Maksym Pachesiuk
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Moon Cultivation [Book 2] - Chapter 113: Recovery, Rumours and Suspicions
🕑 Added 2025-07-25 23:36:01 +0000 UTCThey patched me up in under a day. I was thrown out of the capsule early in the morning, before the general wake-up. Zola wasn’t there, though I’d grown used to seeing her nearby every time I came round in the infirmary. But the familiar hunger was. So I decided to check if the cafeteria was already open.
It was completely empty, but the machines didn’t care who ordered food or when. I was once again served a plate of metallic ‘rice’.
I stared at it for a bit, chewed on some salad vegetables, then went for the ‘rice’. This was just how things were in this world. At least here, on Verdis. And since I had no plans of returning to Earth any time soon, I had to get used to it.
It was a strange feeling.
My brain knew it was termite eggs and resisted, locking my jaw. But my mouth still flooded with saliva at the taste of tender stewed meat.
To distract myself from the disgust and the image of insects, I started going over recent events in my head.
Naturally, I started with the tournament. I’d racked up a total of 128 points — an amount regular cadets had to work weeks for! And still, there were grinders like Bao and Denis who left me in the dust. And in that duo, Bao was clearly the workhorse. He pushed forward like a bulldozer — a soulless grinding machine. My total score was 742 points. More than half of that came from tournaments.
Bao had 1,312.
Denis had 1,157.
How?
Mainly from working on the farm, though duels also played a part. Bao had already won three, earning 95 points in total. Denis had only won twice and earned 40 points between the two fights.
They both threw their most recent matches on purpose, but for different reasons. Bao wanted to lower his rating so other fighters wouldn’t be afraid to challenge him, while Denis’s plan was trickier and more elaborate.
And it worked! He’d worn a grin all day after coming out of the capsule.
Three months ago, during his armour fitting, Denis had been assigned an old, patched-up suit. They’d hammered it into shape and polished it for shine, but the inner workings were a mess: the servos were desynchronised, some lagging behind the others, making it impossible for him to perform at full capacity.
On paper, it was still full functional armour, and the mechanics had poured a ton of work into it, so the School had no intention of replacing it.
With his new mentor, Denis hatched a plan. The armour had to be broken beyond repair.
And no one broke armour like mace cultivators. So Denis picked the one who was best at it. The hardest part was convincing him to agree to a duel. Denis didn’t want to stake many points on a loss, and his opponent didn’t want to risk anything for a measly ten.
Negotiating directly was too risky. They could punish both sides for that. But his mentor assured Denis that if he pulled it off right, no one would question him. On the contrary, his reputation would actually rise in the eyes of the school administrators.
They settled on twenty points.
Denis studied the inner structure of the armour, knowledge that wouldn’t hurt me to have either, if only to avoid leaving myself open. Denis, however, studied it for the opposite reason: to expose himself properly, so the crushing Mace Qi would smash critical nodes.
He and Bao had even rehearsed the right movements. Bao knew mace techniques well enough to imitate them without inflicting the usual damage.
All in all, Bao and Denis had discovered a kind of symbiosis and had become best cronies. Bao taught Denis all sorts of cultivation facts and helped him build a support programme using cheap compounds from the school shop, while Denis taught Bao how to rest properly, how to work without busting his arse, without pushing 110%. And Denis wasn’t lazy at all, he just had good work experience from Earth.
He also enlightened Bao about basic human social interaction.
Talking to that little arsehole had become much easier. I even stopped calling him that — mostly.
Back to Denis — his plan worked like a charm.
After the fight, his armour looked like a crushed tin can. They had to cut him out of it.
And once he was out of the infirmary, he went to the next fitting with his mentor, hoping the weight of the Hall of Order member would help secure him a better suit. If not the best one available, then at least something better than last time.
He didn’t get the best one, of course. But compared to the last one, it was night and day. So overall, Denis came out ahead.
When I got back from breakfast, Marlon was still asleep, and Bao and Denis hadn’t returned from the farm. They had a separate barrack there for the workers. Kind of an incentive to stay longer and not waste time going to and from the dorms.
I collapsed into bed. After all, sleep in a pod didn’t quite count as real rest. It was like someone just fast-forwarded time, the brain didn’t register it. For that reason, and because the Flow Chamber was waiting for me in the evening, I needed proper rest.
When I woke up, Marlon was gone, but there were a few messages waiting in my inbox and the chat.
I messaged the group chat that I’d take the remaining shifts today, except for the last one, so someone else would have to cover for Dubois. He’d landed in the infirmary, and once again it was for nearly a week. If this kept up, he’d fall even further behind in cultivation. He’d already slipped from fourth to fifty-second place. I was nearly caught up — I was fifty-ninth now.
At this point, there was no one left in the top ten rankings who’d participated in the tournament, except for Gunther. And even he was only in ninth.
Not that these numbers meant much anymore.
Because of the wild qi dispersion in late Stage One, the ranking system had become completely unreliable. Gunther could be ninth in the morning, drop to thirtieth by lunch, and shoot back to first after a session in the Flow Chamber.
To track the general trend, you’d have to monitor the list round the clock, and I didn’t have time for that kind of nonsense. It was just a distraction.
Though, Dr Robinson’s advice was becoming more and more relevant: cultivate and don’t get distracted.
I would’ve gladly followed it, but Novak wanted me to keep fighting, and I couldn’t say no to him. Thankfully, I’m automatically out of the next tournament.
I spent most of the day lying in bed. The system only dragged me out once, to break up a conflict. The moment the guys saw me, they stopped instantly. Honestly, the reason was completely petty. Some second-rate bullies couldn’t decide who’d get the last snack bar from the vending machine. The whole fight hinged on bruised egos. My presence let them end it peacefully. Otherwise, it would've escalated into a full-on brawl.
Given my previous experience, I was a bit wary about the Flow Chamber session. I even considered asking someone to monitor my vitals, but in the end, it wasn’t necessary. Until evening, the freshly patched wound in my side gave me no trouble. It stung a little in the Chamber, but I held out the full fifty minutes without overexerting myself.
Everything was going smoothly until the next morning, when I had to head to Rene’s hall.
He put on another of his showy welcomes, then called me into his office.
“Come on, just for a few minutes. Let’s have a cup of tea and a chat.”
“Tea in the middle of training? Who are you and what have you done with Rene?” I joked.
He played along.
“Well, you of all people should know the value of a good tea. You were the one who told me about Clear Thoughts.”
You’re serving me Clear Thoughts?
“Yup,” Rene nodded.
What the hell is going on?
I couldn’t help but be suspicious. And at the same time, I couldn’t turn it down.
“No one says no to Clear Thoughts,” I replied, catching a few envious glances from the other cadets.
We stepped into his office. Rene waved a hand, issuing some kind of command via the interface.
The glass walls darkened by half a tone but stayed transparent. The sound, however, cut off completely. He set the kettle on, opened a cupboard, and revealed an impressive selection of tea tins — some fancy and branded, others plain with handwritten labels.
One of them read “Clear Thoughts P,” scribbled in marker.
Rene scooped a generous amount of leaves into two cups with lids.
“Isn’t that a bit much?” I asked. “I usually take half that.”
“Well, yours is red-grade,” he said, with a tone I couldn’t quite place. Was that sarcasm?
He poured hot water over the leaves, covered the cups, arranged everything on a tray, added a dish of biscuits between them, and carried it all to a small table.
The familiar scent of honey and citrus filled the room.
“Sit down,” he gestured to the chair across from the one he took himself. Then, with a smile on his face, he asked, “Jake, who are you working for?”
“What?” I asked.
Does he know about Novak? Does he know anything? Or is this just a hunch and a shot in the dark?
At the very least, the expression on his face made it clear he was watching my reaction closely.
“What do you mean?” I asked carefully.
“I watched your fight,” he said. “The round with Okoro — I’ve rewatched it ten times.”
Fuck!
Iron Head. I shouldn’t have used it.
Rene must’ve noticed something in my expression that told him he was right.
“Are we going to play dumb,” he asked, “or are you going to tell me the truth?”
Thoughts swarmed through my head. I glanced at the cup in front of me. I could’ve used a sip right now, but the tea hadn’t even steeped yet, let alone cooled down.
“First,” I said, “let’s clarify what exactly you think you’ve figured out.”
Rene didn’t like that answer.
“Jake,” he exhaled, clearly disappointed, “I really hope you’re about to call someone from the Hall of Order, and that they’ll call me back and tell me to stay out of it.”
My eyebrows shot up.
“I can do that,” I said, almost automatically. “Just… Will you listen? You understand, if this person tells you to look the other way and you still go digging… I’ll be the one getting buried.”
Then again — wait. We’re not talking about Novak. This is the Hall of Order. Totally different reputation. At least, their public image is.
“Figuratively speaking,” I added.
“I swear!” Rene said, hands raised, visibly relieved. “If it’s someone with real influence, Fourth Stage I mean, I’ll stay out of it.”
I was almost ready to agree and had already reached to call Johansson… but I stopped. First, I’d have to explain quite a lot to Johansson himself, and second —
“If not the Hall of Order, then who?” I asked. “Who else would I even be working for?”
“The other side,” he said.
I tilted my head in confusion.
“Drug dealers!” Rene blurted out, clearly baffled as to why that wasn’t obvious to me.
“I’m shocked!” I said honestly. “You thought I was with the bad guys?!”
“Oh come on! Don’t give me that! You’re a suspicious guy, Jake. You were clearly on something!”
“For the hundredth time — it was Clear Thoughts!” I grabbed my cup and raised it sharply. The lid clicked and a few drops of boiling water spilled onto my hand.
“Fuck!” I put the cup back down and quickly wiped my hand.
“Not red-grade, though! Do you know how hard that stuff is to get?”
“I can imagine,” I muttered.
“Just call whoever you were about to call,” Rene waved. “Let’s get this over with.”
Comments
Максим Пачесюк
Do you mean I should’ve explained Rene’s suspicions more clearly, instead of leaving it for the readers to figure out?
Jonathan Griffith
Tyftc! But the chapter felt a bit thin.
