Beggar Cultivation System

Bluetooth soared high above Manida Land, wings outstretched, eyes sharp, heart anxious.

"Where… where could she be?" he muttered to himself, scanning every corner of the massive city from the skies.

The Water-Attributed Falcon, once proud and aloof, now looked like a lovesick bird chasing after a dream—and that dream came in the form of a pink-feathered beauty. Elegant wings, divine feathers, and eyes that looked down on him like he wasn't even worth a worm.

Bluetooth's face flushed.

"She noticed me. I know she did…" he whispered, feathers ruffling from both wind and excitement. "Why else would she scoff and fly away? That was definitely a sign!"

But he wasn't just flying for love. His Master, Apollo, had given him a task—Find a place where beggars could stay, somewhere safe, hidden, cheap, and preferably not filled with rat stew.

It was proving more difficult than expected.

Manida Land wasn't like Belthias. It was bigger, wealthier, more guarded. Flying beasts zoomed across the sky like merchants chasing a profit, and below, the streets were lined with stone roads, jade tiles, and rows of cultivator patrols. Even the beggars here looked organized, some of them wearing coordinated tattered robes and polished wooden bowls.

"What kind of beggar union is this?" Bluetooth muttered as he glided lower.

He flapped through a residential district, then into a merchant zone, dodging advertising talismans that tried to sell him hawthorn buns and spiritual shampoo. His senses were sharp, alert for anything remotely labeled "Shelter," "Street Rest," or "Free Rice."

So far: nothing.

But then…

He felt it.

Not a presence, but a breeze—a gentle ripple of air that smelled faintly of roses and pride.

His falcon eyes sharpened immediately.

Far across the rooftops, past a series of incense shops and artifact stalls, something fluttered in the distance. A brief glint of pink vanished behind a tall building.

Bluetooth's heart stopped.

"Her."

It had to be.

Without a second thought, he banked hard and launched toward the rooftops, abandoning the search for shelter entirely.

"I'll find her first," he muttered to himself, speeding through the wind, "then I'll find a beggar's nest. Priorities!"

Behind him, the wind trailed feathers and frustration.

His small body, reduced by the Shrinking Technique, made his flapping seem frantic—no, desperate. And that's because it was.

Bluetooth zipped through the sky, chasing the fleeting glimpse of pink he had seen vanish behind the tall buildings. His wings beat furiously as he darted over a tiled rooftop, wind whistling past his feathers.

Then he saw her.

Perched gracefully on the railing of a high balcony, the pink falcon glowed in the afternoon sun like a divine creature from a tale. Her feathers shimmered with a luster that no technique could imitate—soft pinks that danced like light on a calm lake.

Beside her sat a small girl, no older than ten, dressed in an immaculate pink robe. She sat at a round marble table, steam curling gently from the teacup in her dainty hands. The atmosphere around her was quiet, serene... dangerous.

But Bluetooth's gaze was locked on only one thing.

The falcon.

Compared to him in full size, she was smaller—but her elegance surpassed anything he'd ever seen. Every movement was like poetry. Every flutter of her feathers a temptation. His beady eyes sparkled with hope, wings tilting as he prepared to glide down and greet her.

Just a little closer.

Yet the moment he neared the balcony, his instincts screamed.

His feathers stiffened. A freezing sensation coiled around his chest. It felt like invisible chains had wrapped around him, yanking at his soul, whispering warnings in a language no bird should understand.

Before he knew it, he veered off.

Not out of choice—but survival.

If birds could sweat, he would have been drenched. The wind hissed past as he beat his wings in retreat, heart pounding in his tiny chest. Only when he'd placed several buildings between him and the balcony did he dare to stop.

He turned, slowly, cautiously.

There she was.

Not the falcon.

The girl.

She was now standing, pink robes fluttering like banners in the wind. Her small hands rested calmly at her sides, but her eyes… her eyes locked on his location like a hawk spotting prey.

Cold. Precise. Calculated.

Bluetooth's heart sank.

"She saw me… she knew I was there," he whispered, feathers twitching nervously. "That wasn't just a little girl…"

Then, her gaze shifted ever so slightly—no longer looking at him, but through him. As if marking him.

As if warning him.

The pink falcon didn't move.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't even glance in his direction.

She probably didn't even notice me…

Bluetooth dropped his head in despair and turned around once more, flapping away like a deflated kite. "Next time… I'll come back taller, faster, stronger…"

He paused mid-flight.

"…and definitely not looking like a pigeon."

Bluetooth now knew where she stayed.

That balcony—so high and pristine—had to belong to one of the finest inns in the city. A place meant for the wealthy, for noble young ladies and powerful cultivators who flew in carriages laced with Spirit Gold. It wasn't a place where birds like him belonged.

Unlike us, he thought bitterly, sleeping near alleys and curled up beside trash bins.

The contrast was brutal.

As he flew away with wings heavy from more than just exhaustion, regret pooled deep in his little chest. The wind carried him forward, but his mind was rooted back at that balcony.

Back to her.

To them.

To that damned pink-haired girl with eyes that could freeze oceans.

He let out a long sigh, his beak twitching.

And then, his thoughts drifted to his Master.

Apollo—the so-called Beggar Cultivator.

A man who wielded power that shook the earth… and yet slept on the street, beg for money, and wore clothes that looked like they'd been stolen from a cemetery.

Bluetooth knew his boss was strong.

But still—why live like this?

Why act poor when you had the strength to command riches?

He would never understand him. Not that he needed to.

But… seeing the girl he loved—no, admired—living in a place of velvet carpets and gold-threaded curtains made him feel small.

Insignificant.

Insulted.

Maybe if I was born as a noble mount, he thought, heart aching. Maybe if I had shiny feathers, maybe if I could talk with elegance instead of squawking like a wet towel…

He closed his eyes and let the air carry him.

Then he remembered Apollo's words.

"If you reach Qi Condensation, I'll help you win her heart."

Strength.

That's all that mattered in this world.

Not beauty, not money, not pink feathers or shiny robes.

Just strength.

If he became stronger, he wouldn't need to be afraid of that little pink terror with eyes like winter steel. He wouldn't have to worry about being turned away, laughed at, or chased off by invisible pressure that made his insides curl.

If he were stronger…

She would see him.

She would look at him not with indifference but with awe.

She'd fall for me…

He clenched his tiny claws.

"Boss is right," Bluetooth muttered to himself, eyes narrowing as he streaked across the sky. "I don't need a bloodline. I'll cultivate so hard my feathers glow. That pink girl won't scare me next time. That falcon won't ignore me."

A determined gleam lit his beady eyes.

"One day… I'll stand on that balcony, tall and proud, and she'll be the one looking up."

And with that final thought, he dove into the lower districts of Manida Land—where the shadows curled along the walls and beggars staked their spots before sunset.

Because tonight… he would train. Not because his boss told him to.

But because he had a reason now.

A pink one.