Cultivation Nerd-Chapter 318 - A Day in the Life of a Desperate Housewife

The morning light peeked through the kitchen windows, casting golden beams across the wooden floor and glinting softly along the countertop’s edge. Fu Yating stood at the stove, her silhouette outlined in the gentle glow. The aroma of sizzling herbs and fragrant spices filled the air, wrapping the room in warmth. She moved with practiced ease, flipping the pan’s contents while humming a quiet tune under her breath.

As always, Fu Yating had risen before dawn. The routine had become second nature, her morning presence in the kitchen as sure as the sunrise.

She was waiting for her husband to come down for breakfast.

If someone had asked her back before arriving at the Blazing Sun Sect how she felt around Liu Feng, she would have said it was like walking a tightrope. One wrong step, and he would decide she wasn’t worth keeping around.

Which made it all the stranger that he had grown more accepting, softer, even. Sometimes it seemed like he had lowered his guard entirely with her. Maybe that was an illusion, but she felt safe around him.

Of course, she had tested that illusion once during the poison incident, when she tried to play innocent. It had nearly cost her life. Liu Feng could be gentle, yes, but when survival or higher interests were at stake, that gentleness vanished in an instant.

And yet, she still found herself falling for it.

Liu Feng gave the impression that even if the sky were collapsing, he could calmly analyze the situation and find a solution. He was reliable like that.

Fu Yating stirred the eggs, her body moving on instinct while her mind drifted.

Strange, how after he began spending more time with Song Song, the cruel woman who seemed to revel in blood, he had grown even kinder. By all logic, it should have been the opposite.

Was it a yin-and-yang balance? Had he tempered himself to counteract the malice Song Song exuded daily? It felt almost as though the role of making ruthless decisions had been delegated to her.

What unsettled Fu Yating more was how much of her thinking Song Song left to Liu Feng, when he himself treated the political side of things halfheartedly after he claimed the library.

He was still doing better than most, but if she were in Song Song’s position, she would worry. More often than not, Liu Feng didn’t feel like a subordinate at all.

Fu Yating shrugged to herself, unconcerned despite how fragile Song Song’s growing empire seemed, like a house of cards waiting to topple.

It didn’t matter. She hadn’t bet on either side. Even their enemies hated Song Song more than they hated Liu Feng. He was too valuable to kill, and as long as he lived, she was safe too. Her life, if not glamorous, would remain comfortable.

That said, she occasionally missed the servants she once had. She’d gained a new appreciation for them after long days of housework.

The stairs creaked softly. Light footsteps descended, quiet, cautious, almost invisible, as if noise itself invited punishment.

They belonged to Wu Yan.

At first, Fu Yating had thought it a habit of timidity, but she’d learned the girl truly had an aversion to noise. Clearly, her childhood had been harsh; children didn’t grow so quiet unless every sound they made had once been punished.

Fu Yating had tried to recruit her as a safeguard in case Liu Feng died or vanished. But it was useless. Wu Yan saw him as flawless, the one who had saved her from that life.

“Good morning,” came Wu Yan’s soft voice.

The girl looked like Liu Feng reshaped into a gentler, feminine form. On him, those softer features carried a disturbing, hollow stare. On her, they shone unclouded.

“Do you need help feeding Batsy?” she asked, pronouncing the ridiculous name perfectly.

Fu Yating hid a grimace. The strange creature Liu Feng insisted on calling a pet was aggressive to the point of madness. She had learned the only safe time to feed it was after Speedy had thoroughly put it in its place, sometimes literally.

“I’ll handle it,” Fu Yating assured her. “You should focus on cultivation and consolidating your power.”

Then the peaceful rhythm was shattered.

The front door slammed open with a violent bang, the sound ricocheting through the halls and cutting the morning calm like a blade. Whoever entered didn’t care about waking anyone. Their steps were heavy and unhurried.

“I could smell the food from halfway here,” Song Song said as she strode in.

Of course it was her. She used to be far worse when she still lived here, though Fu Yating supposed things hadn’t changed all that much. Not that Song Song had ever done anything to her directly, but the constant back-and-forth between her and Liu Feng had always been unsettling. Not jealousy, never that, but concern for her safety net. Her husband.

“Song Song, quiet down. People are still sleeping,” Liu Feng’s grumbling voice came from behind Fu Yating, low and edged with irritation, as though he had been dragged from the brink of sleep. His approach had been soundless, no creak of floorboards, and no hint he was there until he spoke.

That was Liu Feng. Moving like death itself: silent, unseen, and always appearing when least expected. Usually, the first sign he was even present was his voice, too late to brace for.

Fu Yating had nearly jumped out of her skin the first few times it happened. She would never admit it, but once, she had been startled so badly she nearly dropped a boiling pan.

She had already prepared extra for Song Song; despite sleeping elsewhere, she still spent most of her day here and usually ate here too.

Once everyone was seated, Fu Yating brought the food to the table, and Liu Feng began eating.

“This is good. We’re lucky to have you around,” he said, complimenting her cooking as he always did.

Breakfast passed in relative silence. Everyone focused on their food, thoughts already drifting to the day ahead. The only real voice was Song Song’s, casually recounting decisions the elders had made recently.

Fu Yating doubted this was information meant for ordinary ears, but Song Song either didn’t know or didn’t care.

When it was over, Wu Yan returned to her cultivation, while Song Song wandered off to who knew where, likely to practice her chilling technique. Liu Feng headed for the library, where he had been researching the effects of eating monstrous beast meat daily.

He studied the oddest things, constantly juggling one side project or another.

Fu Yating didn’t mind. She stepped outside to begin her daily chores.

She lifted her wrist and activated the bracelet Liu Feng had given her, an artifact that transformed ambient Qi into a faint stream of water. It curled from her palm into the spout of a watering can, filling it with a gentle trickle.

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Though she had never taken the first step into Qi Gathering, her body still carried the enhancements of a Body Tempering cultivator. Stronger than any ordinary person, she lifted the full can with ease and walked behind the house to water the flowers she’d been tending.

The scent of damp soil and blossoms filled the air as droplets of water scattered across the leaves.

These flowers were no ordinary plants.

Nearest to her bloomed Moonveil Lilies, their pale-blue petals faintly translucent, glowing with a silvery sheen as if kissed by moonlight. Beside them, Red Ember Poppies flared outward like tongues of flame, releasing sparks when touched by water. A border of Glassbell Ferns chimed softly as droplets struck their crystalline leaves. At the garden’s center rose a single Twilight Bloom, its five petals shifting color with the time of day, now a deep indigo traced with veins of gold, pulsing faintly.

No two were alike. She suspected Liu Feng was using them to test whether his grass-growing array could sustain more than just forced blades of green. Each season, he had her add more rare and exotic seeds to the collection.

Even if Liu Feng was careless about it, she enjoyed the garden. Tending the flowers was a quiet, relaxing task.

Then came a sharp yelp, a high, pitiful sound followed by a drawn-out whine like a wounded dog. A heartbeat later, a piercing screech split the calm, wild and desperate as a cornered beast.

Fu Yating closed her eyes and exhaled, patience worn thin. She set the watering can down, brushed dirt from her hands, and walked to the front of the house.

What she found earned another sigh.

Batsy lay sprawled in the grass, her black fur matted with blood. One wing bent at an unnatural angle, its membrane shredded and leaking sluggish red. The other was twisted beneath her body, while a hind leg twitched weakly, nerves still firing through the pain. Her breathing came in shallow, ragged wheezes. Her eyes fluttered dazedly, unfocused, as though she hadn’t even grasped what had happened.

Beside her, Speedy dozed curled into himself, smug as a little prince. His stubby turtle paws were tucked neatly under his shell, and the faint stain of red lingered around his mouth.

Fu Yating pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered, “Not again…”

Batsy might have been strong for a creature so recently born, but she was undeniably foolish. Perhaps she had the spark of human-like intelligence, but even some humans were idiotic. By now, instinct alone should have taught her a lesson. Only a will as stubborn as a person’s could persist with such reckless stupidity.

Still, with Batsy beaten down, this was the best and perhaps only time to feed her during the day.

Fu Yating let out a weary breath and walked to the side of the wooden house, where a large bucket sat beneath a cloth etched with strange markings. Pulling it back revealed raw, sinewy meat with chunks of beast flesh, some still faintly steaming in the morning sun. The smell hit her immediately, sharp and metallic, though she had long grown used to it. With practiced ease, she dragged the bucket forward and set it before the injured bat-beast.

It had become routine. Every few days, Batsy would pick a fight with Speedy, lose miserably, and be left just injured enough to be docile. That small window when she couldn’t fly or bite was the only time Fu Yating could feed her without risking life or limb or needing Wu Yan nearby.

Even so, when she looked at the limp creature, Batsy’s glowing eyes still burned with hostility.

Fu Yating shivered. She remembered the first time she’d tried feeding her back when the bat still seemed small and harmless. Batsy had lunged with startling speed, fangs bared, claws outstretched. If not for Wu Yan, who had casually slapped the beast aside, Fu Yating might have lost a hand.

She kept her distance now, crouching to watch as Batsy weakly sniffed at the meat. Even half-dead, the creature refused to look pitiful.

“Come on, big girl. Sooner or later, you’ll have to give in. No matter how ferocious, you’ll never beat them,” Fu Yating said softly.

Batsy, willful as ever, only crunched into the flesh. Her injuries were heavier this time; she must have pushed Speedy too far.

…

By the time Song Song reappeared, it was nearly lunchtime. She drifted into the courtyard as though she hadn’t been gone for hours, sunlight filtering through the trees to cast shifting patterns across her dark robes. She carried herself with lazy confidence, a faint curve at her lips suggesting amusement at some private thought.

“Hey, uhhh… Liu Feng’s fiancée,” she called.

“You forgot my name, didn’t you?” Fu Yating asked flatly.

“Sorry,” Song Song replied, only half sincere. “Anyway, I just finished an elder’s meeting, and now I’m bored.”

“You’re welcome to sit,” Fu Yating said, lowering herself into the rocking chair on the porch and gesturing to the other one Liu Feng sometimes used.

Their relationship wasn’t exactly good or bad. They had spoken before, even spent some time together. Just not enough for Song Song to bother remembering her name. Clearly.

Song Song took the offered seat, stretched, and sighed in exaggerated weariness.

“So, I’ve been thinking of launching my campaign to become the next sect leader. The first and only candidate to succeed.” She tilted her head. “What are your thoughts?”

Fu Yating scratched her cheek, awkward at being asked. But Song Song never cared much for propriety.

“Well, I don’t know much about the situation,” Fu Yating said carefully. In truth, she knew a great deal. Song Song and Liu Feng had a bad habit of discussing confidential matters in front of her. “But I’d suggest waiting. Let the others burn themselves out first; let them fight among each other. Then strike aggressively when the moment’s right.”

“You know,” Liu Feng’s voice cut in, sudden as ever, “this isn’t what I expected two girls to chat about together.”

Song Song only smiled at him, unsurprised by his sudden arrival.

Fu Yating, however, excused herself before the conversation spiraled.

“Sorry, but I need to prepare lunch,” she said, rising, walking through the door. Spending too much time with someone like Song Song was never a good idea.

Inside the kitchen, she exhaled in relief. Best not to involve herself in their decisions. When mistakes came, the only ones they forgave were themselves and each other.

She set a cutting board on the counter, pulled an onion from the basket, and began dicing.

Despite what had happened to her family, a small part of her felt relieved. After all, the massacre occurred when Song Song wasn’t there. If she had been, Fu Yating doubted she’d still be alive.

Around Liu Feng, she no longer had to act so much, as he always saw through her anyway.

In the past, she’d worn countless masks: sweet or insane, lovable or loyal. Innocent in front of some, wild in front of others, or whatever it took to be respected, loved or underestimated.

After lunch, when everyone had eaten their fill of steaks, porridge, stew and salads, Fu Yating lingered at the table, staring at her empty plate. Liu Feng offered his usual thanks before retreating to his room after a brief exchange with Song Song and Wu Yan. Fu Yating made her way to her own quarters, her steps slow as she thought about certain things.

She paused before the mirror in her room. A soft gaze, smooth skin, and long, dark hair stared back. She was pretty and she knew it, not in a way that demanded attention, but with a quiet, pleasant beauty. Though there were some insecurities, there were not enough to change her opinion of herself.

Yet when she thought of women like Song Song, with her sharp allure, or Ye An, whose flawless features once turned heads, a flicker of inadequacy stirred. She felt… diminished. Not physically, but as if she fell short beside them.

Ye An had lost an eye, though. And with it, something of her beauty had dimmed. It made Fu Yating wonder: how much of a person’s worth was bound to their appearance? And why did she even care so much?

She didn’t love Liu Feng and perhaps never would. Yet something in her thrilled at the monstrous part of him, the way he gripped that darkness so tightly she could glimpse the potential beneath it.

No girl desired an arrogant brute, nor a soft, fragile man. But she desired a monster who treated her gently. Or someone who was capable of being a monster to protect her from the other monsters out there.

Despite the transactional nature of their bond, some part of her still wanted his attention, his notice, and perhaps she wanted to be his desire.

Then again, her choices were few. Liu Feng or Liu Feng. Whether she faced the monster or the gentleman depended entirely on how she chose to act.

Lately, tired of endless arguments, she mostly got the gentleman.

As for vengeance over her clan’s massacre, she had once entertained such thoughts, but they had long since faded. The Fu Clan would not endure in name. Perhaps it would endure in blood, through the children born between her and Liu Feng.

That was as far as her duty to her clan stretched. To harm the Liu Clan would be to harm Liu Feng and her future children, and she had no desire for that. Hurting Liu Feng himself? She no longer even considered it, though she still liked unnerving him now and then. It was both fun and in a way her pretty revenge.

In truth, she was content with how things had turned out. Though that might be more because of her recent thoughts. She was more than content and had grown excited about the thought of having children.

For the first time, she had a reason to live beyond mere survival.