Daily life of a cultivation judge-Chapter 1137 - Ended in a single night

1137: Ended in a single night

1137: Ended in a single night

Seeing the palpable emotions within Xia Fang, Yang Qing elected to remain silent, letting her wade through them and resume when she felt ready.

Fortunately for him, it didn’t seem like it would take long.

Some clarity returned to her eyes.

Though still burdened by emotion, it looked like Xia Fang would push through and continue her narration.

Yang Qing wasn’t sure if it was the tea doing its job, his aura having an effect, or the emotions themselves driving her forward—whatever the reason, he was just glad she was willing to go on.

After taking a few steadying breaths and another sip of tea, Xia Fang continued.

“Most people believe the Violet Feather Sword Sect was founded by three families,” she began.

“The Fan Clan, the Chi Clan, and the Ning Clan—together, they formed the rank three sect known today as the Violet Feather Sword Sect.” Her voice was cold.

“However, unknown to most, there was a fourth clan involved in its inception—one that, unlike the other three, didn’t have much of a say in the matter,” she explained, her tone laced with frustration and anger.

“That clan was my family—the Xia Clan,” she finally added, a flash of bitterness flickering in her eyes.

“We were the only unwilling participants… and yet, we were the biggest contributors to its creation, survival, and rise,” she added with a self-deprecating smile.

She took another sip of tea, as if trying to suppress the storm within, before continuing.

Xia Fang let out a mournful sigh as her gaze turned distant.

“I’m not sure if there’s even anything left of them…” she said, a pitiful smile curving her lips, eyes flickering with sorrow.

She looked like someone trapped in a memory—her body may have been here with Yang Qing, but her soul was somewhere else entirely.

After a moment of silence, some clarity returned to her eyes as she shifted her gaze back to Yang Qing, though the sorrow-filled smile remained.

“Are you close with someone elderly in your life, Judge Yang Qing?” Xia Fang asked softly.

“I am…” Yang Qing answered, hiding a grimace as images of his grandfather flashed through his mind.

“They’re pretty nostalgic people, aren’t they?” she said, chuckling lightly.

“They are,” Yang Qing agreed, a rueful smile forming as a memory surfaced—his grandfather and his cohort berating him and the other Yang clan juniors for being too soft when they complained that the sludge they were forced to consume for body refinement training was too bitter… or, at times, slightly lethal to their well-being.

What they got for their mild and well-reasoned complaints was a thorough drowning in saliva, courtesy of old men who berated their lack of character and grit.

They were too soft, too pampered—nothing like the Yang clan members of the past.

Back in their day, they hadn’t enjoyed the luxuries Yang Qing’s generation took for granted.

The body refinement recipes that reached his generation had gone through countless refinements, increasing both their potency and efficiency.

All Yang Qing and the others had to do now was sit in the vat, letting the concoction autonomously temper their bodies.

But back in their time?

The only way you knew the concoction had worked was if you didn’t pass out for more than three months and your body didn’t suffer irreversible anatomical changes.

Yang Qing couldn’t help but smile bitterly as the memory surfaced in all its twisted glory.

Because, when those old fogies had been berating him, saliva and all—calling him a soft crybaby who didn’t know how good he had it—he had already gone half-blind.

His sclera had turned completely green, pupils included.

Some patches of his skin had taken on the texture of semi-wet mud, his hair had all fallen out, replaced by a stubborn layer of moss, and his entire body felt like it had been skewered by molten lava needles.

Seeing his expression shift slightly, Xia Fang smiled.

“Who did you remember?” she asked.

“My grandfather,” Yang Qing answered, his bitter smile lingering.

Yang Qing’s bitter smile remained as he tried to push aside that particular memory.

His hand moved instinctively to his head, brushing through his hair—just to confirm it was still there.

Even as a palace realm expert, the trauma from that day still haunted him.

It didn’t help that his hair had permanently turned green—along with his pupils—thanks to his peerless jade physique.

“What is he like?” Xia Fang asked softly.

“Stubborn, dedicated, a little crazy,” Yang Qing began, only to pause midway and shake his head.

“No—fully crazy,” he corrected himself.

A faint chuckle escaped him before his expression softened.

“And one of the most insightful people I know,” he added.

“Who I am today, and all I have, is in no small part thanks to him.”

“Sounds like a great person,” Xia Fang said, her tone thick with emotion.

“He is…” Yang Qing agreed, his voice quieter.

“So is mine,” Xia Fang said, her smile turning faint and melancholic.

“When I was young, he would tell me these grand stories—about how amazing the Xia family was 12,000 years ago… how the powers around us would flood our doors just to curry favor,” she said, her voice laced with longing.

“When I was a kid, those stories would excite me… but as I grew older…” Her words trailed off, the weight of unspoken pain pulling her into silence.

Her gaze, which had been fixed on the table, slowly lifted to meet Yang Qing’s, sorrow shimmering in her eyes.

“Hearing all those stories—when I grew up—all it did was make me painfully aware of everything we’d lost, and how far down from grace we’d fallen.

And that realization only made me sadder… angrier… frustrated.

A frustration that quickly boiled over into resentment—resentment toward those who put us in this place and resentment toward my own family members, who I blamed for allowing it to happen,” Xia Fang said softly.

She let out a bitter chuckle, though there was no humor in it.

“It’s pitiful, isn’t it?” she asked, though it seemed more directed at herself than Yang Qing.

“I was inseparable from my grandfather when I was young… but as I grew older—lacking the maturity or understanding of where to direct my anger—I threw it all on him.”

Her voice trembled slightly as she continued, and her words felt heavier with each word she spoke.

“I mocked him… said the only thing he was good at was telling tales of days long gone by.

I called him a coward—someone who conveniently ignored the present so he could hide in memories of the past.

And from that moment, I stopped speaking to him.”

Xia Fang lowered her head slightly, biting down on her lip as if trying desperately to hold something back.

“I’ve made countless stupid decisions since then,” she admitted, in a low voice that was almost a whisper.

“But to this day… that remains my most regrettable.”

The tremor in her voice deepened, and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears—pain, sorrow, and regret etched into every word.

“For 300 years… I didn’t speak to him,” she said softly, her hands clenching around the cup she held.

“And when I finally did… I didn’t even get to do it for long.” Her expression grew bleaker, the weight of those words settling like a heavy shadow over her.

“I didn’t even get enough time to make up for all those years I went silent on him,” Xia Fang softly mumbled, her mind drifting in the sea of her regrets.

“I doubt he was even born back then, but with the way he used to light up when he talked about our clan’s glory days, you’d think he had lived through them,” she said, looking up with a faint smile—one that couldn’t quite mask the sorrow behind it.

“To dare hope in a place surrounded by nothing but pain and misery takes some strength, doesn’t it?” she asked, directing the question at Yang Qing.

“It does,” Yang Qing softly answered as Ma Yuan and his daughter flashed in his mind, before his mind went to the chilly night he met Ma Yuan, submerged under that yin-filled lake looking to die and the contrasting person he had grown to become over the past few months.

“Losing hope is much easier than keeping it,” he added, the weight of Ma Yuan’s story subtly reflected in his tone.

His response brought a pained smile to Xia Fang’s face.

She nodded, as if savoring his words, before saying, “I think so too.”

Taking a moment to compose herself, she continued.

“Unlike the shell my clan is today—where we only have a singular palace realm expert—around 12,000 years ago and further back, during the peak period of our family, we had over a dozen palace realm experts at any given time.

And at our strongest, we even had eight late-stage palace realm experts existing within the same era,” Xia Fang said, a trace of pride flickering in her voice.

“But it all ended in a single night… when tragedy suddenly befell us.”