Daily life of a cultivation judge

The Hebei Kingdom, as a nation built by scholars, fielded a wide array of thoughts and opinions on many matters, especially those of continent-wide importance. So it went without saying that the Order, being what it was, served as one of the most divisive topics discussed within the kingdom.

While scholars were often associated with being chivalrous heroes who fought for fairness and all that was right and just—so much so that they wouldn't hesitate to admonish even the emperor if they felt his conduct was unbecoming, especially when the greater well-being of the nation was concerned—they also had another side to them: philosophical, yet rooted in pragmatism.

For example, let's say a kingdom was about to descend into chaos due to a succession dispute between two sides. One side was the eldest prince, and the other was a younger prince who had displayed admirable talents that would make him a great king. Now, the eldest prince might not be as talented, but he was decent enough not to be incompetent. He might not make any major strides as king, but he wouldn't sink the ship either. The kingdom would remain on its usual path—no regression, no improvement, just stably stuck in the middle.

When it came to the scholars, you'd find that they would support the eldest prince over the more talented one, despite the latter showing the potential to push the kingdom further.

Why would they support the eldest prince when the other was clearly the better choice for the kingdom?

But was he? the scholars would ask. Was he truly the best choice of king for the kingdom? Or was he an unstable element that could plunge the kingdom into turmoil by breaking precedent?

If the kingdom had a long-standing tradition where the eldest prince inherited the throne, then those scholars would be the first to uphold it. Precedence guards order and reduces uncertainty. Provided the eldest prince wasn't grossly incompetent, they would side with him over the more talented prince to preserve that precedence.

Yes, if the talented prince became king he could elevate the kingdom further, but to the scholars, allowing him to take the throne brought more harm than good in the long run. It risked destroying an established precedent by replacing it with another that carried the potential for future turmoil and instability. That prince might elevate the kingdom now, but in allowing him to ascend, they would have set the precedent that anyone with ambition and some talent could vie for the throne.

How much instability and chaos could potentially arise from that in the future? Power and ambition could corrupt even a saint, much less those who have had a taste of it.

For the greater good of the kingdom and its long-term stability, they would rather stick with what worked than introduce an uncertain element that could ruin everything down the line.

They abided by the adage: better to sacrifice one life to save a million.

In a sense, as open-minded as scholars were purported to be—and indeed they were—there were certain things they remained rather rigid about, especially matters that touched on the natural flow of things.

A great majority of scholars in the Hebei Kingdom agreed that the Order had been necessary when it was formed a thousand years ago in response to the massive death toll that had befallen the continent. In their eyes, the Order's creation at the time was in harmony with the natural order of things. The continent was in danger, and in response, it acted to protect itself—the Order was born. To them, the emergence of the Order was akin to a body developing a fever to slow an infection and trigger its immune system.

The continent was infected, and it needed the Order to fight off that infection. But herein lay the issue: when the body fights off the infection, the fever subsides.

So then, why was the Order still around?

The way some scholars in Hebei saw it—and they weren't alone in that view, as countless others across the continent shared similar thoughts, though often for different reasons—was that the Order's role had already been fulfilled. It should have been dismantled. Its continued existence now served only to endanger the continent further, much like a prolonged fever that could ultimately kill the body it was meant to protect.

That faction of scholars believed that the Order's presence at this point did more harm than good to the continent and its ecosystem at large. They argued that the Order's continued existence stifled the continent's natural flow, especially in regard to the cultivation world. Heroes were born from tragedy, and in the eyes of those scholars, this was even more true for cultivators.

While they didn't openly promote it, they believed wars between cultivating communities were necessary for the cultivation world to keep flowing. Those wars regulated numbers, inspired innovation in cultivation arts and techniques, facilitated the rise of new talents, and brought down those who had outlived their era. They kept the cycle of eras and power in motion across the continent.

But the Order's presence disrupted all that. Instead of protecting the world, it was stagnating and suffocating its progress. Some scholars went as far as to say that the Order's continued presence was so detrimental that, in the thousand years since its founding, no new soul formation expert had emerged on the continent. And who could say what the situation would become if the Order were allowed to continue operating?

The cultivation world was a jungle, and it needed to function as such—or so those scholars strongly believed. To them, the Order's continued existence was nothing more than a harmful leash choking that very principle.

They saw the Order as something that had long overstayed its welcome. Yes, when there were floods, it had been necessary—but now, all it did was starve the continent of water, leading to its gradual degradation. And it wouldn't be long before one of two things happened: either the dam would explode because it could no longer hold back the water, meaning the bubbling resentment and frustration across the continent would finally erupt, beyond anything the Southern Continent had ever seen before, despite its long and bloody history of wars...

Or, the continent would grow so weakened that the powers beyond would realize just how shriveled the Southern Continent had become—and invade.

One of the greatest dangers in life, whether in the mundane or the cultivation world, was possessing a treasure others greatly coveted, especially when it was beyond your ability to safeguard it. Birds die for food, and men die for treasure. The Southern Continent had long been lauded across the world as one of the richest continents, whether in terms of environmental quality or natural resources. The Central Continent came close, but even then, a clear gap remained between them.

So what would the other continents do if they realized the Southern Continent's strength had waned?

Would they sit back, drink tea, and make idle commentary about it? Or would they sharpen their knives and try once more to carve it up?

After all, they'd tried it once—why not try again?