After his rebirth, this was the first time Song Qian Ji heard that name from someone else’s mouth.

The pattering sound of wind and rain in his ears transformed into a melody. In his memory, the woman playing the zither suddenly looked up and smiled tenderly.

Before Song Qian Ji set off for the edge of the continent to save the World Tree with the Immortal Spring, the night before his departure, Miao Yan said she wanted to see his sword.

Not wanting to disappoint his intended Dao companion, he slowly drew the sword from its scabbard: “Be careful not to hurt yourself.”

Moonlight streamed through the ornate window, illuminating the long sword, like autumn water, casting a cold glow throughout the hall.

Miao Yan took it with both hands, carefully cradling it, a shallow dimple appearing beside her lips: “Solitary Light, truly extraordinary… Ah!”

The sword’s chilling energy leaked out, piercing her delicate fingertip. Crimson drops of blood splattered onto the white jade floor, like plum blossoms blooming in the snow.

A shrill sword cry rang out simultaneously.

The scenery before her eyes distorted.

Raging fires blazed across the plains, smoke billowed to the sky, and vultures circled overhead.

A figure emerged from the killing field, sword tip pointing to the ground. He was covered in blood, his wide sleeves fluttering.

Miao Yan tried desperately to see the face of the approaching figure, but the bloody storm was too fierce, stinging her delicate face, making it impossible to keep her eyes open.

“Be careful.” It was Song Qian Ji’s voice.

As soon as the words were spoken, the wound on her finger instantly healed, and the illusion dissipated without a trace. She was still in the celestial palace, enjoying the cool evening breeze and moonlight.

She finally saw the face of the person in the illusion. Clear and refined features, quite handsome.

—Song Qian Ji was right beside her, wearing a moon-white brocade robe, his ink-black hair falling like flowing clouds, serene and peaceful, like a quiet shadow on a jade wall.

Miao Yan shuddered, feeling that the one wading through seas of blood with a sword in hand was his true face.

How many powerful experts must a sword kill to develop such terrifying spiritual pressure, creating such vivid illusions?

“What a fierce sword, just like you.” She smiled.

“When have I ever been fierce to you?” Song Qian Ji felt somewhat wronged.

“Even when I’m just watching you use your sword against others, I feel afraid.”

Song Qian Ji said calmly: “After we formalize our union, husband and wife as one, our fates connected, there will be nothing in the world for you to fear.”

Only those who had reached the pinnacle could possess such extraordinary confidence.

Because what he said, he could accomplish.

Miao Yan wasn’t satisfied. Her autumn-water eyes reflected the cold light of the sword’s edge, tinged with a trace of coldness:

“Including this sword?”

Song Qian Ji nodded: “No matter how fierce Solitary Light is, it’s still my sword.” He awkwardly, unfamiliarly comforted his intended Dao companion, “Don’t be afraid.”

The beauty’s moth-like eyebrows slightly furrowed, and she said softly: “Our engagement was hastily arranged, and I know so little about you. I always fear I can’t satisfy you in all matters. If one day I make a mistake, would you use this sword to kill me?”

Song Qian Ji couldn’t understand: “Even if you made a mistake, as your Dao companion, I would naturally take responsibility for you. How could I kill you?”

Miao Yan seemed provoked by these words. She suddenly looked up, tears welling in her eyes, her voice trembling like an over-tightened zither string:

“What if I truly committed an unforgivable sin? What if I betrayed you, deceived you, harmed you? Would you draw your sword against me?”

She screamed silently in her heart.

Just like your powerful enemies and sworn foes, who, no matter where they hide in heaven or earth, will always die by the Solitary Light sword. Don’t talk about the bonds between Dao companions; you are the Undying in a Hundred Battles, Song Qian Ji. Someone like you, marrying me only out of lust and to display power, how could you possibly have even a fraction of true feeling?

Why do you still pretend? Dare you to show your true face?!

Song Qian Ji only gazed at her quietly, gently prying open her delicate fingers to retrieve Solitary Light.

The long sword returned to its scabbard with a soft, lingering ring.

Miao Yan suddenly came to her senses, wiped away her tears, and forced a smile: “I was rude.”

But she heard Song Qian Ji sigh: “I wouldn’t kill you. I would just… be heartbroken.”

How unreasonable.

Only helpless weaklings would merely feel heartbroken. Song Qian Ji was the world’s foremost powerful cultivator; besides his divine sword, he had hundreds of magical abilities and thousands of Dao techniques.

But he made a vow:

“Solitary Light will never be drawn against you.”

Miao Yan was stunned.

After a long moment, her smile bloomed again: “Let me play another tune for you.”

Song Qian Ji didn’t remember the name of that melody, only that it was gentle and lingering, like the spring rain that was now about to cease.

Suddenly, the seven-stringed zither broke, the moon waned, and flowers flew.

The jarring sound of the pipa pierced his ears, like armies with metal weapons, an ambush from all sides.

That woman cradled her pipa, her arm gauze fluttering, standing amidst the swirling snow, tears falling in melancholy:

“Qian Ji, I’m sorry.”

Sorry, sorry, sorry.

Sorry, my foot, Song Qian Ji thought. Do I owe you ten million spirit stones or what, to deserve you digging a pit to bury me?

Did I ever mistreat you in any way?

Seeing Meng He Ze’s yearning eyes, muttering “To marry, one should marry Immortal Maiden Miao Yan,” with such a foolish expression, made his teeth ache and his stomach hurt:

“Stupid dog. A dog brain can’t outwit a beauty’s scheme. Rather than having a Dao companion, it’s better to go home and farm!”

Meng He Ze didn’t hear clearly and rushed over, kneeling before him:

“What’s wrong, Senior Brother? Is your wound hurting? Are you thirsty or hungry? Are you cold? Are your legs numb from sitting too long? Let me massage them for you…”

The leaping bonfire revealed the youth’s anxious expression.

Song Qian Ji suddenly found it hard to stay angry and couldn’t help but laugh softly.

Outside the cave, dawn was breaking, the spring rain was about to stop, and the mountains were lush and green.

“Youth, ah, youth is wonderful,” he thought silently.

****

“What do you mean, no one? Those two are just at the initial Qi Condensation stage, one fourteen and one fifteen years old. Combined, they’re not even a fraction of your age. Could they grow wings and fly away?”

Zhao Yu Ping’s face was gloomy, with a group of stewards trembling below.

Li Zhi Shi, who usually accompanied him, stepped forward and reluctantly explained: “Perhaps they have artifacts that conceal their auras. Broken Mountain Cliff blocks spiritual energy, making some of our tracking methods difficult to use.”

Zhao Yu Ping became more convinced that someone was directing Song and Meng. Otherwise, how could mere outer disciples possess such abilities?

“The sect’s protective formation showed no disturbance, so those two rascals must still be within the Hua Wei Sect. Since they haven’t tried to escape, they’ll return sooner or later. When they return, we’ll make sure they die with full awareness!” He suppressed his anger, rubbing his brow. “Quickly notify Ji Heng that he cannot appear before Song and Meng show up today! If something happens, at least he won’t be implicated.”

The relationship between Zhao Yu Ping and Zhao Ji Heng was unknown to the outer disciples, but his trusted stewards were well aware.

The last person acknowledged the order and hurried off to relay the message.

Just as they were speaking, a bell rang out.

Birds in the valley were startled by the morning bell, taking flight in flutters all over the sky.

The stewards, like startled birds, stared wide-eyed at Zhao Yu Ping:

“The time has come!”

“What do we do now? Postpone the assessment?”

Zhao Yu Ping straightened his clothes, putting on a benevolent expression: “Go to the square.”

The night had passed too quickly.

Just after the third toll of the morning bell at the mountain gate, a thousand outer disciples had gathered in the outer sect square of Hua Wei Mountain, heads crowding, voices thundering.

For the annual outer sect assessment, many disciples had arrived before dawn to wait, from when the rain began until it stopped.

A group of teenagers not yet tempered into steadiness, gathered in such large numbers in one place, were like a brood of chirping chicks.

“Has anyone seen Senior Brother Meng He Ze this morning? I can’t find him anywhere, and I brought him breakfast.”

“Senior Brother Zhao Ji Heng hasn’t come either. Could he have gone down the mountain to drink again last night and got drunk?”

“Hey, that ‘Song Fall’ doesn’t seem to be here either.”

“‘Song Fall’ dreams of entering the inner sect; if he fails again this year, he’ll be ‘Song Three Falls’! Hahaha!”

Bursts of laughter rang out across the square. Three simple words brought joy to thousands of people.

Song Qian Ji was indeed a famous figure in the outer sect, nicknamed “Song Fall.”

It was said that when he first came to the mountain, a female personal disciple admired his handsome appearance and wanted to take him as an attendant, signing a lifelong contract, but he refused. He said he didn’t want to be someone’s servant for life; he wanted to become an inner disciple through his abilities.

Seeking the immortal path through ability alone was dreaming.

In the first year, he offended a steward who collected protection fees, couldn’t buy good cultivation techniques, and was eliminated.

In the second year, he was tricked out of all his possessions, had no spirit stones to buy techniques, and was eliminated.

This year was his third year. Song Qian Ji had finally bought a decent sword manual and no longer had to practice elementary sword forms.

The mischievous disciples privately ranked the three candidates: “Song, Meng, Zhao.” Unexpectedly, all three were late this morning.

In terms of character, Meng He Ze was upright and cheerful, always willing to help without complaint.

Many slow-witted disciples entered the Qi Condensation stage thanks to his selfless guidance, naturally earning him the highest prestige and the loudest support.

In terms of wealth, Zhao Ji Heng was extravagant, with unknown backgrounds and connections, maintaining close relationships with the stewards. He never had to do the hard, tiring work. He spent his days either practicing high-level techniques or carousing with friends, sneaking down the mountain to brothels, treating others to drinks.

In comparison, Song Qian Ji was truly poor and solitary.

He focused solely on sword practice, forgoing food and rest, always making others feel insufficient in their efforts.

He came and went alone, had no friends, and no matter how excellent he was, would never benefit others.

Many people disliked him, yet his cultivation stood out among the outer disciples like a crane among chickens. Minor obstacles couldn’t hinder him, so they could only sincerely wish for him to fail for another year.