Song Qian Ji had lived two lives as a human, but this was his first time being a tree.

In the future, if someone said he “truly wasn’t human,” he wouldn’t be able to refute it.

With the narrator’s companionship, he diligently practiced rooting, sprouting branches, growing leaves, blooming flowers, and perceiving the outside world.

Clouds passed by him, gentle breezes blew through him, and gradually he could feel the temperature from the heavenly barrier above and taste the sweet, delicious flavor of Thousand Channels’ fertile soil.

How wonderful.

“Well done! Keep it up, Song Qian Ji!” the narrator cheered professionally. “Once your soul is nurtured a bit more firmly, you’ll be able to visit people in their dreams!”

“Visit dreams?”

“As long as someone is thinking of you and praying for you sincerely, you can use the power of their faith to enter their dreams,” the narrator said. “You can try sensing that faith—wherever there’s a bright golden light, that’s someone you can visit in their dreams…”

Following the narrator’s instructions, Song Qian Ji sank his consciousness into the countless roots spreading throughout the continent. In his pitch-black vision, a brilliant golden light suddenly appeared.

The spots of light were densely packed, covering the entire world, causing him to gasp and immediately shut down his perception.

How many little statues had Carpenter Liu made? Had they been exported overseas?

“I think I’ll just focus on practicing flowering,” Song Qian Ji said.

…

“In the final year of the old calendar, when catastrophe descended, the heavens collapsed and the earth split, the sun and moon lost their light. The King of Thousand Channels sacrificed himself to merge with the Dao, transforming into the Sky-Supporting Tree, restoring vitality to all things and peace to the human world…”

The clear sound of reading drifted out the window, startling sparrows grooming themselves on the branches.

Soon after, those birds flew back, chattering as usual, accompanying the reading in the classroom.

The autumn day was crisp and refreshing, making everyone feel invigorated. The tender eight and nine-year-old students swayed their heads as they recited from the history books, and remarkably, not one was dozing off.

At the back of the classroom sat more than ten young people, not wearing student uniforms, around fourteen or fifteen years old. They also recited “The Chronicles of the Divine King of Thousand Channels” along with the others, their seriousness bordering on reverence.

Every year, countless young people come from all over the world to the Thousand Channels Academy, taking tests to join classes as transfer students, known as “visiting students.”

After finishing a section, the teacher asked for their thoughts as usual.

“In the future, I want to build a large ship that can fly without spirit stones, fly to the edge of the continent, and see the Sky-Supporting Tree with my own eyes.”

“I want to weave the warmest clothes so that ordinary people can wear them and withstand the snow and wind of the snow plain.”

“I want to bring soil from Thousand Channels to fill more soil for the Sky-Supporting Tree.”

The visiting students could barely hold back their smiles. Children’s imagination was truly extraordinary.

But how could flying magical tools not rely on spirit stones? Ordinary people would freeze to death upon entering the snow plain, so how could they cross the terrifying Ice Chasm?

Yet the typically stern teacher nodded slowly, without reprimanding them for their wild imagination, and gently encouraged: “Very good. I believe you can create the future.”

The visiting students looked at each other, all inwardly sighing: “So this is Thousand Channels.”

Thousand Channels, the capital of a thousand chariots, the center of the four continents, the birthplace of miracles.

Firearms, looms, and farming tools made by ordinary people were exported far and wide. It was said that in the spirit stone mines of Thousand Channels, a steam-powered machine had been installed, created by ordinary people from Thousand Channels’ First Workshop.

Ten years after Song Wang merged with the Dao, Thousand Channels Prefecture had developed rapidly, and the boundary between cultivators and ordinary people had long since blurred.

“Everyone, please take out Volume One, Part Two of ‘The History of Thousand Channels,’ and turn to the chapter about the Zhao Family’s Immortal Official increasing taxes,” the teacher coughed lightly, suppressing the excited discussions in the classroom.

Seeing the change in atmosphere, the visiting students immediately sat up straight—the people of Thousand Channels never avoided past suffering and tears; on the contrary, they learned from suffering and cherished peace.

Before they could start reading, a commotion suddenly came from downstairs. More than sixty small heads in the classroom fidgeted restlessly, unable to resist looking out the window.

The teacher frowned, about to reprimand them, but then glanced at the calendar on his desk and surprisingly broke into a smile:

“Given today’s date, go ahead and look if you want.”

Cheers erupted as the students rushed to the windows, pushing them open and waving enthusiastically.

This schoolhouse was on the third floor, perfectly positioned to see the main street. The street was filled with a sea of people, flower petals, and colorful silk ribbons flying everywhere. Three tall carriages advanced side by side, slowly moving down the wide street.

The carriage on the left was painted with vermilion fire patterns, like flames burning in a vast desert; the one in the middle was luxurious and extravagant, like a palace piled high with gold and jade; the one on the right was completely crystalline, decorated with mica and red shells, resembling a large ship from the Western Sea.

“Look, it’s Supervisor Wei coming back!”

“It’s Editor Ji!”

“Elder Brother Meng! Elder Brother Meng, look at me! I’m signing up for the hunting team next year!”

The visiting students curiously crowded around, standing on tiptoes to see, suddenly realizing: “Today is the fourteenth day of the eighth month, no wonder.”

“We’re in time for a big event!”

The Thousand Channels students were even more excited: “Has your family placed a bet? On whom?”

“My father bet on Elder Brother Meng to win, but my mother bet on Supervisor Wei.”

“Last year, Editor Ji cheated using a ‘teleportation formation.’ This year, the others will surely be prepared, so at least it won’t be Editor Ji winning again.”

“This is already the tenth year. I heard they’ve agreed that this year, none of them can use external powers.”

To find the most suitable material for a soul vessel, Ji Chen spared no expense and used his natural talent to make friends and establish connections throughout the four continents.

Meng He Ze traveled to the Western Sea, digging up many hidden treasures based on his memories. Wei Zhen Yu traveled between the Northern Desert and Thousand Channels.

A long trade route was thus established, from the Western Sea, through Thousand Channels, to the Northern Desert.

Under Meng He Ze’s “harassment,” the Western Sea was no longer a haven for evil cultivators that no one dared visit. More than half of the heretical practitioners were forced to reform to save their lives.

The various tribes of the Northern Desert submitted to Wang Wei, no longer fighting over territory year after year. The common people could live in peace, and they also had market centers like those in Thousand Channels.

Ji Chen often visited Purple Cloud Temple to play chess with Li Ying, receiving a warm welcome from everyone there.

But when the fourteenth day of the eighth month arrived, no matter where they were—at the ends of the earth or in distant corners of the sea—they always returned to Thousand Channels.

That night, they would drink together, eating Thousand Channels’ nine-grid hotpot and barbecue.

The next day, the fifteenth of the eighth month, they would travel to the edge of the continent via teleportation formation.

At first, the three traveled together, but later they began to separate, competing to see who would reach the Sky-Supporting Tree first.

As their cultivation levels increased and their divine abilities multiplied, they began to increase the difficulty, agreeing not to use teleportation formations beyond the White Dragon River.

By the fifth year, they further agreed to only use methods of obstruction and distraction, not magical tools for combat, to avoid harming spectators.

In the sixth year, a new agreement was added: they could not enlist the help of the Thousand Channels City Guard, Hunting Team, Northern Desert Guards, or other such forces. More cultivators joined in, and although they couldn’t compete for first place, the important thing was participation. People commemorated Song Wang through this competition.

In the seventh year, this extraordinary event spread across the continent, and Thousand Channels Market opened large-scale betting. Tens of thousands participated in high-stakes gambling.

By the eighth year, the “Race to the Edge” had become the cultivation world’s premier event, with various forms of betting flourishing everywhere.

Xu Kan Shan and Qiu Da Cheng served as bankers at Thousand Channels Market, making enormous profits.

“Come, come, bet on who will reach the Sky-Supporting Tree first! Three candidates in total!”

Zhou Xiao Yun advised: “This is the tenth year, and I vaguely feel that something will change. Don’t underestimate a female cultivator’s intuition.”

Ji Xing: “Indeed. What if someone other than the three of them arrives first? Would the house have to pay out to everyone?”

Xu Kan Shan: “How is that possible? Who could be faster than them? I don’t believe it.”

Qiu Da Cheng: “I don’t believe it either. I’ll make a bet with you—if it’s not one of the three of them, I’ll never gamble again!”

This year, the atmosphere at Song Academy was inexplicably tense.

The three drank to the moon, as if expecting something, yet not daring to expect too much.

Before dawn, Song Academy was silent, even the old cat in the corner was deep in dreams. Only the sound of wind rustling through flowers and leaves could be heard.

A figure lightly jumped over the academy wall: “After drinking my wine, see you in three days.”

This year, Meng He Ze improved his “Mortal World Wine” formula. Initially sweet-tasting with almost no alcoholic kick, it had an extremely powerful delayed effect.

He made the first move, aiming to win at the starting line!

As his flying sword reached the lower reaches of the White Dragon River, he suddenly saw misty waters, vast and hazy, with a cloud palace blocking his way.

Dozens of high-level cultivators jumped down from the palace, chuckling as they surrounded him.

A familiar laugh rang out: “I don’t dare drink wine from the Western Sea.”

Meng He Ze’s expression changed slightly: “Wei Zhen Yu, we agreed not to use helpers this time!”

Wei Zhen Yu: “We only agreed not to use ready-made helpers. Look carefully, they’re neither from the Northern Desert nor from Thousand Channels.”

Meng He Ze looked at these strangely dressed cultivators: “You can’t trap me, so why bother coming?”

Wei Zhen Yu was quite pleased with himself: “It’s enough just to delay you. I’m considered half a disciple of the Calligraphy Saint, and I have some connections with these Black Inn managers. Why would they help you instead of me?”

“Want to delay me?” Meng He Ze thought, fortunately I’m prepared. He called out loudly, “Come out!”

Wei Zhen Yu: “You brought people from the Western Sea? You’re cheating!”

A group of cultivators wearing Hua Wei Sect disciple robes swarmed from all directions, surrounding the Cloud Palace and Wei Zhen Yu.

Their cultivation levels were not as high as the Black Inn crowd, but they made up for it with their numbers, tight formation, and disciplined training.

Meng He Ze shouted across: “How is Sect Leader Chen doing recently?”

A young cultivator replied: “Thank you for your concern, Elder Brother Meng. Our master is doing well.”

Wei Zhen Yu displayed a warm smile: “Fellow Hua Wei disciples, with your sect newly established and everything needing to be done, do you need help from the Northern Desert?”

Inwardly, he cursed—this Meng He Ze, when did he start colluding with Chen Hong Zhu?

Meng He Ze smiled: “Back then when I successfully led Hua Wei Sect’s outer sect disciples down the mountain, it was all thanks to Miss Chen’s cover. Later, when the Small Hua Wei Sect needed to be rebuilt as the orthodox Hua Wei Sect, I also helped, so naturally I had some favor with them. You might as well give up.”

Wei Zhen Yu tried to break through, and Meng He Ze also attempted to break free.

Neither side used powerful magical tools, and the entire massive formation moved slowly through the air.

The sun set and the moon rose, the sky gradually darkening.

Neither side had fought such a grueling battle before, everyone fighting until dizzy.

Finally, they pushed from the lower reaches to the upper reaches of the White Dragon River, but felt a strange pull from the river surface, forcing them all to descend to the forests to assess the situation.

The water flowed rapidly, with angry waves surging.

A small black-canopied boat was moored in the middle of the river, as stable as a rock, not moving an inch.

Looking more carefully, who else could be on the boat but Ji Chen?

Ji Chen sat at the bow with his legs crossed, idly playing with a formation disk: “Doesn’t this river look like the one in Blood River Valley?”

Meng He Ze: “You also pretended to be drunk!”

Ji Chen thought, I didn’t pretend, I truly can drink a thousand cups without getting drunk.

He smiled: “Tonight, I’ve locked this White Dragon River. Fishermen can cross, shrimp and crabs and fish can cross, but cultivators cannot. Even if you brought thousands of troops, there would be no way into the river.”

Wei Zhen Yu was unmoved: “Back then, even when the Immortal Alliance used mermaid oil to set fires, they couldn’t seal the White Dragon River. With your grandiose claims, how could the gangs who rely on the river for their livelihood agree?”

Meng He Ze also said: “You’ve tampered with the White Dragon River. Now, even without the two of us taking action, they won’t allow it.”

At this moment, the two who had just been opposing each other had become “the two of us.”

Unexpectedly, Ji Chen threw back his head and laughed, shouting: “My friends, do you agree or not?”

Whistles sounded from both banks, alternating with hearty, bold laughter.

The Fish Dragon Gang, Sand Sea Sect, and various other jianghu gangs emerged like rats from holes, appearing all over the hills.

Master Yan said: “It’s no problem, no problem at all. Little Brother Ji spent spirit stones to occupy the river for a night, what’s the issue?”

Someone else shouted: “In your Thousand Channels people’s contest, we don’t take sides. We’re just standing by watching the excitement, waiting to see your skills.”

“The mortal world has the Mid-Autumn Festival, and we in the cultivation world have the Race to the Edge!”

“What if, tonight, Song Wang is reborn beneath the Sky-Supporting Tree? Which of you is most capable, who can welcome the Divine King Song? Brothers, isn’t that right?”

“Well said!”

Both banks were suddenly as bright as day, with shouts shaking the heavens, as chaotic as a marketplace.

Meng He Ze, Ji Chen, and Wei Zhen Yu looked at each other in bewilderment, truly suspecting that these people had also vaguely sensed something.

Wei Zhen Yu acted heartbroken: “Ji Chen, I never thought you were this kind of person, actually using dirty spirit stones to buy them off!”

Ji Chen cupped his hands, looking somewhat troubled, “My humble self, with wealthy ancestors, is truly quite rich.”

Meng He Ze bumped Wei Zhen Yu: “Stop acting. Delaying won’t help. That stupid chaos beast you fed with the Endless Fire was tricked away by my two iron-eating beasts long ago. By now, who knows how small it’s shrunk or where it’s wildly playing, but it certainly won’t come to help you.”

Wei Zhen Yu took two deep breaths, then coldly smiled: “You go to all extremes! Exploiting every loophole in the rules.”

“Beast types” didn’t count as “helpers,” at most, they were helping paws or helping feet.

“The same goes for you.” Meng He Ze lifted his chin toward Ji Chen’s direction, transmitting his voice: “Now I’ll call the iron-eating beasts over, and bring that stupid chaos beast along with them, to intercept this guy at Tian Qian Mountain.”

“Alright, you and I will work together to break the formation, cross this river, and then rely on our abilities.”

Ji Chen was turning around amidst the cheers from both banks of the White Dragon River, looking very pleased with himself: “Brother Wei, Brother Meng, take your time breaking the formation. I’ll go ahead first.”

…

The three chased and fought all the way, sometimes two cooperating, sometimes obstructing each other, and finally arrived at the Sky-Supporting Forest at the edge of the continent just as the moon reached its zenith and moonlight was at its brightest.

“Who arrived first this time? Is it a tie?” Ji Chen asked.

Meng He Ze said angrily: “Clearly my left foot entered first!”

Wei Zhen Yu said sarcastically: “I could also say my headband floated in first.”

Suddenly, they all fell silent, as if someone had placed a freezing talisman on them, staring blankly at the Sky-Supporting Tree.

The Sky-Supporting Tree still emitted a golden glow, like points of fireflies in the night sky.

“Who’s that?” Ji Chen asked in a daze.

No one answered him. Meng He Ze and Wei Zhen Yu were also stunned.

As they approached home, they hesitated, tears welling up.

Meng He Ze choked: “El-Elder Brother… Wait, who’s next to Elder Brother?”

…

Child of Midnight Manjusri had come again.

During these ten years, he often came here to write his diary, occasionally drinking some wine.

He didn’t deliberately avoid others; it was just that Green Cliff sometimes had busy affairs, sometimes nothing for months.

But each time he came, a new potato flower would bloom beside him, in a very conspicuous place, visible at a glance.

This time seemed a bit different. There was no potato flower under the tree.

He walked slowly, searching everywhere without success, unconsciously taking a sip of wine.

“You’ve learned to drink so quickly?” a familiar voice sounded.

Child of Midnight Manjusri turned around, staring at the ethereal white figure.

“Why aren’t you responding?” Song Qian Ji asked with a smile. “You’re not still angry, are you?”

Child of Midnight Manjusri’s gaze was deep, his face expressionless.

Shouldn’t I be angry?

Is this how a friend acts?

He wanted to turn and leave.

But how had Song Qian Ji been these ten years? Was it a place of pitch-black nothingness inside the Sky-Supporting Tree?

Child of Midnight Manjusri decided to ask: “Was it hard?”

“Never,” Song Qian Ji shook his head.

“Was it lonely?”

“Not at all,” Song Qian Ji shook his head again.

“Did you attain the Dao?”

Song Qian Ji smiled: “The great Dao is attained after death, this heart remains as long as the moon is full.”

“Good.”

With no flaws in the matter, Child of Midnight Manjusri felt reassured.

“Let’s go.”

“How can I go? I can’t leave the tree. Did you bring a soul vessel?” Song Qian Ji asked.

The autumn wind blew away the colorful clouds, and the moon shone silently over the forest.

The Ink Bamboo Umbrella suddenly opened, like a huge lotus flower, covering Song Qian Ji’s head.

The space under the umbrella was exceptionally stable. Looking outward from inside the umbrella, the surface was semi-transparent, not hindering the view of the scenery.

Song Qian Ji praised: “This is wonderful.”

Rather than dwelling in someone else’s domain or being attached to some magical tool, he preferred walking on his own.

Child of Midnight Manjusri held the umbrella, walking through the forest, the two gradually moving further away.

“What do you want to do now?”

“I want to farm.”

“A soul body cannot farm.”

“Then I want to watch others farm.”

“…”

Wei Zhen Yu’s expression was unpleasant: “What’s so great about intercepting?”

Meng He Ze crossed his arms: “Next year on the fifteenth of the eighth month, the moon will be full again.”

Ji Chen stood between them, putting his arms around their shoulders: “Not just next year, but every year it will be full.”

“What are you standing there for—” Song Qian Ji suddenly turned back, still resembling the young man who had just left Hua Wei Mountain.

He said: “Let’s go home to harvest the wheat.”

The Sky-Supporting Tree emitted a faint golden light, watching the group leave.

The night wind opened every budding potato flower, spreading pale purple small flowers across the edge of the continent. For a moment, it was as if the seasons had reversed—spring flowers blooming, spring breezes blowing, spring returning to the earth.

How vast the earth, how high the sky, how full the moon, how beautiful the blooming flowers.

In the turbulent world of mortal affairs, how many springs can one encounter in a lifetime?