Earlier, Ji Chen had asked Wei Ping why he was absent-minded, and he had said he saw a beautiful girl on the street and was distracted.

So he’s been following me since then, Wei Ping thought. I didn’t even sense it.

Twice now.

The chair beneath him seemed to have transformed into a burning charcoal brazier, the smoke and flames making him sweat profusely, unbearably uncomfortable.

Wei Ping stood up. “I’ll go check on the kitchen. Brother Ji, please ‘look after’ Master Song for me.”

Ji Chen replied, “Go ahead without worry! I know how to grill—I’ll make sure Master Song eats his fill!”

“Haven’t you forgotten something?” Song Qian Ji raised his five fingers before his eyes. “I have hands of my own.”

Ji Chen pounded the table with laughter.

Seeing young Master Ji’s cluelessness, Wei Ping had no choice but to transmit a message: “The night market is a mixed crowd, beware of strangers disturbing us.”

Ji Chen asked directly, “We’re in a private room, how could anyone disturb us?”

Wei Ping nodded awkwardly and turned to go downstairs.

The singing voice had taken several turns, but the person was still at the silk shop across the street, singing tirelessly, intending to invite his “accomplice” for a meeting.

If the person planned to strike directly tonight, they wouldn’t easily reveal their traces and arouse suspicion.

Whether for wealth or fame, coming to assassinate Song Qian Ji was not a wise choice.

If they failed and couldn’t escape in time, they would pay with their lives. If they succeeded but left traces, they would have to bear the revenge from Song Qian Ji’s powerful backers.

Besides himself, Wei Ping couldn’t think of anyone else who would dare take such a dangerous job.

He hadn’t lied. He went to the kitchen, did inspected the meat cutting, spice preparation, charcoal arrangement, and dishwashing. Most kitchen helpers had minor disabilities that made heavy farm work inconvenient. Being able to earn wages at Taiping Records to support their families, they were all grateful to Manager Wei, calling him their benefactor.

Wei Ping felt embarrassed. After greeting the chefs and helpers, he slipped out through the back door used for delivering ingredients, quietly circled to the back entrance of the silk shop, and went straight up to the second floor.

…

Downstairs, waiting customers sipped free hot tea, enviously watching those whose numbers were called.

Ji Chen laughed, “Brother Wei’s business is quite easy. His is the most prosperous on this half of the street. Although it’s called ‘Taiping Records,’ it could still anger all those ‘Prosperity, Wealth, and Splendor Piles’ around.”

Song Qian Ji asked, “You think it’s easy?”

“With meat and seasonings, you can open a shop. Customers grill the food themselves, and you effortlessly earn gold by the bushel. Isn’t that easy?”

“Then do you know where to buy meat, how much to buy daily, ensuring it’s both fresh and sufficient? What kind of charcoal burns with minimal smoke that won’t choke customers? With so much smoke and fire in the shop, how to ventilate in winter while keeping it warm? What lacquer to use on tables and floors that are both fireproof and moisture-proof? What kind of plates and bowls to used that look good yet withstand smoke? Making sauces, training staff, ensuring cleanliness… would you want to do all this?”

With each question Song Qian Ji asked, Ji Chen shook his head once, until he was dizzy:

“I would not!”

Song Qian Ji smiled. “The trouble is behind the scenes; only in front of others does it seem somewhat easy.”

Ji Chen suddenly said, “Like Master Song? When I see you handle matters, everything seems effortless, but I imagine you’ve gone through much hardship.”

Song Qian Ji was momentarily stunned.

Ji Chen scratched his head. “This business would surely make more profit in Hong Fu County. Why doesn’t Brother Wei open some branch stores there?”

Song Qian Ji said, “Thousand Channels Market is newly established. To attract more outsiders to Thousand Channels, he has no choice but to do this.”

Ji Chen exclaimed with admiration and placed the grilled snowflake beef into Wei Ping’s bowl. Suddenly he sighed:

“Sometimes I don’t know—Brother Wei is so busy, almost tearing himself into eight pieces—what does he want?”

Song Qian Ji smiled and asked, “What do you want?”

“Me? What I want, I already have. Doing what I love every day, figuring out ever-changing formations. Being able to protect my sister, being needed by my brothers—when everyone is happy, I’m happy.”

“Don’t you want to be number one in the world?” Song Qian Ji asked.

Ji Chen unfolded a satin handkerchief and wiped the sauce from the corner of his mouth:

“With Brother Meng competing to be number one in the world, I can be the number one best friend!”

The snow-white handkerchief, stained with bright red chili powder, was like a spot of blood on snow.

Ji Chen suddenly remembered something and excitedly said:

“Master Song, did you see the red leaf I sent today? There’s nothing like it in all of Tian City!”

All cultivators in Thousand Channels knew that Song Qian Ji loved all kinds of plants, whether flowers, trees, or crops like rice, corn, or potatoes. Seeds were best, but flowers, leaves, and fruits also made him happy.

Song Qian Ji wiped his hands, his expression unchanging:

“I did see it. Where did you find it?”

“On my way here, a peddler from Hong Fu was selling them—very cheap. Scholars buy them as bookmarks, girls pin them in their hair. I knew you would like it and wanted to give you a surprise.”

“That was thoughtful,” Song Qian Ji said.

Ji Chen said happily, “You’re welcome!”

The barbecue gradually cooled, the aroma dissipated, and the oil lost its enticing golden luster.

Ji Chen felt sorry for Wei Ping that no formation existed to maintain food at its most delicious state: “Will he come back?”

Song Qian Ji looked out the window.

The street was brilliantly lit, and noisy with human voices.

Yet the snowflakes fell quietly, dense and light, illuminated by the paths of light cast by strings of lanterns, drifting and floating.

The singing from across the street had stopped, the lights wavering.

“Whether he returns or not is his choice,” Song Qian Ji said.

Ji Chen blinked and smiled in confusion: “What choice is there in that?”

…

The silk shop had newly opened, and the first floor was filled mostly with young female customers selecting fabrics. The shop assistants spoke eloquently, praising whatever pattern the customers chose.

A group of young girls laughed like a hundred birds competing in spring, quite melodious.

Wei Ping passed through the laughter and headed straight upstairs.

“Manager Wei, a customer came tonight and insisted on booking the entire second floor,” the silk shop proprietor said with a troubled face. “Would you like to look at the fabrics on the first floor? If nothing catches your eye, tomorrow morning I’ll personally deliver a new batch to the Celestial Official’s Mansion for your selection, how about that?”

Wei Ping was in a bad mood and coldly called up the stairs: “Tailoring clothes isn’t like dining—I didn’t know you could book an entire floor!”

The proprietor smiled apologetically, then suddenly heard someone say: “Let him come up.”

The voice floated down from upstairs, light as a spinning snowflake, with a sense of lightness and brilliance, the tone musical-like singing.

Hearing this voice up close to his ears, Wei Ping’s heart sank. But his expression remained calm.

Reaching the second floor, the sounds of laughter suddenly faded. Lamps burned quietly, illuminating silk fabrics hanging on all sides.

Hong Fu brocades featured complex patterns and vibrant colors—clusters of flowers, snow-wave patterns, peacock displays—hanging like a series of scroll paintings.

Wei Ping navigated through the racks of fabric and summoned his sword from his storage pouch.

The prosperous scene below was visible, but the killing intent above remained elusive.

At the end of the fabric racks, the person held scissors, bent over cutting brocade.

Behind him hung a massive floral silk, shimmering in the candlelight, making him appear to be sitting among abundant flowers.

Without using a ruler or drawing lines, with a crisp sound, one cut split the fabric in two, precise to a hair’s breadth.

Wei Ping glanced at the table, which also held a needle, thread, and a thimble.

“Good craftsmanship,” Wei Ping smiled. “So there is someone who forgoes ready-made clothes to be his tailor?”

The person also smiled: “What leisure. So there is someone who abandons sumptuous banquets and the celestial path of immortality, staying in this remote mundane world to be someone else’s dog.”

As he spoke, he barked twice like a dog.

Wei Ping didn’t get angry; his smile deepened. “Lin Fei Yuan, if I’m a dog, then what are you?”

Lin Fei Yuan switched to a lighter, smaller pair of scissors for more precise edge cutting: “We’re both dogs. But I’m a free dog with no master—a stray that’s more comfortable than your domesticated state. You should thank me. With my arrival, you finally don’t have to pretend to be a dog anymore.”

“Who hired you to kill him?” Wei Ping asked.

Since coming upstairs, he had asked three questions, but in his heart, he was contemplating only one:

—This person is dangerous; can I kill him right here?

“Years ago, I owed the Zhao family patriarch a favor. This time he made the request, so I must repay it,” Lin Fei Yuan put on a thimble. “Although I am like a stray dog, I still value the words ‘trust’ and ‘righteousness.'”

Wei Ping: “…but Song Qian Ji doesn’t deserve to die.”

“When did you become so naive? No one is born deserving death; it just depends on how much their life is worth,” he replied.

Wei Ping pulled out a chair and sat across from Lin Fei Yuan: “They must have offered a lot of money.”

Chen Hong Zhu’s engagement with Wei Zhan Yang had nothing to do with mutual love; it was the Hua Wei Sect and the Wei family of Quail Tongue County wanting a closer connection.

The Hua Wei Sect and the Zhao family saw Song Qian Ji controlling Thousand Channels, with scattered cultivators and ordinary people constantly joining him, his influence growing daily—they couldn’t tolerate it.

“No need to guess. The Hua Wei Sect wants Song Qian Ji’s life as a betrothal gift. After the deed is done, a celestial-grade spirit stone vein mine will be given as dowry for the grand wedding of the sect leader’s daughter Chen Hong Zhu! As for me, I’ll just take a small profit—one million.”

One million. Song Qian Ji was indeed worth a sky-high price.

Wei Ping fell silent. His footsteps were light as he approached the table, seemingly to examine the patterns and colors of the fabric.

“I understand now—you’ve developed feelings for him while being his dog and don’t want to kill him.”

Lin Fei Yuan suddenly burst into laughter, his laughter causing the candle flames to flicker wildly:

“I’m sorry, but this is too funny. Wei Ping, did you ever imagine you’d see this day?”

Wei Ping’s hand gripping the sword twitched slightly.

Lin Fei Yuan threaded a gold thread through the needle eye, his stitching nimble, like flowers threading butterflies: “If you fight me here and alarm Song Qian Ji across the street, how will you explain it?”

Wei Ping smiled: “A misunderstanding! You and I are old acquaintances who haven’t met for a long time. My first assassination job was introduced by you—how could I want to kill you?”

Lin Fei Yuan didn’t respond, focusing intently on sewing for a while.

Finally, he lowered his head and bit off the stretched gold thread, his movements practiced and elegant.

But his crimson lips and snow-white canine teeth made Wei Ping feel as though he was watching a wild beast severing its prey’s throat.

With a swoosh, the brocade robe fluttered. The candlelight dimmed and then brightened.

Lin Fei Yuan donned the new floral-patterned robe and stood up.

He was slightly taller than Wei Ping and looked down at him:

“If you don’t kill him, others will. When his powerful backer passes away, covert assassination will become open slaughter. The Hua Wei Sect, the Zhao family, the Wei family, perhaps others—hundreds of Yuan Ying cultivators, thousands of Golden Core cultivators will mobilize entirely, trampling this tiny Thousand Channels County in a single night. The path you’ve chosen leads only to death.”

Wei Ping’s clenched fist trembled slightly.

Before coming to Thousand Channels, he had never imagined that one day he would feel angry over the fate of a small mundane county.

“If you spare him, will he thank you? Do you dare tell him why you came here?” Lin Fei Yuan leaned forward and said softly:

“If he knows about this, can he spare your life? Even if he’s compassionate enough to forgive you, if Meng He Ze and Ji Chen found out, would they forgive you? Would they still let you stay by his side?”

Wei Ping suddenly stepped back.

—”If I catch your weakness, you’ll never set foot in Thousand Channels again!”

Meng He Ze’s harsh words still rang in his ears.

Lin Fei Yuan circled the table, approaching Wei Ping, and cheerfully persuaded in his ear:

“Join me in killing him, and he dies. If I tell him the truth, you die. Either he dies, or you die. Smart one, make your choice.”

Wei Ping suddenly reached out and embraced his shoulder: “Better my friend than myself—of course he dies. When do we strike? What’s the plan?”