Cultivation Nerd

After the recent eye-opening experience while training in the rain, I deviated from my usual routine. Typically, I would push my body until it could no longer bear the strain of training, but today was different. Instead, I returned to the dorm rooms, slipping in unnoticed as no one was outside to witness my arrival.

However, my mind was not consumed by thoughts of training; it was fixated on the old janitor. The likelihood of his casual advice leading to a profound revelation seemed too far-fetched to be mere coincidence.

Reflecting on the old bloke's demeanor, one might assume he wasn't the type to seek positions of power. Unlike the common xianxia sense that those in power were often arrogant and condescending, the old goat exhibited a genuine, amiable nature. In a world where spiritual roots determined cultivation potential, those with innate spiritual superiority often viewed themselves as such.

Furthermore, the old guy never resorted to phrases like; courting death.

Perhaps I was mistaken in my assumptions, and power amplified pre-existing traits. If someone was an asshole before obtaining power, they would likely become even more of an asshole afterward.

I pondered how many years of indoor cultivation might lead to social ineptitude. While the old man possessed quirks, he didn't exhibit the extreme shut-in behavior common among long-time cultivators.

I rationalized the behavior of certain higher-ups as a result of years spent in seclusion.

Yet, my encounters with such people were limited. Most interactions lasted mere minutes, leaving me with little insight into their characters. Even the old granny who interrogated me in prison revealed more about her granddaughter than herself.

Despite my musings, it was unlikely for some old monster to do such menial things. While the notion of a secretive old master disguised as a janitor was appealing in xianxia novels, it held little weight in reality.

To ascend to such heights of power, one would have had to endure relentless effort and confront numerous life-and-death struggles. They no doubt had seen friends die and lovers wither in front of their eyes.

So why would they squander their time laboring as a janitor? It would be like spitting on the sacrifices they made along the way. People didn't work that way.

It was like working hard to make money and then returning to working minimal wage. If someone worked to become a billionaire, the last thing they would do was work as a cashier and be treated like shit.

So many questions, yet no answers.

Perhaps I was looking at all this wrong; these were not average people.

While I could put myself in the shoes of an average person and see things from their point of view. A cultivator who spent most of his life in indoor cultivation was a different kind of creature.

I stretched out on the bed, strategically placing alarms around my room— the chair near the door and the books by the window. They were both tipped to the side so that any movement from the door or window. The chair and the book would fall down and create some noise.

Should anyone attempt to break in, I would at least receive a warning, giving me the chance to defend myself.

Perhaps I was overly reading into things too much, and Shan Sha had merely offered sensible, friendly counsel. I could put myself in his shoes, a regular janitor, doling out such advice devoid of hidden mastery.

That was when the cold wetness spreading through my bed woke me up from my thoughts.

Damn it... I had laid on my bed in wet clothes.

...

The following day greeted me with the gentle caress of morning light upon my face and the soft singing of birds outside, with some disciples talking in the front yard of the dorm.

As I stirred awake, sunlight flooded my senses.

Thoughts of the old guy had nearly faded by now, and I got ready for the new day.

As I was about to wear a fresh uniform, I noticed the scar on my forearm—a stark reminder of the battle I had survived. I didn't linger on it, swiftly donning the rest of my uniform, taking Speedy, and leaving the dorm.

New day, new beginnings!

Yet, as thoughts of training and studying occupied my mind, I couldn't help but recall the spirit stones littering the training grounds. Currently, they held no value to me, mere worthless rocks.

Accumulating wealth was futile for someone at the Body Tempering stage, which only invited potential threats from thieves willing to kill to cover their tracks.

No one had attacked me yet, so I should be somewhat in the clear.

Perhaps buying access to the second floor would be a good move. There might be valuable techniques available. Possibly even an Earth Grade technique or two.

Who knew? Maybe luck would favor me someday.

However, I was still cautious of the other disciples in the library, especially those who might be there to spy on individuals suddenly gaining access to the second floor. Such expenditures would undoubtedly raise suspicion, signaling newfound wealth. Few bothered with purchasing access to the second floor, most fixated on advancing to the inner sect. Also, I doubt the second floor was empty and there were bound to be some other disciples that might speak.

Thankfully, the surveillance should have decreased somewhat; the reckless had already been preyed upon, and the cunning were preoccupied with their newly ill-gotten gains.

Perhaps I could persuade the librarian to grant me entry to the upper floors during off-hours when no one was in the library?

When I arrived at the library, the place was empty. It was rare as no matter how early I usually came, there would always be one or two disciples here. Those who had their dormitories closer to the place. A couple eager disciples would always rush in, select a technique, and leave.

"The weather grows colder with each passing day," the old man materialized from behind a shelf, notably lacking his customary cup of tea. "Winter will soon be upon us."

"Where's your cup of tea? Have you been replaced by an imposter, old goat?" I jested.

"Usually someone brings me tea in the morning. But it seems like they no longer care if the elderly grow cold, or even die on the side of the road.”

I realized I had forgotten to bring him tea, a first for me. Yet, he seemed overly dramatic about it. There was complimentary tea on the second floor, as he had emphasized countless times.

"You told me not to bring tea when it was raining, so it slipped my mind today."

"Well, clearly it's not raining today. It seems the younger generation are less attentive these days," he sighed. "I only told you not to bother bringing tea in the rain because the rain would have ruined the taste."

At this, the librarian in the distance wore a knowing smirk. "I recall you expressing concern about him being out in the rain too long."

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Shut up, you lying bastard! I never said such things!" the old man retorted.

Before the discussion could escalate into a shouting match, I intervened, "Apologies, esteemed elder," I turned toward the librarian. "Since we're alone, may I ask about something?"

The librarian nodded while the old guy huffed and climbed the stairs, deliberately emphasizing each step with his walking cane. He was quite a character. He was also some secret monstrous cultivator.

But even knowing that. I could not see Shan Sha more than the old guy obsessed with tea. Either he was a good actor, or I was overthinking shit that had no need to be thought about.

"What did you want to know?" the librarian redirected my attention to him. Unlike the old janitor, he exuded a no-nonsense demeanor.

"Since I already have the budget, I am thinking of using the spirit stones. How much would it cost to gain access to the second-floor library? At least now I could use this wealth to do something, instead of just sitting around as I anxiously worry over it," I explained.

The spirit stones might become a fortuitous encounter for someone else if I left them sitting there much longer.

"It would cost ten spirit stones," he replied, and my face lit up involuntarily. Yet, he promptly dashed my hopes. "However, you don't qualify."

"What?"

"The second-floor houses some of our finest techniques, rare ones not found elsewhere," he cleaned his glasses methodically. "Also, you don't qualify because except for training and eating, you haven't done much else to prove that you're worth the investment from the sect."

As if reading my thoughts, he continued after donning his glasses, "Consider this. If access to the second floor were open to all. What's to prevent rival sects from sending representatives to steal our techniques? Or some clans give one of their children ten spirit stones, said disciples buy access to the second floor, and send the techniques back home. The Blazing Sun Sect didn't ascend to its position by being careless."

That... made a lot of sense.

Where were the brain-dead sects? Why was everyone here acting so damn careful? Be a bit more stupid, man. It would help me a bunch.

“Come on, cut the kid some slack,” the old janitor interjected as he descended with two steaming cups of tea. He handed me one and resumed speaking after a sip. “He was out there during that entire ordeal that had the entire sect scrambling. That’s practically equivalent to completing ten missions for the sect.”

“No,” the librarian retorted, his voice resolute. “Rules exist for a reason, and some have already shown blatant favoritism.”

Their gaze locked in a silent battle, the tension palpable in the air. Eventually, the old guy relented with a sigh. “Well, you are not entirely wrong. Rules are in place for a purpose.”

Ironically, despite his occasional chiding, the old janitor often stood up for me in these situations. He was correct about the librarian showing me significant favoritism. He had allowed me to linger beyond opening hours, permitted me to store my belongings here during inclement weather, and the entire debacle with my spirit stones.

“Well, it looks like it’s time for Plan B, kid.”

“Plan B?”

He cocked his head, feigning confusion. “You know. Do what your generation does best, and steal the books.”

“That would be foolish,” I countered.

It wasn’t a joke. Attempting to steal books from the second floor would be unwise. The Blazing Sun Sect had shown they were careful, and I had no wish to discover the extent of their security measures against theft.

I would not be surprised if each tome on the second floor had intricate arrays safeguarding them, which made sneaking one out a task that requires extensive knowledge of arrays. If someone possessed the expertise to bypass such protections, it likely would not be worth their time to steal from the library.

The logistics of implementing such safeguards seemed tedious. Yet, as our local librarian showed, there was a reason why the Blazing Sun Sect was still around after many thousands of years.

“You could always buy something,” the old man suggested.

“Did your tea finally short-circuit your brain, old man?” I retorted with mock concern, but the old cod had thick skin and shrugged off my insults. I let go of the petty beef and returned to the problem at hand. “If I bought anything on the market, the news is bound to spread, and people will be coming for my head soon after. Besides, it’s not like the market even has anything good to offer.”

It wasn’t like I needed cultivation pills or anything of the sort for now.

“I’m not talking about the unregulated scam hive that is the outer sect market. You should buy something directly from an individual,” he glanced at the librarian. “I’m sure there is someone here who could spend a hundred spirit stones, and no one would bat an eye. A middle-man, so to speak.”

“No,” the librarian shook his head firmly. “That would be beyond simple favoritism and dancing on the line of treason. If Liu Feng here decided to go against the sect’s interests, my head would be the first to roll for aiding someone like that. It reeks of blatant favoritism, once again.”

The old man seemed unperturbed by this and suggested, “How about you just sell him something of your own? An elder selling something isn’t against the sect’s laws. Since you’re a stick in the mud, we can even make it, so you only sell something that is yours, and at a fair price.”

The librarian scrutinized me as if seeking an answer to some cryptic question only he knew. I refrained from saying anything. It was clear the old janitor was persuading him, and I didn’t want to jeopardize that.

“I don’t have many items that would be useful to an outer disciple. Those that would, cost more than a hundred spirit stones,” the librarian pointed out.

“Since when do you outer elders get paid so much? I always thought that a hundred spirit stones would be quite a bit, even for you,” the old man mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"It is a substantial sum, but not something too large," the librarian replied before trailing off. "Anyway, about what he could buy..."

"Just think of something that you could give him. I don't exactly know what you have on you," the old man suggested with a shrug.

Suddenly, the librarian crouched under the counter, and after rummaging around for a bit, he found what he was looking for: a book about as thick as a dictionary, making a loud sound as he set it on the table. The book had a black cover and appeared quite old.

"This is something I studied back in the day. I saved for six months as an inner sect disciple to acquire this and missed out on a lot of opportunities," the librarian sighed, gazing at the old book with a melancholic expression.

"Yeah, yeah, we don't need your crybaby backstory," the old janitor retorted, as brusque as ever, but the librarian didn't seem to take offense. It was a bit peculiar for a cultivator at that stage, but it indicated the depth of their friendship. "Anyway, how much would it cost?"

"I bought it for thirty spirit stones, and I'm offering it to you for the same price," the librarian stated.

The book was old and likely outdated by now. But one thing was certain: an outer sect disciple would find it nearly impossible to obtain such a tome, no matter how wealthy they were.

The book wasn't related to martial arts, but I needed a fresh perspective regardless, and it seemed promising.

"I will go and get the spirit stones right now," I replied before the librarian could retract his offer.

Since it was a bright sunny day outside, I swiftly rushed to the training ground and retrieved the spirit stones. Thankfully, they remained undisturbed. Upon my return to the library, less than twenty minutes had passed. I was adorned with leaves and carried the scent of grass.

Nonetheless, I arrived early enough that no one else was around, fulfilling my intended goal.

I counted the thirty spirit stones while the librarian waited for me silently, and I placed them on the counter. He retrieved them, and they vanished from his hand, likely stored in a storage ring.

"How much does one of those cost?" I gestured toward the ring.

"Way out of your budget," the old janitor interjected.

The librarian nodded, "They're quite rare. Perhaps you will receive one for free if you catch the eye of any inner elders."

He handed me the book and added, "If you need a secure place to keep the book. Bring it here."

"Thank you," I replied, placing the book on the counter, clasping my fist with my palm, and bowing my head as a sign of respect.

The old coot and the librarian had treated me well since my arrival. I owed much of my success to them.

Thus, by purchasing the book from the librarian, I ensured that no information would spread. Yet had the benefit of using the spirit stones to acquire something I would never have accessed otherwise.

"Okay, kiddo. Now give me my ten percent," the old man demanded, extending his hand.

What? We hadn't discussed anything like that.

Despite my usual inclination to refute him, he was right. A ten percent fee would be customary since I would never have acquired the book without his assistance.

I reached into my pouch and withdrew three spirit stones, prepared to hand them over when the old janitor poked me in the chest with his cane.

"I was joking, couldn't you tell? Just how slow are young people nowadays?" he sighed. "What would an old man like me need spirit stones for?"

Smiling, I returned the customary gesture of respect, clasping my fist and palm and bowing. "Thank you for everything, too."

The old guy waved me off, a smile lingering on his face.

Glancing at the book, I read the title, “A Beginner's Guide to Arrays & Formations.”