RPG Cultivator

Consciousness returned to Zhao Lingfeng like a game loading screen fading in, pixel by pixel. The first thing he registered was the peculiar softness beneath him. Definitely not the hard courtyard stones he remembered last. A gentle fragrance wafted through the air, reminiscent of mountain herbs and morning dew.

Did I respawn at a checkpoint? he wondered groggily.

Then he saw her.

Standing by his bedside was a vision that made his breath catch in his throat.

Long, flowing black hair cascaded like a midnight waterfall, framing a face of such delicate beauty it seemed carved from jade itself. In the frame were her beautiful eyes; bright, pools of light blue that seemed to hold an ocean within their depths.

But it was the overall aura that truly captured him—a serene calmness, an otherworldly grace, as though she had stepped out of the legends of celestial maidens.

"An angel?" he mumbled, his foggy mind still half-caught in memories of his previous life. "Have the heavens finally recognized my grinding efforts and granted me a peaceful afterlife?"

The ethereal beauty tilted her head slightly, a small furrow appearing between her perfectly shaped willow brows. "Angel? What manner of address is that?"

Her voice carried the crisp clarity of mountain streams, snapping Zhao Lingfeng back to reality like a bucket of ice water to the face. This wasn't heaven. The familiar scent of medicinal herbs and spiritual energy confirmed he was in the sect's medical pavilion.

He stared at her carefully for a moment. Almost instantly, his sleepy eyes snapped open as recognition hit him.

"Senior Sister Yōu Lán!"

The name came out as a strangled squeak.

Of course he knew who she was.

Everyone in the Liuyun Sect did.

She held the title of "Flowing Sword Fairy" among the Six Core Disciples of the sect, ranked fifth among cultivators under thirty. Her beauty placed her to be fourth in the Six Fairies of the Western Province.

"Junior Brother seems better now," she observed, her expression serene yet somehow difficult to read. "You caused quite a disturbance this morning."

Zhao Lingfeng felt his face heat up. He'd never been this close to such a 'high-ranked' player – er, disciple before. The spiritual pressure around her was like standing next to a bonfire while holding nothing but a paper fan.

"This junior apologises for the unsightly display," he managed, trying to find the right dialogue option that wouldn't result in instant death. "I was... overcome."

Yōu Lán's gaze seemed to see right through him, as if reading his character stats. "Rest well," she said simply, turning toward the door with graceful movements that made her look like she was gliding. "The body cannot sustain such focused determination without proper maintenance."

Before Zhao Lingfeng could formulate a response, she was gone, leaving only a lingering trace of that mountain-fresh fragrance. He barely had time to process the encounter when—

"ZHAO LINGFENG!"

The roar nearly sent him tumbling out of bed.

Elder Chong burst into the room like an enraged world boss, his long beard practically crackling with spiritual energy. The old cultivator's face had achieved a shade of purple that Zhao Lingfeng hadn't thought was possible for most righteous cultivators.

Could it be Elder Chong was actually a demonic sect spy?

Naturally, Zhao Lingfeng had way more important thoughts than to worry about something like that.

Damn the old geezer is mad! Zhao Lingfeng's inner monologue ran wild. Time to activate emergency diplomatic protocols!

"This junior will accept any punishment Elder Chong deems appropriate," Zhao Lingfeng said carefully.

"But first..."

He drew a deep breath, steadying himself.

"Please, I beg you to find a way for me to reach the secret realm."

The morning light filtered through the pavilion's windows, casting warm rays across the wooden floors. Yet, instead of bringing clarity, it carried the bitter scent of medicinal herbs and the oppressive weight of impending judgment. Elder Chong's face darkened, like storm clouds gathering over distant mountain peaks, his spiritual pressure rolling out and filling the room with suffocating intensity.

"Junior, you dare?"

The words emerged as barely more than a whisper, yet they carried enough force to make the nearby medicine bottles tremble. "After that disgraceful display? After abandoning your duties and making me lose face before the Sect Master himself?"

Each question cracked through the air like thunder, but Zhao Lingfeng held his ground. The past five years had taught him much about the delicate dance of hierarchy within the sect. Like a reed in the storm, one had to bend without breaking, show respect without losing one's core. He lowered his head, but kept his spine straight.

The posture of one who acknowledged authority while retaining dignity.

"This junior knows his actions were improper," he acknowledged, voice carrying just enough regret to be sincere without becoming pathetic. "But Elder Chong's guidance over these years has taught me that true cultivation means seizing destiny with both hands."

He paused, letting his genuine desperation color his words, watching as the elder's expression shifted slightly.

"Sometimes..."

Another pause, carefully measured.

"Sometimes we must risk everything for a single chance at advancement."

Elder Chong's beard quivered, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Perhaps a memory of his own younger days, of desperate gambles and burning ambition. But it vanished as quickly as a flash, replaced by hardened authority.

"Risk?"

The elder barked out a harsh laugh.

"You speak of risk while lying in a medical bed, your meridians strained from mere cleaning duties?"

He began pacing, each step leaving traces of spiritual energy that made the floorboards creak.

"The secret realm is not some common treasure hunt. It is a crucible where even talented disciples have perished. And you..."

He stopped, fixing Zhao Lingfeng with a penetrating stare.

"You, with your weak strength, who can barely maintain a stable cultivation base, dare to dream of such heights?"

Zhao Lingfeng felt his heart constrict, but he pressed on.

"This junior knows his limitations."

He slowly sat up straighter, ignoring the protest of his exhausted muscles.

"But isn't the path of cultivation itself a journey of transcending limitations? Of turning impossibility into mere difficulty, and difficulty into stepping stones?"

"Pretty words," Elder Chong sneered, though something in his tone had shifted slightly. "Did you practice those while scrubbing floors?"

"Every day," Zhao Lingfeng admitted honestly, surprising even himself. "Every stroke of the brush, every bucket of water. They were all practice for this moment. Because I knew..."

He swallowed hard, years of frustrated ambition threatening to break through his careful composure.

"I knew that one day, an opportunity would come. And when it did, I would need not just strength, but the wisdom to grasp it properly."

The elder's beard quivered, caught between fury and the faintest hint of grudging appreciation for the subtle flattery. He couldn't help but be a little surprised by the look in his eye. The boy who made him lose face did not appear to be boasting.

But before he could respond, a new presence filled the room like morning mist, cool and refreshing.

"I wouldn't mind taking him."

Yōu Lán stood in the doorway. The morning light seemed drawn to her, casting a gentle halo around her form.

The angel had returned.

"Senior Sister Yōu Lán," Zhao Lingfeng breathed, hope rising in his chest.

"I was originally meant to be one of the supervisors for the expedition," she continued, her voice carrying the calm certainty of mountain streams. "My recent seclusion prevented that, but the situation has changed."

Her light blue eyes flickered briefly to Zhao Lingfeng. "It would be... regrettable to see such determined effort go to waste."

Elder Chong's face twisted through several interesting expressions before settling on diplomatic caution. "Core Disciple Yōu Lán, while your concern for a junior disciple is admirable, we cannot show favoritism to—"

"Favoritism?"

She tilted her head slightly, the motion causing her hairpins to catch the light. "I was speaking of all five disciples who were tasked with cleaning the main hall this morning."

Her gaze sharpened imperceptibly. "After all, it seems... unusual that a hall that should be thoroughly cleaned the previous evening would require such intensive attention by dawn."

The implications hung in the air like incense smoke, delicate yet impossible to ignore.

Elder Cheng raised a brow.

Zhao Lingfeng dropped into a deep bow, his heart thundering in his chest. "This junior will never forget Senior Sister's kindness. If there is ever any way to repay—"

"There is no need," she interrupted softly. "Diligence should be recognized, regardless of one's current level of cultivation."

Her eyes met Elder Chong's.

"Wouldn't you agree, Elder?"

The old cultivator's beard twitched once, twice. Finally, he released a long breath that seemed to carry decades of exhaustion. "The preparations will take time. And you," he jabbed a finger at Zhao Lingfeng, "will still face consequences upon your return."

"This junior understands and accepts," Zhao Lingfeng replied, keeping his voice steady despite the joy threatening to burst from his chest.

As Elder Chong stormed out, muttering about undisciplined youth and fading standards, Zhao Lingfeng risked a glance at his unexpected savior.

No—maybe she really was an angel.

Yōu Lán stood like a painting come to life, her presence making even the medical pavilion's simple furnishings seem more elegant by proximity.

"Thank you," he said simply, knowing that no amount of flowery words could properly express his gratitude.

She acknowledged his thanks with the barest incline of her head. "Rest. We depart at noon." Then she was gone, leaving only the lingering scent of mountain herbs and the first true hope Zhao Lingfeng had felt in five long years.

It seems the Heavens had not abandoned him by sending an angel to help him.

But that wasn't quite right for a cultivation, oriental fantasy setting.