“Let’s go, let’s go!”

It was unclear which of the six first turned to flee, but the other five hurriedly followed.

Although He Qing Qing had opened her eyes and seen the young man who supported her, she only glanced once before lowering her head as if burned by the scorching sun.

Afraid of frightening him, she covered her face with her sleeve and turned to search for her veil.

During the earlier chaos, the veil had been carelessly discarded by Liu Tian Han, then kicked around and trampled by the crowd, leaving it tattered and covered with dirt and footprints.

Yet she hastily put it on her head, like a drowning person clutching at driftwood.

“Wait.” He Qing Qing heard the young man speak again and froze in place, her body ice-cold.

But he wasn’t addressing her.

The six “green onions” turned back in unison. They now looked at Song Qian Ji as if seeing a ghost in broad daylight.

“What more do you want?” Liu Tian Han shouted, his voice fierce but fearful.

“I want to ask if your Academy Principal knows what you’re doing. Doesn’t he care?”

The young man’s voice remained cool but was no longer gentle.

He Qing Qing glanced up through her dirty veil. For some reason, her eyes suddenly felt sore.

How strange, she hadn’t cried for a long time.

“Even if the Principal doesn’t care, isn’t Ziye Wenshu there? Doesn’t he supervise you?”

When the neighbor’s brat plays ball and dirties your courtyard wall, you wouldn’t directly hit the child; instead, you might ask: “Where are your parents? Don’t they discipline you?”

In his previous life, Song Qian Ji viewed them as comedians providing laughs; now he saw them as a group of mischievous children.

The six, however, acted as if greatly offended, trembling as they pointed:

“How dare you! You presume to directly speak the name of Senior Brother Academy Supervisor!”

“Someone of your status could never even meet Senior Brother Academy Supervisor, so don’t think you can intimidate us!”

Song Qian Ji: “Alright, everyone go home now.”

The six felt as if granted amnesty, fleeing without direction and disappearing at the end of the flower-lined path.

“Did you learn?” Song Qian Ji turned and asked.

“L-learn what?” He Qing Qing’s voice was as faint as a mosquito’s buzz.

She didn’t know why she hadn’t left, nor did she expect this young man would be willing to speak with her.

Awkward and utterly mortified.

“Next time you encounter this kind of situation, just do as I did, and ask those two questions.”

After saying this, Song Qian Ji returned home.

Leaving He Qing Qing standing there, dumbfounded.

Was he standing up for her?

Meng He Ze couldn’t help but walk over.

Although this involved another sect and someone else’s affairs, with him knowing nothing of the circumstances, a young man couldn’t ignore injustice when witnessed.

He asked: “Have they always bullied you like this?”

He Qing Qing remained silent.

“They tell you to come, and you just come? Don’t you resist?”

He Qing Qing stepped back two paces, frightened by his intensity, still saying nothing.

If she hadn’t come today, her situation would have been even worse.

“I’ve heard that Qingya Academy has strict rules of propriety. When they bully a fellow student, won’t you tell your masters?”

He Qing Qing shook her head. She never “reported” to her masters or senior brothers.

For all the injustices fate had inflicted upon her, her only skill was endurance.

Since being rescued from the demon’s lair and sent to Qingya Academy, she had grown accustomed to enduring—this was her survival experience, the way she stayed alive, a belief she held with absolute conviction.

After asking three questions without receiving a single answer, Meng He Ze grew angry at her lack of resistance and stormed back inside with a flick of his sleeve.

The sun gradually sank behind the mountains.

Stars lit up one by one.

Song Qian Ji carried a watering can, using the last rays of sunset to water each vegetable, flower, and plant.

He could vaguely sense the vitality of the crops, such as how much water they needed and whether they had sufficient nutrients.

Under the flower trellis, Meng He Ze practiced sword techniques with one hand, but afraid of harming the seedlings, he dared not use even a hint of spiritual energy.

“Senior Brother Song, do you think I can win the performance competition?”

“Winning isn’t important.”

“Then what is important?”

“Aesthetics,” Song Qian Ji said. “If it looks good, that’s enough.”

“What makes it look good?”

“Fluid movements, precise finishing strikes, wounds small but deep—not hacking so that flesh and blood fly everywhere. Make it comfortable to watch; don’t use underhanded moves. Don’t worry, your appearance already gives you an advantage over others.”

Meng He Ze thought, so you’re not truly unable to distinguish beauty from ugliness; you just refuse to judge female cultivators by appearance.

What young man doesn’t appreciate beauty? How can I cultivate to Senior Brother Song’s level?

“Senior Brother Song, today’s seeds have arrived.” Zhou Xiaoyun knocked and entered the courtyard, placing three storage pouches on the stone table.

Song Qian Ji already had many seeds, enough to cultivate a barren mountain after he left the sect. Yet the outer disciples still diligently collected more for him.

After delivering the seeds, Zhou Xiaoyun didn’t leave. After hesitating for a while, she finally asked: “Was that junior sister from Qingya Academy suffering from some terrible illness?”

She felt her earlier reaction had been excessive, but didn’t know how to make amends.

Song Qian Ji shook his head: “In evil cultivation paths, some techniques specifically use living human flesh and blood to cultivate venomous insects. Over time, the victim’s appearance becomes distorted. Even if the insects can be removed to save their life, the face remains difficult to restore.”

Zhou Xiaoyun inhaled sharply: “How pitiful she must be.”

Meng He Ze snorted coldly: “Six Worthies of Qingya, salt their heads.”

After speaking, he realized he could, like Senior Brother Song, blurt out “someone’s head,” and felt somewhat pleased with himself.

“That’s a title they gave themselves,” Song Qian Ji smiled and asked: “Have you ever seen a Sword Immortal introduce themselves as ‘Sword Immortal,’ or a Calligraphy Saint refer to themselves as ‘Calligraphy Saint’?”

Both shook their heads like rattle drums.

Zhou Xiaoyun: “I understand! Titles should be bestowed by others. Self-proclaimed titles, constantly mentioned, are mostly held by incompetents!”

Song Qian Ji: “You can remove ‘mostly’ as well.”

Qingya Academy gathered great scholars, with wise men as numerous as clouds, none daring to casually claim the title “worthy.” Only second-generation cultivators sent by their families with money to build credentials, unafraid of mockery behind their backs, would flatter each other during their gatherings and call themselves the “Six Worthies.”

If they were truly important figures, Huawei Sect’s leadership, no matter how busy and sleepless, would not have merely sent stewards to receive them.

“Go back now, I want to watch the stars,” Song Qian Ji said.

He knew Meng He Ze was truly busy without sleep, working every day in addition to cooking and making tea for him.

For the performance competition, he practiced day and night. But if told not to come cook noodles, to save some time, he would act as if greatly wronged.

The two bid farewell and the small courtyard returned to tranquility. Song Qian Ji collapsed into the reclining chair, gazing at the night sky.

Aside from the visit of the six “green onions,” his day had been perfect: seriously farming, eating, watching stars.

The evening breeze gently blew, carrying the scents of flowers, green grass, and soil throughout the garden.

Song Qian Ji was quite satisfied.

Until he heard crying.

The sobbing was mournful and plaintive, like a grieving lament, floating over the courtyard wall on the night breeze.

Song Qian Ji slightly furrowed his brow and twitched his ears.

It was the female cultivator from dusk. She had returned.

Song Qian Ji closed his eyes, and the crying became increasingly clear.

He rose and opened the door.

If a bully came to cause trouble, Song Qian Ji had ten thousand ways to make them disappear.

But He Qing Qing was just crouching at the door, crying with her head buried.

His three clusters of balsam flowers had withered from her crying, their petals trembling in the evening wind.

The bean pod seedlings also drooped, their leaves limp in the moonlight.

They had emotions too—how could they endure such distress? Song Qian Ji saw this and felt the pain in his heart.

“Why are you crying?” he asked.

He Qing Qing was startled by the sound of the opening door and fell backward.

Song Qian Ji grabbed her hand: “Careful!”

What wrong had the flowers and vegetables done? Be careful not to trample them!

He Qing Qing hadn’t expected him to reach out and held her breath nervously.

That faint fragrance of wisteria flowers still drifted into her nostrils, enveloping her.

Dizzy and disoriented. Only when Song Qian Ji released her hand did she regain her senses and return to reality.

“I-I’m sorry,” the young woman said softly.

She had changed to a new veil; even in the pitch-black night, she still tightly covered her face.

“Why are you crying here?”

Song Qian Ji asked, his original meaning being that she could cry elsewhere.

He Qing Qing was stunned, thinking he was asking for the reason.

No one had ever asked her before, nor had anyone ever cared about her.

The tightly stretched bowstring finally snapped, and long-suppressed emotions completely collapsed.

The young woman, almost recklessly, poured everything out at once:

“My zither is gone, they smashed it. Without a zither, I can’t attend the Dengwen Assembly. Everything is ruined, completely ruined…”

She had never confided her grievances to anyone and spoke in a jumbled manner.

Song Qian Ji listened for a moment and finally understood.

She viewed the zither audition for the Dengwen Assembly as her last hope, a turning point in life.

Now, she had no zither.

No matter how the camel struggles in the desert, fate’s final straw comes crashing down.

“You could buy another one.”

“Impossible. That zither was obtained by trading everything I had.”

Song Qian Ji wanted to say, isn’t it just about not having money? I’ll give you money, quickly go buy one.

We’re just strangers with no grudges, don’t cry in my vegetable garden, interfering with my farming path.

He reached for his pockets, but they were emptier than his face.

He suddenly realized that since his rebirth, he hadn’t produced anything, relying entirely on others’ charity, which was somewhat embarrassing.

“Not a big problem,” Song Qian Ji said.

When he came out again, he was unexpectedly holding a sword.

The longsword looked old, but in Huawei Sect’s outer division, it was already considered a fine sword.

“You, you!” He Qing Qing was horrified, her whole body trembling.

But gritting her teeth, she spoke the clearest, most complete sentence of the evening:

“If you want to kill me, then do it! I’ve had enough; who still wants to live in this world? I should have died long ago; I’d rather die at the hands of someone like you!”

Her voice was extremely miserable because of her despair.

Song Qian Ji: “…Wait for me here. I’m going out for a while.”

He Qing Qing was bewildered.

He took two steps, then turned back to caution her: “Don’t touch anything.”

Seeing her sitting on the doorstep, hugging her knees into a ball, keeping a distance from the bamboo fence, he finally walked away satisfied.

What’s the big deal about buying a zither?

How could a few spirit stones stop a living person?

He Qing Qing sat hugging her knees in the night breeze, watching the young man’s slender, upright figure.

Until he walked beyond the small path, merging with the starry night sky, and could no longer be seen.

She thought this can’t be real.

It’s like a dream.