Song Qian Ji extended his divine consciousness to investigate carefully.

Those who came to watch the battle tonight each had different thoughts, and countless whispers were carried to his ears by the wind.

Spectators exclaimed in admiration, fellow formation cultivators studied attentively, while most cultivators unconsciously made baseless speculations, making the situation seem more complex:

“Wei Zhen Yu is indeed young. If it were me, I would feign breaking the formation to mislead Ji Chen while secretly sending a team of silver-armored guards to take a detour ahead.”

“What you can think of, can’t the other side think of too? Since neither side is willing to yield, there must be some rare treasure hidden nearby that both sides are determined to obtain.”

“What treasure could be worth all this? I fear it’s more than just a treasure, but a heaven-sent opportunity. It would be best if they fought until both sides were injured, then we’d have a chance to reap the benefits like the fisherman!”

“For Qian Qu’s forces to dare set up a formation here to intercept Wei Zhen Yu, it must be under Song Qian Ji’s instructions. Prince Song hides in Qian Qu and doesn’t come out, but his disciples loyally take the lead for him.”

Song Qian Ji found this strange.

Why would I come out? Am I the type to bully the young and flaunt my seniority?

Even if they weren’t in Blood River Valley but at Song Academy, they would still quarrel over who would eat the strange-flavored noodles tonight and who would feed the iron beast.

The spirit pearl flashed more and more frequently. Song Qian Ji’s heart leaped with joy as he quickened his pace, drifting like a wisp of blue smoke through the dense forest.

The Red River’s raging waves churned like a vast sea of blood.

The waves shattered the rock formations along the cliff, and the splashing mist struck the faces of onlookers, causing a slight stinging sensation.

The spider-silk-like silver formation lines flickered in and out of visibility, while tornado-like water columns and whirlpools appeared alternately.

The sound of water was deafening; those with weaker cultivation who stood too close suffered intense ear pain and ringing.

In the river, Li Ci Quan’s face had turned slightly pale, while on the cliff, Ji Chen’s lips had lost all color.

Time passed, and the moon shifted westward, yet neither side could claim victory.

The fat formation master murmured: “They’ve used all their abilities; now it’s just a matter of who gives out first.”

Wei Zhen Yu suddenly turned around, his gaze sweeping the area before asking in a low voice: “Where is Song Xun?”

Captain Lu Zhou was momentarily stunned.

He hadn’t expected that in such a tense situation, Wei Zhen Yu would still have the attention to spare for a minor talisman cultivator in their team. Feeling touched, he replied: “Little Song said this formation’s changes were too intense, and with his insufficient cultivation, watching for too long would make him dizzy, so he retreated to rest.”

The sword cultivator hurriedly interjected: “Does Prince Wei need him? I’ll call him back right away.”

Wei Zhen Yu frowned slightly: “No need, let him hide well.”

He looked back at the Red River, taking a light breath: “Zhu Sheng, enter the formation.”

“Yes, sir!” Zhu Sheng had been watching the battle for a long time and could barely contain his fighting spirit. He saluted Wei Zhen Yu, then charged off the cliff, stepping directly onto the wave crests, shouting:

“Zhu Sheng from the Northern Desert, here to learn from Qian Qu’s friends’ expertise!”

Li Ci Quan moved his formation disk, and ten silver formation lines flew out like a light cloud, lifting him from the frightening waves.

Ji Chen showed no alarm; instead, he sighed in relief: “Brother Meng, come help out.”

Meng He Ze, holding his sword, complained to him: “Couldn’t you have said so earlier? I’ve been standing here so long I’m starting to grow moss.”

“Please!” Ji Chen gestured with his five fingers, and a massive water column rapidly condensed, like a mountain rising from the ground.

Meng He Ze leaped up, landing steadily at the peak.

Although Song Qian Ji was searching for someone, he still paid attention to the battle with divided attention, vaguely hearing the cultivators say:

“At this critical moment, Prince Wei suddenly sends someone to help, but instead of directly transmitting a message to catch Qian Qu off guard, why shout it out loud?”

“Of course it’s to deliberately warn the other side, letting Qian Qu prepare. If it were just between the two of them, they could fight however they wanted since no one would know. But this battle will spread far and wide, and no one wants to use underhanded tactics and be criticized. Watch, Qian Qu will also call out.”

Sure enough, Song Qian Ji heard Meng He Ze’s voice echoing across the hills—

“Meng He Ze from Song Academy.”

“Wei Zhen Yu, why don’t you come down as well? I can take on both of you alone.”

The south bank erupted in cheers, greatly boosting the morale of the Qian Qu disciples.

Song Qian Ji felt conflicted.

I’m just a mud-legged rogue cultivator, yet you’re all showing a more righteous demeanor than each other—can good bamboo shoots come from bad bamboo?

Wei Zhen Yu allowed the cheers and taunts from the opposite shore, maintaining an expressionless face.

Until Meng He Ze said: “This sword of mine was personally forged by Senior Brother Song. I haven’t yet named it. Friends on the other side, what magical tools do you use?”

“Don’t waste words with him,” Wei Zhen Yu transmitted to Zhu Sheng. “Finish this quickly. Cut him down.”

The blade flashed with red light, like a raging fire, instantly cutting through the waves to strike the long sword.

“Boom!”

An explosive roar drowned out the thunderous sound of water.

Countless people felt dizzy, their blood churning.

The formation masters on the shore hurriedly set up simple protective formations—no one wanted to be the fish harmed in the crossfire.

Meng He Ze’s sword technique was upright and proper, his movements as light and graceful as a gentle breeze under the bright moon. With Ji Chen controlling the water to assist him, he was like a tiger given wings.

Zhu Sheng’s spiritual energy was fierce, his blade technique consisting of great chops and slashes. With Li Ci Quan’s formation lines supplementing him, they covered his vulnerabilities in time.

Li Ci Quan was inwardly shocked. He and Zhu Sheng were both trusted by Wei Zhen Yu and had experienced countless battles together, developing an implicit trust and tacit understanding.

He had thought the one-on-one stalemate would quickly be broken by the two-on-two.

Who knew that Ji Chen and Meng He Ze, with one attacking and one defending, would have the upper hand?

Wei Zhen Yu’s expression was inscrutable.

Ji Chen and Meng He Ze weren’t just in sync with their fighting style; they were close friends of many years, and could even perform a Qian Qu double act.

Song Qian Ji caught glimpses of sword light and golden formation lines cutting through the night sky.

Through this battle, both Meng He Ze and Ji Chen would surely gain valuable experience.

Almost simultaneously, a familiar aura revealed its traces.

Song Qian Ji gripped the spirit pearl tightly. The other person suddenly turned around in the crowd, their gazes meeting for an instant, before immediately transforming into a black shadow and rushing out from among the spectators.

Such alertness.

Song Qian Ji smiled and said: “Running?”

The night wind grew colder, the sound of water more distant.

Song Qian Ji didn’t know how far he had run. The rolling sounds of the great river and the exclamations from both shores had become indistinct.

“You can’t outrun me. Save your strength.” By the time Song Qian Ji said the first word, that person was bounding through the dense forest on the mountain; before he finished speaking, they were already in the open field at the foot of the mountain.

And Song Qian Ji was like a tail, steadily following behind.

Song Qian Ji was an expert at escaping. He had created the Five Elements Escape Technique, which was more concealed than sword riding and flying magical tools, and faster than the ground-shrinking technique. With this, he had escaped death many times.

That person seemed to know escape was impossible and stood still under the moon, removing their hood to reveal a face with kindly eyes and brows, slowly saying:

“Xian Jian Chen indeed sent you.”

Song Qian Ji thought that if his master had any other choice, he wouldn’t have sought out this cheap disciple.

The old monk smiled kindly: “One look at you blinded this poor monk in one eye. Why must you still pursue me so relentlessly?”

Song Qian Ji touched the faint red mark between his brows, showing not the slightest hint of killing intent: “Indeed, why pursue so relentlessly? To be honest, I bear you no great grudge. I don’t hate you, I’m just annoyed by you. Whatever you’re trying to do, you shouldn’t have let me run into you repeatedly…”

The surroundings were open, with wild grass growing abundantly.

On this moonlit night with spring breezes brushing the railings, he should have been turning soil and watering at Song Academy, sowing new flower seeds, and hugging a cushion while waiting for spring rain.

If not for resolving Xian Jian Chen’s contract, if not for settling potential future troubles, who would want to get involved again in the muddy waters and flashing blades of the mortal world?

“Does the benefactor have no questions in his heart?” the old monk smiled.

“Yes, countless questions. But I won’t ask what you’re trying to do, and you needn’t say more to me.” As soon as Song Qian Ji finished speaking, he suddenly drew his sword.

The old monk stepped back rapidly with his foot sword!

Song Qian Ji was very satisfied with the sword Xian Jian Chen had given him. When drawn, it had neither light nor sound, like a shadow—the most suitable weapon for killing.

One moment he was chatting with a casual tone, the next he thrust out the most merciless sword strike.

When he drew his sword, he had mentally rehearsed the sword’s trajectory countless times, knowing this strike would not miss.

Even though the person who had wounded Xian Jian Chen was severely injured, he dared not underestimate them.

But seeing the old monk’s eyes under the moonlight, Song Qian Ji suddenly felt a jolt in his spirit.

Something was wrong. What was it?

It was too smooth.

The strong wind howled, and thick clouds gradually covered the bright moon.

The old monk suddenly looked up: “It’s time.”

Song Qian Ji’s sword tip trembled slightly.

His hand wouldn’t shake when thrusting; it was the earth that was trembling.

The tremors came in waves, like a dragon turning in the earth like thousands of horses galloping.

Wails came with the tremors, and even from this distance, the voices were unmistakably agonized.

Song Qian Ji abruptly turned his head to look toward the riverbank.

Wu Xiang, seeing the shock in his eyes, smiled more deeply:

“This poor monk plotted to gather them at Red River but forgot to tell them that a two-thousand-year-old giant serpent slumbers at the bottom of the river, which would awaken if disturbed.”

“Stay here, and you can certainly kill me. But the lives of ten thousand people on both banks of the Red River will be lost because of you.”

“Now the Red River will become a hell of suffering. Kill one person, or save ten thousand. How will Benefactor Song, who carries the luck and destiny of heaven and earth, choose?”

Song Qian Ji turned his head back, no longer looking at the riverbank as if he hadn’t heard at all.

His sword was still fast, even faster.

Wu Xiang’s wide sleeves fluttered as he changed defensive moves in succession, his expression gradually becoming shocked, even bewildered.

“Only brats make choices,” he suddenly heard Song Qian Ji say softly.

Song Qian Ji held his sword in one hand while plastering ten sound-amplifying talismans on himself with the other, coldly smiling as he cleared his throat.