“How do we get in?” Wei Ping pointed at the crowded mansion entrance.

Meng He Ze patted his chest: “Through the back door, stay close to me.”

As they walked, Wei Ping praised him: “Senior Brother, you must frequently accompany Immortal Official Song and have his utmost trust!”

These words made Meng He Ze feel satisfied, even happier than when others complimented his swordsmanship.

The young man smiled in the sunlight, showing eight white teeth, each full of confidence:

“I met Senior Brother Song when we were both insignificant, we’ve faced life and death together, and our brotherly bond is deep, others naturally can’t compare. By the way, I’m Meng He Ze.”

Wei Ping lowered his head with a smile: “I know.”

Meng He Ze, Foundation Establishment sword cultivator, champion of the martial trials at the Grand Assembly, and leader of Qianqu’s hunting team.

The warning from the rainy night visitor flashed through his mind like bright lightning:

“Meng He Ze’s sword technique and battle power are inferior to yours, but whenever Song Qian Ji faces assassination, as long as Meng He Ze is by his side, he gains an extra life.”

The Immortal Official’s Mansion was ornately decorated, but Song Manor was secluded and quiet.

Before entering the vermilion gate, they could smell the rich fragrance of flowers.

Wei Ping’s posture was upright, yet he kept his eyes downcast, looking only at his feet, not glancing around carelessly, which pleased Meng He Ze even more:

“Senior Brother Song, I’ve brought someone. Do you think he could be the steward? His name is Wei Ping, Qi Condensation stage…”

“Watch your step,” a light voice suddenly sounded.

Meng He Ze stopped, walking around an earthworm wriggling on the small path.

Wei Ping finally raised his head.

The first thing that caught his eye was a pair of soft cloth shoes. Most cultivators in the immortal world wore cloud-stepping boots, with robes that swept the ground, always covering their boots.

Next was the hem of clothing with spots of mud, simple in style, without extra patterns or talisman marks. This was another difference from renowned cultivators.

Further up was Song Qian Ji’s sharply defined profile.

Contrary to his expectations, Song Qian Ji had handsome features, a clear spirit, and elegant bones. With such an appearance, he should have been cold and unapproachable, yet this person had a gentle temperament with a faint smile.

Wei Ping was stunned.

“He looks so familiar, I must have seen him before! But where exactly?”

His thoughts flew, but he had no clues.

The autumn wind blew, and white chrysanthemums swayed.

That person was crouching on the ground, picking up earthworms, lifting them from the path, and placing them back in the field.

Wei Ping watched in astonishment.

Song Qian Ji looked up, clear sunlight spilling onto his thick, curled eyelashes:

“You’re a cultivator, why do you want to be a steward at Song Manor?”

“He has a tragic past and nowhere to go now,” Meng He Ze rushed to answer.

“Little Meng, I’m asking him.”

Meng He Ze knew he had spoken out of turn: “Yes, Senior Brother.”

“I, my family was destroyed, my master died, my sect scattered, my dao companion ran off with someone else, I have no great ambitions in life,” Wei Ping came to his senses, the story he had told a hundred times coming out automatically.

Song Qian Ji shook his head: “Not suitable.”

Meng He Ze thought, who knows the background of those queuing outside, at least Wei Ping was brought in by himself. He gave Wei Ping a meaningful look:

“Senior Brother Song, give him a chance first. Little Wei, go to the kitchen.”

Go to the kitchen for what? Song Qian Ji didn’t understand. Meng He Ze engaged him in conversation: “Senior Brother Song, this time when I went to Huawei Sect, I met many new outer disciples…”

Wei Ping took the opportunity to walk toward the kitchen. He observed the flower trellises, vegetable gardens, water vats, and also things that ordinary people couldn’t see.

The formation in Song Manor wasn’t the most intricate, like a beginner’s work.

But the formation’s foundation and materials were extremely solid, sparing no expense in piling up precious materials, making its power tremendous, able to kill someone at the Yuan Ying stage with one strike.

“Trial champion Ji Chen failed at talisman crafting but turned out to be a genius in formations. Even if he’s not by Song Qian Ji’s side, his formations certainly are.”

Wei Ping felt a headache coming on and smoothed his bangs.

Song Qian Ji would be difficult to kill. But who said making money was easy and eating shit was pleasant?

Just as the conversation atmosphere was good, Wei Ping walked out of the kitchen carrying a food box, and Meng He Ze poured chrysanthemum tea: “Friend Wei’s cooking skills aren’t as good as mine, Senior Brother, please bear with it.”

Song Qian Ji’s vision darkened, and the hand holding the teacup trembled slightly.

“Please, Senior Brother,” Wei Ping said.

The carved food box had three layers total, each opening like a lotus flower blooming. Wei Ping’s hands moved quickly, taking out porcelain plates and bowls one after another.

Stir-fried lotus vegetable with meat, chestnuts with chicken, braised pagoda meat, cold Buddha’s hand melon salad, golden-threaded phoenix tail shrimp… each dish was vibrant in color and fragrant.

“Preserved fruits, candied fruits, melon seeds, peanuts, seasonal fruit platter, three cold dishes, three hot dishes, vegetables mixed with meat, I call it Song Manor’s Nine-Palace Grid,” Wei Ping bowed slightly.

Meng He Ze’s eyes nearly popped out: “This…”

No way, I randomly grabbed someone from the street, and grabbed a chef?

I wanted you to cook a bowl of noodles, but you immediately presented a Nine-Palace Grid.

Meng He Ze: “Where did you get all this?”

Wei Ping matter-of-factly replied: “The plates came with me. The vegetables were picked from the garden, very fresh.”

Song Qian Ji asked curiously: “What else did you bring with you?”

“Twenty kinds of seasonings, thirty types of flower seedlings, forty varieties of seeds, compass, measuring tape, high branch shears, pruning shears, and fifty other tools. I have no other skills, I only know a bit about sweeping and cleaning, cooking dishes and making soups, planting flowers and grass, and washing and tailoring clothes. I can fix tiles on roofs, raise chickens in the yard, and I know a little about astronomy etiquette, geology and climate, mountain excavation, and bridge building…”

Meng He Ze could no longer hear clearly what came after.

He felt waves of dizziness and could hardly stand.

Fortunately, Song Qian Ji helped steady him.

Meng He Ze gritted his teeth: “You came prepared.”

Song Qian Ji still didn’t express his opinion, seeming to be in thought.

Seeing this, Wei Ping’s smile faded, his brows slightly furrowed, and his eyes turned slightly, instantly filled with tears:

“I’ve suffered great misfortune, I’m disheartened and have no desire to cultivate. If Senior Brother Song doesn’t take me in, I can only wander the world, not knowing where I’ll die…”

Meng He Ze angrily said: “I warn you, don’t try to sell your misery! My Senior Brother is famously stone-hearted, cold-faced, and impartial. He won’t fall for your tricks!”

Song Qian Ji picked up his chopsticks and began to eat.

He ate very slowly, chewing each bite carefully.

There were many types of dishes but in small portions, elegantly arranged, and not wasteful.

When he put down his chopsticks, Meng He Ze habitually handed him a silk handkerchief, but Wei Ping beat him to it.

A warm, wet towel wiped Song Qian Ji’s mouth corner and fingers.

Wei Ping stared at those hands.

Not only was Song Qian Ji’s face like jade, but his fair five fingers also seemed carved from jade, with joints like bamboo nodes, and nails with a light pink hue. Anyone looking at them would find it hard to believe these were the hands of someone who farmed.

They were naturally meant to pick up chess pieces, hold a brush, or grasp a sword.

Wei Ping blinked lightly, his eyelashes cutting through the autumn wind.

The warning from the rainy night visitor sounded again:

“No one has ever seen Song Qian Ji in action. So what cultivation technique he practices, what killing moves he has, nobody knows.”

After wiping his hands with the wet towel, a dry silk handkerchief was presented. Wei Ping asked with a smile:

“Immortal Official Song, is the food to your liking? I can also make fifty kinds of pastries. Do you prefer sweet or savory?”

Song Qian Ji leaned back in his lounge chair, lazily squinting in the sunlight, like a boneless big cat after a satisfying meal:

“Being called Immortal Official feels awkward. Why don’t you follow Little Meng and the others, and call me—”

Meng He Ze knew the situation was lost: “We call you Senior Brother because we’re used to it from Huawei Sect. Friend Wei has just arrived, how can he also call you Senior Brother? I can’t possibly call him Junior Brother.”

Song Qian Ji was startled. What was wrong with Meng He Ze today? Usually, he was most accommodating.

Before he could think further, Wei Ping immediately responded: “It’s no problem. Calling you Immortal Official is too formal, calling you Senior Brother is too intimate. Then I’ll call you Sir.” He smiled, “Sir Song.”

This form of address was proper and appropriate, but coming from his mouth, Meng He Ze somehow heard an intimate, teasing tone, which angered him to the point of clenching his fists.

Yet Song Qian Ji was completely unaware: “As you wish. Since you just arrived today, let Little Meng show you around. Little Meng, take care of the new Junior Brother.”

“Alright,” Meng He Ze took a deep breath and nodded slowly.

He hooked his arm around Wei Ping’s shoulders, and the two left side by side like good brothers.

As soon as they exited the back door of the Immortal Official’s Mansion, Meng He Ze’s expression changed. His left hand grabbed Wei Ping’s collar, slammed him against the wall, and his right hand placed a long sword across the other’s throat:

“You’re playing me, aren’t you? You just said you only knew a little?!”

His movement was fast and forceful, and Wei Ping’s feet almost left the ground. With the cold sword sheath pressed against his Adam’s apple, he showed no anger, only grinned and gripped Meng He Ze’s sword-holding hand:

“Cooking noodles, I indeed only know a little. Making dishes, I know quite a lot.”

Meng He Ze’s whole body trembled, and he violently pulled his hand away. He breathed heavily, like an angry beast, viciously squeezing a warning through his teeth into the other’s ear:

“What’s your real background? I’ll find out with one investigation. You’d better not let me catch any flaws! Otherwise, I won’t let you off!”

Wei Ping smiled slightly, carelessly touching his ear.

Meng He Ze’s eyes were bloodshot as he gave him one last glare before leaving with a sweep of his sleeve.

Wei Ping bowed to his retreating figure, saying loudly: “Safe journey, Brother Meng!”

After speaking, he turned toward the mansion gate. Though Meng He Ze had only shown him the way once, he moved as if familiar with it:

“Qianqu County, Song Qian Ji, ah, interesting.”

Inside Song Manor, Song Qian Ji lightly tapped the armrest of his lounge chair, murmuring: “Wei Ping, which ‘Wei’ character?”