Song Qian Ji returned to his small courtyard and first took out the lotus leaf from his storage bag, placing it along with the root system and mud into the water vat beneath the eaves.
There wasn’t enough mud, so he decided to go to Yaoguang Lake himself next time, without Meng He Ze, setting out in the dead of night to avoid the crowds. Anyway, the lotus root seeds he was soaking hadn’t sprouted yet, so there was no rush.
Taking advantage of the bright moonlight, he walked carefully between the vegetable plots, occasionally crouching down to feel the soil, sensing the life force of the crops to know which needed watering, which needed the soil turned, and which needed warmth.
Meng He Ze went to the kitchen and cooked a small bowl of sour soup noodles for Senior Brother Song’s late-night meal.
Work could be set aside for a day, but noodles couldn’t go a day without being cooked. The appetizing sour soup with fresh green onions and radish cubes steamed in the night air as he brought it to the table, only to find Song Qian Ji whittling bamboo slats.
“Senior Brother, what are you doing?”
“Reinforcing the flower trellis against wind and rain.”
Meng He Ze looked up.
The bright moon and clear stars cast a night of brilliant light.
“Will it rain tonight?”
“It will eventually.”
Meng He Ze thought preparing in advance made sense.
After Song Qian Ji finished his noodles, he used hemp rope and bamboo slats to wrap around the loose parts of each trellis.
Meng He Ze exclaimed happily: “I just realized today that the flower trellises look best when arranged at varying heights. If they were all uniform, they’d be less interesting.”
Song Qian Ji said: “It’s not for aesthetics. Too high, and the flowers won’t cover the trellis; too low, and the trellis won’t be enough for the flowers. Each plant has its most suitable height for growth.”
Meng He Ze scratched his head and followed behind Song Qian Ji, wanting to help. But although Song Qian Ji’s movements were neither hurried nor slow, they had a special rhythm, as if he had merged with the moonlight, the night breeze, and the garden full of flowers and vegetables.
As an outsider, Meng He Ze couldn’t integrate into this rhythm and found no way to assist. Facing a small trellis felt like confronting a difficult battle.
Fortunately, Meng He Ze had extraordinary insight and began to observe instinctively.
He observed every movement of Song Qian Ji, even each breath. He could sense an ineffable precision and fluidity, making the precious treasures in his arms seem unimportant.
He thought, after returning from Yaoguang Lake, or more precisely, after hearing about Dayan Sect’s spirit spring, Senior Brother Song seemed somewhat different.
Song Qian Ji finished the rough work in the garden and took the damp cloth Meng He Ze had prepared to wipe his hands.
He leaned back in the reclining chair, looking at the lush garden in the moonlight, listening to the chirping insects in the grass by the wall, and sighed with contentment.
Then he maintained this posture, this breathing, without changing.
“Senior Brother, would you like some tea?” Meng He Ze asked.
“No.”
“What are you doing now, Senior Brother?”
“Waiting.”
“Waiting for whom?”
“Waiting for the spring rain.” Song Qian Ji leaned against the reclining chair, a hint of a smile in his eyes, like waiting for an old friend. “If you have nothing to do, wait with me.”
Meng He Ze thought to himself that he was about to break through, his meridians filled like flowing rivers, making further cultivation practices useless—all he could do was wait.
But why was Senior Brother Song waiting?
Rain would fall when it should; when the heavens didn’t want it to rain, no amount of kowtowing or dancing would make it happen. Who just sits and waits?
If anyone but Song Qian Ji were doing this, he would think they were crazy.
But now he lifted the hem of his robe and sat cross-legged beside the reclining chair, feeling the rhythm of the other’s breathing.
As the night deepened, the wind grew stronger, blowing through his high ponytail, the strands tickling his cheeks.
He heard Song Qian Ji say: “Any cultivator breaking through has a chance to converse with heaven and earth. Even from Qi Refinement to Foundation Building, though the time is extremely brief—only one ten-millionth of an instant.”
Without realizing it, Meng He Ze was guided by the breathing rhythm of the person beside him, entering a meditative state, forgetting where he was.
He felt the flow of blood throughout his body slowing down. Spiritual energy flowed through his meridians like swollen rivers, making them slightly painful.
His consciousness went to his dantian, surrounded by a hundred rivers, yet feeling unable to breathe.
As if trapped in a room without windows, stifling and unbearable.
What do you want? A voice suddenly asked.
It’s too stuffy, I need to breathe deeply, to shout.
I want a rain! A thorough, free-flowing downpour!
The great wind swept the ground, and dense clouds gathered in the night sky, obscuring the moonlight.
In the small courtyard, flowers and leaves danced wildly, and the trellises shook with creaking sounds, yet did not fall.
A flash of lightning, and Meng He Ze felt someone beside him gently push his shoulder:
“Go ahead.”
In an instant, surging spiritual energy from heaven and earth howled towards him, almost forming an invisible vortex, pouring into the top of his head, washing through and widening each meridian, cleaving mountains and splitting rocks in its tumultuous flow, finally converging in his dantian.
Boom!
Thunder exploded in the sky!
Meng He Ze suddenly opened his eyes.
He touched the cold droplets on his cheeks, somewhat dazed.
Back to the mortal realm.
What was falling? Only countless silver threads descending from the sky, drifting with the wind, enveloping the garden plants, the small courtyard, heaven and earth.
What was making that sound? Countless water droplets jumping among the flowers and leaves—a dense, crisp pattering sound, striking the courtyard walls and tiles with a different, muffled echo.
He suddenly didn’t recognize the scene before him.
“It’s raining,” a familiar voice sounded above his head.
Raining? Yes, it’s raining!
Meng He Ze jumped up with a cry, like a newborn baby seeing and feeling rain for the first time. He opened his hands to catch the curtain of rain, shouting:
“Senior Brother Song, it’s raining!”
He had forgotten that he had already broken through.
“Mmm. Let’s go back.” Song Qian Ji stood up, in quite a good mood.
Rain was life from beyond the sky. This spring rain falling meant countless living beings would survive. Not only had Meng He Ze broken through, but he had also opened all the vital points in his body, and the path to creating his cultivation technique was now clear.
What should this technique be called? Let’s call it “Spring Night’s Welcome Rain.”
The great river flows east, one night of good rain.
At dawn, Song Qian Ji walked out of his small house, squinting slightly at the clear sunlight.
The morning sun broke through the clouds, wisteria petals were scattered all over the ground, yet new flowers had bloomed. The entire garden was in bloom.
The vegetables glistened with crystalline droplets as Song Qian Ji happily moved among the vegetable plots.
The eggplant flowers bloomed shyly; he had to part the leaves to see the purple blossoms hiding bashfully, bowing their heads despite the morning breeze.
The cucumber flowers bloomed boisterously, their bright yellow dazzling to the eye, proudly showing off whether or not small cucumbers were forming beneath them. The flower stems were covered with a layer of fine down, which tickled the hand with a slight prickling sensation, like a furry spirit beast nuzzling one’s palm.
In the afternoon when Meng He Ze came to make a cold dish, it would certainly be a delicious meal.
Song Qian Ji left the vegetable garden and pushed open the vermilion gate of the small courtyard.
Outside the gate, the bean flowers were the most beautiful, their color changing from deep to light purple-blue from the center to the edge of the petals, like tiny butterflies.
Song Qian Ji, afraid of startling them away, gently reached out to touch them.
Just at that moment, bells and drums sounded together.
Beyond the courtyard walls, among the mountains, the solemn sound of Taoist music rang out.
The entire Huawei Sect was filled with the floating of celestial music, audible everywhere.
Outer disciples rushed out of their doors, looking up at the sky in shock. The open space outside the dormitories was crowded with people.
The morning glow filled the sky with auspicious colors, and what seemed like a majestic tower passed through the clouds, casting only a vast shadow.
Song Qian Ji’s heart stirred—has the Book Saint arrived?
“Senior Brother Song!”
Meng He Ze hadn’t left last night, standing in the rain at the courtyard gate. Now seeing Song Qian Ji come out, he hurried forward.
A Foundation Building cultivator could easily resist wind, rain, heat, and cold with a slight expenditure of spiritual energy, but last night he only wanted to be soaked through.
The disciples had been looking up at the clouds outside the courtyard when someone first looked over and excitedly called out: “Senior Brother Meng has broken through.”
The crowd instantly swarmed forward, engulfing Meng He Ze at the entrance to Song’s courtyard.
“Congratulations, Senior Brother Meng!”
“Our outer sect produced a Foundation Building cultivator!”
The night Meng He Ze built his foundation, he had no nourishing elixirs, no spiritual gathering arrays to assist, not even elders to protect and oversee him, nor even a single energy-nurturing talisman.
If told, probably no one would believe it.
Moreover, he had barely broken through—he had established an extremely solid foundation. Each meridian was like a tree root that had drunk its fill of rainwater, no less impressive than the personal disciples of the Huawei Sect.
He knew Song Qian Ji had helped him last night but didn’t know how he had managed it.
The news of Meng He Ze’s breakthrough spread rapidly like spring wind igniting a wildfire across the entire outer sect.
In the past, amid congratulations and blessings, there would inevitably be private jealousy and envy.
But recently, relations between the outer and inner sects had grown increasingly rigid, shifting from exploitation to mutual hostility. The Affairs Hall, to discipline the outer disciples, had been assigning increasingly burdensome and harsh tasks, and they had even staged two collective strikes.
The Affairs Hall had tried to divide and conquer, bribing people like Zhou Xiao Yun with promises of cultivation resources. But the disciples, having seen the benefits of unity, were no longer willing to fall for this tactic.
Unfortunately, their cultivation levels were weak, mostly in the early stages of Qi Refinement, always being overpowered in terms of momentum.
Meng He Ze’s breakthrough now was like a stabilizing sea needle, bringing surprise and warmth to everyone’s hearts.
“As long as we work hard at cultivation, even without inner sect resources, we can still break through to Foundation Building.”
“I don’t have Senior Brother Meng’s good insight or talent, but pushing to the Great Perfection of Qi Refinement should be possible, right?”
Surrounded by a chorus of praise and blessings, Meng He Ze still felt somewhat dazed: “My achievements today are all thanks to Senior Brother Song’s guidance. Song…”
Looking up again, Song Qian Ji had already closed the door and returned to turn the soil.
****
The sun rose over a sea of clouds.
The Flying Cloud Tower descended from the clouds. The tower was twelve stories high, like a mountain, yet it landed lightly and steadily in front of Huawei Sect’s largest guest hall.
Huawei Sect was well-prepared. Sect Leader Xu Yun led the peak masters and elders, standing in the square in front of the hall waiting.
On the roof of the great hall, each glazed tile had been cleaned with magical techniques to reflect golden light in the morning sun.
In the cloud sea formation, each five-colored carp had been fed the night before, making them leap vividly among the clouds.
As soon as the tower landed, solemn ceremonial music began to play, resonating throughout Huawei, and making the mountains vibrate in unison.
“In my youth, I loved excitement, but now that I’m old, I just find it a bit noisy.”
The Book Saint sat on the highest floor of the tower, sighing softly.
On the table before him, there were no incense holders or books, only a single energy-nurturing talisman. Apart from the Qingyan Academy Principal, none of the many powerful figures from the academy attended him.
There were only twelve strangely dressed people.
These people, both men and women, varied in height and build. Some men wore red and green, their heads adorned with pearls and jade; some women had tiger backs and bear waists, broad shoulders, and backs. They seemed completely out of place in the solemn Flying Cloud Tower, as if they had just finished market business, closed their shops, and rushed to attend the Book Saint.
Six black shops, each with one shopkeeper and one assistant.
The Principal listened to the spirited Taoist music outside the tower: “If you don’t like it, this disciple will go down and send them away!”
“How can a guest not meet the host when visiting someone’s home?” The Book Saint shook his head. “Propriety must be observed.”
The Principal lowered his head and responded: “Yes.”
The Book Saint nodded with satisfaction, pushed open the window beside him, stuck his head out, and shouted: “Good morning, everyone!”
The crowd below suddenly heard a sentence descending from the sky, as celestial music, and their bodies trembled.
The ceremonial music stopped instantly. Everyone concentrated their spirits and pricked up their ears, ready to listen to the teachings of the great power, hoping to comprehend the true meaning and gain immeasurable benefits. But the second sentence didn’t come, so they all looked toward Sect Leader Xu Yun.
The Book Saint turned his head and muttered to the Principal: “Why aren’t they responding to me?”
Xu Yun also felt quite helpless, craning his neck to look up at the high tower: “Are you well—”
The Book Saint smiled and waved: “Fine. Don’t trouble yourselves, see you next time.”
After saying this, he closed the window with a bang.
The cultivators below looked at each other in bewilderment, wondering if these two sentences held some deep meaning. When was the “next time” he mentioned? Was there some auspicious date with special significance?
Affairs Hall Leader Zhao Yu Ping forced himself to ask: “The first chapter of the ceremonial music hasn’t finished, the flowers haven’t been scattered, the colored silks haven’t been displayed, and there are six more arrangements to follow. Now…”
Now was it over? Seeing the Sect Leader’s displeased expression, he didn’t finish.
Xu Yun remained silent, his gaze moving from the Flying Cloud Tower to the direction of the rear mountain, and finally sighed deeply: “Disperse.”
The Principal smiled: “You have a way.”
The pawnshop assistant Xiao Zhuo was bewildered.
Did this count as observing propriety? Was this reasonable or not?
But he had to admit, the method was simple.
If only the current matter could be resolved so simply.
The Book Saint: “Continue.”
The atmosphere returned to relaxation, and the pawnshop keeper stepped forward:
“Our people have secretly searched the entire Huawei City but haven’t found anyone with the same brush habits, with identical brush intent and talisman intent.”
He couldn’t understand. The person wrote talismans with practiced posture, suggesting frequent practice, yet none of his talismans circulated in the market. Being poor, why wouldn’t he write talismans to exchange for spirit stones? Didn’t he need cultivation resources?
If they were to search openly, using a portrait, it would be easy to find him. But judging from the Book Saint’s intentions, the old man didn’t want others to know yet, not even the person being sought.
“Didn’t he buy a zither?” said the man wearing red and adorned with green. “Surely you can track your zithers that you’ve sold? What’s difficult about following the trail?”
Assistant Xiao Zhuo said: “Flower Shopkeeper, of course, I recognize the zithers I carve. But there are now tens of thousands of Green Ripple Platforms in Huawei City. Because of the Dengwen Assembly, many music cultivators have gathered to seek guidance on zither techniques from Fairy Miao Yan. It’s like finding a needle in the sea!”
The tall woman with a tiger’s back and bear’s waist said:
“Didn’t he come to pawn a sword and buy a zither? Let me see the sword!”
The pawnshop keeper said:
“I examined that sword briefly. It was indeed a low-grade broken sword. Zhang the Blacksmith, I know you can analyze the sword’s materials and usage marks to deduce the user’s background, but that sword is gone now.”
“Gone? Where is it?”
The shopkeeper sighed: “Wei Ping bought it.”
Everyone was stunned.
The grocery assistant couldn’t help but exclaim:
“Wei Ping again! Why is he everywhere!”
The Book Saint laughed heartily.
The others couldn’t laugh. Was the young talisman master impossible to find?
They all thought simultaneously: if the Book Saint came all this way only to return empty-handed, how disappointed he would be. After all, the Book Saint was no longer young.
“Don’t rush. Thinking carefully, when that young man entered the shop, he had a red paper crane pinned to the front of his robe. Without physical evidence, I can only rely on my memory. If I’ve remembered incorrectly and we find the wrong person…”
The Book Saint waved his hand: “No matter, go on.”
“That paper crane was a talisman. Years ago, Sect Leader Xu Yun requested a talisman master from our academy to make a batch, but only his daughter Chen Hong Zhu used them. They can both track and transmit messages. Chen Hong Zhu has been willful and capricious since childhood, often causing trouble. Fearing she might be in danger and unable to rescue her in time, Xu Yun had her carry it on her person.”
The shopkeeper, seeing everyone’s surprised expressions, felt somewhat proud: “Chen Hong Zhu has only given this talisman to one person!”
“You dare to keep us in suspense before the Holy One!” the meat shopkeeper with a fleshy face joked.
“I wouldn’t dare! Chen Hong Zhu gave it to an outer disciple named Song Qian Ji. I once overheard Huawei Sect patrol disciples gossiping that he was good-looking, which is why Miss Chen gave him the talisman, allowing him unrestricted passage! But this Song Qian Ji is not a talisman master; no one has ever seen him write talismans. So I can’t be certain.”
“This Song Qian Ji is quite famous,” the Principal laughed. “If it’s him, it would be easy! Last night at Yaoguang Lake, he plucked a flower from Feng Zi Yi’s temple. I heard the Feng family girl’s natal spirit beast is a rare hundred-year Anomalous Fire White Tiger. He’s very brave.”
The rouge shopkeeper wondered aloud:
“He pawned a sword to buy a zither to give to a female cultivator, but Chen Hong Zhu doesn’t play the zither, and Feng Zi Yi plays even less! Who did he give it to?”
“Need you ask? Of course, it’s another female cultivator who plays the zither!” The Book Saint suddenly spoke up, waving the profiteer talisman on the table, making it flutter noisily:
“Wretched fellow. Wasting his talent, squandering his time, spending his prime years not at home cultivating, not writing talismans or practicing calligraphy, but all day long just dallying with flowers, courting trouble!”
But his tone didn’t sound genuinely angry; it was more like scolding a family member. The Principal thought, this is truly rare—how many disciples at the academy line up hoping to hear him scold them, but never get the chance?
Xiao Zhuo thought, you scold him with your mouth, but in your heart, you probably think he’s like you were in your youth.
The young assistant didn’t understand what “romantic” meant.
Previously, he had heard the Principal joke about those who painstakingly sought opportunities:
“They think that writing a few sour poems, painting a few portraits of beauties, and paying court to female cultivators makes them romantic? Pretentious, trying to draw a tiger but ending up like a dog, likely to incur the master’s displeasure instead.”
He had once asked the Book Saint, and the Saint said:
“Being romantic isn’t about being fickle or half-hearted. It’s about having sufficiently full, sufficiently abundant feelings for this world, overflowing and flowing from the brush tip, pouring onto paper, creating characters with flesh and blood. Once there is bone and flesh, there’s no need for every stroke to be flawless, nor for every character to exert force.
“How much genuine feeling is in one’s heart, whether true or false—spoken words may deceive others, but brush to paper cannot deceive oneself!”
The Principal said:
“It seems you’re quite satisfied with him.”
The Book Saint shook his head: “It’s too early. I’ve watched Wei Ping for a year; watching him for just three days isn’t enough. I want to test him further.”
“You want to see his performance in the calligraphy and painting test?”
“No, I’ve already seen this talisman. I want to see things that aren’t visible on paper. What I give him is truly his; if he tries to seize it, then he doesn’t have the destiny for it!”
Then the Book Saint said a few things—a test, a strategy, and a chain of strategies.
Hearing him finish, everyone’s faces showed bitterness. Could any cultivator on the path to immortality resist such temptation? He was just a youth, not a saint.
On second thought, how many times had they seen the great families pave the way for their descendants, setting traps, putting on acts, and using all manner of tactics over the years?
A true heart fears no fire test. Whether Song Qian Ji was scrap iron or gold would be revealed in one trial.
Xiao Zhuo nodded outwardly, thinking: You truly are the master fisherman by the ink pool!
Even though there are no fish in the pool, you’re still the old fishing rod!
The Book Saint, as if knowing what they were thinking, smiled and said: “I’ve seen too many who seek fame under pretenses, feigning loftiness. I’m inevitably cautious. Go now. Tailor shop, prepare the props. Rouge shop owner Hua, prepare your old trade. Everyone else, assist as needed!”
“Yes!”
Having given his instructions, the Book Saint stood up and paced. He pushed open the window and gazed at the distant mountain scenery.
People bustled throughout Huawei Sect amid the vibrant spring scenery, only the rear mountain remaining as quiet as ever.
“Has that ghost arrived?” the Book Saint asked.
“Heard he arrived at the rear mountain last night. The people of Ziyun Temple didn’t announce it. Apart from us and the Huawei Sect Leader, no one knows,” the Principal answered.
The Book Saint snorted lightly.
“He follows and comes, just wanting to pick up what’s ready-made! Shameless old man!”
No one in the tower responded; everyone’s expressions were complex.
“I found this person first. If he dares to compete with me again…” The Book Saint recalled last year’s matter concerning Wei Ping and said coldly, “I will pour the entire ink pool onto his chessboard.”