“Either of you will do.”

Zhao Yu Ping nodded with satisfaction, not giving him a chance to reconsider, and walked directly toward the raised platform.

“Don’t touch my chair,” Zhao Ji Heng slapped away Meng He Ze’s hand as he reached for the recliner, finally feeling a moment of triumph.

Meng He Ze didn’t argue with him, but instead announced loudly to everyone:

“If I’m fortunate enough to win, please allow Senior Brother Song to enter the Inner Sect!”

“Cough! Cough! Cough!” Song Qian Ji was so shocked that he choked and coughed repeatedly, frantically waving his hands. “That’s not necessary!”

Who the hell wants to enter the Inner Sect? Don’t drag me into this!

“What did you say?!” Zhao Yu Ping suddenly turned back, his gaze sharp as a knife, piercing straight at Meng He Ze.

The Disciplinary Elder on the platform shouted: “Nonsense! The trials are meant to select the most excellent disciples for the Inner Sect. There has never been any precedent for competing on behalf of someone else.”

Meng He Ze bowed to the platform: “In terms of cultivation and character, Senior Brother Song surpasses me a hundredfold. If I can do it, it would be even easier for him. It’s just that he has injuries that make it inconvenient for him to spar with others.” The youth showed no fear, each word resounding clearly:

“This disciple is willing to fight against all candidates one by one!”

After Meng He Ze finished speaking, the depression in his chest was completely swept away.

In one’s life, how many words must one speak? Truths, lies, drunken words—he felt that no sentence had ever been more satisfying than this one.

Since leaving home to join the Outer Sect of Hua Wei Sect, he had always been helping others, while others rarely had the opportunity to help him.

He longed for the colorful world of cultivation and true, heart-to-heart friendship.

But life was dull and monotonous, day after day without an end in sight.

—Until he fell from the cliff with Song Qian Ji.

In today’s circumstances, being forced to this point, if I can still endure, I would have no face to use the skills Senior Brother Song taught me!

Meng He Ze wanted to prove to everyone, to prove to himself, that Senior Brother Song hadn’t misjudged him, hadn’t saved the wrong person, and certainly hadn’t taught the wrong person.

Zhao Yu Ping suddenly smiled, For the first time today he smiled so sincerely:

“Elders, although there is no precedent for this, the selection trial rules change every year. It’s rare to find such spirit and loyalty among our Outer Sect disciples. What’s the harm in giving him a chance?”

Meng He Ze gave a cold laugh: “Thank you, Steward Zhao, for your generosity.”

Meng He Ze had gone mad. Who would voluntarily request to fight in succession against multiple opponents?

Everyone present, regardless of their stance, was astonishingly unified in their thoughts.

Zhao Ji Heng voiced their collective thoughts: “Hey, what are you doing? Did Song Qian Ji bewitch you, putting you under some kind of control?!”

“Take good care of Senior Brother Song for me.”

Meng He Ze gave no further explanation, only instructing the Outer Sect disciples who followed him, then walked toward the center of the square.

Song Qian Ji’s voice rose behind him: “Don’t do this.”

Meng He Ze turned around to see Song Qian Ji frowning, seemingly troubled.

Song Qian Ji firmly refused:

“I don’t need you to substitute for me. This matter is meaningless and unnecessary.”

“No, Senior Brother Song. I must go!”

Song Qian Ji sighed: “Then fight at your leisure. I’ve already withdrawn, so I’ll head back first.”

He suddenly stood up. Zhao Ji Heng was startled as if seeing a paralyzed patient walking independently:

“You… aren’t you injured? How…”

“My injuries are on my arms and shoulders.”

Zhao Ji Heng was distraught: “Your legs are fine?! Then why were we carrying and supporting you earlier? What was that about?”

Song Qian Ji walked away: “…You insisted on carrying me.”

Meng He Ze hadn’t expected Song Qian Ji to react this way.

The man wasn’t pleased; he was even angry.

But Meng He Ze felt he hadn’t done anything wrong and softly called out “Senior Brother,” as if he had something to say.

Song Qian Ji paid no attention, walking through the crowd toward the bright spring sunlight and green mountains beyond the square.

It was as if what Meng He Ze was about to do had nothing to do with him; he wouldn’t even stay a moment longer.

So Meng He Ze also said nothing more, turning to walk in the opposite direction.

“Please enlighten me with your guidance!”

The youth’s voice seemed to halt the clouds, his expression resolute.

At this moment, his silhouette stood tall and upright, yet somehow seemed rather forlorn.

…

The mountain path wound back and forth, with dense vegetation all around.

Song Qian Ji wasn’t walking quickly, but each step was taken with care.

He was appreciating the scenery—the verdant ancient locust trees along the path, the pure white clouds in the sky, the freely soaring swallows among the branches, and the trembling peach blossoms still covered with dew in the wind.

The Outer Sect disciples had seen these sights thousands of times, grown accustomed to them, looking without truly seeing.

But Song Qian Ji’s eyes were bright, like a child on his first spring outing.

The road he had to rush along, in his previous life, he had already reached its end.

Since he was going to live differently now, he should also walk differently.

Appreciating scenery was just that—no need to use the landscape to visualize sword techniques or nurture sword intent.

Spring birds sang in competition, spring waters gurgled, and spring light was splendid.

At the end of the mountain path, a cluster of white-walled, gray-tiled houses appeared, catching his eye.

The dormitories of the Outer Sect disciples appeared ordinary and simple from a distance.

Only upon approaching would one discover the different worlds inside.

Song Qian Ji lived in the most remote location, at the lowest elevation, with the worst drainage and lighting.

Whenever it rained on cloudy days, water would flood like a lake. Inside his small courtyard, water would accumulate, covered with fallen leaves like spinning little boats.

He never tidied up, nor did he care. Firstly, he had no leisure time, and secondly, no free time.

He had always used an almost self-abusive lifestyle to force himself to focus on cultivation, to leave this place as soon as possible.

This had once been his life at fifteen.

Humble, dreary, monotonous, lonely. Sunk into the mud and water.

Like a frog in a well looking at the sky, but alas, the blue heavens were too distant. Even stretching his neck and standing on tiptoes, he couldn’t see the palace halls at the mountaintop.

The old wooden door made a teeth-grinding creak. Song Qian Ji stepped into a puddle and shook his head with a smile.

He rolled up his sleeves, tucked the hem of his robe into his belt, grabbed a worn-out broom from the corner, and flourished it elegantly like a sword:

“Time to work!”

There are elegant sword techniques in the world, but no elegant janitorial work.

Clearing fallen leaves, sweeping away stagnant water, climbing up to repair tiles… Song Qian Ji’s movements were clumsy but patient and meticulous as if he were doing the most important task of his life.

Time silently slipped away through the crevices of the tiles, from high noon to the slanting shadows of dusk.

The sky gradually darkened, and weary crows returned to their nests.

The undulating distant mountains were shrouded in an orange twilight as if about to melt into the flowing spring waters.

Song Qian Ji’s right arm was injured, with only his left hand nimble. Though struggling, his mind was peaceful and free.

As free as he was, those who saw him were just as angry.

When those six disciples entered his small courtyard, Song Qian Ji was turning the soil with a spade.

The small yard was cramped, instantly becoming crowded. The last person could only squeeze onto the doorstep, still unwilling to give up glaring at him.

They were like a group of aggressive fighting roosters with ruffled feathers.

“Senior Brother Meng won!” The female disciple leading them spoke, her tone icy. “He alone fought three hundred matches.”

Later candidates couldn’t beat him. Instead, they were genuinely in awe and fear, intimidated by his reckless fighting style, too afraid to step onto the field.

“Oh.” Song Qian Ji didn’t turn around, nor did he stop his spade.

Several curses sounded behind him; clearly, the fighting roosters were provoked by his attitude.

“He was severely injured and is currently being treated in the Outer Sect infirmary. Before losing consciousness, he was still thinking of you, saying to give you this bottle of spirit medicine.”

The female disciple produced the spirit pill that Zhao Yu Ping had earlier offered.

Song Qian Ji: “That’s not necessary.”

The female disciple’s beautiful face contorted for an instant: “He fought for you to the death, and you won’t even go see him? Are you truly so heartless, not worried about him at all? He nearly… lost his life!”

By the end, her voice was trembling, almost choking.

The soil-turning spade stopped, but Song Qian Ji still shook his head: “I’m not worried.”

Meng He Ze was hard-headed and tough as nails. In his previous life, he didn’t die from falling off the cliff, didn’t die from unifying the evil path—could he possibly be killed by a group of Outer Sect disciples?

Rather than worrying about this kid, he should worry about when he could leave the mountain.

Meng He Ze couldn’t possibly go farming with him, so naturally, there was no need to get further entangled.

Song Qian Ji didn’t intend to let the other continue the misunderstanding, mistakenly considering him a brother.

In many people’s eyes, Song Qian Ji and Meng He Ze had no prior friendship.

Suddenly, overnight, being willing to risk life and death for each other was undoubtedly very strange.

“I don’t know what happened between you two last night, but Senior Brother Meng is pure-hearted, upright, easily deceived, and easily exploited. I guess you must be very pleased with yourself now?” The female disciple’s eyes widened, her anger burning her fair cheeks red, making her even more charming.

“But can your conscience bear it? I thought you were just aloof, but I never expected you to be so treacherous!”

Song Qian Ji finally turned around.

It seemed these six people had a good relationship with Meng He Ze. So they came here to stand up for him.

Song Qian Ji examined the female disciples leading them. He vaguely remembered her name was Zhou Xiao Yun, who knew some medical skills, was lively and cheerful, and was also a renowned beauty in the Outer Sect.

Unfortunately, he had seen Miao Yan’s face too often and could no longer distinguish beauty from ugliness.

“Junior Sister Zhou, you misunderstand.” Song Qian Ji calmly said: “I also don’t want…”

“Pah, hypocrite!” The person on the doorstep spat viciously, soiling the ground Song Qian Ji had just swept. “You can finally enter the Inner Sect to cultivate, taking advantage and still acting like you’re doing a favor!”

Song Qian Ji’s expression turned cold.

Mentioning this made him angry.

Who wants to enter the Inner sector? Who wants to cultivate?

Do I look like someone who has lost hope in life and confidence in the future?!

“Who wants Meng He Ze dead the most right now?”

Song Qian Ji asked.

The cursing abruptly stopped. Everyone met his cold, deep gaze, and for some reason, felt a shock in their hearts.

Zhou Xiao Yun frowned: “What do you mean?”

“Whoever’s plans he ruined, whoever lost face because of him—that person wants him dead. After all, he’s severely injured and unconscious, with no one watching over him, completely defenseless against any danger.”

Song Qian Ji’s voice became gentle, seemingly with a hint of a smile.

“Do you know what medicine he’s using? What water he’s drinking? What’s the surname of the physician treating him? If his condition worsens and he dies in the infirmary, it would be a perfectly reasonable death.”

Zhou Xiao Yun felt a chill throughout her body and unconsciously stepped back.

“I’m not the one who most wants him dead, so why are you all guarding my place?”

Song Qian Ji stepped forward: “Waiting for me to invite you for dinner?”

“You… you…” Someone still wanted to argue but was stopped by Zhou Xiao Yun’s raised hand. “Forget it, Senior Brother Meng’s safety is more important.”

The group had arrived aggressively but left hastily.

The courtyard returned to solitude, with only a few intimidating but inwardly apprehensive voices floating over the courtyard wall:

“You just wait!”

Song Qian Ji smiled slightly, picked up the spade again, and lowered his head to work.

Ah, still young and thin-skinned, even their insults lack substance.

****

Meng He Ze was as young as them, equally lacking in words.

“Where did you learn your evil techniques?”

The heavy pressure was almost crushing his internal organs, yet he still pressed his lips together, not saying a word.

As the victor of all the battles, he should have received the blessings and congratulations of the entire Outer Sect.

But Zhao Yu Ping had someone use a recording jade to secretly record the images of each of his matches.

Immediately after the trials ended, these were sent to the Inner Sect, requesting the Teaching Hall Elder who was proficient in all techniques to review them.

Half an hour later, Meng He Ze was carried out of the Outer Sect infirmary and escorted to the Disciplinary Hall for interrogation.

“Who taught you these things? When were you taught?”

Meng He Ze’s face remained expressionless. The severe pain throughout his body made him clear-headed one moment and dizzy the next.

The questioning from the Disciplinary Hall disciples pierced his ears, sometimes distant, sometimes near, like the broken tree shadows in the dusk outside the window.

The youth kept his jaw tightly clenched.

He was unwilling to speak Song Qian Ji’s name, so he could only remain wordless.