Chapter 8: Why Cultivate?
The night was hazy.
The rain added a chill to the spring evening. Jiang Li, as usual, asked, "You cold?"
"I'm at Golden Core—how could I be cold?" Yue Ji replied.
Jiang Li nodded, resuming work on the dress. Yue Ji, however, bent down, slipped off her high heels, and provocatively hooked her bare foot around his waist.
Her legs were unfairly long. Jiang Li turned, and she withdrew her leg, but not before her dress slipped slightly, teasingly close to revealing more. The unseen made it all the more tantalizing.
"Is that my new dress?" She pointed to the black qipao hanging nearby.
It had taken Jiang Li three hours. Embroidered with narcissus and moons, the improved design ended half a foot above the knee, with a modest slit on the right. It was finely crafted.
"Try it on. Seems you've grown taller?"
For once, he didn't banter. Yue Ji stood, slowly sliding the strap of her camisole off her right shoulder. Her smooth, snowy skin gleamed as she gripped the strap, biting her lip, eyes locked on his.
"Wanna watch?"
"If you're offering, I won't say no."
"Alright." Her lips curved, tugging the strap down. Jiang Li closed his eyes.
Books said seeing a woman's body meant taking responsibility—a losing deal he wouldn't take. Rustling sounds followed—maybe she stood, her dress falling, wearing the lingerie he'd gifted. Perhaps it hung at her waist, needing a tug to drop. He kept his eyes shut. Yue Ji changed slowly. Big White, munching fish in the corner, ignored the charged scene.
It was a female cat, after all.
After half an incense stick, she said, "Done."
He opened his eyes.
Yue Ji had not only donned the qipao but tied up her hair, explaining the delay. The dress fit perfectly, accentuating her figure while showing off her long, slender legs.
"Seems a bit short. You've grown taller?"
Jiang Li, mildly obsessive, felt the qipao was off by half a centimeter. Yue Ji sat. "Haven't measured lately. Measure me?"
"No tape here."
The tape lay on the table—Jiang Li was a shameless liar.
"No way around it?"
"As a pro tailor, I've got ways." He pulled a chair beside her, but before he could finish, she lifted her legs onto his lap.
So he swallowed the line, "My hands are the best tape."
His fingers naturally found her soft, pale foot, gently kneading each pearl-like toe. Yue Ji squinted, teasing, "Measuring my toes, too?"
"Might make you shoes someday," he said lightly, shifting to her arch. Her foot was delicate, bonelessly soft. Using his thumb and forefinger, he measured, her skin yielding under light pressure.
He moved to her slender calf, then her snowy thigh, but stopped at the qipao's hem, unable to go further.
"Why stop?"
"Got the heart but not the guts."
"No guts? I'd say you've got nerve to spare!"
He stayed serious, fingers lingering on her thigh.
"You know me—I never cross that line with sisters."
"I know you can't," she jabbed.
"Who can't? Who're you calling out?"
"You. Can't." She said flatly.
"Want proof?"
"If you've got the nerve, I'd love to see." She smirked, but he slumped, deflated.
He really didn't.
"That's why you're the scumbag," she said, not pulling her legs back, letting his hands linger. Her voice turned wistful. "Other men chase a woman's body, scheming to get her under them. You're worse—you don't want their bodies; you want their hearts…"
"And when they give it, you pretend not to notice, playing dumb."
"That's nonsense. I don't want their hearts."
"Then what?"
"A bit of love to fill my loneliness. Hearts? Those need true sincerity to earn." He withdrew his hand.
Done touching, sage mode activated.
"Who knows how much truth's in your words?" She scoffed, standing to check herself in the mirror. Her lips curved slightly. Turning, she asked, "So, who's the other dress for?"
"Not telling."
"Scared I'll ruin your plan?"
"Nah." He spread his hands innocently. "No need to tell. Just a girl."
"You do prefer older sisters to young girls."
"Obviously." He tilted his head proudly, shameless.
But her eyes grew wistful again.
He didn't know why.
Just as he didn't know how the girl who once called him "Brother Jiang Li" became the cunning woman running Heavenly Mechanism Sect and Praying Moon Pavilion.
"I admire you," she huffed.
"Hm?"
"Every time we talk, I want to punch myself, then you."
He chuckled helplessly.
Yue Ji left under her umbrella. He didn't see her off. Losing interest in tailoring, he flopped onto the bed, exhausted, and pulled Big White close, kissing its head twice.
Used to it, Big White swiped its tail across his face in response.
Rain pattered outside all night. Hugging Big White, Jiang Li slept soundly.
Morning came, rain stopped.
A knock woke him. Groggy, he shuffled to the door, still disheveled. An old man in a green robe stood there, a plain longsword strapped to his back. Seeing Jiang Li's half-awake state, disappointment flickered in his eyes.
"Disciple Jiang Li greets Second Elder," Jiang Li said, bowing properly.
The elder, Zhao Qingshan, was at the eighth level of Spirit Transformation, once half a master to Jiang Li. But Jiang Li's laziness led to his expulsion from Zhao's tutelage, severing their master-disciple bond.
"One month until Hidden Sword Peak's competition. How's your preparation?" Zhao suppressed his frustration, asking.
"Keeping my inner disciple spot shouldn't be an issue," Jiang Li answered plainly. Zhao's face hardened. "Your peers are nearing Golden Core, yet you're stuck at early Foundation Establishment. Where've you squandered your cultivation?"
Jiang Li scratched his head awkwardly, at a loss. Zhao seemed exasperated. "Keep this up, and you'd fit better at Joyous Union Peak."
"No need for that…" Jiang Li mumbled.
Zhao, seeing his cavalier attitude, knew words wouldn't sway him. He'd once urged Jiang Li to train seriously, believing his sword talent surpassed even his own disciples.
But the boy's heart was too fragile—hurt by a woman, he'd crumbled. Zhao stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Be cautious at the competition."
Jiang Li's expression shifted. "What's wrong?"
Though no longer master and disciple, years together left Jiang Li grateful. While not a direct disciple, Zhao had cared for him deeply.
"You've dallied with women across the sect. Forget the elders—your peers who despise you are countless. With your cultivation so low, the elders recently discussed expelling you from Hidden Sword Peak."
Jiang Li paused. He hadn't been ousted yet—Zhao must've vouched for him.
"My cultivation's stalled at Spirit Transformation Eight, and my influence in Hidden Sword Peak has waned, taken by those old fogeys. At the competition, stay sharp—especially with the draw…"
Zhao trailed off, patting his shoulder. "If you face an unbeatable foe, concede."
"Understood," Jiang Li nodded.
Zhao seemed poised to say more but shook his head after a long silence.
"Cultivation is like rowing against the current—stagnate, and you're swept back. You're young, but don't waste your talent over a woman. My words may go in one ear and out the other, but I truly hope you'll buckle down and stop squandering your path."
Zhao finished, and seeing Jiang Li's silence, knew it was futile. Turning to leave, shaking his head, Jiang Li called out, "Master, why do we cultivate?"
Zhao stopped, glancing back. "For me, this sword's been with me two centuries. I cultivate for it, to wield it against evil. That's my purpose."
Not the answer Jiang Li sought.
But he smiled. "I understand."
"I hope you truly do one day." Zhao shook his head and left without looking back.