Song Qian Ji wanted to meet Wei Zhen Yu, not out of any malice, but out of curiosity.

When he had just died, he had indeed been jealous of the other, but after lying flat and watching the show for so long in that dark room, he no longer even wanted to cultivate immortality, let alone be jealous of another’s good fortune.

The words “fortune” and “destiny” were unpredictable and ever-changing.

Cultivators born into prestigious families had ancestors who had accumulated more virtue, auspicious cave dwellings with good feng shui, and affiliated states or fiefs.

If they could protect a region with favorable weather, teaching countless mortals to worship their golden statues, the stronger the incense burned, the better their fortune, thus making their path to immortality smoother—a virtuous cycle.

Ordinary cultivators had neither treasured lands nor spiritual artifacts for protection. Their ancestors had never produced an ascended immortal, and no one in the mortal realm worshipped them. They could only comfort themselves with the idea of “doing more good deeds and accumulating blessings.”

There was also an unconventional path: using techniques to plunder others’ fortune. This was a gamble to deceive heaven and earth—the slightest carelessness would inevitably lead to a backlash.

Song Qian Ji had never given thought to such matters.

But he had once witnessed a Daoist technique from Purple Cloud Observatory called the “Fortune Viewing Technique.”

After Song Qian Ji advanced to Form Transformation Realm, various sects came to congratulate him.

The leader of Purple Cloud Observatory publicly demonstrated the Fortune Viewing Technique. When looking at others, he saw a weaving of five colors, radiant as clouds and mist, allowing him to deduce how they had risen to prominence, explaining everything logically.

But when looking at Song Qian Ji, he saw only dense, impenetrable black smoke along with rolling, foul winds that nearly blinded his eyes.

Not daring to speak ill of Song Qian Ji, he could only say, “In a hundred years of viewing fortunes, I’ve never seen such a sight. I cannot comprehend how you achieved such accomplishments.”

His meaning was that he had never seen someone with such terrible luck, receiving not a hint of favor from the Heavenly Way.

The marvel was that this person had somehow lived until today and achieved such accomplishments.

From then on, Song Qian Ji’s fearsome reputation grew even greater.

The cultivation world generally believed he lacked “virtue,” with a hard fate and a merciless heart, whom even the King of Hell wouldn’t claim.

Regardless of what was said behind his back, outwardly they increasingly respected and feared him.

Song Qian Ji thought that if Wei Zhen Yu was covered in golden light, bright as the sun in the eyes of cultivators who knew the “Fortune Viewing Technique,” it would be no different from a child carrying gold through the market, inevitably attracting covetous eyes or those who would devise ways to plunder it.

Wei Zhen Yu must possess some secret technique to conceal his fortune, blending in with the common, to silently amass his power.

So for this Grand Literary Assembly, he wouldn’t look at the famous talents from each sect, but would instead search for an inconspicuous disciple with the surname Wei.

“Senior Brother Song, what are you thinking about?” Meng He Ze interrupted his thoughts.

“Nothing,” Song Qian Ji shook his head.

Meng He Ze thought he was worried about the Grand Assembly: “I’ll go buy you brushes, ink, paper, and an inkstone, so you can practice calligraphy and painting.”

“No need,” Song Qian Ji finished watering the ground and put away the watering can. “I want to buy some seeds.”

“Seeds?” Meng He Ze was puzzled. “Which kind of spiritual plant seeds?”

“Not spiritual plants, just ordinary seeds,” Song Qian Ji wasn’t picky. “Vegetable seedlings are fine too.”

Zhou Xiao Yun suddenly said: “That’s easy, the outer sect’s main kitchen has them!”

Outer sect disciples who hadn’t yet abstained from food ate in the main kitchen. They couldn’t eat spiritual plants, spiritual rice, or spiritual beast meat, but they had plenty of rice, flour, and vegetables.

“We’re heading to work at the Spirit Stone mine now, and we’ll pass by the main kitchen on our way back. We’ll bring you some,” Meng He Ze rose to say goodbye.

Song Qian Ji nodded in thanks.

The tender new sprouts of the potatoes, covered with crystalline water droplets, contained full vitality, hiding in the soil.

This was the first time Song Qian Ji had planted anything.

He extended his fingertip, carefully touching them. There was something novel and joyful about it.

Because he possessed the “Immortal Spring,” the treasure with the strongest vitality, his perception of life had also become keen.

Not just people and living creatures, but everything with vitality.

For instance, he could sense when a leaf would fall from a branch, or when a peach blossom beneath the leaves would turn from flourishing to withering.

Perhaps he had a talent for farming.

A towering building starts from the ground; someday he would own his farm!

After solving the problem of seeds and seedlings, to improve the light inside the courtyard walls, Song Qian Ji transplanted the peach tree in front of the gate to three zhang away.

The land in front of the gate was carefully turned over and cleared. He set up bamboo fences on both sides of the vermilion gate, creating two new vegetable gardens.

He was very serious while working, focusing entirely even on boring tasks like turning soil with a shovel, meticulous and attentive.

As if he were doing the most interesting and important thing in the world.

Song Qian Ji was having a great time.

The people watching him were on the verge of collapse.

“Report! Song Qian Ji is buying seeds and seedlings, seems like he wants to farm!”

“Report! Song Qian Ji has started carrying water and tilling the land!”

“Report! Song Qian Ji planted eggplants, green onions, and garlic shoots today…”

“Report! Song Qian Ji plans to plant flowers in front of the gate…”

“Get out, out, stop reporting!” Zhao Yu Ping angrily waved his sleeve. The teacup on the table fell and shattered, pieces flying everywhere.

He stood among the fragments, stamping his foot: “What on earth is this brat trying to do!”

A Qi Condensation stage nobody who had no time for leisure, wouldn’t even spare time for sleep, trying to squeeze forty hours out of each day for cultivation.

Suddenly one day he went to farm, and ever since he started farming, he no longer cultivated.

The more Zhao Yu Ping thought about it, the more uneasy he felt. He always felt that Song Qian Ji’s abnormal behavior was him brewing some vicious scheme.

Like a sword hanging over his head, not being able to guess the other’s plan made him anxious:

“When will the people from Qingya Academy and Celestial Sound Sect arrive? The longer the night, the more dreams. Send someone to hurry them.”

Chen Hong Zhu was also uncomfortable.

She had volunteered to keep an eye on Song Qian Ji, not to hear about how he planted rice seedlings or watered plants every day.

Chen Hong Zhu had bribed the disciples in twenty outer sect residences around “Song Yuan,” leaving them spirit stones and paper cranes for messages, along with stern threats:

“If Song Qian Ji has any movement that you fail to discover or report to me in time, prepare to taste my whip!”

Under threats and inducements, her intelligence was more up-to-date than Zhao Yu Ping’s.

But Song Qian Ji seemed to have noticed something and stayed mostly at home. The seeds and farming tools he needed were delivered to his courtyard by Meng He Ze and the others.

“He would rather spend time every day on these idle activities than practice swordsmanship. Is he deliberately trying to provoke me?”

Once this thought arose, Chen Hong Zhu became distracted while practicing swordsmanship and restless during meditation.

“Song Qian Ji has left his home!”

The paper crane brought the latest news, and Chen Hong Zhu rose abruptly.

***

Song Qian Ji closed the vermilion gate. As he was about to step forward, he suddenly looked up at the peach blossom tree.

The sunlight was crystal clear, and layers upon layers of flowers and tender leaves bloomed exuberantly.

A red-clothed young woman sat on the branch, swinging her legs, smiling and asking: “Where are you headed?”

Song Qian Ji frowned: “How did you get here?”

There was no fluctuation of spiritual energy. She seemed to have appeared out of thin air, startling the birds.

“Using this!” Chen Hong Zhu pulled out a diamond-shaped token. “As long as you make any movement, I can immediately arrive!”

Golden light flashed, reflecting the sunlight, dazzling Song Qian Ji’s eyes.

“You know, my father and those uncles of mine, they don’t want to see you, so naturally the dirty work of watching you fall to me. Using this opportunity, I borrowed the Hua Wei True Token from my father. Holding this token, I can utilize the Hua Wei formation to move freely within the sect, arriving in an instant.”

“For example, the Star-Picking Platform on the back mountain—my cultivation level won’t let me go up there yet. But since I got this, whenever I can’t sleep at night, I can go watch the stars anytime. In this regard, I really should thank you.”

Having experienced the failure of their previous interaction, she felt that with this person, frankness was better than concealment.

But she didn’t mention why she couldn’t sleep, and he probably wouldn’t care.

Song Qian Ji was speechless.

This was no different from traveling on public funds or eating and drinking at public expense.

But considering Chen Hong Zhu’s identity, it wasn’t illegal to fleece her own family’s sheep.

He turned and left.

Chen Hong Zhu jumped down and followed behind him, asking: “Where are you going to practice swordsmanship?”

“Not practicing swordsmanship, going to see the spiritual fields.”

Chen Hong Zhu bit her lower lip, deciding: “The Grand Assembly is about to begin. You can’t waste your time like this just to spite someone! I can apologize for being rude to you before!”

To think that she had been domineering for eighteen years, never lowering her head, let alone apologizing.

If he still refused to give her face, she would truly get angry.

“Don’t you know yet?” Song Qian Ji asked.

“What?”

“I’ve registered for calligraphy and painting.”

Chen Hong Zhu began to cough violently: “You’ve truly gone mad!”

“Cultivation is like sailing against the current. Once you embark on this path, you must constantly struggle—against others, against heaven. Otherwise, falling behind one step means falling behind at every step.” Chen Hong Zhu earnestly advised, “At the same age of fourteen or fifteen, some are at early Qi Condensation, while others have completed Qi Condensation. Though it seems similar, the gap widens as time passes. When your friend Meng He Ze forms his Golden Core, while you’re still attempting Foundation Building, won’t you feel anxious?”

“I’m not anxious.”

Song Qian Ji walked while enjoying the scenery, his expression serene.

Chen Hong Zhu was angry at his lack of ambition. She wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him violently.

“As a Qi Condensation cultivator, being personally guided by ‘that person’ is an enormous opportunity. Others would pray until smoke rose from their ancestors’ graves and still couldn’t obtain it. Why don’t you cherish it? On what grounds do you not cherish it!”

She took a deep breath: “Even if you don’t want to compare yourself with fellow cultivators. But even an ordinary mortal who doesn’t cultivate immortality understands the simplest principle in the world: if you don’t want to be bullied, if you don’t want to be slaughtered at will, you can only fight with all your might. Everyone wants to be above others, and this has created a world where people devour each other.”

“Why are you so anxious?” Song Qian Ji smiled slightly. “Are you my mother?”

“You!” Chen Hong Zhu was nearly driven away by his provocation. Her eyes darted, and she suddenly said: “That sentence you said earlier, I’ve heard about it. Not just me, the entire Hua Wei Sect knows now.”

“Miao Yan has many fanatical followers, and they’re coming to the Grand Literary Assembly. You’re going to have trouble, are you afraid?”

Song Qian Ji thought for a moment and nodded honestly: “I am.”

A person who could become a fanatical follower must not have a properly functioning brain.

He had experienced this in his previous life.

When Miao Yan invited him to listen to the zither by the cold lake, they hid at the bottom of the lake, waiting for an opportunity to sabotage, but they accidentally awakened a thousand-year crocodile sleeping in the lake and were chased for forty li across the water.

When Miao Yan invited him to go boating and drink tea, they hid under the boat, preparing to assassinate him, but fearing they would be scattered by the rapid currents, they tied themselves together with rope.

Pulling one would drag out a string, like seven melons on a single vine.

These people, with intelligence comparable to Zhao Ji Heng’s, provided rare amusement in Song Qian Ji’s otherwise monotonous cultivation life in his previous existence.

But at that time, he maintained the demeanor of a powerful cultivator, especially in front of Miao Yan, valuing his dignity and unwilling to be seen as an unrefined scattered cultivator.

Wanting to laugh but unable to, he had to suppress it painfully.

Now without such baggage, he could laugh however he wanted. If they met again, he feared he might laugh himself to death.

Chen Hong Zhu was taken aback.

She knew this man was stubborn. If provoked, he should have played the hero and said, “Who’s afraid of whom? Just let them come.”

That would have been the perfect opportunity to urge him to practice swordsmanship diligently, preparing to teach those people a lesson.

Now that he had straightforwardly admitted to being afraid, she was left speechless.

Song Qian Ji suddenly asked: “When they come, you’re also afraid, aren’t you?”

“Nonsense, why would I be afraid?!” Chen Hong Zhu was furious, her hair almost standing on end. “Afraid of what? This young lady simply doesn’t like Miao Yan. Whoever dares to bully us because of that, let them first question my sword.”

“Don’t you use a whip?”

“This whip is just to scare people! Like setting off firecrackers during New Year—it’s just for the sound.” Chen Hong Zhu said seriously, “A sword is a lethal weapon. A sword that harms people cannot be shown carelessly.”

“So you understand this principle,” Song Qian Ji was somewhat surprised. “You’re not bad.”

“So you do know how to praise people. I thought you only knew how to aggravate them. But you’re not bad either.” Chen Hong Zhu, delighted by the compliment, returned the favor by praising him. “I bet Miao Yan is so angry now that her hands are shaking, she probably wants to snap the railing of her bamboo house, yet she still has to pretend not to care!”

Song Qian Ji shook his head: “No. She wouldn’t.”

As they spoke, layer upon layer of terraced spiritual fields, like piled snow waves in a thousand folds, appeared before their eyes.

***

Miao Yan stood by the railing, quietly appreciating flowers.

Wherever she was, there were always fresh flowers.

She and Chen Hong Zhu despised each other, so naturally, she didn’t want to stay in Chen Hong Zhu’s Wuyou Palace.

Though they were cousins, they didn’t have the close friendship of girls who grew up together. Chen Hong Zhu was born late to Xu Yun, and from birth was the princess of Hua Wei Sect.

Miao Yan’s parents died early. Before her mother passed away, she entrusted her to her uncle, who was the sect leader of Hua Wei.

Unfortunately, her spiritual root was weak, her spiritual veins thin and supple, most unsuited for practicing with knives or swords. No matter how hard she tried, she always made Xu Yun shake his head and frown.

Hua Wei Sect treated her like an idle person, just one more pair of chopsticks at the table.

After Chen Hong Zhu was born, Miao Yan moved from the main peak to the secluded bamboo forest on the back mountain.

Until Immortal Wangshu visited Hua Wei Sect, saw that she was suitable for cultivating the Celestial Sound Technique, accepted her as a disciple, and imparted all her knowledge.

Miao Yan’s life changed from then on.

When she appeared before people again, she had become a heavenly maiden with exceptional talent and radiant brilliance.

As if she had been born that way.

Within Chen Hong Zhu’s Wuyou Palace, Hua Wei Sect had built a Tianlai Pavilion for her, to show that the two were close friends with deep affection.

But Miao Yan preferred to live in her former bamboo house.

Hua Wei Sect had to renovate this place, hanging white shark silk, placing night-luminous pearls, and arranging it to be elegant and otherworldly.

When the maidservant entered, she saw Miao Yan gazing at the flowers in a daze, seeming worried. Mistakenly thinking she was troubled by rumors, the maid urgently said:

“Have you heard too?”

“What?” Miao Yan was startled, then remembered that not very flattering remark, and smiled, shaking her head: “It’s nothing.”

The maidservant was indignant: “Hua Wei Sect invited you as a guest, yet a disciple dares to be disrespectful to you. If I were to encounter him face to face…”

“No. It has nothing to do with him.”

Miao Yan turned around, picked up a small golden scissors, and began trimming excess branches from a potted plant. “The bamboo house is secluded. If you can hear such rumors, it’s because someone wants me to hear them, wants me to get angry.”

The maidservant pondered for a moment, then suddenly clapped her hands: “Then they’re bound to be disappointed. I’ve never seen the Fairy angry!”

Miao Yan smiled.

She was accustomed to pouring all her love, hate, joy, and anger into her music. When the zither music stopped, she would raise her head and once again become the perfect, flawless fairy.

She never displayed negative emotions in front of others.

“Besides, a mere outer sect disciple isn’t worth your anger,” the maidservant said with a smile.

“Snap.”

The golden scissors made a mistake, and a flower bud fell to the ground.

Miao Yan’s smile faded: “Outer sect disciple?”

She put down the scissors, inexplicably recalling the encounter on Flowing Water Bridge, that person’s cold expression, slightly furrowed brow.

If it was that person, he indeed looked like someone who would say such things.

“Oh, the flower fell!” The maidservant exclaimed, then comforted her: “It’s alright, fresh flowers are outside. I’ll bring them in right away.”

The old flowers were discarded, and new ones were placed on the terrace.

Golden-veined orchids, five-colored peonies, crystal azaleas…

The elegant, otherworldly bamboo house was instantly filled with a riot of flowers, their fragrance overwhelming.

The maidservant covered her mouth and smiled: “Look at those people, they haven’t arrived yet, but their flowers have.”

Miao Yan enjoyed looking at flowers.

Beautiful flowers complement a beautiful person, others also like to send her flowers to appreciate.

Pursuing the most beautiful person, sending the most gorgeous flowers—many considered this refined.

The maidservant had been by Miao Yan’s side for many years, like a sister, and had seen all kinds of exotic flowers and precious spiritual plants in the world, finding nothing special anymore.

“Fairy, among the flowers sent this time, which do you prefer?”

“None.”

Miao Yan turned around, ignoring the full bloom of every color, not sparing another glance.

She sat back at her bamboo table, bending her head over the zither.

“Then among these flower-senders, whom do you like best?”

“None of them.”

The maidservant thought for a moment and realized she had indeed never seen Miao Yan show special treatment to anyone. She couldn’t help asking: “What kind of person do you like?”

“A kindred spirit.” The beauty pressed the zither strings a couple of times. The sound wasn’t a complete melody but flowed out like a spring striking stones, fresh and pleasing to the ear.

Unfortunately, kindred spirits were rare; who would hear when the strings broke?

The maidservant didn’t understand and wanted to ask what a kindred spirit was, when suddenly her eyes lit up, and she caught a paper crane like a butterfly: “A letter from Immortal Wangshu!”

Miao Yan didn’t raise her head, only asking: “What does Master say?”

“She asks you to play a piece after the zither competition of the Grand Assembly is finished, to clear everyone’s mind and spirit, enhancing their cultivation.”

“I understand.” Miao Yan adjusted the pearl hairpin at her temple and smiled. “Master is still so competitive.”

With her as the finale, who would remember what the champion of this year had played?

Young people came to the assembly to make a name for themselves. Working hard to win the championship, yet not being remembered.

It was somewhat pitiful.

Miao Yan silently said “sorry” in advance.

Senior powerful cultivators maintained their status and wouldn’t personally participate. She was confident that in today’s cultivation world, among music cultivators willing to personally appear and publicly perform, no one could surpass her.

Every year, someone would be praised as “Little Miao Yan,” but they were merely fleeting.

There was only one Miao Yan.

As she thought of this, a cold, stubborn expression appeared, destroying her gentle beauty, and making her almost like a different person.

But she kept her head low, and no one could see.