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Cultivation Nerd: Chapter 351
🕑 Added 2025-11-12 06:38:46 +0000 UTCChapter 351 - The Ringing Bells
I sat at the dinner table, sharing a quiet meal with Fu Yating, my dear fiancée.
Not much had changed between us lately, though she’d started taking a new batch of pills to treat the faint scar running along her neck. The pale skin around it was healing nicely, smooth and soft again, almost glowing in the light.
One day, I wanted to explore alchemy and study how medicines like those worked and how they could restore scarred flesh to its original state. The process had to be fascinating. But for now, I didn’t have the time or the lifespan to spare for such pursuits.
I took another bite of rice and beef stew. It was a simple dish, thrown together quickly since we’d missed lunch, but it was still warm and comforting.
“You’ve been missing some meals,” Fu Yating said, rinsing her hands at the basin beside us. Water flowed from an array powered by a few spirit stones embedded in the counter.
After drying her hands, she sat across from me, her calm expression belying the stubborn determination in her gaze. She wasn’t going to let silence pass as an answer.
“I’ve been busy,” I said simply.
“Are you going to the front lines?” she asked, voice level but eyes sharp.
I sighed. She hated when I put myself in danger, even if she tried to hide it.
“Not exactly,” I said. “But I’ll be going out to keep an eye on Jiang Yeming and Tingfeng during their scouting missions.”
The truth was, there was always a risk. If we ran into a Core Formation cultivator out there, it could mean death. I wasn’t particularly attached to either of my newer disciples, not enough to risk my life for them, but I now had protection. A Core Formation creature was watching over me at all times.
And no, it wasn’t Song Song.
“I know this isn’t the best time to bring it up,” Fu Yating said after a pause, her fingers fidgeting in her lap. “But since you might die out there anyway… and I’m not getting any younger…”
“Younger?” I smiled faintly. “You’re twenty. You’re super young.”
I’d almost reached a mental age where even thirty-year-olds seemed young. A twenty-year-old was pretty much a kid.
“Yes, twenty,” she said flatly. “And when my children are twenty, I’ll be forty.”
I blinked at her. What was that supposed to mean?
“Okay? And?”
She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
“If you don’t want me,” she murmured, voice low but clear enough for me to hear, “then just say so. At least I won’t waste my time hoping.”
“That’s not the case,” I said.
Fu Yating might not have had the same stunning beauty as Song Song or the almost ethereal allure of Ye An, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t beautiful in her own right. Still, she was being… unusually pushy.
Then again, I could understand it. The war had everyone thinking about mortality.
But when she saw the expression on my face, whatever it was, she frowned and began to rise from her chair.
“Never mind, forget about it,” she said.
But as she started to stand, I caught her hand, holding it gently yet firmly. Her eyes met mine, surprised.
“Can you wait until spring?” I asked softly. “We’ll do it properly then, have a wedding and everything.”
Her eyes widened, her composure cracking for a heartbeat.
Though we sometimes called each other husband and wife, we’d never actually made it official.
I smiled at her expression.
“After all,” I added, “I wouldn’t want our child to be born a bastard.”
That snapped her straight out of whatever daydream she’d fallen into. Her cheeks puffed as she pouted, slapping my hand away.
“Don’t insult my child like that,” she said sharply.
I leaned back in my chair, grin widening.
“Wow, already protective of our future brats,” I teased. “You’re going to spoil them rotten, woman.”
Her lips twitched as she tried, unsuccessfully, to hold back a smile.
We’d been together long enough that I knew exactly what would make her laugh, and it had been a while since we’d had a lighthearted spat. A bit of practice for our future arguments wouldn’t hurt.
“Yeah?” she shot back. “Well, someone has to balance out your iron-fisted parenting.”
And just like that, we were mock-arguing over hypothetical children we didn’t even have yet.
It was stupid. And warm. And fun.
Eventually, the back-and-forth faded, replaced by the quiet crackle of the fire as Fu Yating moved to prepare another meal. By the time she set the food before me, the atmosphere had settled into a comfortable calm.
The clink of chopsticks and the gentle simmer of stew filled the silence. Then I felt her gaze on me.
Fu Yating reached across the table, laying her hand over mine. Her touch was warm, grounding.
I looked up just as she leaned closer, her fingers brushing along my forearm, her lips curving in a faint, unreadable smile.
Then she leaned in a little more.
Was she… going for a kiss?
I froze mid-bite, still chewing rice and beef, caught halfway between surprise and amusement.
“Premarital sex is a sin, young lady,” I said solemnly.
Fu Yating stopped mid-lean, staring at me blankly.
Her expression was utterly flat, with eyes calm and lips pressed in a line, as if she were trying to decide between laughter and murder. The silence stretched painfully long.
Then her mouth twitched. I could feel the wave of exasperation radiating from her.
I was well aware that Christianity or any of the religions I’d just referenced didn’t exist here. But “sin” carried a meaning of its own. Premarital relations were frowned upon in most places here, especially for women.
So my words hit the mark.
“Now you ruined it,” she sighed, pulling her hand back and sinking into her chair. Her tone hovered between disappointment and amusement.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied me, suspicion glinting behind them.
“You’re doing this intentionally, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice soft but carrying just enough bite to sting.
She rested her elbow on the table, chin propped on her palm, a faint smirk curving her lips. “Tell me, do you have a secret lover I should know about?”
I raised a brow, setting down my chopsticks. “Do I look like the kind of guy who’s ever even been to bed with a woman?”
The silence that followed was… uncomfortable. And oddly charged. Her expression hovered somewhere between disbelief and laughter.
Truth be told, I had little interest in carnal pleasure. In a world filled with wonders, why waste time on something so… mundane? Liu Feng had been the same, constantly training, studying, or picking fights, always chasing something greater than fleeting physical satisfaction.
Fu Yating huffed and pushed her chair back, the scrape of wood against the floor sharp and final.
“I’m going to sleep,” she announced.
“What?” I blinked, glancing at the window where warm sunlight streamed through. “It’s barely midday.”
“I need a break from this headache,” she said flatly, her gaze cutting straight through me. Then, just to make sure I understood, she pointed directly at my chest.
Message received.
Without another word, she turned and headed upstairs, the sound of her footsteps fading away until the only thing left was the faint hum of the array-powered water basin.
I stared after her for a moment, shrugged, and turned back to my meal. The food was still warm, and it would’ve been a shame to let it go cold over something as trivial as my uncanny ability to annoy women.
Besides, I had more pressing matters to think about, like my research.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t going well.
The last battle had sparked an idea: granting sentience to Qi constructs. Not the simple pre-programmed type he could already create with ease, but real, reactive intelligence and something that could think, learn, and adapt.
The concept was simple in theory: a self-learning formation that could observe, process, and imitate what it didn’t understand, like a primitive infant mind.
But the practice was a nightmare.
Each attempt ended in failure. The jade constructs either overloaded with information or simply collapsed in on themselves. Every time I improved their structure or tried to simplify their “processing,” they still imploded.
And the worst part? I still had no idea why.
Only a handful of half-formed theories and none of them satisfying.
…
Days slipped by after my talk with my soon-to-be wife, and life settled back into its familiar rhythm. Thankfully, I still had enough pull in the sect to keep Jiang Yeming and Tingfeng out of the front lines, assigning them patrol duty every other day like ordinary disciples instead of sending them to die in some pointless skirmish.
That afternoon, I found myself in my usual spot inside the library, with tea in hand, a book open, the soft rustle of pages blending with the low hum of the protective arrays. Sunlight slanted through the high windows, gleaming off the polished wood of the new study tables. The quiet was almost meditative.
Almost.
Because today, peace had an intruder.
A familiar shadow fell across my table, followed by the telltale sound of someone who couldn’t sit still for more than five seconds.
Song Song.
She slouched into the chair opposite me like a restless child dragged into school, glancing around the silent room as if searching for entertainment. Her lips parted, then closed again when she caught my look, the unspoken “library rule” flashing behind my eyes. With an exaggerated sigh, she folded her arms and began tapping her fingers on the tabletop, a rhythm impossible to ignore.
I tried to concentrate on the book. I really did.
Then, without warning, she leaned forward, snatched my cup, and took a sip of tea.
A heartbeat later, she spat it back into the cup, making a face of pure betrayal.
“Ugh. You didn’t even use sugar.”
I lowered my book slowly, staring first at her, then at the desecrated tea.
This woman…
“Why are you here?” I asked, tone hovering between weary and incredulous.
“Well,” she began, eyes wandering as if searching for an excuse, “we ran a survey of the troops in case war actually breaks out. Noticed a lot of little sects popping up inside our territory, basically offshoots using the Earth-grade techniques you suggested we distribute during recruitment.”
“I know,” I said flatly. “We’ve discussed this. It’s a poor excuse for expansion.”
Song Song sighed and leaned back, her shoulders loosening, though her voice dropped in weight. “That’s not the problem. The real problem is…” she hesitated, then met my eyes, “…maybe it’s time we cut our losses.”
That pulled me out of my assumptions.
“As the elder in charge of war, I see the casualty reports,” she said quietly. “On paper, we’re doing fine. But the numbers tell another story, one dead for one killed. Equal exchange. A slow bleed.” Her fingers tapped the wood once, sharp. “At this pace, we’ll be forced to send in elders. And when that happens, everyone will see the truth.”
Her eyes locked with mine. “We’re weak.”
I exhaled slowly, leaning back. “I never took you for someone who’d give up a position you wanted.”
“That position’s worthless if I die in it,” she replied simply. “Also, you’re at a higher risk of dying than me.”
For a long moment, I just looked at her. It wasn’t fear in her eyes; it was clarity. The same kind of pragmatic resolve I’d seen in generals right before they made their worst decisions for the right reasons.
“So,” I said softly, “you’re suggesting we leave.”
“Why not?” She shrugged. “We could go to your little clan, crush whoever thinks they own the place, carve out something quiet. Something ours.”
I couldn’t help a smile. “At least we wouldn’t have to deal with schemers.”
“Exactly.” Her grin matched mine, sharp but weary.
It was tempting, frighteningly so. The idea of walking away from the endless web of politics and ambition had its pull. But her plan had one fatal flaw.
Her father.
If he decided to get involved, he’d burn any dream of peace to the ground.
“Are we really doing that bad?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes.” Song Song didn’t even blink. “We’re barely holding the stalemate. The only real progress we’ve made is at the Azure Frost Sect’s border.”
“Oh.”
Of course.
That was Song San’s front. His army was advancing, slowly, but undeniably. The Azure Frost Sect was biding its time, letting everyone else bleed before swooping in for the kill.
Some of the elders mocked their leader’s caution as “womanly overthinking.” Fools.
I suspected something else. The Azure Frost Sect Leader didn’t want three sects remaining after this war. She wanted one.
And Song San’s success only made things worse for us. If he kept pushing forward, the elders might start forgiving his crimes. War had a way of washing blood with more blood.
“Anyway,” Song Song said, pushing back her chair, “I’ll be entering secluded cultivation soon. I’m going to attempt a breakthrough to two-star Core Formation.”
I looked up, genuinely surprised. So soon?
Her aura had changed into something calmer, heavier, with that quiet determination that came when one finally accepted they were standing on a battlefield much larger than themselves.
It seemed the war was forcing her to grow.
Knowing her, it wasn’t just danger driving her; it was also pride.
Ye An was a stage above her. And Song Song could never stand that for long.
