Daily life of a cultivation judge

Xia Fang's expression grew hollow and distant, as if her mind had drifted elsewhere. Given the topic of their discussion, Yang Qing had a few guesses about where her thoughts could have wandered off to.

Despite her mind seemingly elsewhere, her mouth as if it had a mind of its own, continued speaking.

"He left the sect and roamed the continent for a while, searching for a place to settle down. But with his cultivation crippled, he couldn't travel far. Even with the protective means the sect had given him as a parting gift, it was still a risk. He no longer had his strength or his status as a core disciple of the Silver Crane Sect to rely on," Xia Fang said absently.

"I wonder if he was scared?" she suddenly asked. But with the distant look in her eyes, it was hard to tell if she was asking Yang Qing or simply voicing a stray thought aloud.

That question seemed to have been a trigger as it managed to pull her mind back as it forced her to ponder on it. After a brief moment of contemplation, she answered, seemingly to herself, "I think he was."

"What do you think, Judge Yang Qing? " she suddenly asked, as she looked up, with a strange glint flashing in her eyes as she posed the question." Do you think he was afraid?"

Yang Qing met her gaze and softly replied, "There's a chance he might have been." After a brief pause, he added, "If it were me, I know I'd be afraid."

"You would?" Xia Fang asked, her expression and tone carrying a hint of pleasant surprise. Though she didn't know Yang Qing well—barely at all, in fact—his identity as someone from the Order made it difficult for her to imagine him being afraid.

After all, to her, and likely to most, it was hard to picture such a thing, given the Order's reputation and all that it had accomplished.

Yes, the Order had been formed through the support and agreement of countless organizations across the continent, but that didn't mean it had the unanimous backing of everyone. In the beginning, they may have enjoyed near-universal support, especially after the continent had been devastated by countless wars, wars so severe that even powers from other continents saw it as an opportunity to invade. But once things settled down, that support began to waver.

Cultivators were not ones to accept being shackled by 'laws and regulations' dictating what they could and could not do. These were individuals long accustomed to acting as they pleased, provided they had the strength to back it up. Their justification and their right were their fists. So it was inevitable that they would bristle at some 'upstart organization' attempting to restrict their actions—especially when that organization was something birthed from their own charity.

So it wasn't surprising that once the continent began regaining stability, murmurs started to rise—at first it was faint before it quickly grew louder—calling for the Order's dismantling. After all, it had already served its intended purpose. Those voices quickly gained momentum, but by the time they evolved beyond mere words, it was already too late.

The Order had taken root, its influence firmly entrenched in the continent's affairs. Words alone could no longer shake it. And, as was expected of cultivators, when words failed, they turned to the method they trusted most—force and violence.

Conveniently, they had forgotten that violence was the very first language the Order had learned when it was born. And it was a natural at it.

The Order silenced all opposition with even greater force, delivering a clear message: it was here to stay.

By then, it could no longer be dismissed—not by the continent's most powerful rank-one organizations, nor by the lowliest unranked sects. From human cultivators and mortals alike to spirit beasts, spiritual plants, and even awakened treasures, all came to feel the same way at the mere mention of the Order.

The Order had cemented its place on the continent by speaking in the one language it understood best. It had become a massive sword of judgment, its weight and presence looming over all, whether they welcomed it or not. Such a feat was not easily replicated, and the fact that they had accomplished it was a testament to the character of those who stood within its ranks.

This was why Xia Fang found it surprising to hear Yang Qing say he'd be afraid. She didn't think those from the Order even knew what fear was, considering all they had accomplished.

To her, guided by her story and personal experience thereof, the Order's greatest strength wasn't just its authority or the work it did, it was its endurance. While others admired its power, she admired its ability to persist. Despite the countless risks and challenges that would have shattered other organizations many times over, the Order remained standing. Something her clan was struggling to do at this very moment.

Unconsciously, Xia Fang found herself smiling at Yang Qing's response. She wasn't sure if he was being honest or merely humoring her, but either way, she was grateful. Just hearing that he, someone from the Order, could feel fear brought her a small measure of comfort. It made her burden feel a little lighter.

For as long as she could remember, fear had been a constant in her life—right alongside anger, resentment, and bitterness. Even now, she was still afraid. And growing up, she had despised herself for it.

She blamed fear for holding her back, for stopping her from reaching the palace realm, for making her hesitate when she should have fought, and for being the reason she hadn't stayed behind with her grandfather. It was the root of so many regrets she carried, and she had spent years resenting herself for it.

If only she wasn't afraid, then…

It was a thought she had repeated to herself countless times, each repetition dragging her deeper into the pits of despair, shame, and self-loathing. But hearing that Yang Qing could feel fear and imagining that even her ancestor might have felt the same, made her feel… okay. Like she wasn't alone in it.

There was a quiet comfort in knowing that fear wasn't something unique to her. That even stronger, more accomplished cultivators had felt it too. Though she still suspected Yang Qing was just humoring her, it didn't matter. It was still nice to hear.

Little did she know, Yang Qing had meant every word. In fact, he had understated how terrified he would have been in the Xia clan founder's shoes. Even with his cultivation intact, he already felt a deep unease every time he had to leave the Order's grounds as if each excursion was a death sentence despite all the survival measures he had at his disposal.

If he had to step into the world without his cultivation, forced to start over alone… he couldn't even fathom the kind of fear that would bring.

He couldn't do it. If he were in the Xia clan founder's shoes, the Silver Crane Sect could forget about kicking him out or him leaving willingly. He would grovel, beg, and pull every scheme imaginable just to remain under the sect's protection. Better to stay, wallow in self-pity and regrets, and die of old age than to face those same regrets while braving the never-ending dangers of the outside world, where death lurked around every corner, and the only question being how and when it would strike.

That was a fate he would avoid at all costs.

Luckily for him, he never had to worry about such a thing. The Order wasn't in the habit of discarding its members, even if they became crippled—whether through duty or a cultivation accident. Injured or not, they remained part of the Order and were cared for as they had been before.

It was one of the few things Yang Qing somewhat admired about the Order. Just a bit. Because while they were kind in that regard, they never hid their utilitarian nature. Even with a crippled cultivation, they would still find a way to get their spirit stones' worth out of you. Every last drop of value you had—they would squeeze it dry.

A few of the instructors at the Institute were living proof of that.

In fact, there was one instructor who leaned into her status a little too much. She was someone Yang Qing and many other students were deathly afraid of and with good reason. She taught one of the adaptation courses, and during her classes, she would seal their cultivation bases and pile on additional handicaps such as disabling their limbs, and or impairing one or multiple senses—before throwing them into dangerous situations to ensure they were highly adaptable.

Her creativity in devising worst-case scenarios made Yang Qing's paranoia look laughable in comparison.

While part of his heightened paranoia stemmed from his clan, a significant portion of it was born from the hellish torment he had endured at the Institute. And a good part of that torment came directly from her.

But it wasn't just the Institute that housed cultivators with crippled foundations. They could be found across all departments, and their numbers weren't small. Given the constant dangers members of the Order faced, despite its efforts to minimize casualties through extensive training and advancements in the Medical Valley, some things were simply unavoidable. And injuries severe enough to cripple one's cultivation were among them.

At least within the Order, though they squeezed every last drop of value out of their people like the misers they were, they still gave them a home and a purpose. They weren't abandoned to suffer the fate that most others in their situation would face.

"Doesn't change the fact that they're still stingy and blackhearted," Yang Qing snorted inwardly, working quickly to exorcise the feelings of gratitude that had started creeping up inside him. If he let them fester, he had no doubt the Order—ever perceptive, ever exploitative, and ever the penny pincher—would sniff it on him immediately and pounce.

He refused to do overtime with no pay just because he was feeling a little thankful. Nor would he take on more duties out of some misplaced sense of obligation. They were already exploiting him mercilessly as it was. He still hadn't forgiven them for how ragged they had run him during his outer core court days.

Back then, young and eager to impress, he had worked day and night without rest, processing hundreds of cases in a single week. And the Order, recognizing his diligence, had rewarded him by upgrading his courtroom with additional arrays and treasures that enhanced his comfort and convenience.

He could relax there. Cultivate there. Meditate there. His body and soul were constantly refreshed. And before he even realized it, four months had passed, without him stepping foot outside that courtroom.

He would have been trapped there indefinitely if not for Feng Xin bringing in braised green mountain goat meat one day. The rich, mouthwatering aroma had snapped him out of the spell he had been under, reminding him, much to his horror, that he hadn't eaten in months.

He had walked into that courtroom as a hopeful young cultivator, dreams and peaceful ambitions filling his heart. He had wanted to do some good in the world while bettering his own life in the process. But when he finally left… he left as a broken, jaded cultivator whose soul had likely aged 20,000 years in there.

Paranoia had become his closest companion. His joys in life had dwindled down to sleeping on carriage rides, cursing his demon supervisor in the morning, and occasionally exploiting loopholes in the Order's working system—though those moments of triumph were always fleeting before the Order swiftly caught on and shut them down.

Yang Qing let out a heavy sigh, his pupils trembling with emotion as the weight of all he had endured over the years pressed down on him.

"Why is she looking at me like that?" Yang Qing suddenly wondered as he caught Xia Fang's gaze.

Her expression left him increasingly bewildered. There was a strange familiarity in her eyes, as if they were kindred spirits walking the same path. The look she gave him carried a sense of shared understanding, almost as if they were long-lost siblings united by the same struggle.

That only confused him more.

As far as he knew, his clan—as insufferable as it was—was still very much around and doing well, regrettably so. And when it came to sentiments regarding their clans, Xia Fang clearly cherished and loved hers, likely willing to do anything to stay with them. Meanwhile, Yang Qing would do anything and everything to escape his.