Cultivation starts with picking up attributes
Chapter 100: Ch-100: Peaceful Times 2.0

Chapter 100: Ch-100: Peaceful Times 2.0

The courtyard stirred with life—slow, quiet, but constant.

Tian Shen moved through his morning drills with the calm of someone who’d finally accepted his life would never be peaceful... but could still be centered.

His bare feet brushed the dew-wet stone, blade humming as he traced lazy arcs in the morning light.

He inhaled. The air was clean. Birds chirped from the edges of the courtyard. A squirrel perched on the fence post stared at him with open hostility—until Drowsy turned her head.

The squirrel fell off the post with a terrified squeak.

"Cluck~," said the Chicken Empress.

A clear warning. This domain was hers.

Tian Shen didn’t miss a beat in his sword flow.

From behind him, soft footsteps padded against the flagstones. A blur of red fur wrapped itself around his ankle like a moving scarf.

"Master!" Little Mei chirped. "You forgot to stretch!"

"I’m mid-drill," he said.

"That’s why you stretch before!"

She countered, then—without warning—jumped and latched onto his back like a clingy spirit beast she was.

He sighed.

"Is this your idea of weight training?"

"Exactly!"

She declared, fluffing proudly.

"I’m cultivating your core."

Tian Shen resumed his movements with Little Mei piggybacked on him like a particularly smug backpack.

His form was slightly off, but he adjusted. He always adjusted.

"Also," she added.

"I dried my tail today. On purpose."

"A miracle," he muttered.

"No more pond incidents!"

From above came the most skeptical "Cluck~" imaginable.

Little Mei glared up.

"One more word outta you, feather pillow, and I’ll report you to the kitchen."

"Cluck~," came the unimpressed reply.

"I have connections!!"

"Mei," Tian Shen warned. "No declaring spiritual war before breakfast."

"Fine," she mumbled. "But only because I’m hungry."

...

By the time they all gathered for morning tea, Feng Yin had already finished making three defensive talismans, and looked suspiciously like she was planning another structural improvement to the veranda.

She sat in her usual spot near the waterfall, sipping tea brewed from a blend of fire-tinged leaves and spring osmanthus.

Her aura, as always, was a paradox—calm yet mischievous, but never distant.

Tian Shen handed her a snack.

"You’ve been up since before sunrise again."

"Someone in this household has to be productive."

She said without looking up.

Little Mei raised her paw.

"I caught a butterfly!"

"Did you eat it?"

Tian Shen asked.

"No!" she huffed. "...It escaped."

"Productivity," Feng Yin murmured dryly.

Drowsy pecked precisely at a spirit fruit offered to her on a silk mat. She refused to eat directly from the ground anymore.

Tian Shen had no idea when that development occurred, but the chicken’s standards were somehow ascending without her ever entering seclusion.

Feng Yin glanced at him over the rim of her cup.

"You have stabilized your Cultivation?"

Tian Shen allowed himself a small smile.

"Yup, I’m trying to not explode anymore."

"It’s clumsy but effective," she said simply.

They sat in silence for a while—Little Mei munching contentedly on a skewer of grilled meat buns, Drowsy settling into her usual rooftop throne, Tian Shen watching the light filter through plum blossoms.

It was easy to forget they were cultivators at all. That beyond the misty mountains and their calm, crumbling courtyard, the world burned with ambition, greed, and sect rivalries.

Here?

Here, things just... grew.

...

Afternoon rolled in lazily.

Tian Shen practiced with wind techniques—his control improving, edges sharpening, the very air around him starting to hum in subtle resonance.

It wasn’t dramatic. There were no booming explosions or flashy auras. Just a gradual harmony with the world.

Little Mei helped by chasing leaves he disturbed, declaring herself "Chief Wind Interceptor". Her tail spun like a fuzzy propeller as she zipped across the field.

Eventually, she tired herself out and crashed into a bush.

"You alright?" Tian Shen asked without looking.

"A little messy," she called back.

Meanwhile, Feng Yin had set up a training ring—a set of concentric spiritual circles drawn with frost and ink.

She moved between them with fluid grace, training a sequence of defensive and redirection techniques. Her robes danced around her like flowing glacier mist.

Tian Shen watched, sipping a ginseng tonic.

"You know, I sometimes forget how lethal you are," he remarked.

She caught a flying stone with a flick of her sleeve and launched it back—cracking a training dummy’s head with surgical precision.

"That’s why I win."

"Fair enough."

"You’ll learn," she added. "Eventually."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"Right now, you’re all instinct and luck."

"Hey!"

"And my snack," she added.

He frowned. "I am more than snacks."

"You’re mostly snacks," Little Mei called from the bush.

Drowsy clucked in agreement.

"I am betrayed by my household."

...

By evening, the household settled into a rare state of stillness.

Little Mei had curled up in the rafters this time—her tail looped around a support beam like a fuzzy snake, softly snoring as she swayed slightly with the breeze.

Tian Shen didn’t question it anymore. As long as she wasn’t in the pond, it was a win.

Feng Yin lit a lantern by the veranda—its gentle glow casting long shadows across the courtyard.

She joined him by the edge, their cups steaming with herbal tea that soothed the nerves and cleared the mind.

"Will you try for the third meridian soon?"

She asked.

"Soon," he nodded. "I want to let the second settle first. There’s some instability when I channel both Sword Qi and Spiritual Qi at once."

Feng Yin sipped.

"Smart."

"And you?"

She hesitated.

"I’m trying to weave ice into my core technique. It’s risky."

"You’ll manage."

"I know."

They sat in silence again, this time longer.

Above them, Drowsy watched the stars, unmoving as ever.

There was a kind of reverence in the way the chicken just... existed.

Like she had no need to grow stronger—just needed the world to realize how strong she already was.

Maybe that was the secret.

Tian Shen closed his eyes.

He let the world fade.

He let the wind move through him, not against him.

He let his breathing slow until the spiritual threads around him began to hum.

From somewhere inside, he felt it—the beginnings of synchronization. Of resonance.

It was quiet.

But powerful.

It didn’t need to be loud.

It just needed to be real.

...

Night deepened.

Little Mei dreamed of meat skewers.

Feng Yin sat beside him, refining spiritual stones, her hand glowing with cold light.

Drowsy dozed, but somehow kept watching.

The stars shimmered above like scattered fragments of shattered treasure, and the moon rode high—silver and watchful.

In the soft hush of night, the courtyard felt less like a home and more like a hidden world, sealed off from the chaos beyond the mountains.

Tian Shen slowly exhaled, his breath weaving with the wind as spiritual threads flowed gently into his meridians.

The faint glow along his arms faded as he let the session end, not with exhaustion, but with a sense of quiet completion.

"Got anything to spill out?"

Feng Yin asked without looking up, still slowly turning a glowing spirit stone in her palm.

"Well... this peace... is not that bad."

He replied.

She smiled faintly.

"But I liked the walking disaster. He made things interesting."

He nudged her with his elbow.

"You’re not supposed to say that."

She tilted her head.

"But it’s true."

From the rafters, a soft snore-snort escaped Little Mei as she shifted in her sleep, one leg twitching. Her fluffy tail dangled like a banner of chaos from the beam.

"She’s dreaming about skewers again," Tian Shen said.

"She always is."

Drowsy shifted on the rooftop, fluffing her feathers just enough to indicate she was listening—displeased by the idea that foxes dreamed louder than chickens meditated.

Tian Shen leaned back on his palms, gazing upward.

"Do you ever think," he began, voice softer now, "that this... might not last?"

Feng Yin didn’t respond right away.

Then, after ten or so minutes came her reply.

"Yes. Which is why I appreciate every quiet moment we get."

He turned to look at her.

"No sarcastic comment?"

"I’m tired," she said, smirking slightly. "Give me ten minutes."

They sat quietly again, the silence between them not heavy—but full. A kind of shared stillness that didn’t need to be filled.

The wind carried the scent of jasmine and mountain grass.

The soft gurgle of the pond, the rustle of leaves, the quiet crackle of the lantern’s flame—it all blended together into the kind of peace that cultivators chased but rarely found.

Home wasn’t a fortress or a sect hall.

Sometimes, it was just this.

A fox, a chicken, a cup of tea, and a moonlit conversation beneath plum trees.

Tian Shen closed his eyes once more, under the silver kiss of the moon, he continued to grow.

Not with explosions.

Not with fanfare.

But with the rhythm of life.

With the sound of leaves rustling.

With the scent of tea and pond lilies.

With laughter and irritation and affection tangled into one messy, magical household.

It wasn’t legendary.

It wasn’t even particularly impressive.

But for now?

It was enough.

And in cultivation... sometimes, enough was the most powerful thing of all.