Song Qian Ji wanted to meet Wei Zhen Yu, not out of any malice, but out of curiosity.
When he had just died, he had indeed been jealous of the other, but after lying flat and watching the show for so long in that dark room, he no longer even wanted to cultivate immortality, let alone be jealous of another’s good fortune.
The words “fortune” and “destiny” were unpredictable and ever-changing.
Cultivators born into prestigious families had ancestors who had accumulated more virtue, auspicious cave dwellings with good feng shui, and affiliated states or fiefs.
If they could protect a region with favorable weather, teaching countless mortals to worship their golden statues, the stronger the incense burned, the better their fortune, thus making their path to immortality smoother—a virtuous cycle.
Ordinary cultivators had neither treasured lands nor spiritual artifacts for protection. Their ancestors had never produced an ascended immortal, and no one in the mortal realm worshipped them. They could only comfort themselves with the idea of “doing more good deeds and accumulating blessings.”
There was also an unconventional path: using techniques to plunder others’ fortune. This was a gamble to deceive heaven and earth—the slightest carelessness would inevitably lead to a backlash.
Song Qian Ji had never given thought to such matters.
But he had once witnessed a Daoist technique from Purple Cloud Observatory called the “Fortune Viewing Technique.”
After Song Qian Ji advanced to Form Transformation Realm, various sects came to congratulate him.
The leader of Purple Cloud Observatory publicly demonstrated the Fortune Viewing Technique. When looking at others, he saw a weaving of five colors, radiant as clouds and mist, allowing him to deduce how they had risen to prominence, explaining everything logically.
But when looking at Song Qian Ji, he saw only dense, impenetrable black smoke along with rolling, foul winds that nearly blinded his eyes.
Not daring to speak ill of Song Qian Ji, he could only say, “In a hundred years of viewing fortunes, I’ve never seen such a sight. I cannot comprehend how you achieved such accomplishments.”
His meaning was that he had never seen someone with such terrible luck, receiving not a hint of favor from the Heavenly Way.
The marvel was that this person had somehow lived until today and achieved such accomplishments.
From then on, Song Qian Ji’s fearsome reputation grew even greater.
The cultivation world generally believed he lacked “virtue,” with a hard fate and a merciless heart, whom even the King of Hell wouldn’t claim.
Regardless of what was said behind his back, outwardly they increasingly respected and feared him.
Song Qian Ji thought that if Wei Zhen Yu was covered in golden light, bright as the sun in the eyes of cultivators who knew the “Fortune Viewing Technique,” it would be no different from a child carrying gold through the market, inevitably attracting covetous eyes or those who would devise ways to plunder it.
Wei Zhen Yu must possess some secret technique to conceal his fortune, blending in with the common, to silently amass his power.
So for this Grand Literary Assembly, he wouldn’t look at the famous talents from each sect, but would instead search for an inconspicuous disciple with the surname Wei.
“Senior Brother Song, what are you thinking about?” Meng He Ze interrupted his thoughts.
“Nothing,” Song Qian Ji shook his head.
Meng He Ze thought he was worried about the Grand Assembly: “I’ll go buy you brushes, ink, paper, and an inkstone, so you can practice calligraphy and painting.”
“No need,” Song Qian Ji finished watering the ground and put away the watering can. “I want to buy some seeds.”
“Seeds?” Meng He Ze was puzzled. “Which kind of spiritual plant seeds?”
“Not spiritual plants, just ordinary seeds,” Song Qian Ji wasn’t picky. “Vegetable seedlings are fine too.”
Zhou Xiao Yun suddenly said: “That’s easy, the outer sect’s main kitchen has them!”
Outer sect disciples who hadn’t yet abstained from food ate in the main kitchen. They couldn’t eat spiritual plants, spiritual rice, or spiritual beast meat, but they had plenty of rice, flour, and vegetables.
“We’re heading to work at the Spirit Stone mine now, and we’ll pass by the main kitchen on our way back. We’ll bring you some,” Meng He Ze rose to say goodbye.
Song Qian Ji nodded in thanks.
The tender new sprouts of the potatoes, covered with crystalline water droplets, contained full vitality, hiding in the soil.
This was the first time Song Qian Ji had planted anything.
He extended his fingertip, carefully touching them. There was something novel and joyful about it.
Because he possessed the “Immortal Spring,” the treasure with the strongest vitality, his perception of life had also become keen.
Not just people and living creatures, but everything with vitality.
For instance, he could sense when a leaf would fall from a branch, or when a peach blossom beneath the leaves would turn from flourishing to withering.
Perhaps he had a talent for farming.
A towering building starts from the ground; someday he would own his farm!
After solving the problem of seeds and seedlings, to improve the light inside the courtyard walls, Song Qian Ji transplanted the peach tree in front of the gate to three zhang away.
The land in front of the gate was carefully turned over and cleared. He set up bamboo fences on both sides of the vermilion gate, creating two new vegetable gardens.
He was very serious while working, focusing entirely even on boring tasks like turning soil with a shovel, meticulous and attentive.
As if he were doing the most interesting and important thing in the world.
Song Qian Ji was having a great time.
The people watching him were on the verge of collapse.
“Report! Song Qian Ji is buying seeds and seedlings, seems like he wants to farm!”
“Report! Song Qian Ji has started carrying water and tilling the land!”
“Report! Song Qian Ji planted eggplants, green onions, and garlic shoots today…”
“Report! Song Qian Ji plans to plant flowers in front of the gate…”
“Get out, out, stop reporting!” Zhao Yu Ping angrily waved his sleeve. The teacup on the table fell and shattered, pieces flying everywhere.