Daily life of a cultivation judge-Chapter 1149 What is her lifeline

1149: What is her lifeline?

1149: What is her lifeline?

“After our clan got decimated and left in shambles, that rogue cultivator’s son left, more than likely to prepare for his domain tribulation.

We received news of his successful breakthrough not long after..

around three years later,” said Xia Fang.

“Our roles had swapped,” she continued, as she absentmindedly traced the rim of her cup.

“It was now our turn to wallow in misery while he reveled in glory,” she added with a bitter smile.

“Because of the fanfare surrounding the whole thing, both our enemies and allies knew what happened and exactlu who had done it to us.

Our enemies gloated at our misery, while our allies kept their distance.

After all, we became the clan that had angered a domain expert, and one from the Cyan Crescent Kingdom no less.

Not a single one of them wanted anything to do with us. freēwēbηovel.c૦m

I have no doubt they would have attacked us to show their newfound stance had it not been for their fear of the Silver Crane Sect,” Xia Fang explained, her eyes flashing with unveiled hatred.

There were people and organizations she had wrongfully despised—like her grandfather, the other senior figures of the clan, and even the Silver Crane Sect.

But as time went by and her perspectives changed along with it, her attitude toward them changed.

However, even with her newfound clarity, there were certain groups she had hated back then—when fear and bitterness consumed her—that she still hated now.

And at the top of that list were their so-called allies.

Because of who they had angered, Xia Fang wasn’t naive enough to expect their allies to openly show support or stand shoulder to shoulder with them.

Doing so would be no different than throwing themselves into the same pot as the Xia Clan if that rogue cultivator’s son decided to return and finish what he started.

He had claimed the debt between him and the clan was settled after killing all their palace realm experts—that he would no longer pursue them.

And perhaps he was telling the truth, but who could wholeheartedly believe that?

The Xia Clan certainly didn’t.

If they had, they wouldn’t have been living in perpetual fear and worry ever since.

The Silver Crane Sect didn’t seem to believe it either—otherwise, they wouldn’t have grown so distant over the years, to the point where the clan stopped receiving letters from their members who had joined the sect.

Most assumed the matter between the two sides wasn’t truly settled and was just a delayed stay of execution.

Eleven thousand years might have passed without incident, but in the face of a freshly broken-through domain expert’s 120,000-year lifespan, that time meant little.

Just because the blade hadn’t fallen yet didn’t mean it never would.

After all, he had plenty of time to decide.

Knowing all that, it would have been unfair and naive of Xia Fang to expect their allies to stand by them.

In fact, asking anything of them in such a situation would have been a sure way to turn them into enemies, as it meant implicating them.

That was why no one in the Xia Clan even considered approaching their allies for assistance after the incident.

If their allies had simply given them the cold shoulder, Xia Fang would have accepted it.

However, some of those allies, ones with whom they shared deep history, some even bound by generations of intermarriage—hadn’t just remained bystanders to their plight.

They had actively contributed to digging the Xia Clan’s grave even deeper, doing more harm than even some of their enemies.

That was what made Xia Fang, and likely most members of the Xia Clan, despise them with a hatred that ran deeper than even the enmity they held for their actual foes.

Xia Fang took a deep breath to steady her emotions, though, fortunately, it didn’t take much effort.

As much as she hated those so-called ‘allies,’ there was a group she hated a thousand times more—the three clans that had founded the Violet Feather Sword Sect.

Xia Fang took a few more sips, clearing her throat before continuing.

“After the damage we took, as you can expect, we fell on hard times,” she said with a bitter smile.

“We lost our powerful experts, three-quarters of our wealth, and a third of our main territory was rendered inhospitable because of that rogue cultivator’s calamitous saber intent.

It lingered long after he was gone, wreaking havoc across the land.

It took almost forty-five years for that energy to finally weaken enough for us to do anything about it—but by then, it was already too late.

The damage was irreparable.The spirit veins had been severely harmed, permanently thinning the area’s spiritual qi.

The source energies were thrown into complete disarray, tainted by the qualities of that rogue cultivator’s saber intent, making them unusable to other cultivators.

Anyone who attempted to cultivate there risked severe harm to both their body and soul,” Xia Fang said before pausing briefly.

“That place quickly became a wasteland—one we couldn’t restore.

We lacked the resources, the manpower, and the talent needed to repair the damage.”

A pained look crossed her face as memories of everything they had been forced to give up since then flashed through her mind, one after another.

“We had to give up on it,” she finished quietly.

“Cognizant of the state we were in, we tried seeking help from the Silver Crane Sect—only to be turned away at the door,” said Xia Fang, her eyes flashing with a hint of shame.

“Considering we were the ones who created this whole mess in the first place, and the background of the enemy we made in the first place, add to that the fact that we ate the celestial light hawthorn alone, I could understand their stance,” she added, as she lowered her gaze slightly.

“After they refused us and with nowhere else to turn, the clan decided to consolidate what little wealth and resources we had left and rebuild from there.” Xia Fang looked up with an uncomfortable smile coloring her face.

“It’s easier to build something from scratch than it is to rebuild from the ruins of what once was,” she added, a wistful look crossing her face.

Yang Qing silently nodded, agreeing with the sentiment.

Starting from scratch—while not easy—came with an abundance of hope and expectations that hadn’t yet been beaten black and blue by the realities of life.

But rebuilding?

That was far harder.

You not only had to endure the hardships of starting over but also the heavy shadow of everything that had brought you to ruin in the first place.

For the Xia Clan, that dark cloud hanging over their heads was the rogue cultivator’s son who just so happened to be a domain expert.

It was a shadow they would never escape unless they produced a domain expert of their own.

But even then, Yang Qing doubted it would be enough.

The rogue cultivator’s son had the Cyan Crescent Kingdom backing him, and who knew how powerful his master was?

Even if the Xia Clan somehow managed to produce a domain expert which was already a daunting task on its own—it wouldn’t change the fact that the rogue cultivator’s son wouldn’t just be sitting idly by with a stagnated cultivation base.

Reaching the domain realm was already proof that he was clearly talented, but the fact that he achieved it in just 1,000 years spoke volumes about the depth of that talent.

And with the resources and environment of a kingdom like Cyan Crescent nurturing him, his growth would only continue.

If by the time the Xia Clan finally produced a domain expert of their own, what if that rogue cultivator’s son had already advanced to the late stage of the domain realm?

Then they would still be right where they started—trapped under that same suffocating shadow.

Living under such an oppressive atmosphere, how much could they really rebuild?

How long would it take?

And that was assuming they even had the time.

There were those who thrived under such pressure, but more often than not, most would break.

This was why organizations that suffered calamities that shook their very foundations rarely experienced a true resurgence.

If recovery were easy, there wouldn’t be as many ancient ruins and lost legacies as there were.

Yang Qing’s thoughts drifted to the Clear River Sword Sect, which he had demoted to unranked status just a few months ago.

At its peak, it had been a rank-three sect, just like the Xia Clan.

But, like the Xia Clan, it had angered someone it shouldn’t have, and from there, things only spiraled downward.

By the time he interacted with it, the sect’s last remaining expert was merely an early-stage Foundation Establishment cultivator.

And now, even that was gone as he died not long after, leaving the Clear River Sword Sect without a successor.

Soon, the Clear River Sword Sect would join the countless other forgotten sects, clans, and kingdoms buried in the sands of time existing only in the memory of those who knew them.

Seeing the vivid grief etched on Xia Fang’s face, Yang Qing couldn’t help but wonder if her clan, too, was slowly teetering toward that same fate.

She bore the look of someone who had lost everything and was desperately clinging to the last remaining thread.

It was the same look the late sect master of the Clear River Sword Sect had worn when Yang Qing told him he would defer the sect’s demotion for six months.

To that man, it had likely felt like a lifeline—one last sliver of hope that the sect could turn things around, despite its damning reality.

This was a sect that had only two members left.

One was a sect master whose lifespan was rapidly approaching its limit, and the other was a disciple who likely abandoned it, as he didn’t return after using the sect’s allotted token to train at the Order for a year.

What lifeline is she holding on to?

Yang Qing wondered as his gaze fell on Xia Fang.

Is it Zhu Fa?

Or is it the Banyan Battlefield?

Or both?