Cultivators Are So Weak in This World-Chapter 209: Section 193

Suddenly, an elderly voice rang in Zhang Rongfang’s ear.

He trembled slightly at the hidden presence, quickly turning his head to look behind him.

Unbeknownst to him, a figure was already standing there.

The figure was about a meter eighty tall, slightly shorter than him, but plump with a large belly, exuding an air of wealth.

It was unexpectedly the high-level old Daoist from the terrace just now.

"Hmm... very beautiful," Zhang Rongfang said against his real feelings.

To be honest, he found the woman’s temperament decent, but as for her looks... she was just okay, not to the point of being very beautiful.

Of course, seeing the old man’s expression, it was clear he was fawning over her, so naturally, he couldn’t speak words that would be a slap in the face.

"Beautiful indeed. She was a friend from my youth," the old Daoist sighed.

"Alas, as I got older, I began to reflect on the past. So I casually painted a few paintings to pass the time."

"....." What kind of elderly person passes the time by painting enough paintings to fill three floors?? And all of the same person?

Zhang Rongfang was speechless.

As he had climbed the stairs, he had seen at least a hundred paintings....

Each one meticulously detailed and colored.

"Come, sit," the old Daoist glanced at Zhang Rongfang, turned, and walked to the terrace, sitting cross-legged on a gray cushion.

Zhang Rongfang followed and sat on another cushion.

Between them was a woolen rug with two items placed on it.

A small silver hammer and a crystal tube containing an amber-colored liquid.

"Master, dare I ask how to examine the cultivation of literature?" Zhang Rongfang asked softly.

"It’s quite simple," the old Daoist smiled slightly.

"Speaking of which, it’s been a while since I’ve had a conversation with a young person. Let’s not rush, let’s chat first."

He turned his hand, and somehow produced a jug of liquor and two cups.

He poured a cup for each of them.

The pale red wine reflected an intoxicating luster in the sunlight.

"Care for a glass?" The old Daoist picked up his cup and lightly sipped it.

Feeling it impolite to refuse, Zhang Rongfang picked up the cup, sniffed it, and dabbed it on his lips to ensure it wasn’t poisoned before taking a small sip.

The taste was sweet and lingering, as if he had truly eaten a grape, hiding within it many other scents.

"How is it?" The old Daoist looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for a review.

"Very sweet," Zhang Rongfang replied, "but aftertaste is a bit bitter. Yet it’s still fragrant."

"Yes... I added sugar," the old Daoist laughed. "Otherwise, the sweetness would be too mild."

Zhang Rongfang felt there was a deeper meaning to his words, a story behind it.

Putting down his cup, the old Daoist looked up at him.

"You should be aware of how to conduct an examination, right? I need to ask you some questions."

"Please, Master," Zhang Rongfang replied seriously.

"You learned martial arts; do you still remember your old teacher?" the old Daoist asked.

"I do. My martial arts teacher was an unknown old Daoist back in Tan Yang," Zhang Rongfang responded.

Now, under the identity of Zhang Ying, he naturally couldn’t mention Qinghe Palace. However, beyond the name, he could honestly recount based on Xiao Rong’s words.

"What do you think of your teacher?"

"...Stubborn, inflexible. Just an ordinary martial cultivator Daoist," Zhang Rongfang carefully recalled Xiao Rong.

"Overall, he was not wrong. He fulfilled all that a teacher should offer."

Back then, he didn’t blame Xiao Rong.

Many times, one can’t place hope upon others’ enlightenment and understanding.

Either let go and part, or change things barehanded.

"Indeed... In life, wishing for others’ understanding is always difficult," the old Daoist also sighed.

"Then, why did you consider cultivating literature at that time?" he continued to ask.

"Martial arts protect the body, cultivation of literature prolongs life. I don’t know about others, but I just want to live longer," Zhang Rongfang answered earnestly.

"Taking care of oneself? What about the people around you?"

"If martial arts can be stronger, more people can be protected.

If the cultivation of literature can be stronger, one can live longer and witness more. This way, naturally, those around can be sheltered,"

Zhang Rongfang answered.

"Like a big tree. If I possess a vast canopy, I need not fear wind and sun."

"Good!" The old Daoist slapped his knee, revealing a smile. "I like how you think."

"In my age, most reminisce about the past, while I alone look towards the future. But this future is dim, lacking light. If you face such a situation, what would you do?"

"If I can’t see the light and want to illuminate it, I would light a torch myself," Zhang Rongfang answered without hesitation.

"What if you can’t find fire or firewood?"

Zhang Rongfang narrowed his eyes, fell silent for a moment.

"Then I would wait for dawn."

"What if dawn is too long coming?"

"Then first adapt to the darkness!"

The old Daoist looked at the young man before him, paused for a moment.

After waiting a short while, he slowly spoke again.

"If, due to the dark circumstances, you cannot protect those around you, cannot shelter them?"

The sky represents something absolutely unchangeable and invincible.

The dim sky...

Zhang Rongfang had already weighed his thoughts.

His eyes glinted sharply as he picked up the wine cup.

’Then I shall see, why the sky is the sky?’

He didn’t say this aloud. He simply remained silent.

He drank the wine he held in his hand in one gulp.

Some things he knew in his heart but couldn’t say out loud.

The old Daoist didn’t question further. Instead, he poured another cup of wine, sipping slowly.

But from the answer, the emotions, the reactions, he actually already got the answer he wanted.

He felt that the person before him didn’t seem like a young one.

The responses just now lacked the edge of youth.

"Alright, next is the stress examination. During my checks, you need to truthfully describe your reactions and feelings. Only this way can it be authentic.

If you deliberately hide and recite the stress responses of a high cultivator, I’ll be able to detect it too."

The old Daoist said seriously.

"Yes," Zhang Rongfang lowered his head and responded affirmatively.

He was also a bit curious about whether the person before him could measure his true cultivation level.

"Extend your hand."

Suddenly, the old Daoist softly commanded.

Zhang Rongfang extended his left hand with his palm facing up. His pulse gate was immediately grabbed by the old Daoist.

For a moment, neither of them made a sound.

The old Daoist gradually furrowed his brows.

Gripping the pulse, he meticulously felt it, but the pulse was vastly different from his expectations.

"Sit still and don’t move!" He rose to stand behind Zhang Rongfang, his hands became a flurry as he rapidly tapped various spots on his back, shoulders, and neck like raindrops hitting plantain leaves.

The tapping force was very light.

As he tapped, the old Daoist occasionally asked a few questions.

This continued for about five minutes before the old Daoist stopped, his brow furrowing even deeper.

"Open your mouth!" he said again.

Zhang Rongfang complied, opening his mouth.

He then saw the old Daoist pick up the small hammer and began gently tapping his teeth one by one.

After knocking on his teeth in turn, the old Daoist picked up the small crystal tube.

"Come on, squeeze a drop of blood for me."

He opened the tube, presenting its opening to Zhang Rongfang. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

Zhang Rongfang looked at the old Daoist. He reached into his mouth and bit down lightly.

Then he extended his index finger, squeezed out a drop of blood, and let it fall into the tube.

The scarlet drop sank into the amber liquid, slowly condensing, contracting.

Finally, it sank to the bottom, forming a gelatinous mass.

The old Daoist capped the tube, shook it, but the drop remained unmoved.

He shook it forcefully up and down, yet the drop stayed still.

Sighing, the old Daoist tossed the tube back onto the rug.

Lifting his gaze, he stared at Zhang Rongfang.

"Your level of cultivation in literature... has been determined."

"And your age has been determined too....."

*

*

*

Great Capital, Yunmeng Pavilion.

Yan Shuang, carrying a longsword on her back, walked lightly into the first floor in a black dress.

Her eyes swept over, spotting her target amidst the bustle of diners, and she walked quickly towards him.

With a swoosh, she sat on the bench.

She tossed a small black and gold coin pouch onto the table, staring intently at the man opposite her with her beautiful eyes.

"Your share."

Her voice was clear and resolute, completely different from the tone she used when she met with Zhang Rongfang.

"You succeeded?" The man had a weary look, carrying a long weapon wrapped in black cloth on his back, his face covered in a scruffy beard that seemed untended for quite a while.

"If I personally make the move, there’s naturally no chance of failure," Yan Shuang smiled. "When do we make our move?"

"Wait for the notice," the man replied. "Yunwu Manor, after all, is one of the Eastern Sect’s three main bases. The Golden Wing Pavilion is in shambles now; for sure, Yunwu Manor has absorbed many experts from the Eastern Sect. It will be difficult when we fight."