Song Qian Ji slept peacefully through the night, unburdened by worries or troubles.

On such a spring night, intoxicating with gentle breezes and bright moonlight, many others couldn’t sleep.

The Six Worthy Ones of Qingai couldn’t sleep.

Despite being exhausted, their once vibrant green robes had lost their luster, clinging to their bodies wrinkled and limp, like withered salted greens.

Recalling the day’s encounter, they still felt lingering fear.

“Judging from that Song fellow’s tone, could he truly be acquainted with Senior Brother Proctor?” the youth in spring-green robes asked hoarsely. “Everything we know about him comes from the one-sided account of Huawei Sect’s steward. What if he is…”

“Mere bluffing. If he truly had a distinguished background, how could he be confined to the outer court of Huawei Sect as a mere disciple!” another in pea-green brocade robes replied.

“But he doesn’t work, doesn’t cultivate, just closes his door to tend his garden every day, living as comfortably as an ancestor—what kind of outer court disciple lives like that!”

“Even our monster face didn’t frighten him. Are we just going to let this go?”

“We can’t let it go!” The youth in pale green stood up, slapping the table.

According to their original plan, Song Qian Ji would be startled and strike He Qing Qing. Then they would “stand up” for their sectmate, unleashing their magical artifacts to teach Song Qian Ji a harsh lesson.

They would have vented their anger while maintaining righteousness. With Song Qian Ji striking first, according to the rules during the assembly period, he would be the one punished.

Because of this, before going to Song’s residence, they had spread the news, hoping for as many witnesses as possible.

Indeed, besides the outer court disciples of Huawei Sect, many others had seen and heard about this matter.

If they couldn’t save face, they feared they would be mocked behind their backs, unable to hold their heads high among the second generation of cultivator families in the entire cultivation world.

By now, the matter had little to do with Miao Yan and had become a personal grudge.

“Regarding this person, I’ve had my page collect information in great detail.” The pale green youth took out a stack of papers from his sleeve.

“Know your enemy and know yourself, and you will never be defeated. Today we were merely careless, which allowed him to gain the upper hand. This Song fellow isn’t frightening at all—in fact, his weaknesses are quite obvious!”

They grabbed the papers, scanning them rapidly, their eyes gradually brightening.

The pale green youth slowly said:

“That fierce youth by his side is named Meng He Ze. During the outer court assessment, he fought three hundred consecutive matches alone, undefeated in the outer court. Song Qian Ji was injured and didn’t participate. Since then, no one has seen Song Qian Ji cultivate—he no longer practices swordsmanship. Every day he’s busy tending his garden…”

“On the path of cultivation, not advancing means retreating. Song Qian Ji may have decent talent and can guide other outer court disciples, but he’s all talk and no practice—his actual combat power cannot be high!”

The atmosphere finally became lively again.

“Seeing his deep prestige in the outer court, we thought he was somebody, but he just hides behind others, relying on protection!”

“The outer court is Song Qian Ji’s home ground. We need to find a way to lure Meng He Ze away, get him alone in a secluded place… be careful to leave no evidence, and he’ll have to swallow his grievance silently.”

Someone complained with a smile:

“Doing things in someone else’s sect is truly troublesome, but fortunately we’re not completely without options.”

“By the way, there’s another matter,” one person said, somewhat worried.

“When I returned earlier, I was so angry I smashed Junior Sister He’s qin. She ran away—she wouldn’t go and report us, would she…”

The pale green youth waved his fan dismissively: “Someone like Junior Sister He, even if you flatten and knead her like dough, and lend her eighty times more courage, she still wouldn’t dare report us.”

“That’s true! Haha!”

They erupted in laughter.

Zhao Yu Ping also couldn’t sleep.

He was brewing tea for another person, filled with trepidation.

Though the man sat drinking tea, he was like a violently burning fire, seeming ready to explode into murderous rage at any moment.

Who could have imagined that Zhao Tai Ji, one of the Peak Masters of Huawei, would decide to come to the Steward’s Hall for tea that night?

In the quiet of deep night, who wouldn’t prefer to meditate and cultivate, absorbing the spiritual energy of heaven and earth?

This was all Song Qian Ji’s fault.

The two stewards who received the six people from Qingai during the day had been sent by Zhao Yu Ping.

The information about Song Qian Ji that the six were able to find had also been secretly provided by him. Fearing they might have reservations, he had even concealed Chen Hong Zhu’s involvement.

This was just the beginning.

Song Qian Ji was harder to deal with than they had imagined.

A fifteen-year-old youth with such patience?

Such people hold the deepest grudges. This couldn’t end well.

They had to act at the risk of offending that person.

“You were the first to scheme against him, and I was the one who drew my sword against him in Qiankun Hall! So the one who has formed enmity with him is not the Sect Leader, not Huawei Sect, but our Zhao family of North Heaven Commandery. Understand?” Zhao Tai Ji threw down his teacup and said coldly.

“Don’t harbor false hopes, and don’t let him become a second…” His lips moved slightly, silently uttering three words:

“Xian. Jian. Chen.”

Even outside Qiankun Hall, with no lightning suspended overhead, no one wanted to casually speak that name.

“Once those six fools have made their plan when they take action, our people will replace them. When cutting grass, one must eliminate the roots!”

Zhao Yu Ping continued to respond respectfully, without any of his usual arrogance.

Xian Jian Chen was indeed frightening, but he was as distant as the emperor. As long as their borrowed knife killed cleverly enough, even if Xian Jian Chen took an interest in avenging his casual disciple, he would direct his revenge elsewhere, having nothing to do with them.

“Fortunately, it’s only that person,” Zhao Tai Ji suddenly sighed.

If one were to say Song Qian Ji had bad luck, unable to enter the inner court for three years, yet he somehow encountered Xian Jian Chen.

If one were to say he had good luck, gaining the guidance of the Sword God, yet Xian Jian Chen was elusive as a dragon, wandering the four seas burdened with his grudges, how could he care for a disciple?

“One Immortal, One Ghost, One Saint, One God”—if the Sword God were replaced by any of the other three, they wouldn’t dare touch him, could only accept fate.

Zhao Tai Ji changed the subject: “I have received accurate information that both the Calligraphy Saint and the Chess Ghost have the desire to pass down their legacies but haven’t found worthy successors. For this Dengwen Assembly, you must make thorough arrangements to elevate our clan’s younger generation.”

After discussing plans to “eliminate enemies,” they naturally turned to strategies for “strengthening ourselves.”

Zhao Yu Ping was startled, thinking of the two famous prodigies from the main family line, and hurriedly pledged his loyalty:

“I’ve heard that Young Master Lin has studied formations and chess since childhood, and no one in North Heaven Commandery can defeat him. Young Master Ying has devoted himself to calligraphy, painting, and talisman arts for seven years, almost able to create talismans with a single stroke. This Dengwen Assembly is hosted by Huawei Sect, and I have the convenience of my steward position—the timing, location, and people are all favorable, it’s as if heaven is helping our clan!”

“If either of them catches the eye of a great master and inherits a legacy, it will secure our clan’s prosperity for the next two hundred years!” Zhao Tai Ji’s expression softened slightly.

Zhao Yu Ping quickly added:

“Both young masters are once-in-a-generation talents. Perhaps we’ll be doubly blessed, with both succeeding.”

***

Apprentice Xiao Zhuo carried the “unscrupulous merchant” talisman like a package of explosives, walking with his head down toward the pond.

The sky was clear, the willow leaves were green, and the sunlight was gentle.

But the pond water was as black as ink, not reflecting even a trace of sunlight.

In the spring breeze, an old man sat fishing by the pond, his fishing line as steady as a mountain.

He wore a loose, comfortable white robe, as spotlessly white as his hair, making the pond water appear even blacker, so black its depths couldn’t be seen.

A middle-aged cultivator in blue robes stood behind him.

Three zhang behind the blue-robed cultivator stood more than ten cultivators wearing Qingai Confucian robes, heads lowered. Their Yuan Ying stage pressure was completely contained, not daring to reveal even a fraction.

The vast ink pond had not a single fish.

Fortunately, the old man only enjoyed fishing and didn’t care whether fish took the bait.

Xiao Zhuo stood three zhang away and bowed, waiting for the blue-robed middle-aged man to gesture before approaching.

“Sir, Academy Master.”

The old man seemed to awaken from a dream, extremely kind and gentle: “Xiao Zhuo is here! Any news from the pawnshop?”

Xiao Zhuo steeled himself and presented the “unscrupulous merchant” talisman: “Something strange happened last night. Old Zheng fell ill from anger after seeing this talisman.”

He explained the cause and effect, very carefully, missing no detail.

The old man half-closed his eyes as if listening to a story.

After a while, Xiao Zhuo thought the old man had fallen asleep and hesitated whether to remind him, when he heard the old man ask with a smile:

“Perhaps he already knows your identities. These two characters were written for me to see. Did he say anything else?”

“He made one request. He said he wanted a… mountain peak. Unless we give him a mountain peak, he won’t write talismans again.”

The old man paused, then suddenly laughed loudly. Ripples spread across the ink pond.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I recalled a joke. Enjoying alone is not as good as enjoying together. Come over, everyone, and listen.”

Everyone laughed before hearing it. Xiao Zhuo laughed the loudest.

The Calligraphy Saint being in the mood to tell jokes was indeed a great joy.

When the old man told jokes, he recited them like reading a book, his tone neither hurried nor slow:

“An immortal official, to test the faith of the people in his domain, disguised himself as a mortal and asked a farmer: ‘If you had a palace, would you donate it to the temple?’ Without hesitation, the farmer said he would. The immortal asked again, ‘If you had a hundred thousand spirit stones, would you donate them to the temple?’ The farmer still said he would.

“The immortal thought with satisfaction, ‘The people in my domain are so devout in their offerings to the temple, how could my appointed fortunes not prosper and flourish?’ Finally, he asked, ‘If you had a chicken, you would of course be willing to donate it to the temple as well?’

“Unexpectedly, the farmer shouted that he was unwilling. The immortal was shocked and asked why. The farmer said, ‘Are you stupid? Because I have a chicken!'”

Although this was a well-known old joke, everyone still laughed heartily as if hearing it for the first time, showing proper respect.

The Academy Master laughed while pondering.

The story was meant to satirize the unappreciative commoners of the domain, who paid lip service while harboring different intentions, not sincerely making offerings to the temple.

What did this have to do with that strange youth wanting a mountain peak?

The old man put down his fishing rod and reached into his sleeve.

His sleeve was very wide, and he searched for a long time as if it contained ten thousand scrolls that he had to look through one by one.

Finally, he took out only a small box.

The box was not large, perfectly square, like a young girl’s rouge box.

But the laughter by the pond ceased abruptly. Xiao Zhuo’s face paled slightly.

Everyone stared at the box as if it contained immense power. Once opened, releasing what was inside, it would be earth-shattering, causing mountains of jade to collapse.

The entire space of the ink pond would distort and collapse, and the people by the pond would be reduced to ashes.

The old man merely said calmly: “Have you forgotten? I do have a mountain peak.”

The Academy Master was shocked and speechless, thinking, “This can’t be.” No matter how talented that youth was, he couldn’t be so wildly bold.

He could make such a request to the Qin Immortal, the Chess Ghost, or any powerful being in the world.

Even the Sword God, upon hearing it, would just laugh it off as a junior’s jest.

Only the Calligraphy Saint was different.

Because he did have a chicken—no, a mountain peak.

The mountain painting in the box was his pocket dimension, and also his most powerful divine ability.

This mountain was opened by him. He had relied on it to establish himself and awe the world for two hundred years.

Now, a junior had opened his mouth, asking him for this mountain.

“When I was fifteen, I first succeeded in creating a talisman with a single brush stroke. I was quite arrogant and asked my master for this ‘Ink Pond.’ He gave it to me, not because my cultivation at that time could control this place, but because he felt that one day I would surpass him.”

After saying these two sentences, the old man stood up. His back suddenly straightened, and in an instant, he seemed to return from a twilight elder to the proud, unrestrained youth of his early years.

“I want to see what abilities this boy has, daring to ask for my mountain peak!”