The moon sank behind Huawei Mountain, and the light in front of Song Manor suddenly dimmed.

Meng He Ze’s story came to an end, leaving the young outer disciples still yearning for more.

“Senior Brother Meng, Senior Brother Song repaired the waterways so everyone could have water, then what happened?”

Several lights floated over from not far away, and a cold shout suddenly broke through the cheerful laughter.

“What are you all gathering for? Won’t you be returning late at night? Don’t you need to work tomorrow morning?”

Three or four stewards approached, stopping ten zhang away, eyeing Meng He Ze warily: “Friend Meng, you are no longer a Huawei disciple, why do you linger here?”

Meng He Ze put away his smile and stood up, holding his sword. The autumn night wind blew his clothes fluttering, yet he stood as straight as a pine tree.

The stewards retreated, and one turned and ran, seemingly going to report to the Head Steward.

The group of young disciples watched with admiration. Only those who achieved success young and commanded widespread respect could cultivate such a sharp, intimidating presence.

“Farewell,” Meng He Ze smiled slightly.

“Senior Brother Meng, will you come back to see us?”

Everyone gazed at him reluctantly, someone gently pulling his sleeve.

Meng He Ze didn’t answer, only saying softly: “When you find it unbearable here, come find me in Qianqu. I will persuade Senior Brother Song to keep you.”

Only after Meng He Ze had walked far away did one steward step forward to warn them:

“You knew when you came to the mountain that privately deserting or escaping the sect is betraying the sect. If the sect wishes to pursue the matter, they can issue a kill order, making you restless no matter where you go…”

He suddenly couldn’t continue. He discovered that the gaze of this group had already changed. Like young beasts showing their claws and fangs.

…

“I promised you I wouldn’t cry anymore. Senior Brother Song, I’m sorry.” He Qing Qing’s eyes were slightly red.

Song Qian Ji smiled helplessly. Every time others cried, he was the one who apologized, yet now someone had apologized first—the child was indeed teachable.

He Qing Qing hastily wiped her tears with her sleeve, which slipped down, revealing a flash of red light.

When emotions ran high, the red jade prayer beads were more likely to burst with brilliance.

A sense of familiar déjà vu made Song Qian Ji immediately sit upright, grabbing the other’s wrist: “Where did you get this?!”

He Qing Qing was startled and removed the red spirit jade prayer beads: “Master Wuxiang. He changed my appearance and gifted me this.”

Song Qian Ji touched the prayer beads, his heart trembling slightly: “It’s him.”

The same engraving technique, and the same magical tool—Meng He Ze’s Buddhist beads were also given by Wuxiang.

Wuxiang had a reputation for compassion among the righteous immortal sects. In his previous life, Song Qian Ji couldn’t listen to a single word of Wuxiang’s grand principles about “sparing even the lives of ants while sweeping the floor.” After farming in this life, he wanted to meet him but never had the chance.

“Have you seen that person again? Do you know where he went?”

He Qing Qing shook her head: “The Master’s whereabouts are unpredictable. If he hadn’t appeared of his own accord this time, even my master couldn’t have found him.”

Song Qian Ji’s expression became solemn: “Seeking speed and strength in cultivation is human nature, but haste makes waste. This thing has some evil nature. If you received the matching cultivation method, wait until your mind is stable before practicing. Preferably after reaching the Yuan Ying stage.”

He rarely spoke so seriously, so He Qing Qing knew the matter was significant: “I promise you, Senior Brother Song.”

Song Qian Ji smiled: “Zhou Xiao Yun and Ji Xing are about your age, all young ladies. Go play with them.”

Only after speaking did he realize that He Qing Qing was no longer what she used to be. The Celestial Sound Sect had plenty of people to accompany her for entertainment; she didn’t need him to arrange anything.

But He Qing Qing obediently agreed: “Alright, Senior Brother Song.”

After the guest bid farewell, Song Manor returned to quiet.

Song Qian Ji leaned back in his lounge chair alone, his expression gradually darkening.

In his previous life, there was no such person or face as He Qing Qing; in the Celestial Sound Sect, only Miao Yan stood out among the young cultivators.

Not just He Qing Qing—the fates of Meng He Ze, Ji Chen, and countless people in Qianqu County had already quietly changed. By now, he could no longer predict the future.

What did Master Wuxiang want to do? Was Meng He Ze becoming the master of the evil path in his previous life a coincidence? Where was Wei Zhen Yu, the savior, at this moment?

The autumn wind suddenly turned cold, blowing Song Qian Ji’s loose black hair. Strands flew before his eyes, blurring his vision for an instant.

He felt himself floating on the Dead Sea, watching the glaciers rise and fall, the night fog obscuring everything.

The experiences of his previous life, the river of time he had seen in the dark room, were merely the ice peaks emerging from the water’s surface.

The true iceberg beneath the water was enormous and cold, and no one knew when it would break through the surface.

…

Qianqu Plain stretched endlessly. The night sky covered everything like a canopy, enveloping the wilderness. The Milky Way arched like a rainbow, falling onto the horizon.

The river workers had already finished work and rested. The riverbank was quiet in the night, with only the autumn wind howling.

“It’s spacious here with a good view, and the moon is larger than at Huawei Sect, closer to people,” Zhou Xiao Yun asked: “Which place’s moon do you like best?”

The three girls sat side by side on a tree branch, watching the moon. This was a rare luxuriant tree within ten li.

Because Zhou Xiao Yun and Ji Xing were both swinging their legs at the same frequency, the branch shook, forcing He Qing Qing to swing along.

This experience was too novel for her.

Ji Xing looked up: “I like the night when I first came to Qianqu when my brother sailed after your boat. The moon accompanied us all the way.”

When did the bright moon first appear?

Among countless times of looking up in a lifetime, truly memorable moonlight was but a few nights.

“Miss He, what about you?” Zhou Xiao Yun asked.

He Qing Qing thought for a moment: “It should be… when I was at Huawei Sect.”

She suddenly recalled Chen Hong Zhu’s fluttering red skirt.

They had also basked in the moonlight at Song Manor’s entrance together and felt the warm spring night breeze.

Hearing that the other had already formed her Golden Core, He Qing Qing lowered her eyes. It didn’t matter, she would catch up, and she would eventually become stronger than her.

Ji Xing clapped her hands: “Then I know! It must be the night you won first place in the qin trial, when the moonlight was like gauze, dreamlike and illusory, right?”

He Qing Qing didn’t explain, only smiling: “The moon was very cold that night.”

“No matter how cold it was, it’s all in the past. Now everyone praises you—you’ve truly transformed,” Ji Xing said.

He Qing Qing shook her head: “Sometimes when others praise you, it’s not because they truly think you’re good, but because your doing so benefits them. Mockery and criticism are a form of control, but praise and appreciation also need to be approached with caution.”

She thought that Song Qian Ji would never use any means to set standards or control others, so the girls of Qianqu County didn’t understand these things.

These two were not like certain female cultivators in the Celestial Sound Sect, always talking about being sisters. But Zhou Xiao Yun had a cheerful personality, like an elder sister, while Ji Xing was innocent and naive, more like a younger sister.

Female cultivators should take care of and help each other, just like them. He Qing Qing felt somewhat envious for a moment.

Ji Xing pouted: “That’s too exhausting. Being a cultivator is tiring enough, and still having to be on guard all the time? I was born into the wrong life. I don’t like cultivation; I should have been a mortal.”

“Only mortals want to cultivate. You’ve got the advantage and still complain!” Zhou Xiao Yun chided with a laugh: “I see through you now—you’re just like your brother.”

Ji Xing suddenly said loudly: “Why can’t we choose for ourselves? If one day, being a mortal doesn’t mean being bullied, and we can live stable, happy lives, then Qianqu would truly be the Qianqu I want.”

He Qing Qing smiled without speaking. Her lotus-like face glowed in the moonlight.

Ji Xing was dazzled by this beautiful smile: “Will Miss He stay? Then we could play together every day. I heard from Senior Brother Song a few days ago that he plans to hire a steward to handle trivial matters besides farming, preferably a cultivator…”

Zhou Xiao Yun lightly scolded her: “Miss He is the Head Senior Sister of the Celestial Sound Sect, how could she come to Qianqu to manage mundane affairs!”

“I won’t stay,” He Qing Qing said calmly.

Watching the moon was nice, eating snacks was nice, and having sisters and friends was nice, but these alone were not enough.

Qianqu couldn’t give her what she wanted.

…

When Meng He Ze returned to Qianqu, yellow leaves covered the streets of Tian City.

The treasure ship of the Celestial Sound Sect had departed not long ago, leaving only the beautiful legend of the Celestial Sound Goddess.

Meng He Ze listened in confusion all the way, finally arriving at the Immortal Official’s Mansion to find a winding queue at the entrance, stretching to the end of the street.

Xu Kan Shan and Qiu Da Cheng were maintaining order and registering names.

“I just went to Huawei Sect for a while, how did everything turn upside down at home? What is this for?” Meng He Ze asked.

Xu Kan Shan: “Senior Brother Song is recruiting a steward.”

Qiu Da Cheng: “The conditions are very complex: must be above the Qi Condensation stage but below the Golden Core stage, must have modest ambitions, must be patient and meticulous, knowledge of farming preferred. Thanks to Senior Brother Song’s far-reaching reputation, wandering cultivators from other counties have come to participate. We’ve been busy all morning without stopping!”

Meng He Ze pointed to himself: “Am I not suitable? Why look far afield when help is close at hand!”

Xu Kan Shan patted his shoulder: “This is Senior Brother Song’s intention. You have the hunting team to manage, and Ji Chen needs to establish Qianqu’s protective grand formation. Don’t waste your talents on small tasks.”

Meng He Ze wanted to say something more, but suddenly a faint sobbing sound came from not far away, carried by the autumn wind.

Xu and Qiu paid no attention, but Meng He Ze’s senses were sharp, and he curiously walked toward the end of the queue.

More than ten people at the end of the queue covered their faces as they left, quickly dispersing.

Meng He Ze stopped a wandering cultivator who had left the queue: “Friend, you waited so long, aren’t you going to participate?”

The cultivator shook his head with a bitter face: “Friend, I wanted to try, but look at that young man!”

Meng He Ze looked where he pointed and saw a young cultivator in plain clothes and straw sandals, looking destitute, chatting in the queue.

“What’s wrong with that young man?”

“While queuing was boring, I just wanted to chat casually. But do you know? That friend has had a miserable life, so young yet his family is destroyed and ruined. He had just taken a master, but his master was killed by his junior fellow disciple. He had just settled on a dao companion, but his prospective dao companion ran off with his senior fellow disciple.

“He fled alone to Qianqu. No one in the world is more miserable than him. He wants to enter Song Manor and wants to meet Senior Brother Song. After hearing his story, I really can’t bear to compete with him!”

The cultivator wiped his tears and left with a wave of his sleeve.

As they spoke, the destitute young cultivator made three more people cry, and the queue continued to shrink.

Meng He Ze was shocked: “There is such a miserable, pitiful person in the world.”

He quietly approached and listened carefully. That grieving voice seemed magical—never hoarse or exhausted, just speaking gently, yet it revealed even more bitterness, making his heart sour.

“Hey, this is a selection, not a misery competition!” Meng He Ze pulled the person’s shoulder. “What’s your name?”

The young cultivator allowed himself to be pulled, turning around good-naturedly and giving a slight bow: “My surname is Wei, single character Ping. Greetings, friend.”

“Friend Wei Ping, can you cook noodles?” Knowing he was being rude, Meng He Ze smoothed out the creases in the other’s collar.

This Wei Ping was truly the most miserable of all.

“Cook noodles?” Wei Ping was startled, then nodded with a smile: “I can, a little.”

Meng He Ze looked him over, feeling this person was utterly ordinary in all aspects—unremarkable appearance, restrained temperament—but somehow pleasing to the eye.

“It doesn’t matter if you only know a little, you can learn. Come with me first. Don’t chat with people here and make them cry.” Meng He Ze muttered, “What’s the point of a group of people crying at the Immortal Official’s Mansion gate? If they know it’s out of sympathy and being moved, fine, but otherwise people might think they’re attending Immortal Official Song’s funeral.”