A Waste of Time-Chapter 146: Lingering Calm

After Daemon, it was Han Ruyue’s turn. She chose branch two — just like him, her number reflected her rank.
The boy expected Liu Yuying to come next, but instead another young man claimed the third slot, while a different girl took the fourth. Liu Yuying’s turn came later, and she landed in fifth.
When Daemon caught her eye, he gave her a knowing smile, teasing her with nothing more than the curve of his lips. Her face flushed with embarrassment — two steps below where he thought she belonged.
At last, all eight branches were set. One boy, three girls, and four young men.
While most of the crowd turned inward to meditate, Daemon watched in boredom as others filed up to draw their numbers. His stomach rumbled. Hunger gnawed at him, sharper than the silence of waiting.
Normally, he could rely on Ippo to handle this kind of thing — keeping their shared bodies nourished and cared for — with Kai lending aid when it mattered most, like during his breakthrough to the Eight-Palaces Realm.
But both of them were gone now, their awareness drawn into the System, managing a different world altogether.
Thankfully, they were doing well in Asura’s World. The Orc Camp was thriving. Tharok led Grunt and Runa’s offspring into the woods, where every adventure sharpened them further. Asura roamed with his loyal beasts, while Ippo often went alone, exploring far from camp. Sometimes his path was decided by fate — a Daily-Roll of one, forcing him or Kai to wrestle with whatever the Mystery Box threw their way.
Daemon’s thoughts broke off when Elder Cuifen approached.
She carried a large tray laden with steaming plates and bowls, rich with the heavy aroma of meat. The scent hit him hard. His mouth watered instantly.
But then he glanced around. Thousands of Inner Disciples sat in meditation, no food, no privilege, only silence and patience. His heart clenched.
Yes, it felt good to be offered such treatment — but he remembered too vividly what it was like to stand on the other side, watching others enjoy what was denied to him.
It felt wrong. Unfair.
“I can’t be the only one eating while everyone else has to meditate,” Daemon said, shaking his head. He even stepped back half a pace, refusing to accept the tray.
His body craved it. His stamina was drained — first by the barrier he couldn’t control, then by wave after wave of wolves. But he would not stain his image with such a blemish.
Not while others starved for fairness.
The petite woman raised a brow, her beautiful green eyes studying him with quiet intensity.
“They are all Spirit-Cultivators,” she said evenly. “You are the only Body-Refiner. They can fight for weeks without food or drink, so long as their Spirit Stones hold out. But you—” her voice softened, though her words cut sharp, “—your physique will collapse without constant nourishment. You cannot keep it functioning without feeding it what it needs.
“On top of that,” she continued, her tone firm but not unkind, “you’ve just gone through a breakthrough. Your body hasn’t been supplied with the proper amount of top-quality meat and medicinal herbs. Without them, you haven’t shed your mortal layer fully.
“That is why you cannot yet sense the Natural Energies around you as you should in the Eight-Palaces Realm. Instead, you’re forced to exhaust your own Vitality whenever you wield the Elements you are compatible with. A waste, when it should come freely.”
Daemon gawked. None of this had been in the Iron Root Foundation Method
.
That book had only mentioned the name of the Eight-Palaces Realm — nothing more. Clearly, this was knowledge tied directly to the next step of the Path of Body-Refinement, something unknown to him until now.
His gaze fell to the meal before him. For a moment, he resisted. But the pull came from deep within, primal and undeniable. His very physique was calling out, instinct driving every thought and sense toward the food.
The boy clenched his fists, breath heavy.
So this is it… the chance to finally shed this mortal-quality body.
The burden that had weighed on him since his arrival to this world, the difference between him and other Cultivators was something he had carried in silence, it felt like dragging chains in the dark, all of it pressed into that single possibility. A solution to his weakness, and he could no longer ignore it.
For a long time, Daemon had found his situation unfair — yet still tolerable. He could not Cultivate like the others, could not sense Spirit Energy as they did. But he had been given the System. Restrictive, limited, yes — but also a tool that allowed him to achieve things beyond what his peers expected of someone in his position.
It gave him a semblance of safety, a balance in a world where every cultivator carried both advantages and disadvantages.
Cuifen watched him eat with a quiet smile. The boy’s hunger was plain — he longed to devour every scrap before him. Yet he forced himself to eat at a steady pace, restraining his eagerness so as not to diminish the cool composure he projected before the masses.
High above, on the Elders’ stage, Shen Duan observed in silence. His sharp gaze shifted between the boy and the petite woman. Memories stirred. That little girl — Cuifen — had once been a wild thing herself, a whirlwind paired with Ping Xueling back when both of them ran alone through the Inner-Circle, sowing chaos in the so-called political “factions” their juniors revered. Together, they had toyed with the games of power, unafraid to topple balance or bruise egos, while their peers strutted about as if posturing in cliques made them mighty.
Now, Shen Duan thought, how strange to see the same girl smiling softly, feeding a boy who carried storms in his shadow.
Daemon finished his meal and licked his lips, savoring the lingering taste. It had been so delicious — perfectly cooked, richly spiced — that he almost gave in to the childish urge to lick the chopsticks clean. Regret tinged his satisfaction when the last bite was gone. All good things ended sooner or later, but he was grateful this one had come right when he needed it most.
The portion had been generous, the quality of both meat and vegetables flawless, the cooking technique refined. Everything about it had been top-class.
“Thank you.” He lifted his gaze to meet those beautiful green eyes, handing her the tray. “I really needed that.”
Cuifen received it with a simple nod, the plates and bowls vanishing into her Space Ring with a flick of her wrist. “Don’t thank me,” she said, half-turning her head. Her gaze slid toward the high stage where the Chief, Grand Elder, and other Elders sat. “I was just following orders.”
Without another word, she rose into the air, gliding back to her station beneath the stage. There she stood beside the Instructors, as motionless as a statue.
A flicker of doubt gnawed at Daemon. Was it wise to have eaten the meal? If it had been a gift from that old hag, then perhaps he had just played into her scheme. And her schemes seemed about to bloom, he never wants that to happen when least convenient.
Then, something else caught his eye.
The stern old man in silver robes — Shen Duan — glanced his way. It lasted barely a heartbeat, a single eye narrowing in his direction before shifting on. So quick Daemon almost doubted it had happened at all.
But he knew it had.
And he noticed something else: the timing. Shen Duan’s look came precisely while the woman in blue robes was distracted, listening to one of the Elders. The man spoke so eagerly, so desperately, his flushed cheeks puffed red and glistening as if his very skin threatened to drip blood.
Daemon swallowed, uncertain which unsettled him more: the silent glance of the Disciplinary Chief… or the schemes threading themselves tighter around him with every passing moment.
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