Cultivation Nerd-Chapter 346: A Promise of Pain

As spring unfurled across the land, the grounds around the library pagoda came alive with color. Flowers of every hue, crimson, gold, and violet, blossomed in wild abundance, their petals gleaming beyond the boundaries of the spring array.

The air was rich with fragrance, soft breezes carrying the mingled scents of the new season and warm weather. Even the stones in the courtyard seemed gentler beneath the sunlight.

A little more than a year had passed since the last great disaster, and for the first time in a long while, peace felt real. The tension that had hung over the sect like a storm cloud had lifted, replaced by the hope of better days. Things were finally, truly looking up.

I turned my gaze toward the new structure rising beside the library. For now, it was little more than a skeleton of stone and timber taking shape. Mortal workers moved across the site quietly, their steps measured, their voices subdued. No one dared to speak above a whisper; they all knew that in a sect like this, every careless word might reach the ears of a cultivator.

The stillness of the mountain amplified every sound, the scrape of shovels, the dull thud of wood against stone, the faint rustle of robes as they labored. No birds called, no wind stirred. It was as though the mountain itself held its breath. These workers had learned long ago that in places like this, silence was safer than curiosity.

I felt the faint ripple of a familiar presence behind me like a soft, deliberate pulse of Qi brushing against my senses like a whisper. Turning, I found Song Song standing there.

Her dark hair caught the sun, glinting like wet ink, and when our eyes met, she smiled with a knowing curve of her lips. It wasn’t the grin of the fierce woman she was known as, but something far gentler, grounded and… human.

For a brief moment, the sounds of construction faded, and all that remained was the stillness between us.

“You seem curious about the new building,” she said, her tone light but edged, as though trying to lace her words with authority.

“Not really,” I replied, glancing back at the construction site. “I’ve already been informed what it’s for.”

She tried to maintain her composure, but subtlety was never her strong suit. Song Song had many talents, but playing the role of a mysterious mastermind wasn’t one of them. Her expressions were too honest, and her emotions too transparent.

If she’d bothered to look into it, she’d know that building something this close to an elder’s base wasn’t a simple task. It required permissions, planning, and more than a few cautious glances from the formation masters maintaining the sect’s defenses.

But in the end, none of that mattered. Song Song had requested it, and in this sect, everyone understood what that meant. Her word wasn’t a suggestion; it was a command wrapped in occasional courtesy. And so, the builders labored diligently, ensuring her new workspace stood just a short walk from mine.

She pouted, lips pressed into a thin line as her brows furrowed ever so slightly. Clearly, she’d guessed what I was thinking. Yet, in a rare show of restraint, she said nothing aloud. Unfortunately for her, her face betrayed her completely.

Song Song was never one to hide her emotions well. The faint wrinkle of her nose, the subtle squint of her eyes, the way her chin tilted just enough to look defiant. She tried to look composed, but her expression made her opinion painfully clear.

Maturity, it seemed, still had a few battles left to win with her.

“The other sects have been moving about suspiciously, and we needed a place to begin planning in case of war,” she said, finally deciding to explain.

I nodded. I already knew this much.

The lack of a Nascent Soul leader was bleeding our sect dry.

“Do we know what the other sects are doing in more detail?” I asked. “Do we have any spies within their ranks?”

“We do have some,” she replied with a shrug. “Though calling them spies is a bit generous. They’re just elders willing to hand out information in exchange for an Earth Grade Technique or two, usually ones they can freely pass down to their clans.”

I nodded, understanding. That was the way of large sects: people wore two loyalties, their sect and their bloodline.

“They’re gathering their armies,” she continued, “and organizing small teams. Preparations for testing us have already begun.”

“Already?” I frowned.

They had just finished dealing with their beast waves. Did they really have the leisure to start another conflict so soon?

Song Song smiled, eyes glinting mischievously as if she relished knowing something I didn’t.

“The other sects will stabilize their territories after the beast waves,” she said, “and at the same time, they’ll use your strategy, offering Earth Grade Techniques as bait and posting the offers across their lands.”

Ah. That wasn’t good.

I rubbed my forehead, already feeling the headache coming. Thankfully, I hadn’t attended the last meetings, or some of the elders would already be plotting to blame me for inspiring this new tactic.

I used to think I was too small for other sects to notice, but that illusion had now vanished. My books on beasts and formations had earned me legitimacy. My plans were now worth copying. What a pain.

After a bit more idle talk, Song Song excused herself, saying she had “something to handle.” Knowing her, that meant delegating work, likely dragging her new subordinates into whatever grand war project she was planning. I watched her go, shaking my head with a faint sigh.

The courtyard grew quiet again, the distant clatter of construction fading into the hum of background life.

Turning away, I entered the library pagoda. The familiar scent of parchment and ink greeted me as I stepped inside.

Two disciples sat cross-legged on the floor, paging through the open-access section of the library. When they noticed me, both froze, then scrambled to their feet.

“Greetings, Elder Feng!” they chorused, voices tense with timid respect.

I gave a curt nod and continued deeper into the library, their hurried bows fading behind me.

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Before disappearing from sight, I activated the library’s defensive array. Runes shimmered faintly, and a low hum filled the air as the formation disrupted all Qi-sensing abilities within its bounds.

No one would be able to track me or anyone else inside now.

I moved toward one of the shadowed corners near the inner hall, my hand brushing the carved frame of the doorway when a faint ripple of energy brushed against my senses. Someone was approaching.

Ye An.

The moment her presence entered the library, the two disciples inside went rigid. Their faces drained of color, and without a word, they gathered their belongings and fled after bowing to her as well. The quiet panic in their eyes said everything.

Both Ye An and Song Song had reputations, renowned for reaching Core Formation before thirty, brilliant and terrifying in equal measure. But they were also volatile. Unpredictable.

Since Ye An’s Qi leaked a cold, killing chill, perhaps the students mistook it as a sign she’d come to kill me and didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire.

At least they didn’t take any books with them.

Ye An stepped through the doors, and with a flick of her wrist, they slammed shut behind her. The sound thundered through the chamber, followed by a ripple of Qi that made the air tremble. Her control was immaculate and impressive for how sickly she looked.

Her expression was calm, but her complexion was ghostly pale. Beneath that still surface, her Qi felt wrong, distorted, unbalanced, like a melody slightly off-key. Something in her cultivation had changed, and not in a natural way.

“How far have you come with your research on Yin and Yang Qi?” she asked.

Normally, I’d have joked about her skipping the greeting, but one look told me this wasn’t the time. She was desperate.

“Not far,” I admitted.

She winced and exhaled, her breath fogging the air as a chill spread through the library.

I raised a barrier around myself, just in case.

She was going to die soon.

“I stole the Yang Fruits and other treasures from the sect treasury when everything was in disarray,” she confessed. “Even some tunics saturated with Yang Energy. I ate a Yang Fruit this morning, and as you can see, there were no results.”

Her body had already adapted. The Yang Fruits no longer worked on her.

There were few treasures with that much Yang Energy, and even if we found them, they wouldn’t be effective for long.

I studied her face, the faint scars tracing her cheeks, the dark eyepatch covering the eye Song Song had destroyed years ago.

Should I tell her the truth, or lie and wait for nature to finish what I couldn’t?

Telling her the truth might push her over the edge… but I wasn’t particularly afraid. I’d prepared enough countermeasures in this library to survive her outburst, at least for a short while.

“I’m decades away from reaching a meaningful result,” I told her, choosing honesty.

That wasn’t entirely true. If I devoted everything to it, I might find an answer in less than ten years, but Ye An wasn’t worth that kind of dedication.

She flinched, despair clouding her features. Her lip trembled, then cracked like glass when she bit it.

Tears welled in her eyes, freezing on her cheeks before falling to the ground in solid crystal drops that struck the floor like pebbles.

“After all this effort,” she said, hiccuping softly.

“If you want to give up, that’s also a choice,” I reminded her.

It wasn’t much of a choice, though. She was already too far gone to live a normal life. Even if she wanted children, the cold inside her body would make that impossible.

Children of those with Extreme Physiques didn’t inherit their parents’ constitutions. Records said they were talented, yes, but never to the same degree. And even if Ye An could conceive, she wouldn’t live long enough to raise them.

Maybe she had other dreams, like traveling and seeing the world, but pain like hers didn’t fade. It would only grow with time, and doing anything while your mind broke down due to the pain was unlikely to be enjoyable.

Her gaze fell to the ground, her frustration bleeding away before she finally looked up at me again.

Though it was her choice, I didn’t want her to give up. She was a fascinating research subject, the way her body instinctively absorbed Qi was unique.

“But if you decide to keep going,” I said quietly, “I’ll walk beside you. I’ll do what I can to help with your condition.”

Ye An didn’t move. Her lone blue eye fixed on me, cold and unreadable. The silence between us thickened and grew dense enough to press against the chest.

Then, slowly, she raised a hand and removed her eyepatch.

Beneath it was no empty socket, no ruined scar; it was just another eye, perfectly clear and pale blue.

For a heartbeat, I said nothing. My mind needed time to catch up.

She had healed. Entirely.

It wasn’t impossible, not for someone of her standing. As a Core Elder, Ye An had access to resources that most could only dream of, such as rare herbs, forbidden relics, and healing formations that had long been lost to common practice. And with Zun Gon gone, the sect treasury had likely been left just vulnerable enough for someone as bold and desperate as her to seize what she needed.

Her fingers trailed across her face. Before my eyes, the faint scars that once marked her skin, the remnants of her brutal battle with Song Song and others, faded away. The jagged lines smoothed, her complexion becoming flawless.

Her beauty, once marred and severe, returned in full. It was the kind of beauty that etched itself into the mind, an impossible symmetry no natural face could hold.

It was wrong. Too perfect, and it almost felt unsettling how physically attractive she was.

How long had she been like this, fully healed, hiding it from everyone?

“They say that by the time they’re eighteen or twenty, even the strong-willed ones with Extreme Physiques go mad. At twenty-one, they explode,” she said, her voice trembling between defiance and despair.

“Yet you’ve surpassed all of them,” I reminded her.

“But I cannot last a decade,” she said flatly, locking eyes with me.

“Will you give up?” I asked.

“No.” Her answer came sharp and immediate. “I will crawl through filth if I must. I’ll do anything. If it means killing until rivers of blood flow, or sleeping with a thousand men like a cheap whore, anything.”

Her voice faltered as reason caught up with the madness. I saw it in her eyes, the flicker of calculation replacing raw emotion.

“As my cultivation increases, my condition will worsen,” she murmured.

That much was true. Every step she took forward in strength only dragged her closer to the edge. Most cultivators fooled themselves into thinking power solved everything, but for Ye An, it was only buying time.

“But will you still give up?” I asked again, my tone steady.

Whether she lived or died wasn’t my concern, but I wouldn’t waste years helping someone who’d quit halfway through.

“Never,” she hissed through gritted teeth. Her eyes, cold and blue, burned with a wild fire. “I will defy the heavens and live for a thousand years if I must. If madness comes, I’ll carve it out of myself. I’ll cut off my limbs, gouge out my eyes, whatever it takes to stay sane.”

Now she had resolve. The coming decades would be hell for her, and even then, there might be no cure.

Would she make it through? I doubted it. But I respected her will to try.

“I’ll go into seclusion,” she said, voice firm again. “I intend to break into three-star Core Formation.” She handed me a small wooden token, smooth and faintly warm to the touch. “Crush this, and I’ll come to your aid, no matter where I am. I can’t afford to have you dying before I do.”

I nodded. “Stay strong.”

She smiled faintly, licking the cracked corner of her lip before turning away. Her steps echoed softly through the library, fading toward the exit.

We would have to meet again soon, once, for my plan. And after that… the next time would be to see if I had found a cure for her.