The last golden ray of sunset vanished between the clouded mountains.

Darkness flooded over the courtyard walls like a tide. Song Qian Ji put down his spade and drew a bucket of well water to wash up.

After a day of fulfilling labor, he brought out an old chair, found the most pleasing spot in the courtyard, and sprawled into it without the slightest guilt.

Wasting time is easy; what’s difficult is wasting time with peace of mind and without any burden.

Song Qian Ji looked up. The courtyard walls framed the night sky into a perfect square, further obscured by dense branches and leaves of flowering trees. He could only see a palm-sized patch of starry sky.

The priceless cool breeze made the peach blossoms outside the courtyard fall with a rustling sound and ruffled his loose hair.

“Tomorrow I’ll move that tree a bit to the side and buy some vegetable seedlings and flower seeds. Which varieties are easier to grow?”

When people rushed through the darkness into the small courtyard, they saw Song Qian Ji with his hair loosely hanging, wearing a baggy old robe, slippers dragging on his feet, leaning against the chair back to enjoy the cool air.

The whole person was so idle he could grow moss, like a boneless lazy cat.

This time, the fighting roosters had become a group of headless flies, buzzing chaotically around the old chair:

“He doesn’t care whether Senior Brother Meng lives or dies! What should we do?”

“It was Song Luo who said Senior Brother Meng was in danger, and it turned out to be true. Perhaps he also knows how to resolve it.”

“Quiet, all of you.” Zhou Xiao Yun silenced everyone, walked to Song Qian Ji, and asked with a hoarse voice:

“Senior Brother Meng has been taken to the Disciplinary Hall. Did you foresee this? What else do you know?”

They shouldn’t have come, but the situation was sudden, and everyone was at a loss. Inexplicably, they recalled Song Qian Ji’s unshakable, mountain-like steadiness.

By the time they realized it, they were already standing in his courtyard.

Song Qian Ji frowned.

In the world of cultivation, there were countless Dao techniques, as vast as smoke and seas.

However, basic entry-level skills like Lightness Technique and Breath Concealment Technique were practiced by all sects, with little difference at the beginning stages of cultivation.

What he taught Meng He Ze was merely more exquisite than what Hua Wei Sect taught, not evil techniques or demonic arts.

Logically, Meng He Ze should have needed to break through to the foundation-building stage before mastering the second layer, only then would the two techniques show obvious differences in quality.

Revealing it so early could only mean one thing: a powerful cultivator with exceptional vision and a fondness for research had seen Meng He Ze’s moves. Battle makes one unleash potential, and Meng He Ze progressed too quickly.

With Meng He Ze’s talent, was the Spirit Root test result when he entered the sect truly accurate? He should have entered the Inner Sect directly. Could someone have deliberately placed him in the Outer Sect?

Just like someone had deliberately gifted him the red jade prayer beads.

Was surviving the cliff fall also within that person’s expectations?

In his previous life, who was the true culprit behind the Meng family massacre?

Meng He Ze ultimately became the Evil Buddha. Every step seemed forced by circumstances and taken for survival, but was there a hand pushing him from behind?

Song Qian Ji suddenly realized that even with his rebirth, even having glimpsed fragments of the river of time, he still didn’t fully understand this world or other people’s fates.

There were still many secrets, many hidden truths, like traces of a snake in the ashes, extending thousands of miles.

As Song Qian Ji pondered, the voices in the small courtyard gradually quieted.

Seeing his cold expression, seemingly indifferent, everyone’s hearts sank.

“Senior Brother Meng traded half his life for your chance to enter the Inner Sect. Are you going to remain uninvolved? The Disciplinary Hall says he secretly practiced techniques from another sect and will be punished according to sect rules—expelled from the mountain!” Zhou Xiao Yun was emotionally agitated.

Song Qian Ji suddenly looked up: “Say that again.”

“No matter how they questioned him, he wouldn’t answer…”

“The last four words!”

“Expelled from the mountain.”

Song Qian Ji abruptly stood up, the old chair falling with a clatter, breaking into pieces.

Expelled!

Could there be such good fortune in this world?

“Hey, where are you going?” Zhou Xiao Yun felt a gust of wind pass by her.

“Disciplinary Hall!”

Everyone hurriedly chased out of the courtyard gate. In the pitch-black night, Song Qian Ji’s sleeves billowed in the wind, his figure already distant, only his voice floating back: “Prepare to receive him.”

“Does Song Luo have a way to save Senior Brother Meng?”

“Could it be that this person has a cold face but a warm heart? Have we misunderstood him?”

Zhou Xiao Yun: “You two go to the infirmary to borrow a stretcher; the rest follow me to keep watch outside the Disciplinary Hall!”

The group of fighting roosters rallied, setting off with imposing momentum.

***

The gates of the Disciplinary Hall were tightly closed, with two bright yellow lamps at the entrance, conspicuous in the night.

Meng He Ze had made quite a scene today. Whether they disliked him, admired him, or just wanted to watch the spectacle, the Outer Sect disciples were unwilling to leave, all gathered outside the hall in heated discussion.

Some had even bought night snacks, forcing the Law Enforcement Hall disciples to forgo rest, wearing vermilion armbands to maintain order late into the night.

Song Qian Ji finally squeezed through the impenetrable crowd but was stopped at the door:

“Case hearings in progress. No entry for uninvolved persons.”

Song Qian Ji had no choice but to state his identity.

The sword-bearing disciple stared at him for a moment, then suddenly shouted: “It’s you! You’re the one who was carried in a sedan chair today!”

Song Qian Ji was speechless under the curious gazes around him: “…It was a lounge chair.”

“You can’t go in,” a voice suddenly said. “I’ll take you in.”

Song Qian Ji turned to see Zhao Yu Ping slowly emerging from the shadows under the eaves.

He smiled: “Thank you for waiting for me so long.”

Zhao Yu Ping also smiled coldly: “No trouble at all.”

As the two crossed the threshold, their voices were audible only to each other.

“You two show brotherly loyalty, trying to be heroes for each other. But can you save him?”

“I’ll try.”

“Last time you broke an arm to save him. What are you prepared to break this time?”

“I don’t know.”

They walked into the brightly lit hall, and Song Qian Ji bowed to the Elders at the inquiry seat.

He can only cut off his path now, thought Zhao Yu Ping.

Meng He Ze was kneeling in a shallow pool of blood.

The wounds from the day’s fights had all burst open, making him look like a gourd seeping blood from all over.

Song Qian Ji glanced at him.

He saw Meng He Ze’s head hanging down to his chest, completely unresponsive.

Meng He Ze had lost too much blood today.

He had begun to feel very cold, so cold his teeth chattered and his bones seemed to freeze, with only the string of red jade prayer beads on his wrist giving off a faint warmth.

His consciousness drifted, thinking of his hometown thousands of miles away, of the moon, of his parents.

He knew he might not survive this ordeal.

At least he had experienced one moment of satisfaction before death.

Dying on the most satisfying day of this life was better than dying namelessly at the bottom of a cliff.

In his daze, he heard a familiar voice intermittently:

“…I taught him. He didn’t know what he was practicing.”

“…This matter has nothing to do with him. This disciple is willing to take full responsibility.”

“…I have come to confess. I am willing to be expelled from the mountain, but I still have something to say.”

That voice was like flashes of lightning, finally splitting the darkness before his eyes.

Senior Brother Song!

Meng He Ze’s eyes snapped open.

He saw Song Qian Ji standing in front of him.

The thin figure blocked the various gazes and the glaring lights.

Like a small tree vigorously spreading its branches and leaves, sheltering the flowers and grass beneath from wind and rain.

“This disciple learned these techniques because of an extraordinary chance encounter. This matter is of great importance and cannot be discussed here,” said Song Qian Ji.

“How insolent! This is the inquiry hall. If not here, where else do you want to speak?”

“This disciple wishes to see the Sect Leader.”

Elder Liu, who presided over the Disciplinary Hall, questioned angrily with his pressure unleashed. Hearing Song Qian Ji’s words, he suddenly laughed: “See whom? Did I hear correctly?”

Other Disciplinary Hall disciples also began to laugh.

Song Qian Ji calmly repeated: “This disciple must see the Sect Leader.”

From “wish to see” to “must see,” he had even changed a word.