and formation masters brought up the rear, collecting spirit herbs.

“As for Little Song…” Captain Lu Zhou finished assigning tasks, only then remembering he had one more team member. Looking left and right, he really couldn’t see what the thin young man could do. “Just roam around. Wherever help is needed, go lend a hand.”

“All right,” Song Qianji smiled watching them full of enthusiasm.

Lu Zhou and his team cleared obstacles, wielding swords and blades, hacking and chopping, cutting vines and breaking branches, like the old sweepers cleaning streets outside the Immortal Official Manor.

Zhang Hou ran back and forth frantically, calling the Silver Armor team to fight demonic beasts, like a diligent young server distributing dishes.

The medical cultivators opened their storage bags, while the formation masters waved their small shovels like village girls picking mushrooms.

Occasionally they encountered teams from small sects, who shrunk back and hastily changed routes upon seeing the Silver Armor team.

The scattered cultivators’ team enjoyed the gazes of passersby, feeling a sense of flaunting their status in the dense forest, sharing in the glory, and feeling quite pleased with themselves.

Song Qianji took out several protective talismans and hid them in his sleeve.

The sword cultivator complained: “Why are you wandering here? You’re blocking my view!”

Suddenly feeling a weight on his back, he found that the usually shy and honest Little Song had patted him on the back: “You all are busy, I’m just looking around.”

The sword cultivator was stunned, wanting to curse, but the person had already run far away.

Song Qianji did it very discreetly, attaching talismans to everyone in the scattered cultivators’ team.

He could now be certain that Wei Zhenyu came to the miasmic forest not for spirit herbs or beast cores, but to enter the underground palace in Blood River Valley.

Fortune favors the bold—he had explored it once in his previous life.

Wei Zhenyu’s face was expressionless, and his steps hurried.

He was accustomed to being vigilant at all times, not only toward the outside world but also maintaining absolute control over his team.

He observed everyone nervously bustling about, except for that talisman master who seemed contented as if he had seen something amusing.

What exactly was he smiling about?

Wei Zhenyu made a gesture, summoning Li Ciquan to whisper a few words.

Shortly after, Song Qianji saw Li Ciquan enthusiastically greeting him and running to his side.

“Fellow Daoist Song, like me, you must also be a cultivator of mortal birth. May I ask which hometown you come from?”

“Pingning Town, a small place.”

“Which master did Fellow Daoist Song study under?”

“Self-taught cultivation never had a master.”

“Why does Fellow Daoist Song keep smiling?”

“Oh, I laugh easily. Looking at trees or flowers makes me laugh, even thinking of your name makes me laugh.”

Li Ciquan reluctantly tried to continue the conversation when suddenly the talisman master said: “Since we get along so well, let me gift you some talismans I’ve drawn!”

Li Ciquan was about to refuse. Prince Wei also understood talisman arts, and their team’s talisman master was taught by Prince Wei himself, naturally much more skilled than his counterpart.

“Keep them as spares, don’t think poorly of them.” Song Qianji forcibly stuffed them into his arms.

Li Ciquan reconsidered. He was a layman who couldn’t discern the quality of talismans.

But if Prince Wei examined them personally, he would surely see this person’s foundation: “Then many thanks, Fellow Daoist!”

He showed gratitude in his eyes as he took the talismans back to report.

This special attention made the scattered cultivators very envious.

Late that night, they all gathered around Song Qianji, trying to discern something extraordinary about him.

But Song Qianji was again pulled away by Li Ciquan to cook, this time to roast beast meat.

“After leaving the secret realm, I should also find a master to learn a skill or two properly,” said the fat formation master, staring at the rising smoke and the grill, rubbing his stomach.

“Find a master? You’d be better off joining Prince Wei,” said Captain Lu Zhou.

Today they had been allocated rare spirit herbs and beast pelts. Li Ciquan, representing Wei Zhenyu, had also given everyone a low-grade magical artifact as a reward. Everyone praised Prince Wei for his clear rewards and punishments and his generosity. Yesterday when they hadn’t contributed much, they only received spirit herbs; today, having helped, they got additional rewards. It was evident that working under Prince Wei meant getting more for doing more—no labor would go unrewarded.

The medical cultivator said: “That’s right. It’s difficult for scattered cultivators to find masters with their skills. Better to join Prince Wei or Prince Song.”

The fat formation master shook his head: “…I meant finding a master chef at a restaurant to learn a couple of good dishes.”

The atmosphere grew silent. After a while, the sword cultivator uttered three words: “Makes sense.”

Song Qianji peripherally noticed Wei Zhenyu’s direction. He saw that he had only taken one bite of the roasted meat, his expression cold.

He couldn’t help but frown. Is my cooking really that bad? How come others can eat it, but it doesn’t suit your taste alone?

Then he saw Wei Zhenyu dust off his cloak and enter the forest alone, just like last night.

Song Qianji stood up: “I’m going for a walk.”

Captain Lu Zhou casually responded: “Come back early.”

Everyone knew he was cautious and timid, and wouldn’t wander far.

Song Qianji walked in another direction, circling several trees two or three times in the forest, pretending to be lost, his expression frustrated.

Wei Zhenyu was a master at concealing his aura. When traveling alone, he wouldn’t leave traces, and ordinary spiritual awareness couldn’t find him.

But Song Qianji’s drawn talismans had his special mark on them, which only he could sense the direction of.

During the day, he had forcibly given Li Ciquan a stack, and now at least one must have reached Wei Zhenyu’s hands.

He traced his way toward Wei Zhenyu’s position.

The forest was silent, moonlight filtered through dense leaves into scattered shadows.

Darkness made all sounds and scents more distinct.

“Fellow Daoist Song,” a familiar voice sounded behind him, “what are you doing here?”

Song Qianji saw Wei Zhenyu’s elongated shadow.

Just him alone?

Song Qianji’s nose twitched slightly.

The night wind caught the edge of Wei Zhenyu’s cloak, bringing a hint of a familiar sweet, cloying scent.

It dispersed in a flash, leaving no trace.

It was the spirit creature’s aura.

He had gone to see the spirit creature again?!

Wei Zhenyu narrowed his eyes slightly, his tone heavier: “Song Xun?”

The night breeze was cool, and leaves rustled. The leaf drifted down before his eyes exploded into powder.

Song Qianji thought, why are you being so harsh with me? But outwardly, he still had to pretend to be scared and honest, giving Wei Zhenyu enough face.

He hurriedly turned back, retreated two steps, pointing to the sky: “I came to look at the m-moon, but got lost.”

“Is it nice?”

Song Qianji said: “It’s okay.”

“Fellow Daoist Song has journeyed all day yet still has the energy to come out and look at the moon. Why not join me tomorrow to hunt demonic beasts?” Wei Zhenyu said slowly.

Song Qianji nodded meekly: “That… would be fine.”

With this person’s suspicious nature, saying more would only lead to more mistakes.

Wei Zhenyu said angrily: “What do you mean ‘fine’? If I send you to your death, would you go too?”

Song Qianji was speechless, thinking that Wei Zhenyu would never say so much to a strange talisman cultivator. His current unstable mood must be due to having just met the spirit creature.

Wei Zhenyu had killed the snake before, surely seeing through the illusion, so why would he meet it again and again?

“I once knew someone,” Wei Zhenyu suddenly smiled.

“What?” Song Qianji was stunned; the topic changed too quickly.

Wei Zhenyu gazed at the moon, sighing softly as if reminiscing: “When nothing was happening, his temper was best, always saying ‘more or less,’ ‘all is fine,’ ‘know a little bit.’ You’d think he truly treated you as a brother. But if you ever had differences, he’d immediately cut you off completely, leaving no trace of friendship, as if you’d never existed.”

Song Qianji asked in surprise: “Oh? There’s such a person in this world?”

Wei Zhenyu’s smile faded, his tone icy: “You are somewhat like him.”

Song Qianji’s mind buzzed. This damn brat is slandering me!

Still talking in circles to insult me in front of a talisman master he just met.

Meng Heze is ten times more sincere and righteous than you, Ji Chen is a hundred times purer in thought than you.

“Do you know who that person is?”

Song Qianji thought I had no interest in knowing.

Wei Zhenyu was about to speak when his expression changed slightly.

Someone screamed in agony, and though the distance made the sound muffled, its wretched nature was clear.

Wei Zhenyu turned on his heel and sped away.

Song Qianji thought this youngster wasn’t suspicious enough. Going alone like that—what if it was an enemy trap to lure him in?

“Why did you follow?” Wei Zhenyu stopped, looking back at the panting talisman master, his brows furrowed.

“I, I’ll accompany Prince Wei to take a look.”

Wei Zhenyu sneered: “With your cultivation level, can you even see clearly?”

Song Qianji shook his head: “Of course not.”

Having said that, he channeled his spiritual energy and saw surging river waters with a figure floating in the midst, repeatedly swallowed by giant waves, sinking and floating over and over.

Looking at the formation lines, complex and precise, they seemed familiar.

Song Qianji looked up along the formation lines and saw an even more familiar figure.

The innocent Ji Chen was sitting on the cliff’s edge, swinging his legs. Song Qianji focused his hearing, filtering out the water sounds.

“Friend Zhao Ren, you’ve soaked for two days and two nights. You’re about to complete your transformation and retire,” Ji Chen said.

Zhao Ren sobbed with tears and mucus flowing, at times begging incessantly: “Just kill me, give me a quick end!”

At other times cursing viciously: “You torture and kill me here today, but someone will surely avenge me!”

Song Qianji felt thunderstruck. Ji Chen’s silhouette reflected in his eyes, overlapping with his previous life.

It’s all gone wrong.

Had he known this would happen, that night when he tortured Zhao Ren, he should never have let Ji Chen watch.

Meanwhile, the righteous Meng Heze leaned against a tree trunk with his sword, looking utterly accustomed to it all and bored: “Tsk, are you done yet?”

Song Qianji stumbled a step, muttering: “…corrupted another one.”

Wei Zhenyu steadied him with a hand: “Twisted your ankle?”

Their movement was slightly too large, and a deep voice rang out, piercing through the mighty water sounds:

“Which fellow Daoist hides over there? Why not show yourself and make friends?!”

It was Meng Heze.

As soon as Meng Heze finished speaking, he twisted the hilt of his sword.

The old pine behind him snapped in the middle. The massive tree, which would take three people to encircle, was shot out by his sword energy like a light arrow.

The giant tree flew across the river, heading straight for the opposite bank.

The sword’s energy was overwhelming and unstoppable.

Wei Zhenyu lightly flicked his finger, hitting a falling leaf in front of Song Qianji.

That leaf suddenly flew out like a kingfisher darting through the night sky.

Song Qianji was slightly surprised—so fast!

“Boom!”

Above the river, the giant tree and the barely visible falling leaf collided, generating high temperatures, instantly bursting into sparks.

The tree was pulverized, and the sky-filling sparks fell into the rolling river. The debris rained down on Zhao Ren’s head and face like a meteor shower.

With this shower of fire, the hundred-zhang-wide river was illuminated.

The mountain walls and forests on both banks seemed bathed in the afterglow of sunset, and the faces of the four people on the cliff were briefly clarified.

They gazed across the red river.

Jagged rocks on one side, lush woods on the other.

As the fire shower exhausted itself, the wilderness returned to darkness.

Meng Heze stood straight, vaguely feeling something strange.

Though he had never seen the person beside Wei Zhenyu before, he instinctively looked twice before his gaze returned to his old acquaintance: “You’ve come.”

Song Qianji’s lips twitched, his feelings complex. So Meng Heze and Ji Chen had another side—he had thought they were still young.

But counting their ages, both had reached the time when, in his previous life, they had begun to stand out and gain fierce reputations.

At least they were living better than in their previous lives, so he couldn’t say he had led them astray. Song Qianji comforted himself.

Wei Zhenyu met Meng Heze’s gaze, stepped in front of Song Qianji, and said quietly:

“If you’re afraid, go back first. They won’t make things difficult for you.”

He took two steps forward, gathered his spiritual energy, and said: “I will cross the river at the Chen hour tomorrow. You’d better leave quickly.”

Song Qianji choked. You don’t know how to talk.

If you can’t speak properly, you could just turn and leave.

“You want me to make way? Ridiculous!” Meng Heze threw back his head and laughed. “What if I don’t?”

Ji Chen said leisurely: “This miasmic forest is full of rare flowers and strange herbs. Taking a few back for Senior Brother Song to plant in Song Academy would surely please him.”

Song Qianji’s vision darkened.

You’d please me most by immediately pretending not to know each other and going your separate ways.

Wei Zhenyu heard the words “Senior Brother Song,” and lowered his eyes to scan the golden threads crisscrossing the river, his gaze cold:

“You two are so thoughtful. If I don’t cross the river, wouldn’t I be wasting your kind intentions?”

In the river, Zhao Ren called out: “Wei Zhenyu—no, Prince Wei, Prince Wei, save me! The Zhao family will surely reward you generously in the future!”

Wei Zhenyu raised his sleeve.

“Whoosh—Bang!”

A cluster of silver fireworks shot up like a flying dragon, splitting the night sky like lightning.

Armor clanged, and the earth trembled.

“Prince Wei’s signal!”

Simultaneously, Meng Heze released ten light-gathering talismans.

A beam of golden light rose from his hand, shooting straight into the night sky.

Various magical artifacts displayed their divine powers.

“Senior Brother Meng’s talisman!”

Song Qianji blinked, and instantly the riverbanks were half gold, half silver, bright as day.

Wei Zhenyu’s team, the Thousand Channels team, and both teams’ scattered cultivator followers.

Even cultivators passing by who saw others running also swarmed along with the crowd.

Some thought treasures had appeared, some wanted to take advantage of the chaos, and some even hid in trees to watch.

Truly a spectacular scene, a “gathering of talents.”

The two sides each occupied a mountain, facing each other from a distance.

Like two fierce beasts gnashing their teeth and arching their backs, gathering strength.

Song Qianji stood behind Wei Zhenyu, feeling a headache. He wanted to raise his hand to settle the situation when his expression suddenly changed.

The object in his sleeve had brightened.

The dim bead suddenly flashed with an eerie red light.