Who Let Him Cultivate？

Chapter 82: Reporting Truthfully

“It’s been a while. I brought your rations.” Lu Yang’s tone was the picture of customer-service warmth, a professional amiability forged in the grease-fires of the barbecue shop.

After a month of rigorous front-of-house training, his corporate smile had achieved a terrifying level of authenticity. Even Meng Jingzhou commended it, claiming Lu Yang’s smile was just as genuine as his own.

Chi Xulong, still mid-pucker from his bizarre lip-training exercises, snapped his head around. His eyes practically bled malice. If this little bastard hadn’t invited the local constabulary over for a team-building dinner, would he be rotting in this cell?

“What are *you* doing here?” Chi Xulong snarled. From the moment they met, this kid had been a walking HR nightmare—impersonating an examiner, setting traps during dinner, and oozing bad faith. Now he was playing the benevolent delivery boy? Definitely a trap.

Chi Xulong was a hardened butcher with a kill count that could fill a graveyard, yet even he felt Lu Yang was the true monster here.

Lu Yang genuinely hadn’t come to gloat. They were colleagues in the Immortal Cult now; cross-departmental synergy was vital for future operations. Branch Leader Chu had stressed the importance of team cohesion, after all.

Unfortunately, Lu Yang’s hearing selectively malfunctioned. He completely bypassed Chi Xulong’s hostility, interpreting the grunt as an inquiry about his recent promotion. “What’s that? How did you know I was promoted to Deacon? Please, hold your applause. If you meet your performance metrics, you might make Deacon one day, too.”

*To think his internal networking is so strong, even from behind bars,* Lu Yang mused.

To drive the point home, Lu Yang flashed his newly minted waist token. The word “Deacon” gleamed with authoritative weight. Chi Xulong’s vision swam with rage. “The Heavens are completely blind!”

Lu Yang offered a placating smile. “Now, now, let’s not be bitter. Upper management asked me to pass along a message.”

The mention of Branch Leader Chu doused Chi Xulong’s fury. So, the CEO still valued his skill set enough to send a direct envoy. “What did His Eminence say?”

“He strongly suggested we align our synergies and build a positive working rapport.”

Chi Xulong erupted. The Branch Leader actually favored this corporate snake? “I will walk into the abyss before I ever collaborate with you!”

Lu Yang sighed at this blatant disregard for executive directives. He left the food tray and departed, shaking his head at the lack of company loyalty.

The surrounding inmates caught the scent of the spiced meats, their mouths watering at the culinary masterpiece that far exceeded standard prison slop.

To the rest of the cell block, Lu Yang was the picture of philanthropic grace. He encouraged them to focus on their rehabilitation, to optimize their time inside, and to re-enter the Central Continent as productive assets to society. His tone dripped with profound, pastoral care.

Anyone listening would assume these men were serving decade-long sentences, not awaiting imminent execution.

Returning to the Yanjiang Branch, Lu Yang delivered a perfectly objective, entirely factual post-action report to Branch Leader Chu. “I delivered the provisions to Chi Xulong. I attempted to bridge our departmental divide, noting that as fellow practitioners of the Immortal Cult, cross-collaboration is inevitable. I emphasized that this initiative came directly from you, Branch Leader, and assured him that with proper KPI fulfillment, he too could achieve the rank of Deacon.”

“Regrettably, Chi Xulong became violently insubordinate. He launched into a tirade, stating that whoever promoted me must be completely blind, and that he would rather die than align with our current corporate culture. I may be paraphrasing, but that was the core takeaway.”

Branch Leader Chu’s eyes frosted over, the temperature in the room plummeting. “He said *who* was blind?!”

Lu Yang immediately bowed, his posture radiating the perfect blend of reverence and terror. He peeked up cautiously. “That individual’s status is far too exalted. It is an act of supreme blasphemy. I dare not speak the name.”

Branch Leader Chu already had his answer. “Enough. I understand the situation. You are dismissed.”

Lu Yang sighed internally. *Chi Xulong really needs to work on his PR filter.* Outwardly, he added, “Please, Branch Leader, keep my name out of this. It is entirely possible my memory of the exchange is flawed.”

Branch Leader Chu waved a hand dismissively. He was a seasoned executive; he knew how to handle internal whistleblowers.

Once the doors sealed shut, Branch Leader Chu’s fingers drummed a lethal rhythm against the armrest of his jade throne. A sharp, icy huff escaped his lips. “What a bold little pawn you are, Chi Xulong. Daring to call *me* blind!”

***

The daylight hours proceeded with their usual mundane rhythm. Meng Jingzhou was out stimulating the local economy, Man Gu was tempering his flesh in the courtyard, the Changui were indentured to the endless task of threading meat skewers in the main hall, and Lu Yang… was doing laundry.

Unlike the enchanted vestments of higher realms, Lu Yang’s robes were strictly Mortal Grade. They possessed zero self-cleaning properties.

“Damn it all, why is the Clean Garment Spell so elusive?” Lu Yang grumbled, aggressively scrubbing a stubborn grease stain. Out of the entire roster, he was the only one reduced to manual labor. “The second I get my hands on some real funds, I’m buying self-sustaining robes.”

A few days prior, he had sought Meng Jingzhou’s tutelage. Meng Jingzhou didn’t actually know the spell himself, but he possessed a manual titled *Minor Incantations for Mundane Living*, contraband secretly slipped to him by his sister before he left home.

The Clean Garment Spell was exactly what it sounded like: a rudimentary manipulation of Spiritual Qi designed to purge filth from fabric. It was supposed to be idiot-proof.

The trio had gathered to study the text. Meng Jingzhou and Man Gu mastered it almost instantly. With a mere thought, a refreshing cascade of Spiritual Qi would descend from the heavens, purging their grease-spattered uniforms until the fabric gleamed like freshly fallen snow.

It was a massive quality-of-life upgrade. Working the grill at a demonic barbecue front was a messy business.

Given Meng Jingzhou’s absurd net worth, he naturally owned bespoke, artifact-grade robes that repelled dirt passively. However, wearing such high-tier gear screamed “scion of a terrifyingly powerful clan,” which was counterproductive when trying to culturally assimilate into a grassroots demonic cult.

Lu Yang’s peerless talent in spellcraft was an established fact. Naturally, he learned the incantation. The results, however, were… anomalous.

Upon channeling the required Spiritual Qi, the fabric of reality warped. A localized spatial collapse occurred right in his hands, and a set of brand-new, perfectly tailored robes materialized out of the void.

Lu Yang had stared at the garments in profound silence. He wanted to curse the heavens, but the sheer absurdity of the situation left him paralyzed by choice.

Chronologically speaking, this was the first spatial manipulation spell Lu Yang had ever mastered. A monumental milestone in any cultivator’s journey.

Innovatively speaking, he had reverse-engineered a mundane cleaning cantrip into a high-tier teleportation matrix.

Logically speaking, it was absolute bullshit.

Inspecting the collar, he found a tag reading: *Custom Order for Mr. Wang*. Lu Yang realized with dawning horror that he hadn’t cleaned his clothes; he had executed a trans-spatial heist on a local tailor shop, summoning a paying customer’s uncollected order across the space-time continuum.

“Why does my Clean Garment Spell just abduct new clothes?!” Lu Yang raged at the sky. “If I cast a Clean Body Spell, what’s going to happen? Am I going to summon a freshly bathed stranger into my tub?!” He was convinced the Heavens were jealous of his raw talent and were actively sabotaging his spellcasting parameters.

He obviously couldn’t wear the stolen goods, but without knowing which specific tailor he had robbed, returning them was impossible.

Meng Jingzhou had generously offered to cast the *actual* Clean Garment Spell on Lu Yang’s behalf. This, too, ended in catastrophic failure.

The spell’s targeting parameters required the caster to be wearing the garments. Lu Yang absolutely refused to strip down, hand his filthy clothes to Meng Jingzhou to wear, wait for him to cast the spell, and then put the warm, freshly-worn clothes back on. There were lines of dignity he would not cross.

Thus, he was condemned to the washboard.

Having finally wrung the last drops of water from his robes, Lu Yang leaned out the second-story window to mount the drying pole. His grip slipped. The heavy bamboo pole plummeted like a javelin, aimed directly at the skull of a pedestrian below.

“Incoming!” Lu Yang barked.

The pedestrian possessed terrifying reflexes. With a mere shift of their weight, they executed a flawless spatial displacement, letting the lethal bamboo rod crash harmlessly against the cobblestones.

Lu Yang vaulted down the stairs to apologize, only to freeze. The pedestrian was a familiar face: Lan Ting, the elite disciple of the Moon Laurel Palace who had assisted him in slaying the tiger demon on Song Mountain.

*It’s been over a month. Why is she still loitering in this backwater county?* Lu Yang wondered.

Lan Ting didn’t seem to notice him. She was staring intently at the fallen bamboo pole, her delicate eyebrows knit together in a portrait of profound philosophical distress.

“Uh… what are you looking at?” Lu Yang asked cautiously.

Lan Ting’s eyes remained locked on the wood. “I am contemplating the fundamental laws of reality,” she murmured, her voice echoing with sudden, terrifying enlightenment. “Why did this pole fall downwards toward the earth, rather than upwards into the heavens? Is it possible… that there is some primordial, ineffable force tethering all matter in the universe to the ground?”

Lu Yang: “…”