Who Let Him Cultivate？

Chapter 48: The Lair

The battle concluded. The ten massive water buffaloes—beasts of terrifying, hyper-realistic proportions that stank of wet fur, churned earth, and raw bovine fury—snorted clouds of hot steam into the chilled air. With a final, deafening stamp of their thundering hooves, they vanished into thin air, summoned back to the Sect’s spirit fields.

Lu Yang stared at the empty space, a single bead of sweat rolling down his brow. The alchemists of Pill Cauldron Peak weren’t just eccentric; they were horrifyingly literal. A ‘Ten-Bull Strength Pill’ didn’t grant the strength of ten bulls. It just gave you ten actual bulls. He let out a weary sigh, mourning the death of common sense.

“How are you holding up? Can you stand?” Man Gu stepped forward, his polite, scholarly tone contrasting sharply with his towering, muscular frame. He looked at Lu Yang with genuine awe. That decisive, azure sword strike had won his absolute submission.

Even though he and Meng Jingzhou had flanked the beast and drawn blood, Man Gu had no doubt that Lu Yang’s final strike would have decapitated the tiger demon regardless of their help.

Lu Yang swallowed a packet of Qi-Restoring Powder. His ragged breathing smoothed out almost instantly, his depleted aura surging back to life at a speed far beyond what a cheap powder should provide.

“I should have bought the pills. This powder is like swallowing sand,” Lu Yang muttered. He circulated the Condensing Water Art. A bead of moisture gathered at his fingertip, elongating into a two-inch stream of pure water that shot directly into his mouth.

“Was that ‘Size Alteration’ you just pulled off?” Meng Jingzhou asked, his arrogant demeanor momentarily replaced by intense curiosity. He had watched Lu Yang shrink and expand with jarring suddenness. It looked exactly like a high-tier technique an uncle in his clan used.

Yet, as far as Meng Jingzhou knew, the threshold for that technique was absurdly high. It was impossible to master before reaching the Golden Core stage.

“Something similar,” Lu Yang replied casually. “The technique I used is called ‘Inch.'”

“‘Inch’?” Meng Jingzhou’s face scrunched up in confusion. As a scion of the Meng family, he had memorized the compendiums of known techniques. ‘Inch’ wasn’t in any of them.

Wait, Meng Jingzhou thought, his eyes widening. Could it be a custom technique created by Senior Sister Yun Zhi?

Suddenly, the impossible made perfect sense.

“This humble maiden, Lan Ting, greets the three Fellow Daoists,” a soft voice interrupted. Lan Ting approached them, her steps graceful despite the ruined temple around them.

“We are disciples of the Dao Seeking Sect,” Lu Yang said, taking the lead since the earlier chaos hadn’t allowed for proper introductions. “This is Meng Jingzhou, and this is Man Gu.”

“Ah, Fellow Daoist Meng, Fellow Daoist Man.” Lan Ting bowed slightly. Her refined upbringing was obvious; even when dealing with the mortal guards earlier, she hadn’t chased them out into the storm, choosing instead to share the cramped mountain shrine.

“Thank you for your assistance, Fellow Daoist Lan Ting,” Lu Yang said, offering a polite nod. “If those two tiger demons had coordinated their assault, it would have been a massive headache. We might have even failed the mission.”

It was pure diplomatic fluff. The three of them hadn’t even touched their true trump cards yet.

“So this was a Sect mission,” Lan Ting noted, keeping her own secrets close. She was also off the mountain for a classified task. Unfamiliar with the region, she had delayed her descent until nightfall, only to be caught in the torrential rain. Seeking shelter had unexpectedly dragged her into this mess.

“I dabble in talisman arts,” Lan Ting continued, gesturing toward the massive carcasses. “The pelts on those beasts are of exceptional quality. Would you be willing to part with them?”

“Of course,” Lu Yang smiled. “If there’s anything else you need, Fellow Daoist Lan Ting, feel free to take it.”

Tiger pelts fetched a high price, but it was a small fee compared to the tactical support she had provided.

Lan Ting shook her head, asking for nothing more.

Man Gu stepped up to the carcasses. Having survived in the untamed wilderness with his parents since childhood, butchery was second nature to him. He pressed his index and middle fingers together. His bare flesh became sharper than a masterwork butcher’s cleaver. With a few sickeningly smooth, precise strokes, he separated the hide from the muscle, peeling both tigers flawlessly in a matter of seconds.

Lan Ting accepted the heavy, bloody pelts, offered a final, courteous farewell, and vanished into the dark, rain-swept forest.

As she moved through the trees, she recalled the stern warnings of her senior sisters: If your mental fortitude is lacking, do not interact with the lunatics of the Dao Seeking Sect. They will assimilate you.

***

“Jingzhou,” Lu Yang asked, eyeing the gory remains. “Do you want the tiger bones and the tiger whip?”

Meng Jingzhou blinked, thoroughly baffled. “Why the hell would I want a tiger’s penis?”

Lu Yang flashed a wicked, deadpan grin. “For virility.”

“Get lost!” Meng Jingzhou barked. He possessed the legendary Pure Yang Spiritual Root. If he boosted his virility any further, he would spontaneously combust.

“Help me pack these up. They’re our proof of completion.” Lu Yang pulled out his identity jade pendant and swiped his thumb across its surface. The massive, bloody corpses vanished into the jade, which doubled as a high-grade Storage Ring.

“Let’s move,” Lu Yang commanded. “That tigress didn’t care about stealth. She bulldozed through half the forest to get here. If we backtrack along her path of destruction, we’ll find their lair.”

Two demon beasts ruling over Song Mountain for years definitely had a hoard.

The torrential downpour meant nothing to the trio. A basic rain-avoidance spell kept them perfectly dry as they marched into the dark.

Following a trail of splintered trunks and crushed boulders, they soon arrived at the demons’ den. It was a cavernous maw carved into the mountainside, nearly ten feet high and suffocatingly pitch-black inside.

“Does anyone have a torch?” Man Gu asked, his voice echoing slightly. He peered into the gloom. “There could be traps.”

He had read plenty of adventure novels. Eerie caves like this were notorious for hidden mechanisms. You step on the wrong loose stone, and suddenly the walls turn you into a human pincushion with poisoned arrows. Or a vent releases a cloud of flesh-melting gas. Or, at the very least, a multi-ton boulder drops from the ceiling to flatten you into a bloody pancake.

Lu Yang stared at him, his expression flat. “Man Gu, who rigs their own living room with lethal traps? Do you think the tiger wants to play hopscotch with death every time it goes to the bathroom?”

Man Gu’s imagination was a terrifying, illogical place.

Still, Lu Yang had to admit, a torch did set the mood. Outside, the storm raged. Inside, three brave cultivators delving into a dark cavern with flickering firelight to uncover ancient treasures—the cinematic aesthetic was undeniable.

“Who carries a physical torch?” Meng Jingzhou scoffed, rolling his eyes. “We are cultivators. We have fire-control techniques. Just conjure a flame.”

“You need to broaden your horizons, Jingzhou,” Lu Yang said sagely. He reached into his robes and pulled out a massive, deep-fried dough stick from the Sect cafeteria.

With a flick of his wrist, a single spark landed on the greasy pastry. Fwoosh. The entire dough stick erupted into a bright, steady flame, burning with the intensity of a magnesium flare. It looked like it could burn for hours.

Lu Yang held the blazing pastry aloft, completely immune to the heat, looking incredibly smug. The Dao Seeking Sect’s cafeteria food truly was a marvel of the modern age. It was a ration, a bludgeoning weapon, and now, a reliable light source.

Man Gu nodded in profound realization. As expected. Traveling with Brother Lu is a constant learning experience.

With Lu Yang and his flaming breakfast pastry leading the way, Man Gu and Meng Jingzhou followed closely behind.

There were no poison darts or rolling boulders. It was exactly what Lu Yang predicted: a dirty, beastly den.

However, scattered among the bones and filth were the stolen remnants of their victims: exotic treasures from traveling merchants, classical texts from devoured scholars, and martial arts manuals from overconfident warriors.

Since these items were reclaimed from rogue demons, they didn’t need to be surrendered to the Sect. This was their rightful loot.

“Jewelry, antiques…” Meng Jingzhou muttered, taking the lead on appraising the pile. As a wealthy scion, he had the best eye for valuables.

He picked up a delicate porcelain cup. “A teacup from a century ago. Worthless.”

To a mortal, a hundred years was a lifetime. To a cultivator, a century passed in the blink of an eye. Half the furniture in Meng Jingzhou’s house was older than this cup. In the world of Cultivation, mundane antiques were little more than trash.

He kicked a rusted weapon. “A corroded iron blade. What did the tigers keep this for? A toothpick?” He shook his head in disgust.

Don’t underestimate a rusty blade, Lu Yang thought dryly. One scratch and you’ll be fighting a life-and-death battle with tetanus.

Meng Jingzhou picked up a tattered book. “Mimicry Fist? Isn’t this just some mortal folk martial art where you pretend to be an animal?” He flipped through a few pages, scoffed at the crude diagrams, and tossed it to Lu Yang.

Lu Yang caught it, his interest piqued. He tucked it away, figuring he might mess around with it when he had some free time.

Meng Jingzhou then picked up another bound text, sneering as he read the cover. “The Sage’s Words… What use do two man-eating beasts have with the teachings of the Confucian sages? Did they think reading it would make them less of a monster?”

The Sage’s Words was a Novice text for Confucian cultivators, filled with foundational moral philosophies. Man Gu, however, treated it with the utmost reverence. He had memorized its contents as a child and held a profound understanding of its teachings.

Man Gu gently took the book from Meng Jingzhou and carefully stored it away. It wasn’t worth any spirit stones, but the text itself commanded respect. It was a matter of principle.

“Hmm?” Meng Jingzhou suddenly paused, pulling a folded parchment from the debris. “There’s a letter here. And it’s addressed to the tiger demons?”