Daily life of a cultivation judge-Chapter 1056: What an interesting individual

"What's with him?" The celestial nesting weaver cast a frustrated glance, its sharp eyes fixed on Yang Qing's courtyard.

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For five whole minutes, it had tried every one of its time-tested methods to rile him up—even the surefire ones. Yet, for the first time, nothing worked. Yang Qing remained infuriatingly unbothered, leaving the weaver simmering with suppressed irritation.

Raised by Yang Qing, whether it cared to admit it or not, some of his habits had inevitably rubbed off on the bird. Chief among them was its vindictive stubbornness and refusal to let things go, especially when it felt slighted or ignored.

It hadn't been long since their last skirmish, one that ended in its defeat—and the reluctant surrender of one of its treasured feathers as payment. Even so, the sight of Yang Qing looking so cheerful and composed now was unbearable.

The weaver's thoughts grew increasingly reckless. It began to toy with the idea of throwing caution to the wind and launching another attack.

After all, in its mind, wiping the grin off Yang Qing's face would be well worth the beating it was sure to receive in return.

It couldn't stand seeing Yang Qing happy. His incessant whistling only made it worse. That silly excuse for a melody felt like thousands of fire ants crawling into its ears, spreading pain and discomfort through its entire body.

After a brief internal debate, its already puffed-up body swelled even more, looking as though it might explode at any moment. Then, with a loud huff, it exhaled sharply through its nostrils, deflating back to its original size.

"Forget it. I'd better cultivate, or that idiot will never let me off. I don't want to end up with as many beatings as that dumb, gluttonous kite," the celestial nesting weaver muttered, casting one last wary glance toward the courtyard. Its gaze was a turbulent mix of fear, frustration, and discontent.

With an angry snort, it finally flew back up the green flame tree to its nest.

"How does that idiot keep improving so fast? Who's supposed to be the mythical being here—me or him? No! This can't go on. If the gap widens any further, who knows what other ridiculous demands he'll throw at me next..."

As it made its way into the nest, a particularly horrifying thought crossed its mind. Distracted, it almost slipped, its wings flailing briefly before it regained balance.

The celestial nesting weaver stood frozen at the edge of its nest, staring down at the courtyard below.

"No, he wouldn't do that... would he?" it muttered, its voice quivering with fear.

"No, he wou...ld n..." Its feathers, usually vibrant and shimmering, seemed to lose their luster as a wave of terror coursed through its body.

"He would," it whispered, the words barely audible, sheer horror etched across its face.

"That's why he kept me around all this time... The nest was just a bonus. His real goal was..." The celestial nesting weaver's voice trailed off, and its eyes widened in dawning realization.

Its pupils trembled as they locked onto Yang Qing's courtyard, which now seemed to house the most fearsome monster in existence. If its suspicions were correct, then perhaps that wasn't far from the truth.

"No, this can't happen. It CAN'T HAPPEN!!" The celestial nesting weaver's shriek echoed across the green flame tree as it bolted back into its nest, flapping with desperation.

"It can never happen... I will not lay eggs..."

...

Inside Yang Qing's courtyard, completely unaware of the turmoil unfolding outside, Yang Qing stood with a gentle smile on his face, gingerly holding two objects side by side as he admired them.

In his left hand was a leaf—though calling it "normal" would have been a gross understatement. For one, it was enormous, nearly 70 cm in length and half as wide. Secondly, it was enveloped in green flames, flickering like a protective cloak. But the crowning oddity lay in the ethereal light dancing on its surface, illuminating the profound words etched upon it.

In his right hand was a large, weathered parchment, its surface similarly covered in an ethereal glow. The light shimmered with an almost reverent quality, concentrating most brightly around the dense, intricate text it bore.

Yang Qing's eyes sparkled brightly with childlike excitement as he gazed at the two items. How could they not, when he held two original drafts of the Brilliant Ray Fist Art? Though one was of a higher grade than the other, both were of the same rank and had been baptized by the world's laws and principles.

If he were to auction or trade one of them, he would easily fetch a top-tier ascendant-grade treasure in return. Yet, even then, he would still feel as though he were making a loss.

A top-tier ascendant-grade treasure, though immensely valuable, still paled in comparison to a blue-grade cultivation art manual—especially one imbued with the laws and principles of the world's origin.

Provided one was talented enough, a blue-grade manual could elevate their cultivation all the way to the domain realm, and with some luck, even grant a glimpse into the soul formation realm.

That potential alone far outweighed what one might achieve with a top-tier ascendant-grade treasure. While Yang Qing fully acknowledged their immense value—having witnessed treasures with miraculous abilities capable of forging lineages or sustaining dynasties for generations—he believed that, in the end, personal strength was the ultimate cornerstone of survival and power.

When calamity struck, as it inevitably did, treasures could be lost, stolen, or even rendered useless. In such moments, stripped of everything, only one's own strength remained a dependable lifeline.

History was rife with cautionary tales: entire sects, clans, and organizations utterly obliterated because they clung to treasures far beyond their ability to protect. Equally infamous were the stories of treasures betraying their owners or descendants, deeming them unworthy due to a lack of skill or strength.

Both fates were rooted in the same undeniable truth: disaster and misfortune will always try to cling tightly to the weak.

If given the choice between a treasure and a cultivation manual, Yang Qing already knew what he would choose.

After admiring the manuals for a little longer, chuckling gleefully as he did, he finally stored them away in one of the compartments of his vault, reinforced with a few blue-grade arrays for extra security.

"Too bad I can't sell the lower-tier one for a saint-grade treasure," Yang Qing muttered, standing up to leave the treasury. Regret flickered briefly in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by joy as he looked at the violet-colored card in his hand. It pulsed gently with an ethereal amber glow, the lifelike image of courtyards, inns, pavilions, and a winding river evoking a sense of peace and calm simply by gazing at it.

"Likely the work of a gold-grade craftsman," Yang Qing mused, sighing in admiration as he flipped the card over, noting its exquisite quality.

"I might as well try it out now before another case lands on my desk," he decided, tucking the card away.

With that, Yang Qing swiftly exited his abode, heading straight for Gold Eagle Town.

With Dreamscape Swallow's Nest already having a few branches there, he wasn't about to let the card Wei Shen had so generously given him go to waste. The shame from years ago—when the only thing he could afford at their restaurant was cold leek soup—needed to be wiped away.

Given his gluttonous nature and vanity, it was a small miracle that he had lasted this long without rushing there the moment he'd received the card.

...

Outside the mysterious hut stood a young man in a carefree and relaxed posture. He wore deep blue robes that shimmered faintly under the sunlight, perfectly matching his flowing hair, which cascaded halfway down his back. He appeared to be in his early twenties, yet his presence suggested something far beyond mortal years. If the figure inside the hut was likened to a banished immortal, then this young man could only be described as a transcendent noble among immortals—his beauty and charm a match for the grandeur of the heavens themselves.

His eyes radiated a soft purple glow that seemed gentle at first glance but carried an unfathomable depth of power. It was as though the essence of creation itself resided within them, a notion few would dare dispute. Countless grand truths and cosmic mysteries seemed to ripple within his gaze, subtly influencing the world around him.

The elm tree Yang Qing had regarded with caution moments earlier now trembled uncontrollably, as though an earthquake rumbled beneath its roots.

But it was not alone.

The entirety of Sage Mountain, a place known for its perpetual tranquility, now thrummed with unprecedented energy. Scrolls housed within the mountain vibrated fiercely, their momentum building like a tide, as if desperate to break free from their confines and rush toward some unseen force of immense attraction.

Rivers churned, birds and insects erupted into frenzied cries, and the very mountain itself quaked.

Even the countless Daos—the fundamental laws woven into the fabric of the mountain—seemed to awaken, resonating with human-like emotion. Reverence and excitement suffused their vibrations, as though they recognized a being worthy of their homage.

Wei Shen arrived in a blur, his eyes wide with astonishment. He stood momentarily paralyzed by the overwhelming sight before him.

All the scrolls within the mountain had risen into the air, floating weightlessly. They hummed and vibrated, glowing with an intense golden-purple light.

And then, as if moved by an unseen will, the scrolls tilted forward in unison, bowing toward the mountain peak—an undeniable gesture of deference.

"What's happening?" Wei Shen muttered in disbelief, staring at the inexplicable changes unfolding around him. His confusion quickly morphed into apprehension as he hurried toward the peak of the mountain, his face etched with desperation and grim concern.

But just as he was about to move, his body refused to obey, as if frozen in place.

"No need to come. All is well. Your master knows I am here."

A voice, gentle as a breeze yet as vast as the heavens themselves, resonated in Wei Shen's ears. He felt an overwhelming urge to bow, as though every fiber of his being demanded it. If not for some unseen force holding him immobile, he would have done so without hesitation.

A quasi-soul formation expert like him had been subdued by nothing more than a voice. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he tried to fathom who the owner of that voice could be. His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when the purple eagle rune etched on his forearm pulsed, a solemn voice pushing through.

"Pretend you didn't see anything."

The earlier voice had been unrecognizable, but this one he knew. It belonged to the purple eagle—the master of the purple guards.

Though countless questions filled his mind, Wei Shen nodded in silent acknowledgment and withdrew. The moment his figure disappeared, Sage Mountain reverted to its original calm. The scrolls returned to their resting places, the river resumed its tranquil flow, and the quaking earth stilled as though the earlier disturbance had been nothing more than an illusion.

..

"That kid keeps bringing pleasant surprises," muttered the young man with deep blue hair, his fingers idly tracing the edges of an octagonal crystal.

"I gave him this opportunity as a way of repaying him for recovering one of our lost artifacts, but who would've thought an unexpected benefit would come out of it?" His gaze shifted, resting on the mysterious young man within the hut, his expression thoughtful.

"Li'er, it seems we might have you back sooner than we anticipated... your brother and the others will be overjoyed," he continued, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The young man paused, his smile growing wistful as he shook his head. "Until next time. Hopefully, next time I see you..."

He trailed off, his voice quiet for a moment before chuckling lightly. "Knowing you, you'd probably refuse.."

The young man rested his chin on his hand, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he spoke,

"In case you reject, perhaps the kid could be a fitting replacement... it would be quite the interesting turn of events, given his actions these past few years..."

With those words, he let out a soft laugh, clearly amused by the thought. His figure blurred and vanished, leaving only the tranquil silence of the mountain and the hut behind.