The spiritual fields of Hua Wei Mountain were built around the mountain, with winding ridges and turning embankments, resembling layer upon layer of gentle waves when viewed from afar.

Those varying shades of green continued to climb higher, reaching halfway up the mountain before being shrouded in white mist, becoming indistinct.

Each level of field grew different spiritual plants and spiritual rice, with over twenty youths dressed in outer sect disciple clothing moving among them.

They tucked the hems of their robes into their waists, rolled up their sleeves to reveal sturdy forearms, and bent down to harvest.

Few stopped to chat. The sooner they finished their work, the sooner they could return to cultivation.

Once they bent down, they rarely had the chance to straighten up again.

At the foot of the mountain stood a cool pavilion. Five or six low-ranking stewards were supervising the work.

They gazed at the clearly defined terraces, drinking tea and cracking melon seeds, their faces wearing self-satisfied smiles, as if they had come for a spring outing to enjoy the scenery, ready to set up a mahjong table at any moment.

However, once a high-level steward came down to inspect, or an inner sect elder happened to pass by, these people would scatter like frightened birds, rushing quickly toward the terraced fields.

Some would personally bend down to help, some would wipe the sweat from the outer sect disciples’ brows, and some would shout: “Everyone’s working hard! Let’s put in a bit more effort over here!”

At this moment, someone among them called out: “Is that Song Qian Ji?”

The laughter in the pavilion abruptly ceased.

Song Qian Ji was a very special outer sect disciple. Instructions from above had been given that he no longer needed to work, and whatever he wanted to do, as long as it didn’t violate sect rules, they were to turn a blind eye.

The stewards watched as Song Qian Ji walked toward the terraced fields with a red figure following behind him, their hearts filled with surprise and doubt.

“Why has the young lady come too?”

So they hurriedly stood up, put down their teacups, spat out melon seed shells, and rushed out of the pavilion to greet them.

Chen Hong Zhu raised her hand to signal them to stop, turning her head to give them a glance containing an implicit warning.

The stewards dared neither approach nor sit down, making them more uncomfortable than the disciples who were laboring with their heads bowed.

“What are you doing here?” Chen Hong Zhu asked.

Song Qian Ji said: “Just looking.”

He circled the terraced fields, sometimes looking down, sometimes looking up, observing the operation of the formations on the ground and the changes in spiritual energy in the air.

Hua Wei Sect’s spiritual fields didn’t need to worry about sunlight, rain, water, fertilizer, or soil quality. This was because multiple formations had been set up in the ground and at the mountaintop, which could adjust spiritual energy, create clouds and rain, and ripen spiritual plants overnight.

Outer sect disciples would plant and transplant seedlings one day, then harvest and pick them the next.

Only common spiritual plants and rice were grown here to supply the inner sect. Some special varieties used in medicine and pill-making, precious and delicate, taking decades or even a hundred years to flower and bear fruit, were cultivated by specialized physicians or pill refiners.

Song Qian Ji pulled up a stalk of spiritual rice with full grains and frowned slightly.

Although spiritual plants ripened by formations grew vigorously, they had a rigid, stiff feeling, unlike the vibrant vitality of his home vegetable garden.

He had no farming experience and was learning purely through his exploration, still in the learning stage.

Each day, nurturing life in his vegetable garden, he unconsciously changed his approach to the world, becoming gentler.

Perhaps the old monk from Red Leaf Temple was right—creating life is harder than destroying it.

Saving a person is harder than killing one.

Chen Hong Zhu followed behind Song Qian Ji, enduring the curious gazes of the surrounding disciples along the way, hesitating to speak, forcibly suppressing her confusion.

Seeing his focused expression, she thought he wouldn’t want to be disturbed, so she kept quiet.

Her silence didn’t mean others wouldn’t disturb him.

“Senior Brother Song, please wait!”

The one calling was an outer sect disciple. His voice was loud, as if filled with great courage.

When he saw that Song Qian Ji truly stopped and turned around, he was startled again, stammering a low greeting:

“Senior Brother Song, hello, I have something I’d like to trouble you with…”

Chen Hong Zhu, her temper rising, shouted: “If you have something to say, say it! Why are you mumbling!”

The disciple was so frightened by her that he jumped, turned to run, but then, thinking of something, took a deep breath:

“I, I heard from Senior Sister Zhou that by offering Senior Brother a bag of seeds, one could receive a word of guidance from Senior Brother…”

Song Qian Ji was startled, about to say there was no such thing.

Meng He Ze and his friends had been helping him collect seeds, and sometimes when they encountered cultivation difficulties, he would give them a pointer.

He kept it brief, without passing down techniques or saying too much.

It was just done in passing, simpler than picking up a fallen oil bottle.

The disciple had steeled his resolve, opened his mouth, and committed himself. He took out a storage pouch from his sleeve:

“If I’ve offended Senior Brother before, please forgive me. Today I present a bag of balsam seeds, and boldly ask Senior Brother for some guidance!”

He spoke firmly, but his heart was extremely anxious. He had just registered for the performance competition and also wanted to seek a change in his fortunes, to establish a future for himself.

Is Zhou Xiao Yun playing a joke on me?

Or am I so poor that I misheard “offering a bag of spirit stones” as “offering a bag of seeds”?

In recent days, several disciples who had interacted with Song Qian Ji had made rapid progress in their cultivation, which made others envious. Apart from Meng He Ze’s inherent talent, the others had all been quite ordinary.

Outer sect disciples had no masters and relied on their comprehension, exploration, and diligent practice. The inner sect not only monopolized resources like secret manuals and magical artifacts but also monopolized the keys to enlightenment and cultivation experience.

When outer sect disciples went to the Instruction Hall or Library, the elders there would inevitably be cold and extremely impatient.

Even if they were willing to speak, they liked to be mysterious, leaving two or three “true words” for you to slowly comprehend.

Song Qian Ji had just started to say “no” when he suddenly heard the words “balsam seeds.”

Clearing his throat, he continued: “Not impossible, go ahead and ask.”

These were new seeds he hadn’t collected yet, perfect for planting at his door.

The disciple didn’t expect it to be so easy. He approached Song Qian Ji’s side, his face flushed with excitement: “Thank you, Senior Brother!”

Seeing this, Chen Hong Zhu muttered about his ignorance of cultivation but walked to the side to admire the terraced field scenery, showing that she was avoiding any impropriety.

“The spiritual energy within my body is abundant, with no stagnation when I meditate and circulate it,” the young disciple asked in a low voice. “I feel that my Qi Condensation Second Layer is quite complete, yet why can’t I break through to the Third Layer?”

He was about to explain in more detail when Song Qian Ji looked at him and interrupted: “Indeed, it’s complete. For the past half month, you’ve only circulated spiritual energy within your body without ever consuming it?”

The disciple was slightly surprised: “I’ve been preparing to break through at any moment, being careful in everything, not daring to deplete it.”

“Spiritual energy flows through meridians like water flowing through field ridges. If you don’t use it, it becomes a stagnant pool—how can there be vitality? The moon waxes only to wane, water fills only to overflow. You should exhaust the spiritual energy within your body completely, replacing the old with the new, and naturally, the water will flow to its destination.”

The disciple stared blankly for a moment, then his eyes suddenly brightened, and he bowed deeply: “Thank you, Senior Brother.”

“You’re welcome.”

Song Qian Ji accepted the storage pouch, opened it to check the contents, and was quite satisfied to see the seeds full of vitality.

Song Qian Ji turned and left, and Chen Hong Zhu caught up: “You finished so quickly? Wait for me!”

The stewards by the pavilion withdrew their gaze, exchanging glances.

Thinking of Chen Hong Zhu’s fierce temper, they didn’t know whether to envy or pity him.

In front of Song Yuan, the peach blossom tree scattered its flowers profusely, and the two vegetable plots at the gate were lush and verdant.

As Song Qian Ji approached, he saw several bean seedlings climbing up the thin wooden stakes he had inserted, sending out vines and leaves, growing to nearly half a person’s height.

The spring breeze blew, and the triangular tender green leaves swayed, like a group of children waving, welcoming him home.

Song Qian Ji felt deeply gratified.

Chen Hong Zhu couldn’t understand why this person was so happy.

He should have been a very complex person, yet his happiness came so simply and easily.

In the blue sky, a crane’s cry suddenly descended.

Chen Hong Zhu looked up. A celestial crane flapped its wings out of the clouds, circled above the two, and gracefully landed, affectionately rubbing against her shoulder.

When it saw Song Qian Ji, however, it stepped back, its eyes alert and fearful, as if sensing something.

“This is my senior brother’s crane. He’s calling me back to help,” Chen Hong Zhu said.

Hua Wei Sect had been receiving guests over the past few days, and depending on their status, different people from the sect were assigned to receive them.

Chen Hong Zhu was responsible for receiving female cultivators of similar age and background.

After observing for a day, she had accepted the fact that Song Qian Ji’s personality had drastically changed, now only caring about farming, and decided to change her strategy.

After some thought, she took out a red paper crane: “This is my communication talisman. All three halls recognize it. If you want to go down the mountain to the market to buy seeds, just take this with you.”

Cultivators from the three halls and inner sect disciples could bring people down the mountain at any time, like Qiu Da Cheng and Xu Kan Shan from the Disciplinary Hall, who were more familiar with the gambling houses at the foot of the mountain than their own homes.

Zhao Ji Heng had a token issued by the Steward’s Hall and could take his followers to the brothels every night without any problem.

Only ordinary outer sect disciples were inspected by the Enforcement Hall patrols when leaving the mountain gate.

“From now until the Grand Assembly, if anyone causes you trouble because of Miao Yan, you can use this talisman to send me a message at any time. Within Hua Wei Sect, I hold the True Token and can arrive in an instant. Outside Hua Wei Sect, I can come riding a crane, definitely faster than ‘that person’.”

“They don’t know about your connection with ‘that person’! If by chance—I’m just saying if, not cursing you—you lose your life. Death ends everything, and that person wanders the four seas. By the time he knows and comes to avenge you, what good would it do?”

Chen Hong Zhu spoke until her mouth was dry, finally seeing Song Qian Ji accept the red paper crane and examine it.

She laughed happily: “I’m so good to you, aren’t you deeply moved? Do you want to practice swordsmanship for me now?”

Song Qian Ji: “If I’m not mistaken, this appears to be a dual-purpose talisman that can both transmit messages and track. It contains a strand of your spiritual sense. If I carry it with me, you’ll know my whereabouts no matter where I go.”

“You understand talismans too?” Chen Hong Zhu was startled, scratching her hair bun, somewhat embarrassed. “Did that person teach you? How much did he teach you?”

Song Qian Ji smiled without answering.

Chen Hong Zhu quickly became righteous: “This talisman, you can take it when you go down the mountain to shop. It only shows your whereabouts, not what seeds you bought, whom you met, or what you said. I don’t know those things. This isn’t too much, is it?”

“If I don’t take it, you’ll find other ways to watch me. This is something that consumes your energy and wastes your time,” Song Qian Ji earnestly advised. “If your mind isn’t focused for one day, you won’t reach the threshold of forming your Golden Core.”

Chen Hong Zhu was rendered speechless, her face dark.

She mounted the celestial crane and flew away in anger.

***

Song Qian Ji’s small courtyard had undergone an earth-shattering transformation.

When he was first reborn, it had been dark and dilapidated, filled with dust. Now the courtyard walls had been renovated, the floor tiles replaced, and the furniture renewed. Every wall had vines climbing on it, and every trellis by the wall had flowers growing on it. Under the trellises were vegetable gardens enclosed by fences, each vegetable fresh and vibrant.

This greenery, varied and uneven, had layers of depth when viewed from afar.

The entire small courtyard was naturally fresh and full of vitality.

After finishing a day’s work, Song Qian Ji collapsed into the rocking chair that Zhao Ji Heng had sent, enjoying the cool breeze and bright moon, waiting to eat noodles.

He had practiced abstaining from food early on and didn’t place much importance on the pleasures of food and drink, but the spring onions he had grown were lush and verdant, and if not cut soon, they would grow too old.

Seeing this, Meng He Ze had volunteered, saying he knew how to make scallion oil noodles.

Just at this time, an outer sect disciple came to visit.

“Senior Brother Song, I have a request,” the disciple bowed to him but didn’t speak directly, first presenting a storage pouch like a treasure. “I’ve brought a bag of wisteria seeds, carefully selected with not a single bad seed among them. They’ll grow once planted.”

Many people had seen Song Qian Ji visit the spiritual fields.

The person who had previously come to offer seeds had successfully broken through after asking his question, advancing to Qi Condensation Third Layer.

There were no secrets in the outer sect, and the news spread rapidly.

Song Qian Ji thought, wisteria flowers, I don’t have those yet, very nice.

He leaned back in the rocking chair: “Go ahead.”

The disciple moved closer, lowering his voice: “Please look, Senior Brother, this is a family heirloom, but later our family fell into decline… I see it’s not a magical artifact, and I don’t know what use it has.”

The disciple looked expectant, and also very nervous.

He was afraid Song Qian Ji would say he didn’t know, and even more afraid he would ask why it wasn’t turned over to the Steward’s Hall for appraisal.

If it truly was a spiritual item, turning it over to the Steward’s Hall would leave nothing for himself.

Fortunately, Song Qian Ji just glanced at it and didn’t ask anything.

“It’s a jade slip. Not a magical artifact, but likely a manual of cultivation techniques. When you build your foundation, the text will naturally appear.”

The disciple was overjoyed, repeatedly expressing his thanks: “Thank you, Senior Brother, thank you, Senior Brother!”

Song Qian Ji accepted the seeds: “No need for thanks, you can go now.”

“Senior Brother Song,” the disciple lowered his head, stammering, “Before, I…”

“Do you have something else?”

“…No.”

Song Qian Ji was puzzled: “Then why aren’t you leaving? Are you waiting for me to invite you for dinner?”

Hearing this, Meng He Ze ran out, holding a large ladle, appearing fierce: “Who wants to stay for dinner? We don’t have extra bowls or extra food!”

The normally helpful, kind, and righteous Senior Brother Meng suddenly changed his expression.

Remembering Meng He Ze’s ferocious appearance during the outer sect examination, the disciple hastily retreated, tripped, and then fled out of the courtyard gate like a gust of wind.

Meng He Ze coldly snorted.

The nickname “Song Lu” had been first coined by this person. But Song Qian Ji had probably long forgotten this.

“Are the noodles ready?” Song Qian Ji asked.

“Coming, coming!”

A bowl of fine noodles was placed on the stone table.

Drizzled with scallion oil, the noodles displayed an enticing sauce color, emitting a delicious aroma.

“Senior Brother Song, you’re too kind, your temper is too good, and these people are all taking advantage of you,” Meng He Ze suddenly closed his mouth, clenching his hands around the hem of his robe. He remembered how in the past when others called out “Song Lu,” he had also joined in the laughter. Later, he received many benefits, also relying on Song Qian Ji’s kindness. How was he any different from these people? Was he worthy of being called a gentleman?

Song Qian Ji didn’t notice the other’s sensitive emotional changes and just bent his head to eat noodles, muttering vaguely: “It’s no trouble.”

He thought, I’m the one getting the seeds, am I, not the one taking advantage?

This is me taking advantage!

***

The cultivation enthusiasm of the outer sect disciples had reached an unprecedented high, and they even worked with more spirit.

At some point, no one called “Song Lu” anymore, only “Senior Brother Song.”

This title specifically referred to Song Qian Ji alone. Other disciples with the surname Song willingly referred to themselves as junior brothers.

They all knew that when facing difficulties and confusion, when unable to understand a Dao text or cultivation method, when the elders at the Instruction Hall were too lazy to pay attention to you, at this time, you just needed to bring a bag of good seeds to receive Senior Brother Song’s valuable guidance and wholehearted help.

If you asked him to appraise a treasure, he would never covet your valuables.

Your family’s inherited cultivation method was less important to him than eating noodles.

All in all, it could be described as “selfless poverty alleviation.”

Although Senior Brother Meng was fierce, as long as you got your answer and left, without disturbing them too much or eating their noodles, he wouldn’t give you a hard time.

Someone as formidable as Senior Brother Song had specifically registered for calligraphy and painting, without any conflict of interest with other disciples planning to participate in the performance competition, actually reducing their competition.

When a person becomes useful, all their previous faults become virtues.

His solitary and independent nature became a case of appearing cold but having a warm heart, not caring about what others said. We misunderstood him greatly, which was truly wrong.

His inability to distinguish beauty became a transcendent state, not dwelling on appearances. We judged by looks, which was too shallow.

Song Qian Ji became the most respected and beloved person in the outer sect.

People would bow to him from afar when they saw him.

Song Qian Ji genuinely felt happy because he had more and more seeds, enough for him to plant for many years after leaving the mountain.

As for others’ views and evaluations of him, they weren’t as important as the spring onions sprouting in his garden.

***

On the ground, some people diligently cultivated, others turned soil and farmed.

In the sky and clouds, celestial cranes led the way, and azure birds pulled carriages.

Various sects gradually arrived at Hua Wei Sect, with distinctly different clothing and adornments, adding many colors to the verdant mountains.

This spring was destined to be like Song Qian Ji’s vegetable garden.

A hundred flowers blooming, full of vitality.