This entrance style utterly exceeded the impoverished imagination of the outer sect disciples.

Even the two experienced Elders on the platform couldn’t figure out what play Zhao Yu Ping intended to perform:

“Steward Zhao, what’s the situation?”

Zhao Yu Ping felt a thousand grievances.

Ji heng, your uncle has always treated you well, how could you not be more thoughtful?

“Those carrying the chair behind put it down for me!”

Wasn’t this embarrassing enough already? Zhao Yu ping glared.

Unfortunately, the distance was too great. When Zhao Ji Heng met his uncle’s excited gaze, he misinterpreted it as praise and waved his hand, shouting: “Put it down!”

The chair was steadily placed on the ground, and Song Qian Ji rubbed his brow.

These young people nowadays—to what degree of laziness must one reach to keep a cushioned reclining chair in their storage pouch?

And to be able to carry it away at a moment’s notice.

“Senior Brother Meng is back!” Someone shouted first, and more than a dozen outer sect disciples instantly surged toward Meng He ze.

“Senior Brother Meng, are you all right?” These people had received his help regularly, and their concern was evident. “Are you injured?”

Meng He ze had just emerged from a mountain cave; his hair crown was askew, his robes stained with mud and weeds, appearing quite disheveled.

Seeing this, the crowd guessed he had escaped from danger and glared at Zhao Ji Heng’s group, of course not sparing Song Qian Ji on the reclining chair.

Zhao Ji heng, unwilling to show weakness, raised the hilt of his sword at his waist, and the seven or eight people behind him gripped their swords in response.

It seemed that with just one word from Meng He ze, both sides could start fighting publicly.

But Meng He ze merely smiled and said: “No matter what evil spirits stir up trouble, as long as Senior Brother Song is here, I can turn misfortune into a blessing.”

Everyone who heard this was puzzled.

Huh? Which Senior Brother Song? Are you very familiar with Song Qian Ji?

A female disciple knowledgeable in medicine stepped forward: “Senior Brother Meng, are you injured? Let me check for you.”

She wanted to take Meng He ze away, first to leave this place and dissolve this tense yet strangely atmospheric scene.

Meng He ze wouldn’t leave: “Senior Brother Song was injured while saving me. I must take care of him.”

Zhao Ji Heng was also unwilling to let them go.

So with Song Qian Ji’s reclining chair as the center, dozens of outer sect disciples crowded around in three circles, two groups keeping watch over each other, the air thick with tension.

Zhao Yu Ping, who desperately wanted to flay Song and Meng alive, nonetheless walked down from the high platform with a friendly smile, standing among a group of outer sect disciples to ensure his voice could be heard far and wide:

“The Steward Hall was so worried about you! It’s good that you’ve returned safely. Now the morning assessment need not be postponed. In my opinion, let’s start with Song Qian Ji.”

Meng He ze met a gaze that seemed benevolent but was actually venomous, and felt a chill in his heart, yet refused to shy away, staring straight back at Zhao Yu Ping.

Song Qian Ji smiled: “Thank you for your kindness. Unfortunately, this disciple was accidentally injured last night and can only forfeit.”

The crowd erupted in exclamations.

“Song Luo said he’s forfeiting? Did I hear wrong?”

“That’s right, he’s unlucky—this time he has become ‘Song Three Falls,’ haha!”

“That’s not right! Rare is Steward Zhao’s concern. Song Luo should take the opportunity to ask for a bottle of spirit medicine, which wouldn’t prevent him from participating in the competition.”

With these words spoken, many people suddenly found it reasonable. For outer sect disciples, injuries to tendons and bones would be a minor matter in the inner sect, requiring just one pill. In front of everyone, presumably, Steward Zhao wouldn’t find it easy to refuse.

“Everyone, keep your voices down, don’t give Song Luo any ideas!”

Forfeiting the outer sect assessment wasn’t uncommon. Every year, more than half of the people voluntarily gave up the opportunity.

Without ability yet going on stage would be nothing but inviting humiliation. Better to be a background spectator, watching others show off their skills.

But no one had expected Song Qian Ji would be willing to be a spectator.

Who made his face look unlike that of a spectator?

Zhao Ji Heng bent slightly forward, his right hand gripping his sword hilt, his left hand suddenly grabbing the armrest of the reclining chair, coldly sneering in a low voice:

“What trick are you trying to play? If you can truly give up entering the inner sect, I could eat this chair!”

“Pat.” Song Qian ji swept his sleeve, deftly brushing away his hand: “Don’t try to freeload off me.”

“You!” Zhao Ji heng’s anger caught in his chest. “This is my lord’s chair!”

Meng He ze separated the two and warned: “Don’t touch Senior Brother Song.”

Zhao Ji Heng jumped up, just about to speak when he met Zhao Yu Ping’s eyes and swallowed back a bellyful of filthy words, his chest heaving.

“Forfeiting is certainly no problem! At worst, try again next year.” Zhao Yu Ping still wore a smiling face, gazing at the sky with a sigh: “But you’re already fifteen this year, which means you’ll be sixteen next year. And since you practice swordsmanship, bone age is very important. If you enter the inner sect at sixteen, would any sword cultivation Elder still accept you? From fifteen to sixteen, just one year’s difference, sometimes it’s like heaven and earth…”

Song Qian Ji didn’t respond, lowering his eyes as if in thought, but letting his mind wander.

In contrast, Meng He ze’s expression grew increasingly grave.

He knew this was true. Those children from immortal family clans grip swords at six, compete with sword techniques at seven, and “temper sword bones” at eight.

“Tempering sword bones” is generally guided by a master, combined with spirit medicines and cultivation techniques, intervening in the growth of bones and meridians from a young age, so that the developed physique is more suitable for sword practice.

Senior Brother Song was already fifteen. Further delay would only make it more difficult with each passing day.

Zhao Yu Ping extended his hand, and the steward following behind, perceptive and considerate, took out a small jade bottle and placed it in his palm.

He rotated the bottle, examined it, and handed it down condescendingly to Song Qian Ji:

“I truly cannot bear to see a bright pearl gather dust. You are still young and don’t realize that some opportunities, once missed, cannot be recreated, and some paths, once wrongly taken, cannot be returned from.”

This was a profound hint. Zhao Yu Ping believed Song Qian Ji would understand—

It doesn’t matter if you had a change of heart last night; I can let bygones be bygones and give you one last chance.

The jade bottle was exquisite and transparent, gleaming brightly under the morning sun.

Many outer sect disciples’ eyes reddened with envy.

“‘Jade Dew Restoration Pill’! Who says Song Luo is unlucky? Good fortune has arrived!”

Meng He ze’s eyes were equally red.

The radiance of the jade bottle fell in his pupils like a spark of fire.

Anger burned his eyes red.

Song Qian Ji was injured saving him, yet he couldn’t produce even half a good medicinal pill. Even when the main culprit hypocritically offered charity, he could only endure silently, standing like a wooden stake at the side.

Such helplessness—unworthy to be called a gentleman!

Song Qian Ji lifted his eyelids and surveyed his surroundings.

Zhao Yu Ping was skilled. If he were truly fifteen years old, he would have long been confused by the combination of slaps and sweet dates.

In his previous life at this moment and place, he endured all manner of curses, was interrogated, convicted, and whipped, all sent away in one seamless process.

In this life, he had abandoned all pretense and desire, lying in the sun, feeling thoroughly warm.

The “Immortality Spring” in the Purple Palace Pure Bottle radiated vitality. The fresh and immature faces around him were ones he had seen long ago but could no longer remember clearly.

Song Qian Ji slowly extended his hand, moving so slowly that those around him almost wanted to accept the spirit pill for him.

His fingers finally touched the jade bottle, but he pushed it away:

“Steward Zhao, I appreciate your kindness. But this would be unfair to others. I want to enter the inner sect through my abilities. If I miss the right opportunity because of bone age, then I simply have no fate with the immortal path and cannot blame others.”

Unexpectedly, the square suddenly fell silent.

Song Qian ji refused?! No one except Meng He ze had anticipated this.

“Are you sick?” Zhao Ji Heng was shocked. “Do you know what’s in that bottle? Even ten of you couldn’t afford it!”

This scene was shockingly familiar.

Many people’s memories were awakened, recalling when Song Qian Ji first came to the mountain and refused to be a servant to a personal disciple.

At that time, the confident and proud youth, straight as a pine, was now reclining on a chair due to injury, yet still without hesitation spoke the same words.

You might think that three years of frustration would have ground down his pride, leaving only gloom and solitude, but that pride remained in his bones.

He still wanted to rely on his abilities.

He still wanted fairness.

Upon this realization, the crowd felt a mix of emotions.

No matter how much they usually disapproved of Song Luo, they couldn’t utter mocking words, at most grumbling sourly:

“This Song Qian Ji is indeed stubborn.”

Song Qian Ji wasn’t being stubborn. He could only come up with this kind of excuse; otherwise, he couldn’t explain why he refused.

If he truly said he no longer wanted to cultivate immortality, even fewer would believe him.

Zhao Yu Ping’s pupils contracted slightly. He suddenly felt he couldn’t see through the youth before him.

Changed—what exactly was different?

The smile on his face finally disappeared completely.

The two Hall Elders on the high platform, not having figured out what Zhao Yu Ping was up to, had already lost patience.

Elder Li urged in a deep voice: “Since the people have returned, why not start quickly?”

Zhao Yu Ping seemed not to have heard, still maintaining the posture of offering the jade bottle.

The atmosphere took a sharp downturn, turning extremely cold.

No one envied Song Qian ji anymore.

If Steward Zhao insisted on giving it, would he dare not accept it? Would he dare not participate?

Suddenly, a hand reached out from the side, five fingers grabbing the jade bottle.

Like a swift sword thrusting diagonally, quick as lightning, leaving no room.

Meng He ze clutched the jade bottle tightly, his right hand trembling slightly, his left hand grasping the armrest of the reclining chair, with what seemed like flames burning in his eyes:

“I’ll do it! I’ll compete in Senior Brother Song’s place!”