Daily life of a cultivation judge

Yang Qing blinked a few times, then his eyes froze as they landed on the aged journal.

"Dragons?" he muttered incredulously. "He actually traveled around looking for dragons, phoenixes, kunpengs..."He didn't even get to finish the sentence. Shaking his head, he let out a wry smile.

The author(who clearly seemed like someone with little regard for their own safety, given what they'd been trying to do) was right about one thing: almost everyone, dragons excluded, had dreamt of riding one. Yang Qing was no exception.It was something he still secretly imagined even now, during those moments when he had some wine in him and felt that liquid courage stir up the daringness to dream.

In those rare, fleeting instants where all sense left him and he was carried off by wild, boundless imagination—yes, he had pictured it in vivid detail: what it would feel like to ride a dragon, or to be one himself, soaring wherever he pleased in a majestic body that inspired both awe and fear in all who saw it.

And there were times when the desire to ride a dragon surged so high(usually thanks to Yi Jie's wine, especially when he outdid himself in his brews) that Yang Qing actually tried mounting the Celestial Nesting Weaver, hoping that flying on it might somehow give him a taste of what riding a dragon would feel like.

After all, while it didn't look like much, the foul-mannered weaver was still a mythical creature, just like a dragon.

Alas, while the Celestial Nesting Weaver lacked a dragon's presence or majesty, it definitely had the pride of one. A few of the many fights they'd had were because of that. And over time, as it grew puffier and rounder, Yang Qing eventually gave up the idea of flying on it. He didn't want to be mocked—or worse, cursed at—by the very creature carrying him. Which, knowing the weaver, was a guarantee it would.

So yes, Yang Qing wanted to ride a dragon. But even if one showed up and offered him its back, he wouldn't dare accept. He knew better. Years of reading had made him painfully aware of how terrifying mythical creatures were...Well, all except the Celestial Nesting Weaver nesting in his abode.

Maybe it's the runt of the runt of the runt of the litter among Celestial Nesting Weavers... the black sheep of their lot, Yang Qing often thought when he looked at it.

He didn't have other Celestial Nesting Weavers to compare it to, but he was convinced the one in his home sat comfortably at the rock bottom of the pile.

So, did he want to ride a dragon? Yes, definitely. Does that even need to be asked?

But was he crazy enough to go searching for one like the author of that journal had? Never in a million years. Even the thought alone made his back run cold with sweat.No, thank you—he happened to value his life very much, unlike that scholar.

"You're a much braver person than I," Yang Qing said softly, his voice tinged with emotion as he cupped his fists in respectful salute to the imaginary spirit of the journal's author.

He was a coward with an adventurous spirit; a spirit he went to great lengths to firmly lock away in his heart along with its impulses. And because of that, he always admired those who followed through on the things he only dared to imagine but never acted on.

After his customary salute Yang Qing dove back in, eager to continue where he had left off, where the journal proved its worth with every sentence read and every page covered. Within five minutes, he had reached the last page, letting out a regretful sigh when he realized there was no more.

It wasn't that he had meant to rush through it. The journal was simply that spellbinding with each page pulling him deeper and deeper into its world, tugging at his imagination, and urging him forward with growing anticipation to see what came next... and the next...And before he knew it, he'd already arrived at the last page.

He flipped that last page a few more times, checking both its front and back to confirm there really wasn't more. He even went to the exaggerated extent of examining its yellowed, aged cover, hoping it might contain some hidden content—only to be met with a blank, worn surface that had seen better days and carried the scent of old paper and a hint of sandalwood.

Stubborn to a fault, Yang Qing even inspected the journal's binder (which was also worn and brittle) before finally accepting the truth: there was nothing more to read. He'd read it all.

With a soft sigh escaping his lips, Yang Qing gently placed the journal back on the table, then began rereading it again, this time much more slowly, savoring each line.

After making the audacious yet captivating claim about finding where the mythical creatures had gone, the rest of the journal became far more methodical and grounded—despite the absurdity of the subject matter. The author detailed the places he visited in his search for traces, what he discovered at each location, and the clues that led him from one place to the next... all the way to the final page.

The descriptions of the places the author visited, the events that unfolded in between, and even his thought process, were clear, concise, and so vivid that Yang Qing could easily imagine himself in those places, living out each page as if he were there.

The journal may not have revealed much about dragons or the other mythical creatures, or where they had disappeared to, but it did teach Yang Qing about places he had never been. And now, thanks to the level of detail in the journal, if he ever visited those places, he'd be no different from a local—assuming, of course, that the journal hadn't been written too long ago.

"When was this written, actually?" Yang Qing muttered, curiosity stirring him as he tilted the journal, examining both the front and back covers in turn, hoping something there might reveal its age.

He did know a few spells that could help determine the age of both paper and ink, which was something he had picked up because of his archaeological interests, particularly when reconstructing lost texts, incomplete techniques, or trying to glean more from the so-called 'buried treasures' he often bought at the cultivators' market.

Unfortunately, he couldn't use any of those spells on the journal because it wasn't his.

The spells—while they had proven useful more than a few times and Yang Qing was highly proficient in them—didn't always yield accurate or desirable results. On several occasions, they had even ended up damaging the materials he used them on, especially the more aged ones.

From the base sense of time provided by his spiritual sense, along with the experience he'd gained handling countless ancient parchments, he estimated that the journal was at least five thousand years old. That placed it firmly in the category of materials too delicate for his spellwork—where one mistake could ruin everything.

As curious as he was to uncover its exact age, Yang Qing wasn't willing to take that risk... at least not on something that wasn't his.

Fortunately, he had other curiosities to occupy his mind, such as the identity of the author and the question he posed.

"Song Quan... Song Quan... Song Quan..." Yang Qing murmured thoughtfully, stroking his chin in deep contemplation. "Could he be the same person?"

As Yang Qing mulled over the name, a certain figure bearing it suddenly sprang to mind. The more he thought about it, the more the similarities stood out.

The figure in question was actually a rather well-known personality across the continent. His fame stemmed from being the author of The Zones of the Green Fog Region, which was basically a bookmap that detailed the delineation of power across the Green Fog Region, along with a brief overview of each zone's environment. Said bookmap described the spiritual qi density, the relative strength of the spirit beasts that inhabited each zone, and the quality of spiritual plants and other natural treasures found in said zones. While it didn't go too deep into specifics, it offered just enough to paint a clear picture of the zones.

His map had demystified the Green Fog Region, which immediately became a sought-after commodity that ended up creating quite a stir on the continent when it first went on sale.

That author's name was also Song Quan. And from what Yang Qing had read—which was common knowledge among those familiar with him—he was known as a traveler, a cultivator driven by deep wanderlust. That much was evident given his bold venture into the Green Fog Region, despite its infamous reputation as one of the most dangerous places on the continent.

Only someone truly daring and adventurous would venture into such a place to create a map of it. But then again, Song Quan had the strength to back up his boldness. At the time he charted the Green Fog Region, he was already a Soul Formation expert.

And yet... despite the strength he had, there was one place in that region that petrified him so badly that his body couldn't move for nearly two months. Overwhelmed by dread, his body had refused to respond and remained rooted to the spot—and when he finally regained control of it, he fled with such speed that he could have given even the mythical rocs or the kunpengs a run for their money.

After escaping, he created a map of the region, made a few copies, and auctioned them off to the powerful figures and organizations that could afford it. The proceeds became his retirement fund—something most people didn't know until he announced that his wandering days were done.

Though he had left with his life, his wanderlust had died in that very zone—Zone 1, as he had labeled it.

To this day, rumors persist that Song Quan has remained secluded in his abode, never setting foot outside since the day he fled the Green Fog Region.

What he had seen aside, Yang Qing couldn't help but wonder—was the Song Quan who mapped the Green Fog Region the same Song Quan who went looking for mythical creatures?

After all, both shared a clear propensity for boldness. Only someone daring enough to chase the trail of dragons would also be brave—or mad—enough to venture into the Green Fog Region.

Maybe he went there because of the trail, Yang Qing murmured thoughtfully, already beginning to operate under the assumption that the two were indeed the same person. If they were, then perhaps Song Quan had entered the Green Fog Region because the trail of some mythical creature had led him there.

After all, if there was one place every cultivator would bet their spirit stones on hiding a mythical creature or two, it would be the mysterious and perilous Green Fog Region.

Yang Qing's gaze turned solemn, his expression deeply pensive.

If the two Song Quans were one and the same, then the journal before him wasn't just the ramblings of some overly imaginative scholar who had drunk one too many questionable pots of tea. It was the thoughts and insights of a Soul Formation expert, and if it was, then that changed things.

Personally, Yang Qing had never given much thought to whether mythical races had gone missing. In his mind, they were still around somewhere—after all, he shared a residence with one of their members. He just assumed the others—whether dragons, phoenixes, or otherwise—simply preferred to keep to themselves.

It was no different, he thought, from how he'd never seen the President of the Order, the Chancellor of the Institute, or, until recently, even one of the Vice Presidents or the Chief Inquisitor. Yang Qing figured that lofty figures liked their privacy and preferred staying out of sight. It only made sense to him that the mythical races might be the same.

But now, as his eyes fell once more on the journal's first page, he couldn't help but wonder…Had he been wrong in his assumptions? Was there more to it?