It was difficult to make a great name for oneself in the cultivation world where heroes contended for supremacy, but gaining a bit of fleeting fame was easy.

Having participated in some grand assembly, witnessed some great battle, or exchanged words with someone notable—all these could serve as conversational capital for self-introduction.

Young cultivators could report their master’s name or family’s ancestry when socializing. Even wandering cultivators of ordinary birth, whose ancestors hadn’t produced a famous person in three generations, could claim to be “someone’s friend.”

Some who had completed half of Ji Chen’s question booklet would dare call themselves “half a nominal disciple” under Editor Ji.

But no one dared falsely claim to be a friend of Zi Ye Wen Shu.

It would sound fake, extremely fake.

As Song Qian Ji walked along with the Blue Cliff cultivators, he made no effort to conceal his tracks. In the ice cave, where various factions guarded against each other, means of collecting and inquiring about information had long been established.

Not long after Song Qian Ji jumped down into the ice pit, footsteps and echoes resounded from all around.

“Repeatedly invited yet unwilling to come, how is it that everyone has emerged now?” Zi Mo said in a low voice.

“Of course, they’re not here to see you; they’ve all come to see the Academy Supervisor’s friend,” Qing Zhai glanced around. The ice surface reflected the crimson hem of two Flower Stream Sect robes, a section of water-colored wide sleeve from the Celestial Sound Gate, a cold-eyed guardian from a noble family standing with hands behind his back, and two skulking wandering cultivators.

The Blue Cliff scholars racked their brains but couldn’t figure out the background of this cultivator surnamed Song.

Cultivators outside of Blue Cliff were not only curious about this person but also vigilant and wary, determined to see him with their own eyes.

“Appearing suddenly as if descending from the heavens? Zi Ye Wen Shu’s friend? Song Xun whom no one has ever heard of?”

“If he has a way to come in, it means we also have a way to get out!”

“Look, he’s coming out!”

The person who jumped out of the ice pit had a thin frame, tattered clothes, and ordinary cultivation. If not for holding the snowblade, who would believe this unremarkable person was Zi Ye Wen Shu’s friend?

Saying he was “holding” the blade wasn’t quite accurate. He was carefully cradling a crystal-clear spirit herb in his hands, with the blade handle sideways in his mouth, like biting a piece of wild grass.

Song Qian Ji placed the freshly picked ice leaf grass into a jade storage box before taking the blade. He stretched lazily as if oblivious to his surroundings as if he were enjoying the sunshine in a field rather than standing in a freezing ice cave.

The spirit jade box could keep spirit plants fresh. In the past, Song Qian Ji had used it to store potato flowers, wheat, seeds, and the like to comfort his longing for the fields.

Everyone stared at the person before them, looking him up and down as if gazing at a monster.

Where had Zi Ye Wen Shu found such a rogue?

Song Qian Ji smiled: “What guidance do you all seek from me?”

The noble family guardian spoke first: “Spirits block the cave entrance. How did Daoist Friend Song enter?”

“A random teleportation formation, arrived by chance.”

Could anyone be so lucky?

Everyone showed doubtful expressions but didn’t ask further. Facing someone of unknown background and suspicious origins, no one wanted to be the first to stick their neck out. Besides, he looked much harder to deal with than the otherworldly Zi Ye Wen Shu.

One doesn’t fear the god untouched by worldly dust, but the person who has rolled in the mortal realm.

Song Qian Ji walked forward, looking back at the ice pit: “You’re all crowded here. Do you want to go down and take a look too?”

“No, no!”

Everyone instinctively stepped back, making way for him.

“I have matters to attend to now.” Song Qian Ji carried the long blade across his shoulder: “I’ll visit you all again later.”

The same blade that looked solemn and dignified at Zi Ye Wen Shu’s waist appeared like… a hoe on this man’s shoulder.

“Please wait, Daoist Friend Song.” A delicate female voice sounded:

“Every night at midnight, those things outside are at their strongest and will attack the cave once. If Daoist Zi Ye isn’t here, then tonight’s watch…”

Song Qian Ji didn’t stop, swinging the scabbard as he walked, his words carrying a double meaning: “I’ll go.”

The female cultivator lifted her skirt and stepped forward: “My Celestial Sound Gate thanks you in advance, Daoist Friend.”

The air in the ice cave was cold. She wore fire cloud gauze that generated heat in cold environments, creating waves of white mist between hot and cold, making her seem as if she were floating on clouds and mist, lofty and unapproachable.

A Flower Stream Sect female cultivator muttered: “Even at a time like this, why put on such an act?”

The Celestial Sound Gate cultivator’s expression changed as she glared:

“Demon woman! Mind your impudence!”

Seeing that both sides were about to argue again, the Blue Cliff scholars hurriedly tried to mediate, but Song Qian Ji acted as if he hadn’t heard.

“When Daoist Friend Song is free, perhaps you could come sit with us for a while, so we can properly host you,” said the Flower Stream Sect female cultivator in an alluring, pleasant voice.

Song Qian Ji responded with a sound without turning his head.

The Blue Cliff scholars blushed, turning their heads away as if they couldn’t bear to listen any longer.

After Song Qian Ji’s figure disappeared, everyone dispersed.

The wandering cultivators’ representative left first, seemingly eager to confer with teammates, followed by the noble family guardian and the Celestial Sound Gate female cultivator.

The Flower Stream Sect female cultivator walked last, transmitting her voice:

“Hey, you two little scholars.”

Qing Zhai turned around in surprise, pointing at himself: “Us two?”

“Big sister is calling you, of course.” The Flower Stream Sect cultivator smiled softly. “Considering how your Zi Ye Senior Brother has looked after us before, let me give you a piece of advice. That spirit herb in his hand is called ice leaf grass. Its juice becomes extremely poisonous when it meets blood. He just took it to your Senior Brother…”

Before she finished speaking, her skirt swirled and she vanished.

Zi Mo stood dumbfounded while Qing Zhai shuddered in fear:

“Is she trying to drive a wedge between us and Daoist Friend Song?”

“But what if that herb is poisonous? If Senior Brother has mistakenly trusted a villain…”

…

In the ice chamber, Song Qian Ji opened the jade box: “I picked this one carefully. It has the best appearance and abundant juice.”

Zi Ye Wen Shu lowered his eyes to look at the ice leaf grass: “This thing is extremely poisonous when it meets blood.”

“I already told you, this poison you’ve contracted needs to be countered with poison to be cured.” Song Qian Ji drew out the snowblade and cut a gash on the back of his right hand, immediately causing blood to flow freely. With his left hand, he dipped two fingers in the poisoned blood from the other’s wound and applied it to the back of his hand.

He did all this with a natural expression, and Zi Ye Wen Shu was completely unprepared.

“What are you doing?!” Zi Ye Wen Shu shouted harshly, about to reach out and seize the blade.

Song Qian Ji moved aside to avoid him, squeezed out the juice from the ice leaf grass, and haphazardly smeared it on. The wound visibly returned to a fresh red color at a speed visible to the naked eye.

“See, I didn’t lie to you.” He smiled.

Zi Ye Wen Shu glared at him, his chest heaving, extremely shocked and angry.

“Isn’t it better now?” Song Qian Ji’s wound had already healed, leaving only a scar.

“I’m different from others; I heal quickly after being injured… Why are you still glaring? Do you want to kill me?” Song Qian Ji carelessly waved the back of his hand.

Earlier, when the Undying Spring saw him bleeding, it finally reconciled with him and stopped throwing a tantrum.

Zi Ye Wen Shu: “…When did I say I didn’t believe you?”

The Snow Blade was made of special material; the scars it left could never completely disappear.

Song Qian Ji applied the herb juice to him: “Since you believe me, leave this place to me. After those people return, they’ll discuss what treasures might be below the ice cave, where I came from, and what I intend to do here… You can also have some peace for a while.”

Zi Ye Wen Shu remained silent.

When he didn’t speak, he was colder than the surrounding ice walls.

The bone-chilling coolness of the ice leaf grass seeped out, immediately alleviating the burning, sharp pain in his shoulder.

He looked at the hideous scar on the back of Song Qian Ji’s hand.

Song Qian Ji: “You see, although the Snow Blade is in my hands, it can harm me at any moment.”

Zi Ye Wen Shu uttered two words: “Blue Cliff.”

“I know you have responsibilities to Blue Cliff, and Blue Cliff is most important. The things I need to do in these few days, I cannot explain the reasons for. But I swear on my character—no, I have no character—I swear on Thousand Channels’ fertile lands that I will not harm your academy. Those youngsters you brought, I’ll look after them well.”

“No need for such a poisonous oath.” Zi Ye Wen Shu’s eyes flickered slightly.

Swearing on Thousand Channels’ land was more deadly than swearing on Song Qian Ji’s life.

“Change clothes.” Zi Ye Wen Shu threw out a defensive magic robe from his storage pouch.

Song Qian Ji’s outer robe had been scorched by the Endless Fire earlier and was already in a sorry state. After this return, it had almost disintegrated into rags.

Song Qian Ji caught it with a raised hand, suddenly feeling a sense of familiarity.

In his previous life, also in this place, he had set his bones, barely bandaged himself and stopped the bleeding, then meditated bare-chested to rest, wearing only a loose outer garment.

Zi Ye Wen Shu had thrown him a defensive magic robe.

Song Qian Ji hadn’t accepted it, only teasing him: “You disciples from major sects, going on a journey, first pack twenty sets of clothes in your storage pouch? You won’t leave home until you’ve packed enough clothes?”

“Put it on.”

Song Qian Ji impatiently: “I’ve always been like this!”

“There are female cultivators present.” Zi Ye Wen Shu said.

Being improperly dressed was disrespectful and offensive to female cultivators. But Song Qian Ji’s entire body ached, and he was too lazy to care:

“Really? At a time like this, you’re still concerned about such things?”

Song Qian Ji felt that he and Zi Ye Wen Shu had naturally incompatible destinies. This person’s character was both cold and rigid; he never spoke a kind word, yet fussed over everything with a bunch of rules.

“Change.” Zi Ye Wen Shu urged again.

Song Qian Ji sneered:

“Change your head! We wandering cultivators with mud on our legs aren’t like you aristocratic gentlemen. I hope when you die, you also die in perfect adherence to the rules.”

“Put it on.” Zi Ye Wen Shu’s voice sounded again.

Song Qian Ji took the outer robe, coming back to his senses: “I understand… Thank you.”