Young and unmarried, yet suddenly with a son.

This son is unfilial and, thus a rebellious child.

Song Qian Ji sighed, seeing only the crimson wine rippling with waves, a fragment of broken moonlight falling in the center of the jade cup.

“My alcohol tolerance is not very good.”

Meng Zheng Xian coldly mocked: “You say with your mouth that you want me to trust you, that you’re willing to do anything, yet you’re unwilling to drink even a cup of wine. How can I trust you?”

Song Qian Ji helplessly said: “I just hope you won’t regret it.”

Meng Zheng Xian laughed loudly: “I was born with an evil nature, have killed countless people, committed innumerable evils, yet never had nightmares. What regret could I possibly have?!”

Hearing this, Song Qian Ji raised his cup and drained it in one gulp.

The Mortal Realm Wine was extremely spicy and harsh, burning his throat and stomach like a wildfire sweeping across the plains.

Most dangerously, it stirred up all the desires hidden in the depths of one’s heart—the desire to kill, to covet, to lust, all desires.

“Good!” Meng He Ze raised his hand, adding another cup.

Song Qian Ji tilted his head back and drank again, the crimson wine dampening his collar.

He leaned against the window frame, coughing repeatedly, then suddenly flung the cup away: “More!”

Broken jade scattered across the floor dispersed like stars.

Meng Zheng Xian clapped his hands. Beautiful women parted the gauze curtains, carrying wine vats as they entered.

Madam Golden Peach poured wine for Song Qian Ji.

Beautiful women surrounded him, dancing gracefully, their laughter like bright pearls falling onto a plate.

“Drinking strong wine, embracing jade-like beauties—how does it feel?” Meng He Ze’s voice was vague as if coming from a distant place. “Song Qian Ji, you should have been like me.”

“You have no relatives, no friends, wandering the four seas alone, always on guard, never daring to relax for a moment. You live such a tiresome life. Why not put down your sword? I can teach you a cultivation technique of the unorthodox path. Become a demon lord in my Golden Palace. Wouldn’t that be carefree and joyful?”

Song Qian Ji leaned against the flowered window, his eyes hazy, tilting his head to look at him: “You want me to serve you?”

Meng Zheng Xian drank a cup with him: “Who in this cultivation world doesn’t serve someone? Among the myriad hardships of the world, rather than serve a hypocrite, why not serve a true demon lord!”

Song Qian Ji laughed softly and said something, his voice indistinct.

Meng Zheng Xian didn’t hear clearly: “What did you say?”

But Song Qian Ji spoke no more. He seemed already drunk, not knowing the way home, nor even what night it was.

Meng Zheng Xian quietly watched for a moment, then suddenly waved his sleeve: “Take him downstairs.”

His eyes had already returned to their cold indifference.

It seemed he had lost interest in the scene before him, disheartened and weary, too lazy to take another look: “Summon Jin Lü.”

Madam Golden Peach ordered people to support Song Qian Ji, curling her lips as she instructed:

“Entertain him well. If he wants to gamble, give him money. If he wants to drink, give him wine. If he wants women, find someone to accompany him. After he’s been drunk for three days, the Evil Buddha will have another obedient dog.”

Meng Zheng Xian beckoned, and a dancing girl fell into his arms with a coquettish laugh.

Suddenly, a loud shout was heard: “Let him go!”

Meng Zheng Xian’s hand froze in mid-air.

Everyone looked toward Song Qian Ji.

You’re still being supported by others—if you were to shout, it should be “let me go.” What’s this “let him go” about?

At that moment, a bright sword light slashed through the white gauze, cleaving the room’s formation array.

The sword energy soared skyward, bursting all the layered gauze curtains at once, flying like snowflakes.

Song Qian Ji stood by the window, his sword unsheathed, sleeves fluttering in the wind.

The moon filled the western tower; the beauty was like jade, the sword like a rainbow.

Wine jars toppled, startled cries arose:

“Activate the formation!”

“There’s an assassin!”

The Evil Buddha pushed away the person in his arms with one hand and struck out with a palm, sending a red jade prayer bead shooting forth.

…

Sword energy crisscrossed, the earth shook and mountains trembled.

The jade tower collapsed, and dust billowed to the sky.

The guests fled from the ruins, scrambling for their lives.

Endless laughter turned into wails and howls.

Tonight, Song Qian Ji drank wine and drew his sword.

He floated in mid-air, heavily surrounded by the Evil Buddha’s demon lords.

The island’s formation arrays activated on their own, eerie red light rising from streets and houses, forming layer upon layer of light circles into a giant net.

The power of the entire island seemed to press down on him.

Song Qian Ji was accustomed to fighting alone, often using a technique that conserved spiritual energy, carefully calculating each sword strike for maximum benefit.

He had even created a cultivation technique of “using the opponent’s force against them, striking after the enemy” and the “Five Elements Escape Technique” to break through encirclements and escape.

But tonight he spared neither spiritual energy nor himself, slashing and hacking without any restraint.

For a time, no one dared to block his edge.

Amidst the swirling dust, flying magical artifacts from various major sects also rose into the night sky, observing the changing situation from afar.

Cultivators with weaker cultivation dared not ascend and only escaped along the ground.

The drunken dream was awakened; the land of tenderness had transformed into a world of flashing blades and crossing swords.

Song Qian Ji, one man with one sword, controlled the advance and retreat of the entire formation. Where he passed, palace roofs collapsed and roof tiles exploded.

Above his head was the pressure of formation arrays; around him were Jin Lü, Jin Dao, and the Golden Palace crowd, a dark mass stretching beyond sight, like heavenly soldiers and generals.

Song Qian Ji was surrounded, with nowhere to go, yet his momentum did not diminish, like a flood dragon emerging from the sea.

“Is he pretending to be drunk or truly drunk?” Madam Golden Peach couldn’t understand. “If he’s drunk, why is his sword so fierce?”

“He is truly drunk, drunk enough to forget fear, lawless and unconstrained.” The Evil Buddha arrived leisurely, white hair flying, red robes fluttering.

Eighteen red jade prayer beads hovered before him, their light flowing and shifting, gathering power and ready to strike.

He appeared behind Song Qian Ji, not angry at all, but rather full of interest: “Put down your sword. You cannot escape.”

Song Qian Ji stood his ground alone, his spirit soaring to the clouds, and turned his head to say:

“Who says we cannot escape? Little Meng, don’t be afraid. Senior Brother will take you back to Thousand Channels!”

Meng Zheng Xian was startled. Who was Little Meng?

Could it be that Song Qian Ji thought that because they were both outer disciples at Hua Wei Sect back then, he considered himself my “Senior Brother”?

And what the hell was Thousand Channels?!

Even drunken talk should have some basis.

Song Qian Ji forcefully carved open a path, his body bathed in blood, yet he turned back and said: “You go first. I’ll cover the rear.”

Meng Zheng Xian shielded behind Song Qian Ji, looked at the figure fighting ahead and found it extremely absurd:

“You… you want me to go?”

This is my property. Where would I go?

Song Qian Ji shouted: “Why are you still in a daze?! Among these subordinates of yours, someone is plotting to kill you! If you don’t leave, you’ll die from a thousand cuts and ten thousand slices.”

Jin Dao and Jin Lü were consumed with rage, their faces alternating between blue and white, their techniques repeatedly faltering:

“Master, don’t listen to his nonsense! I am utterly loyal to you!”

“I willingly planted the loyalty parasite in myself. I have no disloyalty toward you!”

Other demon generals hurriedly proclaimed their loyalty, cursing Song Qian Ji for being insidious and cunning.

Everyone knew that the Evil Buddha was consistently cruel to those who dared to betray him.

Meng Zheng Xian waved his sleeve and said coldly: “Step aside.”

“Master—”

“Stand down!”

The demon lords, uncertain and dubious, retreated like the tide.

Song Qian Ji grabbed Meng Zheng Xian as if picking up a chicken.

The two men stepped onto a flying sword, transforming into a streak of light, flying toward the raging Western Sea.

…

What was the most shocking recent event in the cultivation world? What story had spread across all four continents?

—The infamous Song Qian Ji appeared at the Golden Palace auction as the final item. Various major powers competed in bidding, finally closing the deal at the astronomical price of ten million.

“Yet this man, wild and untamable, preferring death to surrender, single-handedly broke through the encirclement, wreaked havoc in the Golden Cave, kidnapped the Evil Buddha, and fled thousands of miles.”

“Song Qian Ji is so ruthless. After suffering such humiliation, he must surely hate the Evil Buddha to death!”

“Finally, someone can rid the cultivation world of this great demon, the Evil Buddha. But in this case, will Golden Palace still hold a banquet on the next full moon night? Can we still drink the Mortal Realm Wine in the future?”

“Wait, I heard that the Evil Buddha willingly went with Song Qian Ji?”

“Song Qian Ji attacked his subordinates and destroyed his Golden Palace. How could he possibly go willingly?”

“The thoughts of a great demon lord cannot be measured by common sense!”

The story spread far and wide in teahouses, taverns, and marketplaces. Everyone knew about it, and everyone talked about it.