Who Let Him Cultivate？

Chapter 50: What Did the Sage Say Again?

The Fox clan was inherently wanton, a trait that bled heavily into their literature. They were the undisputed masters of “unhealthy” books. The mechanics were simple: if a reader performed certain… *indescribable acts* while reading, the author could harvest a trace of their yang energy from afar.

Thus, the black markets of the Central Continent were flooded with Fox clan smut. The authorities launched aggressive purges every few years, burning mountains of contraband, yet the illicit texts flowed like an underground river, banned but never truly eradicated.

When Meng Jingzhou was a boy, he had been utterly obsessed with these books. Not that he understood the mechanics of the “indescribable acts” back then—he just thought the plots were riveting.

To read the uncensored, original editions, the young Meng Jingzhou had dedicated himself to mastering the demon script.

“You were that studious?” Lu Yang raised an eyebrow, exchanging a look with Man Gu. Cultivation naturally enhanced memory, making language acquisition a breeze. But Meng Jingzhou had mastered the demon script *before* he even began Cultivation. That required a terrifying level of dedication.

Meng Jingzhou waved a hand dismissively, refusing to elaborate. “I merely have a deep appreciation for demonic culture.”

Man Gu nodded solemnly. *Brother Meng is truly worthy of respect,* the towering barbarian thought. *He studies with such grueling diligence, yet remains so humble. A man of truly noble character.*

“So, what does the tiger skin say?” Lu Yang asked, steering them back to the matter at hand.

“Let’s see…” Meng Jingzhou squinted at the pelt. “‘Entities of the spectral realm, yin moves while yang evades…’ Ah. It’s a manual for commanding ghost servants.”

His eyes darted across the text, his mind rapidly deciphering the arcane formulas. “This must be how that old hunter was refined into a Changui.”

He scoffed. “The requirements are incredibly restrictive. You can only refine a ghost if their cultivation base is two entire major realms below yours. The only exception is mortal souls, which you can refine once you hit the seventh layer of Qi Refining.”

It was, frankly, a garbage-tier technique. Even if you went through the trouble of refining a ghost servant two realms weaker than you, what use would they be in a real fight? Cannon fodder? In their recent battle against the tiger demon, a ghost servant would have been vaporized by the shockwaves alone.

“Do you need a full translation?” Meng Jingzhou asked. “There are no racial restrictions. Humans can practice it, though tiger demons naturally get the best results.”

Man Gu opened his mouth to ask why they would bother learning such useless trash, but Lu Yang beat him to it.

“We’re infiltrating a Demon Sect,” Lu Yang analyzed, his tone deadpan. “We need to look the part. A demonic technique like commanding ghost servants is the perfect window dressing. Plus, the hunter’s cabin has a whole batch of ready-made Changui waiting for us. Translate it. We’ll all learn it.”

Originally, Lu Yang had planned to simply march down the mountain and eradicate the remaining Changui. But plans change. It wouldn’t hurt to exploit them first and disperse their souls later. According to the tiger demon, these Changui had willingly submitted after death, choosing to lure innocent travelers to their doom.

They all deserved to die.

“Done.” Meng Jingzhou eagerly spread a sheet of paper, ground his ink, and his brush danced across the page. In minutes, the translated manual was ready.

“I’ll sit this one out, though,” Meng Jingzhou added, leaning back. “Pure Yang spiritual root, remember? If a ghost gets near me, it’s like throwing a snowball into a furnace. I can’t practice pure yin techniques.”

Lu Yang and Man Gu didn’t waste time. They sat cross-legged and began to circulate the technique.

Moments later, a biting yin wind swept through the cavern. The faint, agonizing wails of the dead echoed off the stone walls, carrying a bone-deep chill that threatened to freeze the marrow.

Suddenly, Lu Yang felt weightless. His feet left the cavern floor. He drifted upward, light as a feather, suspended in the air like a phantom.

His mind had never felt so crystalline. His five senses expanded, picking up the microscopic dust motes dancing in the gloom. When he looked at Meng Jingzhou, he didn’t see a person—he saw a roaring, blinding pillar of scorching fire.

*Huh? What’s going on?* Lu Yang frowned. He looked down.

His physical body was still sitting perfectly still on the cavern floor, eyes closed.

*Wait. I’m not flying. My soul just left my body!*

Meng Jingzhou sensed the shift in the air. He looked up, his eyes widening in absolute horror. “Are you insane?!” he shrieked, his usual arrogance shattering. “Only a Nascent Soul grandmaster can project their yin soul to travel the world! How the hell are you doing it?!”

“Get back in there!” Meng Jingzhou waved his arms frantically. “You’re only at Foundation Establishment! You haven’t even begun to temper your soul! A stiff breeze could damage it, and soul wounds are permanent!”

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Lu Yang hastily reversed the incantation. With a sharp jolt, his perspective snapped back into his physical body. He opened his eyes, gasping slightly.

“How did you do that?” Meng Jingzhou demanded, staring at Lu Yang like he was a monster. A Foundation Establishment cultivator projecting their soul? It was unheard of. There wasn’t a technique in existence that allowed it.

Lu Yang looked just as bewildered. “I just followed your translation. I read it, understood the theory, and figured I’d give it a test run to see what it felt like. Next thing I know, I’m floating.”

Meng Jingzhou’s face twisted into an expression of profound weirdness. “Don’t tell me… did you just target *your own soul* as the ghost servant, and command yourself?”

It was the most absurd, logic-defying method of Cultivation he had ever heard of. Yet, staring at the evidence, it was the only explanation.

Lu Yang pondered this. He couldn’t think of a better theory.

“Back up,” Lu Yang told Meng Jingzhou. He closed his eyes and tried again. And again. Every single time, his soul popped neatly out of his body.

“Seriously, what is wrong with my technique talent?” Lu Yang muttered, rubbing his temples.

The two had no choice but to wait for Man Gu to finish his meditation. When the towering barbarian finally opened his eyes, he blinked in confusion at the intense, expectant stares of his two companions.

“Did you master the art?” Lu Yang asked.

“I have gained some minor insights,” Man Gu replied politely. “I believe I can command up to eight mortal souls.”

“Can you command yourself?” Lu Yang leaned in, desperate for validation. “Can you force your yin soul out of your body?” *Please say yes. Please tell me I didn’t completely break the technique.*

Man Gu stared at him, utterly baffled. “How could that be possible? It is an art for commanding *servants*. Why would one ever attempt to enslave their own soul?”

Meng Jingzhou sighed and recounted Lu Yang’s latest defiance of common sense.

Man Gu’s eyes widened in sheer awe. He looked at Lu Yang as if gazing upon a deity. *Brother Lu’s mind is a labyrinth of genius. His talent for techniques is unparalleled in this world. And Brother Meng’s vast knowledge…*

Traveling with them had been an endless fountain of enlightenment. It reminded him of a quote from the ancient sages.

What did the sage say again?

Ah, yes. *The sage said: When three men walk together, all of them are my teachers.*

“Right, let’s go round up those Changui,” Meng Jingzhou said, clapping his hands. The cavern had been thoroughly looted; there was nothing left for them here.

“You two head down first,” Lu Yang said, his tone shifting. “I need to take care of something. I’ll catch up.”

Meng Jingzhou and Man Gu didn’t question it. They turned and headed for the exit.

Once their footsteps faded down the tunnel, the faint, weary snark vanished from Lu Yang’s face, leaving behind a solemn calm.

He walked deeper into the cavern’s recesses. There, hidden in the suffocating gloom, lay a mound of shattered, gnawed bones piled as high as a small hill.

Lu Yang let out a soft, heavy sigh. “As expected.”

He had deduced it the moment he saw the tiger demon’s hoarded belongings. A beast that cautious wouldn’t toss human remains outside its den where passing cultivators might spot them. The safest place to hide the evidence of its butchery was deep inside its own home.

Reality had proven him right.

These were the remains of countless travelers. People from all walks of life, hailing from distant corners of the Central Continent, who had the misfortune of passing through Pine Mountain. Deceived, slaughtered, and devoured, their final resting place was this cold, miserable hole in the earth.

Lu Yang didn’t say another word. He drew the Qingfeng Sword. The legendary blade cut through the cavern wall like a hot knife through butter, cleanly slicing away a massive slab of solid rock.

With a few swift strokes, he shaved the rock into a smooth, flat surface. He planted it firmly in the earth before the mound of bones.

Standing before the makeshift tombstone, Lu Yang closed his eyes and silently recited a mantra for the dead, guiding their souls toward rebirth. He stood there in the heavy silence for a long moment, his thoughts his own.

Then, he turned on his heel and walked away.

“Sorry for the wait,” Lu Yang called out as he emerged into the daylight, rejoining his companions. “Let’s go.”