Now he understood.
Basically, cultivators were drunk on pleasure.
It was not a matter of discipline. It was that the experience of being rebuilt, cell by cell, while the whole room turned around him, was the most pleasant thing that had ever happened to him. Nothing in his life had ever felt so good. Not a perfect episode. Not a long, hot bath after a day of training. Only the goddess's hands at the pillar had come close.
He wanted more of it, and he wanted it right now.
It isn't even a bad habit, he told himself. It's literally good for me.
He was fairly sure a person was not supposed to sound that cheerful while rationalizing something. He decided not to think about it.
The corridor on the third floor of the east wing was full of students. They stood in small groups in the hallway, leaning against doorframes, talking in low, excited voices. At first he took it for a crowd gathered to look for the culprit. It took him a moment to realize that nobody was angry.
