Chapter Thirty-One: What Are We Fighting For?

Walking aimlessly along the path of the Shanghai Cultivation Academy, Yang Fan had no intention of practicing cultivation today. He glanced at his system:

"Host: Yang Fan"
"Level: Grade Two"
"Title: Student of Shanghai Cultivation Academy"
"Assets: 2,401,530"
"Qi Sea: 0.6"
"Spirit: 11.17"
"Available Points: 2,401"
"Addable Attributes: Qi Sea+, Spirit+"
"Shop: Not unlocked"
"Lottery Turns: 0"

Apart from the newly credited academic points and bonus, nothing had changed in the system. Yang Fan closed the interface. His injuries had just healed, and he decided to give himself two days off. Being caught in a constant cycle of missions and cultivation, he felt a growing sense of agitation.

He had lost his own life.

It was as if living existed solely for cultivation.

The more Yang Fan thought about it, the more uncomfortable he felt. When he chose the path of cultivation, it was partly because he had no other options, and partly out of genuine curiosity about the world of cultivators.

But now? He kept accepting missions, exchanging the rewards for cultivation resources, then continued practicing, only to take on new missions after. The endless repetition was becoming tedious.

Since the start of the term, he barely knew any of his classmates. The only one he could call a friend was Zhou Yiyi. As for Tan Hao? He was merely an information collector. Calling him a friend felt premature; truthfully, they hadn’t spoken much.

He realized he truly was a bit lonely.

The more he dwelled on it, the more desolate he felt. It was like the time his best friend was adopted, leaving him with a sense of loss and reluctance.

Thinking about it made his nose sting.

His life seemed unchanged.

Still alone, no different from before he began cultivation.

"If I keep this up, won’t I end up with social anxiety? No, I need to get out. I can’t go on like this! But where should I go?"

Yang Fan muttered to himself.

Though he wanted to go out, choosing a destination proved difficult.

Within the academy, everyone was focused on cultivation and classes; no one had time to wander aimlessly with him.

"Forget it, I’ll just wander around the city. I’ve been here so long but never really explored."

With that thought, Yang Fan headed toward the academy gate.

The Shanghai Cultivation Academy had dedicated vehicles to the city. Whenever Yang Fan went on missions, he took these buses for transit—it was convenient.

He went to the boarding point, familiar with the procedure.

The academy’s direct buses to the city were free, which Yang Fan appreciated most. It was a business without capital.

Sitting on the bus, he gazed out the window, unconsciously sinking into reminiscence.

He recalled everything since his talent for cultivation had been tested.

To be honest, even now it felt unreal. He had entered the academy? Begun his journey of killing? Become a cultivator?

What, then, was a cultivator?

Yang Fan pondered deeply.

He didn’t know why, but returning this time brought a flood of thoughts.

Why cultivate? At first, Yang Fan would have said—for survival! Back then, he had nothing else he could do. But now, having truly become a cultivator, the question of why he continued had resurfaced.

To protect the nation, defend relics? That was too distant and abstract. Yang Fan was an orphan; it was enough that he hadn’t grown up resentful. Expecting him to hold great goodwill toward the world was asking too much.

A few passionate words could incite enthusiasm, but reflecting later made it feel pointless.

Having just faced someone from the Dark Realm, these doubts had arisen in his heart.

Yang Fan couldn’t imagine spending his future locked in endless combat with such people, until one side was wiped out.

Just thinking about it was suffocating.

Fighting for ordinary people was possible for someone with ideals, but for a former orphan from the lowest rung, it felt laughable.

The vehicle sped toward the city, Yang Fan’s thoughts running wild and disconnected.

The driver, as usual, remained silent.

Soon, the driver dropped Yang Fan in a random part of the city.

Stepping off, Yang Fan found the bustling metropolis unfamiliar.

He had no idea where he was.

Before, he’d always gone straight to the train station or the Cultivator Management Bureau. This time, he’d simply asked the driver to drop him anywhere.

Watching the crowds on the street, Yang Fan felt even more alone.

He wandered aimlessly.

For a solitary person, even the smallest city can feel overwhelming.

And Shanghai was so vast, Yang Fan couldn’t possibly see or understand it all.

Even though he’d become a cultivator, the core of his upbringing from a small town remained unchanged. Even after killing many, his temperament was as before.

...

Drifting along the streets, his thoughts multiplied.

Why fight? In the end, Yang Fan reached a conclusion—though he didn’t know if it was right, it was true to his heart: fight to survive.

Everyone is selfish; no one is truly selfless. The greatest selfishness is living for oneself.

Yang Fan felt there was nothing wrong with that—fighting for his own survival.

Since he had embarked on the path of cultivation, staying alive was all he needed to consider.

Everything else was irrelevant.

He no longer cared for those stirring, heroic declarations he’d once heard.

Of course, he wasn’t qualified to consider such things yet. He was merely a novice, and being Grade Two meant nothing among all the world’s cultivation academies—there must be hundreds of thousands like him, if not more.

His confusion was nothing more than a youth’s fleeting loneliness.

As Yang Fan would say, thinking about these things was just being idle with a full stomach.

And this time, he did exactly that.

Once he’d thought it through, he chuckled at himself. He had never expected to worry about these matters, even if only for a brief moment.

With his mood restored, Yang Fan felt much lighter as he walked the streets.

Life’s journey is long—he’d barely started, and these immature thoughts were just the aftermath of a recent crisis.

Now, gazing at the city’s brilliance, the world seemed wonderful again.

His earlier thoughts felt ridiculous—was the food not delicious or the wine not rich, that he had to ponder such things?

Thinking of eating and drinking, Yang Fan realized he was hungry. Since being admitted to the hospital, he’d barely eaten.

He found a roadside stall, sat down, ordered a bowl of noodles, and ate heartily.

...

Shanghai Cultivation Academy, a certain office.

"A Grade Two from the Dark Realm crossing over, appearing right where Yang Fan was doing his mission—is that really just a coincidence?" Director Zhou Haifeng mused, looking at those before him.

"If it’s not a coincidence, how else can you explain it? The Luoyang Cultivator Management Bureau sent their analysis—basically, it’s coincidence!" said Zhang Weiguo, Dean of the Battle Arts Academy.

"That’s right, I think it’s just coincidence. He’s only Grade Two—who would bother targeting him? Old Zhou, don’t overthink it. Yang Fan may have Grade One talent, but so what? There are countless geniuses faster at cultivation than Yang Fan. Why should he stand out?" added Deputy Principal Xiao Minghe, a Grade Eight peak cultivator.

"Perhaps it really is coincidence, but either way, I think Yang Fan deserves focused cultivation," Zhou Haifeng nodded.

"Sure, but the question is how. The kid’s path is clear—cultivation, combat, exchange for resources, more cultivation, more combat. Nothing wrong with it. That’s the standard martial artist’s path," Zhang Weiguo remarked.

Yang Fan always felt that, despite his Grade One talent, he wasn’t particularly valued at the academy—he received no special care.

But he never minded. The path of cultivation was his own; if others helped, it was kindness, but no extra help was only fair.

Yet, in this office, these high-ranking figures were discussing Yang Fan with remarkable clarity. If he overheard, he’d be shocked.

"My point isn’t to guide him, but perhaps we should advise him in his cultivation—battle arts, techniques? The kid took two battle arts from the Battle Arts Building and uses them crudely. He also lacks courage; as a Grade Two martial artist, he still only fights Grade One opponents. This time he finally took a Grade Two mission, but if not for the Dark Realm, it wouldn’t have been difficult. Without courage, how can he grow?" Zhou Haifeng observed.

"True, I’ve reviewed his mission details. He mostly faces weaker opponents, and his method is one-hit kills—entirely relying on his realm to suppress them. Not impressive. He does need guidance. He’s a Grade One talent, and though it’s too soon to include him in the plan, he should be cultivated," Xiao Minghe agreed.

"Good. Let’s settle it. Since he’s here these days, let’s hold a freshman tournament and take disciples!" Zhou Haifeng concluded.

If Yang Fan knew the upcoming freshman tournament was mainly for these big shots to take him as their disciple, he’d probably question his whole existence again.

The group began discussing the tournament. While their aim was to recruit Yang Fan and guide his cultivation, that was only one purpose—any academy leadership must consider broader interests.

Meanwhile, Yang Fan had no idea the academy’s leaders were discussing him and the tournament.

After eating, he continued roaming the city streets, aimless and directionless, but feeling much less troubled.

Seeing the bustling city, his mood improved.

What a beautiful world, what a splendid civilization.

If there were no Dark Realm invasions, this world would be even more wonderful.

Yang Fan mused, chuckled, and stepped forward.