The evening glow had dispersed, the moon had just risen, and the continuous blue mountains were traced with the final golden edge of the sunken sunset.
“I know the way down the mountain, no need to see me off,” Meng He Ze said.
Holding his sword, his expression was cold. The temple attendant escorting him felt some fear and hurriedly bowed farewell.
Meng He Ze walked alone on the familiar mountain path. The air in the Blue Cliff Sect was humid; with each breath, the autumn night breeze brought the fresh scent of vegetation.
He looked back and gazed upward. The Cosmic Hall stood alone at the mountain peak, surrounded by layers of night mist. The lights inside the hall appeared and disappeared, like a celestial palace amidst clouds.
When he was an outer court disciple, he had dreamed of entering the inner court and looking upon the main peak.
Now he felt it was nothing special. The Cosmic Hall was high, distant, and cold. In the future, even if others invited him or carried him there, he wouldn’t care to come.
He missed the dry wind and smoke of Thousand Canals, and the bonfires. When autumn arrived, the air was filled with the unique fragrance of grain.
What might Senior Brother Song be doing now? Without him, had today’s hunting gone smoothly? What meat were those mutually trusting companions roasting? Was the talkative Young Master Ji busy eating meat or practicing formations?
Anyway, he could chat with anyone and was probably complaining to someone: “Having a lot of money is meaningless, not as interesting as hunting with you all.”
At the Blue Cliff Sect, even with the most courteous etiquette and rules, people still seemed emotionally detached. But the vast wilderness of Thousand Canals Prefecture could carry endless sorrowful tears and unspoken past events.
It had already become a second hometown for Meng He Ze, Ji Chen, and countless outer court disciples and new immigrants.
Thinking about Thousand Canals, Meng He Ze unconsciously walked to the outer court dormitory.
When he came to his senses, he was already standing at the entrance of Song Courtyard.
The peach tree in front of the gate had withered, its branches sparse and desolate.
The flower path, with no one to tend it, had long been overgrown.
The vermilion gate was mottled, the copper rings turned green with rust.
“What are you doing in the outer court? Are you an inner court disciple?” a childish voice suddenly sounded from behind.
Meng He Ze came to his senses and turned to see a group of young people looking up at him.
The youths wore Blue Cliff Sect outer court disciple attire, appearing tired and timid, with dust-covered faces, like a flock of gray, foolish pigeons.
Meng He Ze suddenly smiled.
Not mockingly—he just found the scene familiar, every young face seeming somehow acquainted.
“Just finished work? Back from the spirit stone mine?” he asked casually.
The foolish pigeons looked even more surprised. A young Foundation Establishment cultivator visiting late at night, showing none of the airs of an inner court disciple.
More curious people gathered around, surrounding Meng He Ze.
“How did you know?”
“Because I was once like you, an outer court disciple,” Meng He Ze lifted his robe and sat in front of Song Courtyard’s vermilion gate.
Everyone was puzzled, and then someone suddenly exclaimed: “You’re the martial champion of the Clarity Hearing Assembly! The only martial champion in the assembly’s history to come from the outer court—you’re Meng He Ze, right?!”
“That’s me.” Amidst the commotion, Meng He Ze felt a bit embarrassed.
“You won the martial champion title, but what happened after that?”
Most outer court disciples didn’t understand chess or calligraphy. Compared to Song Qian Ji, who became famous through the “Star-Plucking Game” and “Hero’s Letter,” Meng He Ze seemed more down-to-earth to them.
Undefeated on the arena stage with all eyes on him, commanding universal response—this was closer to their imagination of overnight fame.
Meng He Ze smiled: “Well, that’s quite a long story.”
Weeds grew wild at the entrance of Song Courtyard as bright moonlight silently fell, autumn insects chirping softly.
A group of outer court disciples sat on the ground, surrounding Meng He Ze, quietly listening to his story.
Countless thoughts flew away, beyond the Blue Cliff Sect, across thousands of mountains and waters, to the new world of Thousand Canals.
…
On the same night, there were always places the moonlight couldn’t reach.
Zhao Tai Ji stood respectfully in the courtyard, autumn frost coating his clothes.
Throughout the four seasons, this courtyard was always colder than elsewhere. But he dared not complain, nor even circulate spiritual energy to resist the chilly cold.
The door hadn’t opened, but an elderly voice transmitted out:
“A grudge formed in early spring, yet you tell me only in autumn. Isn’t that too late?”
“A trivial matter, how could it be worth disturbing you? Song Qian Ji is just a Qi Condensation…”
“A person’s formidability sometimes doesn’t lie in their cultivation. Tell me, how much do you know about him?”
Zhao Tai Ji straightened his back and said solemnly:
“Song Qian Ji lives in a small garden within the Immortal Official’s Mansion, locally known as Song Courtyard. He has a sword cultivator and a formation master beside him. The others don’t count for much and aren’t worth worrying about.”
“What about him? What’s his cultivation level? How strong is he in battle? Which sect’s cultivation technique does he excel in?”
“He, he’s only at the Qi Condensation stage…” Zhao Tai Ji was at a loss for words.
“You know nothing.” The elder laughed:
“No one has ever personally witnessed him engage in magical combat because there’s always someone fighting on his behalf. Isn’t that right?”
Zhao Tai Ji could only acknowledge this, cold sweat streaming down.
“Those people were all brought out from the Blue Cliff Sect by him. Originally of humble status with nowhere to go, only by following Song Qian Ji did they make progress. Never underestimate young people who have nothing. After all…”
Zhao’s Old Ancestor said something that made Zhao Tai Ji shiver:
“Don’t fear spending a thousand gold to buy an assassin; fear the young man who recognizes subtleties.”
“Song Qian Ji learned the ‘Formation Secrets’ from the Chess Ghost, received the Seven Wonders Zither from the Zither Immortal, took the Spring Mountain Painting from the Calligraphy Sage, and Xian Jian Chen is also said to have taught him. Besides these, how many more abilities does he have, and how deep are his resources? Who knows? Do you know?”
Zhao Tai Ji trembled and lowered his head to look at his toes: “Your considerations are thorough.”
Song Qian Ji was a famous person. Whoever could kill him would certainly become famous.
But once an assassin left traces, they would inevitably face revenge from Song Qian Ji’s backers. Were there people in the world who wanted money and fame but not life?
“Then how should this person be killed?”
“To kill him, you must find an unexpected place, and then find an unexpected person. Once moved, it must be a killing blow.”
…
During the season of continuous autumn rain, when parasol tree leaves fell, sorrow always deepened.
The lights in the singing tower had been extinguished, the red candles burned out, and the gauze curtains dim.
“Finding you is truly difficult, like wearing out iron shoes in the search.” The visitor wore brocade clothes and a jade crown. “Hey, wake up.”
A hidden side room door was pushed open. Outside, the rain fell like flower needles, yet he was clean and fresh, without a trace of moisture.
A muffled voice came from inside the red gauze curtains:
“I heard you’re about to get engaged. How do you have time to find me? Need a wedding gift? No money!”
The visitor sighed heavily: “Who do you think Chen Hong Zhu is? She’s the young lady of the Blue Cliff Sect, pampered since childhood, with a tigress temper…”
The person in the curtains rose and strode out.
The latticed window was wide open, wind and rain raging.
Wei Ping threw open his robe and tilted his head back, gulping down cold tea.
As he moved, like a sleeping lion suddenly awakening, the entire room was filled with his bold and unconstrained presence.
In the slightly cold autumn rain, half a pot of cold tea went down, like a basin of cold water splashed on his face.
The drunken look in Wei Ping’s eyes dissipated. He saw Wei Zhan Yang sitting at the table, dusting his sleeves, smiling and saying:
“Brother, the one who was supposed to marry and join families was you. The tigress should have been yours to wed. I’ve taken on this enormous matter for you. Can’t you do one small thing for me?”
With a clang, Wei Ping casually tossed down the teapot: “One small thing?”
“Kill someone for me.”
“Life and death are not small matters.”
Wei Zhan Yang smiled: “All these years, you’ve made your living by killing for others, making money and fame. For you, this is certainly a small matter.”
Wei Ping raised an eyebrow: “Who do you want to kill? Chen Hong Zhu?”
“No, Song Qian Ji.”
Wei Ping’s brow furrowed.
Song Qian Ji. Why again Song Qian Ji?
This was the second time someone wanted to hire him to kill Song Qian Ji.
The first time was in the spring breeze of Blue Cliff City, this time in the autumn rain of Wind Severe City.
It seemed Song Qian Ji had offended quite a few people. So many people wanted him dead.
“Why?” Wei Ping asked, “Give me a reason.”
“Because I’m offering three hundred thousand spirit stones.”
“Three hundred thousand is a price, not a reason. Could it be because he defeated you in the calligraphy and painting competition at the Clarity Hearing Assembly?” Wei Ping retreated, falling back onto a beautifully embroidered couch, lazily laughing, “Who can match the heroes under heaven? Better drink wine than seek immortality? You’re jealous of him, jealous to the point of obsession. Unless you break through, your cultivation won’t advance for a single day?”
“Nonsense!” Wei Zhan Yang’s face showed displeasure as he said coldly: “This person indeed has some partial talents, but unfortunately, he doesn’t walk the great path.”
Wei Ping suddenly sat up straight: “How much do you know?”
“He has cultivated a deviant technique that bewilders people’s hearts and enhances fortune, making everyone around him trust him. If you don’t believe it, you’ll understand once you’ve seen it with your own eyes. Not only that, after becoming the Immortal Official of Thousand Canals Prefecture, he undertook massive construction, exhausting the people and wasting resources, all to build a canal.” Wei Zhan Yang unfolded a map and tossed it to the other party. “Looking down from above Thousand Canals Prefecture, what do these seven rivers resemble when connected?”
“Half of the character ‘Song’?” Wei Ping rubbed his chin.
“Once the canal is completed, Song Qian Ji’s fortune will be even greater, with golden light protecting his body, making him even more unrestrained!”
“Even if this is the reason, this person is difficult to kill.” Wei Ping shook his head slightly. “You haven’t come today for yourself. This is the family’s intention?”
Wei Zhan Yang was silent for a moment, then suddenly shouted:
“You won’t go?”
Wei Ping twirled his low-grade sword.
He had bought this sword from a pawnshop in Blue Cliff City. Though unremarkable in appearance, it felt extremely comfortable in his hand.
Just when Wei Zhan Yang thought the other party was about to refuse, he finally heard Wei Ping speak leisurely.
He said: “Can you add some money?”
“How much more?” Wei Zhan Yang’s face trembled slightly. He couldn’t bear to see the other person truly become a haggling commoner, a street ruffian.
“However much can buy the name, Wei Zhen Yu, add that much.”
Wei Zhan Yang inexplicably felt relieved:
“Fine. When this matter is done, as you wish, your name will be removed from the family genealogy. You will have no more connection with the family, and I will never come looking for you again!”
Wei Ping was finally satisfied: “Deal!”
Before leaving, Wei Zhan Yang instructed:
“After arriving in Thousand Canals, don’t act immediately. Hide near him, win his trust, and cooperate with another person when necessary.”
“You’ve hired someone else?” Wei Ping realized this matter was more complex than he had imagined. “Who is it?”
“Because you’re right—this person is difficult to kill.”