Chapter Fifteen: The Maiden in White Robes

In less than half an hour, half of the chicken was roasted to perfection—crispy on the outside, tender within, golden and fragrant. Just looking at it stirred the appetite. Feng Ke’er tore off a drumstick and began devouring it with relish.

She had barely eaten half when a peal of silvery laughter suddenly rang out from behind her. “So that’s why someone didn’t go to the dining hall for breakfast. Turns out you’re hiding out here, enjoying a feast all to yourself.”

Startled, Feng Ke’er turned around to see a young girl standing atop the courtyard wall, dressed in a long white silk robe with her hair styled in twin buns. In the morning breeze, the silver-white sash at her waist fluttered in harmony with the corners of her robe, giving her an ethereal, almost fairy-like appearance.

The girl in white had bold brows and large eyes, delicate shoulders and a slender waist, and looked no more than ten years old. But ever since learning about the existence of the Elixir of Youth, Feng Ke’er no longer dared judge age by appearances.

Still, within the Azure Cloud Sect, the uniform shouldn’t lie, right? This was an elite inner disciple at the Qi Refining stage—confirmed.

Wiping the grease from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, Feng Ke’er stood up with a chuckle. “Senior Sister, good morning. I only joined the sect yesterday evening, missed supper, and the Elder who brought me in gave me half a chicken to stave off hunger. I didn’t have time to roast it last night, and I don’t know where the dining hall is or when it opens, so I got up early today to make do. Since we’ve met by chance, why not share? If you don’t mind my crude cooking, please join me!”

Senior Sister? The girl in white glanced down at her own long white robe and smiled. “Such fragrant roast chicken—and from a first-rank spirit beast, no less—would be a shame to miss.” With that, she spread her arms, leapt lightly from the wall, touched down twice, and in an instant stood beside the fire. “Thanks to you, Junior Sister, I’m in for a treat today.” Secretly, she marveled: it had been years since her appetite had stirred, so long she could hardly remember the last time she’d eaten. No delicacy, no matter how fine, had tempted her, yet today the mere scent of a first-rank spirit beast’s meat had awakened her cravings, enough to set aside her journey, pose as a Qi Refining disciple, and share a meal with a rootless “waste”!

At the same time, she was puzzled: this girl clearly had no spiritual roots, so why was she dressed as a new disciple? Had the rules for accepting disciples changed while she was in seclusion? Had the outside world shifted so quickly?

Meanwhile, Feng Ke’er was sizing her up: so this is what an elite disciple looks like! Such poise!

Her movements were graceful and pleasing to the eye. Feng Ke’er couldn’t help but take note of them, imprinting them in her memory and giving them a rather trite but apt name—“Dragonfly Skims the Water.”

Tearing off a chicken wing, Feng Ke’er offered it with both hands. “Please, Senior Sister.” She loved the drumsticks and wings most, so this was the height of her sincerity.

“Thank you.” The girl in white suppressed her curiosity, feigning ignorance, and accepted it with both hands. She sat cross-legged by the fire, taking the lead. “Junior Sister, sit and eat too, don’t be shy.”

That was the way of the cultivation world: whoever had the higher cultivation was the master, the boss.

Feng Ke’er had seen plenty the day before, so witnessing this girl’s behavior, she considered her quite civilized and polite for a child of her standing.

So Feng Ke’er gave a little “oh,” again offered, “Senior Sister, please eat,” tucked her legs together, and sat sideways to continue gnawing on her drumstick.

She didn’t dare sit cross-legged like the other girl. Why? Her robe didn’t reach her ankles and she wore nothing underneath—one cross of the legs, and she’d be fully exposed.

The white-robed girl noticed and raised a barely perceptible eyebrow, then took a big bite of chicken, her mouth full of oil as she praised, “Delicious! So tasty! But such a feast is incomplete without good wine.” With that, she flicked her hand, and a shiny, deep purple gourd about a foot tall appeared in her palm.

She bit off the stopper with her teeth and took a hearty swig, sighing contentedly, “Ah! Wonderful!”

What a bold big sister! Like a character straight out of a martial arts novel. Feng Ke’er stared, jaw nearly dropping into the fire.

“This wine is called Monkey Wine, brewed from fresh fruits in the southern mountains by long-armed apes. Its aroma and flavor are exquisite. Here, Junior Sister, let me treat you.” After confirming from Feng Ke’er’s words that she was indeed a newly-joined disciple from the Feng Clan, personally brought up the mountain by Gong Moxue, the white-robed girl grew even more curious. Wanting to test her, she tossed the wine gourd over without bothering to ask if Feng Ke’er could drink.

Feng Ke’er quickly caught it. It would be rude to refuse, and besides, she could handle her liquor. Tempted by the description, she took a tentative sip.

It tasted similar to modern red wine, but sweeter and fuller-bodied.

“Excellent wine!” she exclaimed, delighted, and, imitating the other girl, took a big swig before tossing the gourd back.

A flash of surprise flickered in the white-robed girl’s eyes: a mundane body with no spiritual roots could handle spirit fruit wine brewed by a second-rank demon monkey? Was there more to this girl than met the eye?

Then she reconsidered: the Feng Clan had cultivated for over a million years; their disciples might have all sorts of oddities about them. Besides, the last two batches of their disciples had been quite talented, yet both had suffered mysterious mishaps—one perished, the other’s dantian was damaged, making foundation establishment a pipe dream. Perhaps the Feng Clan had learned to hide their talents this time?

She used her mind’s eye to probe Feng Ke’er’s spiritual sea, but found it a gray fog—impenetrable. This only confirmed her suspicions, and she couldn’t help but smile to herself: putting on the airs of a rootless waste, had the Feng Clan gone too far this time?

Feng Ke’er, of course, had no idea how many thoughts had flashed through the other girl’s mind over a single sip of wine. All she knew was that she seemed to have greatly pleased her companion.

With a chicken leg in one hand and the wine gourd in the other, the white-robed girl grew increasingly lively and eloquent, the very picture of a free-spirited immortal cultivator—just as Feng Ke’er had always imagined. The essence of the immortal path! Feng Ke’er relaxed and opened up.

The two of them ate heartily, sharing the wine, talking and laughing loudly in great spirits. Before long, the gourd was empty and only a bare chicken skeleton remained on the fire.

Satisfied, the white-robed girl amiably instructed Feng Ke’er: after noon, no more food—whether inner or outer sect, there were two meals a day: morning and midday. At the crow of the rooster, breakfast; when the sun’s at its zenith, the main meal. The dining hall was next to the Steward’s Hall, but disciples could cook for themselves at any time. Fifty li north, there was a small grove where low-level outer disciples had set up a marketplace. There, one could barter for spirit rice, fruits, vegetables, meat, and daily necessities—a wide selection at fair prices, often visited by inner disciples as well.

“With what do you barter?” Feng Ke’er was intrigued. The sect’s provisions didn’t seem to include money, and she was penniless.

“Anything,” the girl in white replied with a smile. “Spirit stones, demon crystals, demon beasts, pills, weapons—anything at all.” Standing up and dusting herself off, she said, “Thanks for the wonderful meal, Junior Sister. I still need to head to Pheasant Slope to hunt some wild pheasants for my little sister—she wants a feathered shuttlecock. I won’t keep you any longer. Until we meet again.”

Feng Ke’er’s eyes lit up and she hurriedly asked, “Senior Sister, where is Pheasant Slope?” She had bested the Pheasant King before; ordinary pheasants shouldn’t pose much danger.

“You’re at the foot of Pheasant Slope now. The higher up you go, the more pheasant nests you’ll find. But you’d best wait until you reach mid-stage Qi Refining before venturing up. Junior Sister, I’m not trying to scare you—the pheasants here are no ordinary birds. They are demon beasts, with sharp beaks and claws, and are quite fierce. Especially the long-plumed male Pheasant Kings—even late-stage Qi Refining disciples may not be able to handle them. You’re still at the initial stage; best to avoid this place for now, lest you run into a foraging pheasant.” She offered this advice out of a sense of obligation—after all, the sect owed the Feng Clan much.

Apparently, she thought Feng Ke’er had snuck out to a secluded spot just to improve her diet. Feng Ke’er inwardly cursed: Uncle Wen, did you never consider that placing a new disciple in such a dangerous place might lead to disaster?

But then again, if not for this, how could she have gained her opportunity last night?

True, she had only managed to slay the egg-guarding mother Pheasant King with the help of the environment—and it wasn’t even the strongest. The long-plumed male was the real powerhouse. Nevertheless, Feng Ke’er resolved to hunt on Pheasant Slope.

First, because without hunting, she couldn’t level up; and without leveling up, she’d always be impoverished and bullied. Second, she wanted to bag a few pheasants to visit the marketplace.

She sorely needed a comfortable piece of cloth, needles, and thread. And, really, how could one manage without pots, pans, bedding, and furniture? Oh heavens, there was so much to buy—and she was so poor. She could wrong anyone but herself, right? So, job one was to shake off poverty and improve her quality of life. Hunting seemed a good way to earn a living.

Grateful for all the useful information the white-robed girl had shared, she saw her to the gate and, wishing to befriend her, asked, “Senior Sister, after drinking your fine wine, I still haven’t learned your name.”

But the girl in white just smiled and waved her hand. “A name is but a symbol—no need to mention it. Drinking with you today was a pleasure. Should fate permit, we’ll meet again.” With that, she swept her sleeve, ascended the mountain with airy grace, leaving not a trace behind.

Rejected! Feng Ke’er watched her go and shrugged. Well, she was an elite inner disciple in a long white robe—how likely was she to befriend an outer sect novice in a coarse blue tunic? The fact she’d deigned to drink with her was already remarkable.

Returning inside, Feng Ke’er began making preparations for Pheasant Slope.

First, she calmed herself to practice the Swift Step technique. It was essential. Of the thirty-six strategies, escape was always best: fight if you can, flee if you can’t—a principle that never changed.

Unfortunately, Swift Step was far more complicated than the Ice Sphere technique, requiring perfect coordination of all limbs; slowing her “qi flow” alone wouldn’t cut it. After more than half an hour of practice, her “qi” was spent and exhaustion set in, so she had to stop.

Still, her progress was remarkable. Though her steps were still awkward and sometimes reckless, she could now stop and start at will, no longer stumbling or crashing into things.

By contrast, “Dragonfly Skims the Water” was much easier; with a little breath control, she could imitate it quite well. After three or five tries, her form was nearly perfect.

Next, she roasted the remaining half of the chicken, wrapped it in a lotus leaf, and tucked it into her blue cloth bag as rations.

Then, she washed the long strips torn from yesterday’s worn blue tunic and set them to dry in the sun. Following her principle of “waste not, want not,” she refashioned them into a set of makeshift underwear. She was, after all, stubborn by nature—years of habit made it impossible to go out otherwise.

Finally, she tied the remaining strips around her calves as gaiters and slipped a dagger into one.

Given her current finances, this was all she could do.

With a bottle of pills at her belt, her blue cloth bag slung across her back as a ration pouch, Feng Ke’er locked up the courtyard, took up her snake-driving stick, and set off for Pheasant Slope to hunt and level up!

A certain author points at the screen: Um, dear readers, please leave a review or vote... sob, the rules have changed and now every book automatically enters the rankings. I’m hopeless at asking for votes, but could you spare one for me? A string of zeros is just so disheartening. Voting for myself feels silly... slinks away.

Universal Tome, Chapter 15: The White-Robed Girl—update complete!