Cultivation Nerd

I stared at the old man like a hawk, not bothering to hide my suspicion. The old goat met my gaze with a nonchalant look, but I wasn't going to drop the subject so quickly.

Eventually, he caved and said, "I have a way to convince the Sect Leader. He always keeps an ear open for those close to him."

What was that supposed to mean? That explained nothing!

But then I remembered this wasn't some stranger I had to shy away from, so I directly asked him, "Are you some secret big shot or something, old man?"

"Of course, I'm a big shot," the old goat admitted shamelessly. "I manage the outer sect's Cleaning Council, which oversees all the janitors in the outer sect. How else do you think I landed a cushy job like this?"

I recognized when someone didn't want to answer and let the issue drop in the name of our friendship. There was no need to push so hard.

The librarian's face visibly softened, the lines of worry smoothing away as if erased by a gentle hand when the old man promised to make the issue disappear. Relief washed over him, his previously furrowed brow relaxing.

He knew something… Something that reassured him the old man could somehow smother the Sect Leader's wrath.

Now, they had me all curious about the issue. If there was one thing I liked, it was knowing things.

But I had no choice but to drop it for now since the old man was someone I cared about, and I valued the relationship we had built. I doubted his secrets would harm me, and I wasn't a gossiping housewife.

"Well, this has been quite an eventful visit. Hopefully, next time, I can just come and relax. There's already too much drama in my life. This is supposed to be my safe place," I said, brushing past the old man as I headed down the stairs. The arrays that would have once brushed over me were now gone.

There was nothing more to do here on the third floor. Perhaps later, I could come back and check some things, but for now, we had our duties—especially the librarian, who was supposed to be by the counter now.

The librarian walked behind while the old man badmouthed me. "I swear, brats nowadays are always finding trouble at every turn. You know, back in my day, we had to be quiet like death."

He just wanted my reaction, but I wouldn't give him that.

"Hey, I don't need you old folk blaming us for how we act. You guys were the ones who taught us to be assholes. It was your mistake," I said, my argument flawless and without holes.

Yet, when there were no holes in an argument, the opposing side only had to create one.

As we walked down the stairs, the flickering lights revealed the old man's expression and the shameless glint in his eyes. At that moment, I realized I had underestimated just how petty this old bastard could be!

"Do you know what was a real mistake? Going to the Sect Leader about releasing Song Song," he shook his head.

"That was the biggest mistake you'll make in this life, brat. Before, you were nobody important, essentially invisible to most people. Even your book would have faded into obscurity," the old goat shook his head even harder the time, sighing. "But you had to go and try to be the bigger man. Now, everyone and their mother has their eyes on you… and they won't forget you either."

Harsh but true. That was how it always was with the old goat. He didn't mince words, but his arguments were almost always sound.

"I don't like people's attention because it cuts into my reading time," I replied, adding, "But this was Song Song, and I had to help her. She's always been a good friend, saved my life multiple times, and ended up in prison because of me."

As we spoke, we descended to the second floor, which presented a striking contrast to the elaborate, cave-like structure of the third floor. The atmosphere shifted to resemble a traditional library, with orderly rows of shelves stretching ambitiously high, each packed with books in various colors and scripts.

The air was filled with the musty, comforting scent of old paper and leather. It was cozy, and I felt at home.

Yet, we only lingered briefly here before continuing down the stairway.

"You're not blind to your so-called friend's faults, right?" the old man asked, this time with genuine concern.

Sometimes, it was hard to tell whether he was truly worried or just adding dramatic effect to his usual jests.

"No, I know exactly what she's like," I said.

"Just seeing how easily you say that... Trust me, kid, you don't know your friend as well as you think. Everyone thinks she's a monster, but they have no idea how much of a monster she actually is. Song Song and her father are probably two of the most horrible cultivators the Blazing Sun Sect has ever hosted," the old man said. "All you've done is teach that monster to hide herself. In a generation or two, when most who know her now are dead, Song Song will have a real chance of becoming the Sect Leader."

"Never took you for such an opinionated man," I smiled. "Since when did you start listening to rumors and silly gossip?"

"Brat, most people aren't blind. We all see her true colors," the old goat replied.

During this discussion, the librarian stayed on the sidelines, observing us like an entertained audience.

"If Song Song ever took the top seat, she'd make a better leader than the current ones," I reasoned. "At least she'd be ruthless to everyone, equally."

"Then you really don't know her as well as you think you do, kid," the old man said, running a hand through his goat-like beard as if contemplating something.

I frowned, about to refute him, but the old goat interrupted me with a question before I could.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"What's your opinion on cannibalism?"

The fuck?

********

Song Song stood in a stark red room, the hue not just on the walls but beneath her as well, where a chilling pool of blood rose ominously to her knees.

The room offered no visible exit, creating an echo chamber where the only sounds were her shallow breaths and the soft, ghoulish lapping of blood against her skin. The air was thick and oppressive, saturated with the iron tang of blood that overwhelmed all other scents, clinging to the back of her throat.

She knew she was dreaming; this wasn't the room where she had been cultivating.

Song Song couldn't help but think how, if Liu Feng were here, he'd be curious about how a cultivator could dream. He had once explained to her how dreams came to be and the weird "chemicals" released within the body, but she hadn't paid much attention.

Sure, she listened to Liu Feng ramble because he had no one else to listen to him. But that didn't mean she had to like it or bother remembering everything.

Her dreams were somewhat cliché, often exploring her deepest insecurities. Of course, she had none. So, it was usually just a replay of the night her mother was murdered.

"Please," a woman's voice broke the oppressive silence, trembling with desperation. From the viscous, blood-drenched pool emerged a figure with dark red hair that clung to her face and shoulders, saturated with the crimson liquid. She crawled forward, her movements labored and slow as if every inch gained was a monumental effort.

Her appearance was haunting—a ghastly vision of despair—as she reached out with a blood-slick hand, pleading for mercy or perhaps an end to her torment.

In Song Song's opinion, the stark contrast of her pale, desperate face against the backdrop of her dark, blood-soaked hair made her plea all the more touching.

At least it would for an average person, as Song Song felt nothing when she saw this scene play out.

The woman crawled on the ground, her sobs echoing softly in the enclosed space, each cry more pitiful than the last. As she moved, her tears mixed with the blood, tracing pale streaks across her face. It was a pathetic sight that twisted Song Song's features into a grimace of embarrassment.

Watching this broken figure, who had once been her caregiver, now reduced to such a wretched state, filled her with a deep sense of disdain. Song Song felt a sharp sting of shame that this weak, lamenting creature was the one who had given her life.

The woman, drawing on the remnants of her strength, approached a lone figure that loomed ominously in the distance. Her progress through the thick pool of blood was slow and fraught with effort. Upon reaching the figure, she pulled herself up to her full height, standing before a man who radiated an unsettling aura. The tall woman had bronze skin and deep golden eyes that still bore the marks of grace and suffering on her conventionally beautiful features.

He had long, dark hair that cascaded around his shoulders like shadows spilling into the night, and his dark eyes bore into hers with an almost palpable intensity. The man's presence exuded a disturbing, eerie vibe, adding a layer of foreboding to the room's already grim atmosphere.

"Please, I will give you another child, a better one. The defects can all be fixed!" her mother cried out.

But her begging was useless. Her father wasn't looking at her mother nor at her. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the pool of blood below his knees.

As her mother continued to utter fragmented pleas, her voice a desperate murmur against the stifling silence, a sudden, chilling motion cut her short. Her father stepped forward swiftly, calculatingly, grasping her mother's head and twisting it sharply. Like a screw being forcefully turned.

In an instant, her mother's body went limp. Her corpse collapsed into a lifeless form, splashing back into the crimson pool and sending ripples across the bloodied surface. Her dark hair fanned out around her, merging indistinguishably with the surrounding red as she lay still and silent.

Her father then turned toward her, "Your mother had the Gouging Snake Extreme Physique. The ritual is ready; come and eat your meal, Song Song."

Song Song wasn't interested in the ordeal and refused to listen to her father. She knew people called her crazy or mad behind her back, but none of them had met her father. He was insanity incarnate.

"Are you hesitating?" he asked.

"No, I'm just waiting to see what you'll come up with next. I can't believe my subconscious mind is still whining about this," Song Song sighed.

"Don't worry," he reassured her, "The Gouging Snake Extreme Physique isn't like the others. Legends say that if a monstrous beast devours this physique, it will immediately become a Nascent Soul Cultivator. Do you know the legend of the snake who ate it? That's where it got its name."

Song Song knew what he was talking about. As a kid, she had received the same boring speech many times.

Legends and reality were different, and with this ritual, someone from the Gouging Snake Extreme Physique bloodline could devour her mother too. There should still be some benefits, even though Song Song was not a monstrous beast… and there were.

At the time, Song Song was too young to understand, but her mother's body was breaking down due to her extreme physique. She could no longer carry a child, so her father did what he had wanted to do all along: He created his perfect offspring.

That was why Song Song never wanted children. How her father had placed his hopes on her was pathetic. That kind of mindset was for losers. Instead of forcing and molding his child to reach the peak of cultivation, he should have tried to do it himself.

"We are cultivators," her father said. "Even parents would abandon and betray their own children if it meant there were benefits to it. My parents did it, and I will do the same to you. Always keep that in mind."

Song Song sighed. This said volumes about how little she truly knew her father beyond his acts of cruelty when they were younger. The only defining trait she associated with him was his penchant for delivering boring speeches.

As the lifeless form of her mother settled into the blood, a sudden, unsettling twitch broke the stillness. The "corpse" began to move with an eerie autonomy. Her mother's head slowly rotated, the gruesome sound of bone and ligament realigning echoing in the silent room as it twisted back into its original position. The figure that rose from the pool was no longer the woman Song Song knew.

Instead, standing before her was a young man with sharp, angular features, his short dark hair slick with blood. Clad in a pristine blue uniform that seemed starkly out of place in the bloody chaos, he was unmistakably Liu Feng.

Liu Feng fixed his gaze on Song Song, his expression a mixture of accusation and horror. "Song Song, do you want to lead me down this road of damnation too? Will you one day savor my flesh as it runs down your throat?"

"You just broke the immersion. Liu Feng would never say something lame like that," Song Song said.

With that, she opened her eyes and woke up.

She was in a dark room. But despite the pitch darkness, her vision was sharp, and she could see the intricate cracks in the walls in great detail.

"I should end my indoor cultivation soon. This is boring, and it feels like I'm going insane," Song Song muttered under her breath.

Song Song recalled the time Liu Feng had told her not to rush things. He had never advised her wrong… Perhaps she should listen to his advice this time, even if she didn't like it.

She rather enjoyed cultivating next to Speedy while teasing Liu Feng whenever she could. Liu Feng was usually hard to tease, but with his fiancée around, it was easy.

Also, Song Song thought they made a good match. He needed a scheming woman to keep him on his toes, or he'd get complacent.

Song Song knew her life was no longer just her own. She understood that her enemies would target Liu Feng if anything happened to her. Whether he wanted it or not, their lives were intertwined. She couldn't afford risks, and she couldn't allow herself to die in the middle of nowhere.

Her life had grown so complicated—Song Song sighed and stood up.

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