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Surprisingly Enough(NOT), Common Sense Is Overpowered in Cliché Cultivation World
🕑 Added 2025-10-24 11:44:20 +0000 UTC1.20 Drunken Aphid
There are no hopes and dreams; all we have are lies and disappointment.
Everything was going smoothly for Ning. With access to the inner sect now, his cultivation progress had increased further, and the fourth stage of Qi Condensation seemed closer than ever.
Alas! Everything changed when the pests attacked. And when he was needed the most, Old Zhou disappeared.
It began with the sound of a gong. A low, resonant boom that rolled through Sector 3 like the drums of war.
“Drunken Aphids! Drunken Aphids have appeared! Everyone, wake up!”
The shout jolted Ning upright. He stumbled out of his hut, still half-dressed, his eyes snapping open instantly.
All around him, disciples were pouring out of their fields, in panic, shouting, and the faint smell of smoke filled the air.
Ning’s eyes widened. At the edge of his plot, the earth was trembling. A buzzing like grinding metal filled the air, and then he saw it:
A bug the size of two of his palms, translucent green with crimson veins, gnawing at the roots of his spiritual rice, which stood half as tall as a man. Its abdomen pulsed rhythmically, glowing faintly as it sucked the qi straight from the soil.
“...What the hell,” Ning muttered. “That’s just cockroach on steroids.”
Drunken Aphids. The name alone sounded like a joke, but Ning remembered learning about them from Old Zhou.
They were parasitic spirit insects that fed on spiritual grain fields, converting refined qi into intoxicating nectar. When mature, they flew so fast they became streaks of light, impossible to catch and devastating in swarms.
Palm-sized, this one was just a larva.
“Of course,” Ning whispered bitterly. “Because why would anything in this world stay small and manageable?”
Around him, cultivators were already engaging. Blades of spiritual energy cut through the air, while flames, frost, and lightning danced across the fields. The air filled with the sound of snapping wings and panicked shouting.
The aphids were everywhere, crawling from the soil, bursting through grain stalks, blotting out patches of sunlight.
Ning gritted his teeth. “Old Zhou! Where the hell are you!?”
No answer. The old man’s hut was empty. Of all the times for the geezer to vanish, it had to be during a plague.
The buzzing intensified. More aphids were spilling in from neighboring plots, drawn to the concentrated qi of his fields.
Ning slammed his palms together, forming a hand seal.
“Scorching Purge!”
Fire burst forth, sweeping through the soil like a tide. The nearest aphid hissed and convulsed, turning to ash with a sound like boiling oil.
But for every one that burned, three more appeared.
A shriek split the air, and one of the disciples nearby lost control of his technique; half his field exploded into a plume of spiritual smoke. The scent of burnt rice filled the air.
Ning cursed under his breath and switched techniques. His fingers flashed through another seal.
“Golden Finger Technique!”
His recent addition among the spiritual farming spells.
Golden qi condensed into a sharp beam, piercing through a cluster of insects mid-flight. They burst apart, leaving faint trails of light.
But the swarm kept coming.
His field wasn’t overrun yet, but the nearby ones were collapsing fast, and the insects were migrating. They were drawn to density, and Ning’s fields were particularly rich after his recent cultivation upgrades.
“Oh, fantastic,” he muttered. “Just when I planted four acres this time.”
He struck again, scorching the ground to cinders. The smell of roasted aphid was... unpleasant. Acrid, bitter, and faintly alcoholic, hence the name Drunken Aphid. The damn things actually fermented spiritual energy inside their bodies.
A single burst of their blood could intoxicate a mortal for three days. For cultivators, it just caused headaches and regret.
By now, the sky had darkened with the swarm. Their wings shimmered like fractured glass under sunlight, each movement producing a faint buzz that reverberated in Ning’s chest.
He realized this wasn’t just a pest problem. This was a fudging calamity.
He leapt over a charred fence, his robe singed and dirt-streaked, his breath heavy with qi exhaustion.
“Alright, alright,” he said between breaths. “You want a fight? Fine. I’ll burn every last one of you!”
Among the four acres, two were already overrun.
Gritting his teeth, Ning made the cruel decision.
Those two acres were far too gone; it was too late to recover them. So, he’d burn it all before the infestation spread to the rest.
He slammed his palm down again, channeling every ounce of focus he had left.
“Scorching Purge!”
The flames surged outward in a wave, brilliant and controlled... until they weren’t.
Half his field went up in flames.
It was a necessary loss. Better to burn it than let the aphids feed. Still, his heart ached.
He spent the next few minutes battling fire, smoke, and bugs in a chaotic dance of exhaustion. By the end, his qi reserves were drained, his robe tattered, and his once-thriving field looked like it had been bombed.
Only one and a half acres remained.
And just like the police, sect personnel only arrived after the whole ordeal was resolved.
“Are you okay?” one of the outer sect disciples asked, waving a talisman as he appeared in the field.
Ning glanced at the burning surroundings and forced a dry smile. “I’m fine. Please, help the others.”
“Okay.” The outer sect disciple hurried off.
Ning dropped to a sitting position, staring at the ruin of his efforts.
Three months of careful cultivation, gone in an hour.
No, he was not crying. The air just tasted salty.
...
The drunken aphid disaster was swiftly put to an end. Many new farmers, including Ning, were left devastated, but as they say, life goes on. They could only sigh, shake their heads, and put the matter behind them.
For Ning, the losses were severe. Even after selling all the carcasses of the drunken aphids for five spirit stones, he barely made up a fraction of what he’d lost.
Alas, as the saying goes, man proposes, but heaven disposes. Plans never keep up with change.
Amidst all this, Ning’s first mission also came to an end.
“Senior Sister, welcome back,” Ning greeted respectfully as the cold inner sect disciple returned.
“Hmm. You’ve done a good job.” The senior sister gave a small nod, her expression as calm as ever, while she gently stroked the chin of her cat.
Ning bowed slightly. “Thank you, Senior Sister.”
And just like that, his first mission was over. No twists, no turns, simply a quiet end.
As she turned away, Lumi brushed against Ning’s leg, its tail faintly brushing his wrist like a subtle farewell.
Ning couldn’t help but feel a touch of envy. His senior sister was a beast tamer, one of the hundred recognized professions. Beast tamers formed bonds with spirit beasts, training them, fighting alongside them, or even using them for more practical purposes.
The Pure Qi Sect itself was famous for its Nine-Striped Bee, a spiritual insect species domesticated by the sect long ago. So, beast taming was also one of the major professions in the sect.
Simply put, beast tamers were like cultivator versions of Pokémon trainers. And really, who wouldn’t want to be one?
If Ning had a spiritual chicken or a duck under his command, the drunken aphids would’ve been wiped out in no time.
He sighed. “Alas, beast taming is also a rich man’s path. You need to cultivate yourself and your beast.”
He glanced at his light pouch. Then, put his dreams behind.
“Damn,” he muttered. “Still limited by poverty.”
...
Thanks for reading~
