Cultivation Nerd: Chapter 207 (Patreon)

Chapter 207 - A Guest

"Coming," someone said from the other side of the door.

The door creaked open with a long, drawn-out groan, revealing an elderly man whose gray hair was streaked with remnants of black, stubbornly holding on to the last traces of youth. His back curved slightly, giving him a hunched posture that made him seem smaller, as though the weight of the years had pressed him closer to the earth. Deep lines etched his tan face. His rough and leathery skin bore the unmistakable marks of time and decades spent in the sun.

"What can I help you with?" he asked.

So this was the guy the faceless girl was so intimidated by? It seemed ridiculous. Even with her limited power to morph her body, she could kill everyone in the outer city and escape into the night without anyone knowing.

Sometimes, traditions or long-held beliefs are hard to break—it was just human nature. Children always had a hard time fighting against their parents.

"I heard you have an inn, and I suffered an accident on the way here. I was wondering how much a place like this costs?" I inquired.

A glint flickered in his eyes, and he smiled. I might have thought he was just some friendly, middle-aged guy if I didn't know better.

With customers rarely showing up, the place should be cheaper. But how cheap? That was up to him. He was probably trying to figure out if I knew about the faceless girl because he could hike up the prices if I didn't.

"How does four copper coins a night sound?" he asked. Noticing my slight pause as I pretended to think it over, he quickly added, "It's all negotiable, of course."

"No, no need to negotiate. That's more than fair. Any less, and I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you," I replied.

The parents clearly feared their own child. They thought they'd birthed a monster, but at least they hadn't gone to the extreme of burning her at the stake when she was born.

There was room for improvement in their behavior toward her, but I wasn't here to judge or take the moral high ground.

The man opened the door wider. "Please, come in. You must be tired from your journey."

"Well, it's been an interesting night, to say the least," I said.

My clothes were still damp, and any cautious cultivator might have been wary of me. I didn't exactly look like someone who'd spent the night in the rain. But most people don't notice these things.

"Please, come, we're having breakfast," called a shrill voice from the kitchen. She was trying to be polite, but her tone grated on my nerves. "Nothing fancy, just some pork porridge, but it's on the house."

"Thank you for your hospitality," I said, removing my muddy boots before stepping inside.

The place was just as clean as it had been this morning. Now that I wasn't in a rush, I took a moment to observe it more closely.

It looked much the same, though a few spots had been wiped down. The inn had a medieval charm, but what struck me was how much places could vary based on their location and the number of cultivators around. It was like each city lived in its own era.

"This is an inn and also your home, right?" I asked. "It has a warm feeling, not just like a business. There's something about a home that gives a place a certain energy like someone actually cares about it."

They smiled. The woman poked her head out from the kitchen for a second, her brittle brown hair framing a freckled, weathered face.

Despite her worn appearance and sun-beaten skin, she had a certain mature charm about her.

"Yes, we take care of this place like no other inn," she said.

I nodded. "Though it must be tough, managing a house and an inn simultaneously."

"It has its challenges," the old man grunted, his eyes fixed on my hands as I rested my elbows on the table.

"Oh, right, I almost forgot," I said, reaching into my breast pocket and pulling out four bronze coins from my storage ring. I placed them on the table. "Here's one-night payment, and I'll cover any food I eat."

The man inspected the coins, ensuring they didn't bend too easily, before pocketing them.

"My parents had two sons, me among them, but my mother always wanted a daughter. When we moved into a new house, she would clean it obsessively, joking that the house was like her third child—a daughter," I said.

They looked at me oddly but said nothing, likely out of fear of offending a paying customer. Maybe I was being too heavy-handed, trying to steer the conversation toward children, but I wasn't one to beat around the bush for days.

"Of course, my brother and I were rambunctious brats," I added with a smile, shaking my head at the memory. "By the way, do you have any children? It must be tough running an inn and raising kids. The last inn I stayed at had children—cheerful little guys who brightened the place, but they were a nightmare for their parents."

I carefully watched their reactions as my words hung in the air. The woman, who had been cautiously peeking from behind the corner, quickly withdrew, disappearing into whatever task she had been absorbed in before. Meanwhile, the man's forced smile stretched awkwardly across his face, his eyes betraying the strain behind the facade. He was trying to mask it, but the tension was palpable.

Yep, kids were a sore subject for them. It didn't take a genius to figure that out—even someone blind to social cues could pick up on it. But now, with their reactions laid bare, it was clear as day.

"Yes… true…" the woman said reluctantly. I was surprised she was the one to break the silence. "Thankfully, I don't have kids."

I let the conversation drop as she brought two wooden bowls to the table—one for her husband, one for me.

"Hope you enjoy it," she said, her voice flat despite her forced smile.

I nodded and took a sip from the metallic spoon, noting the rust spots on the handle. The meal was bland, but I'd had worse. They were farmers, doing their best with what they had. I didn't hold it against them.

"This is some hearty food. My compliments to the chef," I said as the woman walked away. "It really brings out that rustic country feeling—makes me feel like a boy again, coming home after a long day of play to a home-cooked meal."

She nodded wordlessly, disappearing back behind the wall.

It seemed my words had soured the mood further, and no fake compliments would fix it. I didn't feel too bad, though, considering they let their daughter sleep in a cold mill with a bed made of straw.

"If you've heard any rumors about us, I guarantee they're false," the man said, breaking the silence as we ate. Well, at least I was eating; he seemed sour.

"Hm?" I tilted my head, feigning confusion.

"We have a caretaker who handles the black-bellied pigs and feeds them," he added.

I stared at him briefly, then nodded and resumed sipping the pork porridge.

A caretaker who didn't need food, water, or pay—a dream employee. The only problem was that the caretaker was their daughter.

It wasn't uncommon for people to treat others poorly for their own benefit. That was to be expected. But treating their own daughter this way? Even most scumbags had a line they wouldn't cross.

"Really? Why would people gossip about a caretaker? Did she do something wrong?" I asked, curious to see how he'd spin it.

"No, nothing…" he muttered. "She was born with a sickness on her face. The healer had to remove the rot to save her life."

That was almost plausible. I'd give the lie three stars. It could have been worse, but he didn't know what I already knew.

I had examined her yesterday, and there was no sign of scarring. Sure, a metamorphosis physique could hide scars, but her bones didn't feel like they had been shaved away.

"Thanks for the meal," I said, putting four extra copper coins on the table. "I know you said it was on the house, but I'd feel rude not paying."

It was a bit of an overpayment, but it should lift their spirits a bit. My intention wasn't to make them angry, just to annoy them slightly.

Luckily, I still had a youthful face, so saying dumb things like this wasn't as frowned upon as it would have been for a middle-aged man.

"Anyway, which room is mine? I'd like to rest a bit—it's been a long night," I said.

I was willing to play nice for now because they had something I wanted. I just needed them to show me how terrible they were as parents.

Sure, I could take what I wanted by force, but letting my mind grow dull was dangerous. Cultivators who became arrogant or lazy often met an early death. That rule applied to both worlds.

The man gave me a brief, scrutinizing glance before motioning for me to follow. Without a word, he led me up a narrow staircase that creaked under our weight, the wood old but sturdy. The air inside was warm, with the faint smell of breakfast lingering in the hallways. We reached the second floor, where he stopped in front of a door with a large number "1" carved into it.

With a simple gesture, he pushed the door open, revealing the room inside. It was modest but spacious, with a king-sized bed tucked into one corner. On the opposite side sat a bunk bed, clearly meant for children or additional guests. The room was functional, with little decoration besides a small dresser and a single window overlooking the back of the property.

The man nodded briefly before retreating downstairs, leaving me alone in the quiet room. I studied the space carefully, noting every detail, every subtle sign of who might have stayed here before. It felt lived-in, yet there was a faint air of abandonment.

After a while, I heard shouting from outside. Curious, I made my way to the window and cracked it open, listening closely.

"You waste your life! Why do you always bring trouble to us?" the man's voice rang out, the politeness from before gone.

A sharp slap followed, and though I couldn't see the scene directly, I knew what had happened.

For a brief moment, the thought crossed my mind—Should I kill the father? But I dismissed it just as quickly.

He was a lousy father, but perhaps in this world, better than most. If someone else had a daughter without a face… several ignorant villagers would have burned her, thinking she was some kind of demon.

But no matter how much I tried to rationalize the situation, it still didn’t sit right. And now, one unforeseen complication derailed my train of thought.

His wife was pregnant. They were both too old to have children naturally, but I could sense the faint presence of Qi inside her, confirming she was with child.

If I killed the father, what would I do with the mother? I couldn’t kill her too—let alone the unborn baby. Killing him would leave the family without its breadwinner. Despite his faults as a father, he didn’t seem abusive toward his wife, at least judging by their earlier argument.

Ye An had been lucky to be born into a powerful background, but the life of someone with an extreme physique was rarely good. Assuming, of course, that this girl’s condition even fell into that category.

How could I resolve this without feeling like shit?

I might have justified it for the greater good in my previous world. But here, I was a cultivator. If a cultivator couldn’t have their cake and eat it too, then who could?

After that first slap and more yelling, the man stormed off, leaving the faceless girl to get up and futilely try wiping the mud off her clothes. She only managed to dirty her hands further.

I glanced outside, and though she had no eyes, the girl seemed to sense my gaze. Her head turned toward me.

She waved, surprisingly chipper, as if her father’s abuse didn’t affect her at all.

This only made me want to kill the man more. But seeing how he had lost control, I decided to play a different game this time.

I wasn’t going to have the blood of an unborn child on my hands, nor did I plan to stick around and raise the kid myself. An idea slowly formed in my mind as I silently leaped from the window, landing softly in the mud. Before my bare socks touched the ground, I equipped a new pair of boots.

“You have a difficult life. Do you want me to kill them?” I asked.

The faceless girl hurriedly shook her head, though I hadn’t specified who “they” were. She knew exactly what I meant.

“You sure?”

She nodded vigorously, waving her arms in exaggerated motions to show just how much she disagreed with the idea.

She was too kind. If someone treated me even slightly poorly, there was a good chance I’d kill them.

However, these kinds of things were always situational. Some people like Hu Jin made it difficult at times. I didn’t want to oppose heaven’s favorite, but by now it was either me or him.

Since he had escaped the Immortal’s Tomb, there was little doubt he survived. Worse yet, he probably emerged with a great reward, which would skyrocket his cultivation. He was one of the reasons I wanted to leave the Sect and move to a place where I’d be hard to find.

Still, I had to find a way to kill him. Unless the tomb’s luck-cancelling effect was still in play… if it was, Hu Jin might have already met his end. But it was safer to prepare for the worst. As soon as I confirm he lived, I needed to gather his enemies. There was that whole fiancée situation—perhaps something I could use against him.

‘What are you thinking about?’ an amalgamation of feminine voices suddenly rang in my head, startling me.

The faceless girl had regained her ability to speak!

Now that she could talk, many questions sprang to mind, though most were likely beyond her understanding—questions about her condition.

Instead, I asked, “Why do you stay transformed as a little girl?”

She could change into any form—a strong, muscular man to defend herself, or a tall woman. I even theorized that, with enough training, she might be able to transform into an animal, like a wolf, and tear her father’s throat out.

‘People don’t bother me as much when I look like a little girl, for some reason,’ she explained.

It was a sad but logical conclusion. Yet, it brought up another question.

“What’s your true form?” I asked.

‘Sorry, but I’ve long since forgotten. As far back as I can remember, I’ve always been a girl… forever young.’