The morning sun had just leaped over the ridge, and Song Qian Ji had already woken naturally and was busy in his garden.

Having slept well and fully, he began working at sunrise.

Crystal dewdrops on the tips of vegetable leaves reflected the first rays of dawn, shining brightly. The garden’s flowers and plants swayed in the gentle breeze, cheering him on.

For watering alone, Song Qian Ji had made various tools: a water ladle, a watering can, a sprinkler, and more.

Different crops told him different things—some needed thorough watering at the roots, some only required water on their leaves, and some didn’t need daily watering at all.

The purple-petaled, yellow-centered potato flowers had already been picked by him, leaving only the graceful green leaves.

The bright golden cucumber flowers still bloomed freely and passionately. Willing to produce a false flower, they produced a false flower; willing to bear a cucumber, they bore a cucumber.*

The lotus roots planted last night showed no obvious changes this morning. But Song Qian Ji could sense they needed more sunlight.

The spots with good lighting were already fully planted.

He had a meticulously cultivated vegetable garden, staggered flower racks, and the most rational, compact spatial layout.

The two water vats for growing lotus roots could only be placed under his eaves, cramped and reluctant.

The eaves blocked the light, and the lotus roots might not be too happy.

Song Qian Ji had originally planned to hang two lanterns under the eaves to illuminate the water vats. After some thought, he felt he couldn’t settle for this.

No matter how poor, one must not impoverish the vegetable garden; no matter how hard life is, one must not let the crops suffer.

In matters of gardening, if conditions exist, one should plant; if conditions don’t exist, one must create them to plant!

So when Meng He Ze entered, he saw Song Qian Ji sitting at the stone table preparing talisman sand and laying out talisman paper.

Meng He Ze was greatly delighted.

After Senior Brother Song had registered for the calligraphy and painting test, the outer disciples had brought a complete set of writing brushes, ink, paper, inkstones, and talisman-drawing tools, but Meng He Ze had never seen him practice.

Song Qian Ji seemed to have forgotten that he had registered.

“Is Senior Brother preparing to practice drawing talismans?” Meng He Ze asked.

Song Qian Ji nodded.

It was Meng He Ze’s first time seeing someone prepare ink for a brush, and he found it quite novel: “What kind of talisman is Senior Brother going to draw?”

“A light-gathering talisman.”

Meng He Ze was startled. He didn’t understand talismans and thought it was his ignorance: “There’s such a talisman?”

Song Qian Ji said: “There will be.”

Meng He Ze asked modestly: “May I ask what effect this talisman has, Senior Brother?”

Song Qian Ji smiled with satisfaction: “It absorbs sunlight, then emits light.”

“What else?”

“Nothing else, it just emits light,” Song Qian Ji said.

Meng He Ze was dumbfounded.

In the middle of a battle, activating such a talisman in front of an opponent’s face to blind them with light?

It could work, but it didn’t seem very appropriate.

Outside Song’s courtyard, outer disciples gradually gathered, but no one urged him to hurry.

Meng He Ze knew everyone was waiting for him: “For today’s sixth round of the martial arts test, I want to try a different fighting style.”

“Good,” Song Qian Ji said just one word.

Hearing this, Meng He Ze exhaled deeply.

He saw Song Qian Ji hold the brush with his wrist suspended, his aura smooth and harmonious, his expression serious yet calm and composed.

Meng He Ze adjusted his breathing along with him, feeling instantly reassured, much of his tension disappearing.

“Senior Brother, I’ll be going now.” He bowed to Song Qian Ji and turned to leave.

The outer disciples’ spirits soared. The group, with animated expressions, left with whoops and cheers.

The area around Song’s courtyard grew quiet.

The dazzling morning sunlight penetrated through the mountain mist, growing increasingly bright, illuminating the talisman sand at the brush tip, making it appear more vividly red.

Wisteria flowers fell silently. Sunlight gathered at the brush tip, yet Song Qian Ji still held his brush poised, not yet making a stroke.

…

“Any news about that boy today?”

The Calligraphy Saint asked after finishing his morning tea.

The Academy Principal was prepared for this question: “I heard he’s practicing drawing talismans.”

The Calligraphy Saint’s eyes brightened: “How is his practice going?”

“That’s not clear yet. The entire outer sect has gone to watch Meng He Ze’s martial arts test, only he didn’t go, staying home behind closed doors drawing talismans, not taking a single step outside.”

The Calligraphy Saint felt immediately reassured and greatly pleased: “While everyone is intoxicated, I alone remain sober; one must endure solitude to write good characters. Not bad.”

“Would you like to see him?” the Principal asked.

The Calligraphy Saint smiled: “There’s no hurry. Let this young man attract enough attention in the ‘calligraphy and painting test,’ then I’ll appear.”

A fish that’s taken the bait won’t escape, a cooked duck won’t fly away, and a disciple within grasp won’t go wrong.

He looked toward the direction of the back mountain, thinking to himself:

“This time, you shouldn’t contend with me again. Song Qian Ji is diligent in drawing talismans, perhaps he doesn’t play chess at all. That boy Wei Ping, I’ll concede to you.”

***

The second day of the martial arts test was also the second day of the chess test.

In Wind Smoke Valley, with its verdant pines and cypresses, clear springs flowed over rocks.

The intermittent sounds of stones being placed on boards rang crisp and pleasant, accompanying birdsong and waterfall sounds, echoing through the valley.

Twenty matches were conducted simultaneously. Players were distributed among the mountains and waters, some on large rocks, others by streams.

Two people played against each other, with officials and judges beside them.

There were also medical cultivators and stretchers.

If participants fainted due to insufficient calculation ability, depleted vitality, or collapsed consciousness, they could be promptly sent for treatment.

Though the chess test appeared as elegant as the breeze, it concealed deadly intent.

Spectators were arranged on a protruding platform halfway up the mountain. This position was far enough away, yet high enough to provide a clear view of the various chess matches in the valley, without being able to influence the players.

All being young cultivators, how could they resist commenting while watching the games?

“Yao An’s chess style is steady. Yesterday he already won three consecutive matches, truly worthy of being the strongest among the younger generation at Purple Cloud Temple.”

“Yao An is too plodding; I think Zhao Lin is decisive and resolute, living up to his fame as the North Continent’s number one chess prodigy.”

“This year’s champion will surely be one of these two. How well others perform only serves to highlight them.”

Suddenly, someone pointed in a direction:

“Not necessarily. Look over there—that young man hasn’t lost a single match since he started playing.”

“What’s his background?” the crowd asked curiously.

“A small sect on the verge of extinction, not worth mentioning. They say he registered for the competition just to win the Grand Conference prizes.”

Another person disdainfully said: “This fellow’s chess style is improper, dragging on endlessly, like a ruffian. If Zhao Lin and Yao An lose to such a person, where would they put their faces?”

“Hah, you scions of great clans and families, having all the resource advantages daily, still mock small sects for being backward and lacking talent. If someone does make a name for themselves, you criticize them for openly seeking fame and profit, saying their demeanor isn’t elegant enough,” said a person dressed plainly with an indignant expression. “You say his chess style is improper, but could you win against him?”

The previous speaker’s face turned red with anger: “What if I can’t beat him? Could you beat me?”

Because of one participant, a fierce argument erupted on the spectator platform.

The crowd split into two factions, almost coming to blows, forcing the Discipline Hall disciples to maintain order.

Clouds and mist floated at the mountaintop.

In a cool pavilion sat an old man and a young girl.

The old man wore black clothes and had an emaciated, sickly appearance, sitting weakly in a wheelchair.

Standing behind him was a young girl in a goose-yellow dress, lively and spirited.

If one could see past the floating clouds, this position also offered a view of the valley below.

Yet they couldn’t be seen from the valley.

“Master, look at that person, he’s not playing badly, is he?” the young girl smiled.

The Chess Ghost, who had been half-closing his eyes as if about to fall asleep, suddenly focused his gaze, his eyes lighting up with brilliance as he cursed loudly:

“Wei Ping himself is still just a half-baked drifter, yet he dares to mislead the younger generation by teaching others chess! This rascal! This absolute rascal!”

The young girl was startled: “You say he was taught by Wei Ping?”

The Chess Ghost sneered: “Look more carefully.”

The young girl concentrated as if standing in the center of the chess board, surrounded by endless changes of black and white stones. She became entranced, her cheeks flushing:

“…It is Wei Ping.”

***

At the main peak plaza, the drawing of lots for the sixth round of the martial arts test had just ended.

The matchup list had not yet been announced, the betting pools weren’t open, and the spectators were scattered about.

A gentle and beautiful female cultivator, leading more than ten people, moved through the crowd, distributing beautifully crafted colored paper slips.

The onlookers thought it was some betting house distributing betting slips, and reached out to take them, then looked down to read:

“Are you falling asleep from the monotonous fighting styles on the platforms?”

“Do you find the unchanging life of cultivation boring and tedious?”

“Ding San Lu Wu Meng He Ze offers you a different exhibition match experience!”

Huh?

Although they couldn’t make heads or tails of it, they had to admit that this colorful paper had piqued their interest.