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Cultivation Nerd: Chapter 347
🕑 Added 2025-11-12 06:37:59 +0000 UTCChapter 347 - War Room Meeting
The first days of summer had arrived, sunlight spilling through the open windows of the library pagoda in warm, lazy beams. I sat in a chair on one of the upper floors, a book half-open in my hand, though I wasn’t really reading. Across the room, Tingfeng knelt in the northeast corner, lost in meditation.
The air around him shimmered faintly. Loose pages rustled on nearby desks as the wind stirred, drawn by the Qi surging from his core. It gathered into a spiraling current growing sharper and denser until, with a deep resonant hum, the flow burst outward.
A bright wave of energy rippled through the library, shaking the shelves ever so slightly. Tingfeng exhaled slowly, his eyes opening to reveal steady calm. He had done it, he had broken through to nine-star Qi Gathering.
For a moment, the scent of parchment and ink mingled with the faint electric tang, and I allowed myself a small, approving smile.
Huh. He’d caught up to her already. As expected. His talent had always been extraordinary, but it was his mindset that pushed him beyond what should be possible for someone of his aptitude.
Tingfeng frowned in quiet concentration, then nodded as if approving his own result before standing and bowing toward me.
“Teacher, I’m planning to begin gathering Qi for my Foundation Establishment breakthrough,” he said. He hesitated, then bowed deeper, a full ninety degrees. “Thank you for everything. Without your guidance and the resources you’ve provided, my progress wouldn’t have been this smooth.”
Huh. So the kid had more than just swords rattling around in his head.
I knew he wasn’t the ungrateful type, but with how focused he was on swordsmanship, I never expected him to take the time to show gratitude. Maybe I’d underestimated him.
“You should announce your closed-door cultivation,” I said.
Tingfeng straightened and nodded immediately, then paused as realization dawned. A second nod followed, slower this time, more thoughtful.
Good. He understood.
His potential was immense; I could easily see him reaching Nascent Soul one day. But the coming sect skirmishes would change things. Disciples were already being lined up as cannon fodder.
He was strong, but still mortal. One unlucky misstep, such as a peak Foundation Establishment ambush or two dangerous enemies teaming up, would shatter that future. Even the most gifted could fall to an inconvenient trap or an element they couldn’t counter.
It would raise suspicion for both my students to retreat into seclusion right before the war, sure. But I didn’t care. Let the elders grumble, I could always claim that two additional Foundation cultivators later would serve the sect better than two dead prodigies now.
If the sect forced participation, I’d make sure they’d participated as little as possible in the slaughter.
After a moment of quiet satisfaction, I rose from my chair, leaving Tingfeng to his meditation. His new breakthrough would keep him occupied for hours, and I had no wish to disturb him.
He would have to think carefully about his future element from here on out.
Stepping out of the library pagoda, the warm breeze of early summer brushed against my face. My gaze drifted toward the land beyond the array-marked boundary of the library’s territory, and there it was.
The new building.
It stood tall and proud, nothing like the modest reading hall I’d built across the courtyard for disciples to study in peace. This one was grand, almost ostentatiously so. Crimson pillars rose beneath a sweeping tiled roof, gold trim glinting where sunlight kissed the edges. Intricate carvings of dragons and phoenixes curled across the eaves, and curved balconies wrapped around the upper floors like layered armor.
It didn’t look like a simple administrative hall. It looked like a palace or perhaps a fortress. Even from here, the vibe around it seemed to hum with Song Song’s personality: presumptuous, bossy, and impossible to ignore.
I could already sense the presences gathered inside, the sect’s military elders, their Qi flaring with impatience and among them, Song Song’s own. Her Qi was quieter than usual, refined and restrained from her recent practice with that Sky Grade Technique of hers.
She must’ve sensed me, too, because a pulse of Qi brushed against my own, like a simple invitation.
I sighed, scratching the back of my neck, wondering if ignoring it was an option.
I hadn’t thought much about it when she’d first built her “headquarters” beside the library. But if she was going to start calling me to her war meetings…
With another sigh, I circulated my Qi, lifted off the ground, and drifted toward her building. In moments, I stood before the great doors and stepped inside without knocking.
The interior was no less extravagant. The floors gleamed like polished mirrors, and the walls were lined with tapestries of ancient battles and celestial beasts. Golden lanterns hung from the rafters, their warm light spilling across dark sandalwood beams.
At the center of the hall stood a long table carved from a single slab of wood, its lacquered surface gleaming. Around it sat twenty elders, their robes swishing faintly as they shifted, voices low and tense. The air was thick and heavy with the kind of restrained hostility that often arose when too many powerful people shared a room.
Well… at least she’d gone all-out this time. I wished she’d shown half this dedication when she built her actual house.
A pity. I would’ve enjoyed mocking her for the decor.
My amusement faded as I scanned the faces around the table. Barely a quarter of those present belonged here. The rest were hangers-on, elders with little connection to warfare or strategy, but an eagerness to stay close to power. Their positions aligned more with scholars, merchants, politicians… and they were more like vultures cloaked in cultivation robes.
Now that the sect’s balance teetered on the edge of collapse, none of them wanted to be left in the dark. Better to sit at the table, even if they didn’t understand the game.
When Song Song saw me, she smiled and waved as if this were a casual gathering, not a war council.
“Come sit next to me,” she chirped, so bright, so innocent-looking, that for a fleeting second she didn’t seem like the psycho she actually was.
I glanced at the chair to her right. An old man sat there with barely a strand of hair on his head and four missing upper teeth at the front.
His eyes widened at the disrespect, and his face flushed; he looked as though he was ready to shout. But when he turned to Song Song, whatever complaint he had choked off.
He was a four-star Core Formation cultivator, the strongest presence in the room by what I could sense. Song Song didn’t even spare him a glance; she just waved me over.
I would have corrected her, but Song Song’s power came from absolute authority; she wasn’t soft with anyone, so I kept quiet.
Coughing awkwardly into his hand, the old man rose and moved to the end of the table, where there were free seats. I approached the chair beside Song Song, offering only a brief nod of respect to the others; we were peers here, and overdoing it would look false.
“I wanted to borrow Liu Feng's experience with beasts and see his opinion on whether we would be able to use the beasts to help us against the other three great sects,” she said.
The other elders clearly didn’t approve, though none spoke up. Some smiled awkwardly and gave uncertain nods.
“If we use a strategy like that, it might make us appear as enemies of humanity, people who use beasts that feed on our own kind,” I reminded her.
“I understand,” Song Song shrugged. “But at the same time, we are already enemies with the rest of the world.”
“True, but what if the sects in our territory turn against us for a decision like that?” I pointed to a major hole in her plan. “We all know some clans are looking for excuses to turn their backs and save face.”
Song Song leaned back until the chair balanced on two legs, resting her hands behind her head as she stared at the ornate ceiling. Her eyes gleamed, the particular glint that warned me she was about to say something outrageous. We’d spent enough time together to read each other like that.
The topic of beasts was sensitive; many here had lost loved ones to them. Before Song Song could tank her career as a future sect leader, I cleared my throat.
“The idea might not be the best for now, since there is so much enmity between us,” I said. A few frowns met me, but I smiled and added, “After all, nobody would miss it if we sent some beasts on the front lines on suicide missions. We lower the beast population and spare some of our own.”
It’s all about the wording. Song Song didn’t bother to mince hers when she wanted something or thought an idea too good to pass up.
Song Song looked at me, she knew me well enough to expect I wouldn't start speaking about plans so soon after sitting and drawing attention.
She nodded, straightened, stopped leaning back, and put her elbows on the table.
“I was just throwing some ideas around,” she said, thankfully not letting my face-saving effort go to waste.
Song Song was dominant; other people's ideas and criticism rolled off her like rain. That was a weakness she wouldn't change, so we had to work around it.
“We should try a defensive war for now,” I suggested. “At least at the beginning to test the waters, see how aggressive the other sects are going to be.”
We couldn't afford an offensive war, not against one sect, let alone three. We’d lost too many to the beast waves.
“What if the other sects see this as weakness, and pounce on us like sharks or malicious, hungry cats?” protested one elder.
He was a tall, broad man with a bald head that gleamed under the lantern light and a round belly straining his robes. His fingers were thick and stubby, each like a small sausage. Patchy beard clung to his chin in an unfortunate attempt at facial hair that left him looking perpetually unkempt.
If memory served, he was Youdi Yuan, the inner elder in charge of mail and communications. This benign post rarely drew attention, and owners of that position had never been a major player in sect politics.
“That is a possibility,” I conceded. “But we can't afford any other form of warfare. A defensive posture is a slow death, yes, but it buys time.”
“Why? What are we waiting for?” another elder snapped. “Is anyone going to help us in this situation?”
He was a lanky man, his frame almost gaunt save for two overdeveloped cords of muscle on his arms that looked out of place on such a wiry body. Veins coiled beneath his skin down to calloused hands; the rest of him seemed too frail for the strength his arms implied.
His name was Jianzhu Gongren, the elder in charge of construction and planning.
“Nobody,” I said. “But we need to wait…” I scanned their faces, reading their thoughts. “Wait until a Nascent Soul cultivator finally appears in our sect.”
One elder frowned. The others who might have disagreed stayed silent, intimidated by Song Song, or by the closeness people assumed we shared.
“This is going to cost the sect a lot, and it might fail in the end,” the frowning elder muttered.
Kuaji Jingli, the elder in charge of the sect’s finances, wasn’t just talking about coin when he warned that this was going to cost the sect a lot.
He was short and slight, with a narrow frame that made him appear smaller than he was. A thin mustache clung to his upper lip, meticulously trimmed but too sparse to lend him gravitas. He twirled it between his fingers, a nervous tic more than vanity. His brows furrowed constantly, eyes darting like someone forever chasing half-formed calculations.
He looked like a man trapped between caution and arithmetic.
Still, he was right: a Nascent Soul cultivator hadn’t appeared in our sect for centuries, despite the potentials scattered around.
“You're absolutely right, this is going to be very costly if it drags on for too long,” I agreed. “But what other choices do we have?”
All eyes turned to me, hungry for an answer. They’d likely rehashed every possibility before I arrived. Song Song wouldn’t have floated an idea like working with beasts if they hadn’t already weighed and explored other alternatives.
So I laid out what I thought were the realistic options.
“The way I see it, we have three choices,” I said, holding up three fingers and lowering one. “First: produce a Nascent Soul cultivator from our ranks. A legitimate power like that would deter any attacker unless their leaders personally intervened. It would restore balance.”
A handful of elders nodded in agreement, sensible, if slow.
“Now the second choice,” I continued, lowering another finger. “Make attacking us too costly. Make their losses so high it’s not worthwhile.”
Heads bobbed around the table, though more hesitation flickered on some faces this time.
“We have to make it so that at least five enemies die for each person from our side who is killed,” Kuaji said, twirling his mustache like a cartoon villain.
His math was grim but practical; it set the bare minimum for deterrence. We no longer had the manpower to trade lives freely, even one of the great sects could bleed us dry. Accounting for likely betrayals and fence-sitters among the clans, the real ratio needed was closer to six enemies per our casualty.
On paper, the Blazing Sun Sect still boasted top-tier prodigies, including Song Song, her brother Ye An, Wu Yan, Jiang Yeming, and Tingfeng, absolute monsters in potential. But they were few, and many required time to mature. Tingfeng and Jiang Yeming, for example, needed more time than I’d hoped. Wu Yan was also registered with no one, and almost nobody knew she existed, so she didn't really even count.
If push came to shove and my disciples' safety was on the line, I wouldn’t hesitate to take them into seclusion myself.
“You're right, and that is why we will have to try any scheme, plan, or underhanded method possible to make this work,” I said, and put down my last finger. “Now, for the third plan, this involves a few of us going on a suicide mission and somehow killing their sect leaders and all that before they could do the same to us. Just to be clear, I consider this the most unrealistic.”
We had poisons in store that could kill Nascent Soul cultivators, given time. For such a thing to work, they would have to be unaware they were poisoned, and we would need to administer the toxin without being noticed.
A somber mood settled over the room as the elders began to turn the idea over, sketching mental strategies and contingencies. Before anyone could voice a plan, I cut in with a clarification.
“I'm trying to make the second idea a reality, while buying time for the first one that would guarantee peace,” I explained. “If for every one cultivator we lost, the other sects lost five, then it becomes mutual destruction. They’d at most keep skirmishing to save face, and that would be the end of it.”
“What if this forces the Nascent Soul cultivators, their sect leaders, to come out and deal with us once and for all?” asked the inner elder in charge of mail, interlocking his thick, sausage-like fingers.
“That I consider very unlikely to happen,” I said, forcing a smile I didn’t entirely feel. “Do you remember what happened the last time a Nascent Soul cultivator attacked our sect?”
Eyes widened across the table. Confidence, fragile as it was, returned to the room.
“Yes, the Blazing Sun Immortal will come and deal with any Nascent Soul cultivator who dares come here,” I declared, projecting certainty.
Most of the elders nodded, visibly relieved. News of my past contact with the Blazing Sun Immortal had spread among the upper echelon while Zun Gon still lived, and had done more than a little to steady their nerves.
What none of them understood was how unreliable that protection really was. The Blazing Sun Immortal believed in survival of the fittest. Whatever use the sect once held for him had long since faded. He did not come to babysit. If we required his intervention every time we were grasping at survival, we had outlived our usefulness.
“No matter what plan we choose, send spies,” the mail elder suggested. “We need to understand their next moves. They might not send sect leaders here, but their frontlines could shift if losses pile up or boredom sets in.”
“We should also keep our army separated and have them operate in teams no larger than ten,” the finance elder countered, twirling his mustache as if calculating casualties by feel.
I nodded at both their suggestions. In my previous life, it would have made sense to keep an army together, more power in numbers. Here that was a terrible idea. If we were gathered, a Nascent Soul cultivator from their side could wipe us all out in one sweep.
“We should also have the tailors make uniforms from all the other sects,” I suggested. “Core Formation cultivators and obviously Nascent Soul cultivators have a very wide sensory range. I doubt they’ll know whether they’re sensing one of their own or us, and they certainly don’t remember every single disciple.”
“Dishonorable,” said one of the elders.
“Yes, but an excellent idea,” added another.
Cultivators liked to boast about their honor in public, but behind closed doors, the rules were different.
History books would one day claim the other sects didn’t attack us out of honor, not wanting to bully the weak. The truth was simpler: they were afraid of the Blazing Sun Immortal.
Song Song scanned the room, then raised her hand. “Either way, we should decide on our main strategy for now. Everyone in favor of starting with a defensive tactic, raise your hands.”
Thirteen elders followed her; I added myself as the fourteenth. The rest were a minority, but they didn’t look enraged, just resigned.
“With this, I declare the meeting over,” she said.
I glanced at her from the corner of my eye and couldn’t help the proud smile that crept onto my face.
Song Song had grown as a leader. I felt an odd, warm pride at that.
