Chapter Twenty-One: A Trace of Warmth

After finishing the rice balls, Bodhi took out a sheepskin scroll from his blue cloth bundle. “Sister Feng, at the end of every month, the uncles from the Lecture Hall post the schedule for next month’s talks. I copied this from a senior in our courtyard—here, it’s for you.”

Feng Ke’er didn’t even look at it, muttering with some embarrassment, “I can’t read…” She was moved, but one could never be too cautious. This little fellow was incredibly clever; he’d even signed her name for her that day. Now he was producing this—what was his true intention? She didn’t want to be tricked again.

Bodhi scratched his head. “I was careless.” He pointed to the first column of characters. “Sister Feng, tomorrow’s lecture is marked here—‘Introduction to Cultivation.’ I asked a senior about it. He said, since new disciples enter the sect every month, the last lecture of each month is always about the basics of cultivation and the sect rules. Will you go, Sister Feng?”

Feng Ke’er desperately needed someone to explain these things to her, so she nodded decisively. “Since it’s the first lesson for new disciples, of course I’ll go. What about you?”

Bodhi smiled. “Before I came, the priest told me most of this already. So, I wasn’t planning on going. The spiritual energy here is thick—I can already sense its presence after just two days. I want to focus on cultivating so I can draw the energy into my body as soon as possible. But you make a good point; I’ll go to the first class too.”

“Wait, you can already sense spiritual energy after just two days?” Feng Ke’er asked in surprise. “You’re a cultivation prodigy!” As for herself, though she was supposedly at the initial stage of Qi Refinement, she had no idea what spiritual energy even was, let alone drawing it into her body. She couldn’t understand why the manual was so confident in labeling her as “Qi Refinement, Early Stage.”

Bodhi shook his head. “Even the priest said that when he first joined the sect, he could sense spiritual energy within two days.”

Apparently, Feng Queyi was also considered a near-failure in talent… Now she felt even more dejected. So being able to sense spiritual energy wasn’t even a big deal! If not for the manual, she really would be utterly useless.

Bodhi was perceptive. He knew Feng Ke’er had no spiritual roots and was destined to be unable to cultivate. Seeing her mood, he hung his head in guilt and said softly, “I’m sorry, Sister Feng… But don’t worry, I promised the priest I’d take good care of you. I won’t go back on my word.”

“So that’s why you saved your rice ball for me?” Feng Ke’er caught on, rubbing his head. “I’m an adult; I can take care of myself. You, though—you’re still growing. You need to eat your fill at every meal if you want to get tall. Don’t do that again, all right?”

Bodhi’s head drooped even lower. “Sister Feng, I’ve wronged you. To get into the sect, I set you up. Then, after I got in, I deliberately let Uncle Wen misunderstand and took your room…”

“Fortune and misfortune go hand in hand, and everyone has their own fate,” Feng Ke’er interrupted. “Actually, this place is pretty good—its own courtyard, nice and quiet. You know my situation; if I lived with everyone else, I’d be found out sooner or later. So it’s better this way. I got what I wanted, and everyone’s happy.”

Bodhi repeated her words softly, pondering. “Fortune and misfortune… Everyone has their own fate…”

Feng Ke’er gave him a playful thump on the head and laughed. “Who was it just now, swearing you’d ‘take care’ of me? What are you standing there for! I dried some thatch these past two days and plan to roof the house today. Since you came to help, I won’t be polite—come lend me a hand!”

Bodhi agreed eagerly.

Feng Ke’er handed him a branch as thick as a bowl. “I’ll lay the thatch on the roof. You stay on the ground and use this to hand the bundles up. Know how?”

Bodhi nodded confidently. “I used to do this back in my tribe.”

“Good.” Feng Ke’er carried up a bundle of thatch and bounded onto the roof.

Bodhi let out an admiring “Wow,” eyes shining like stars. “Sister Feng, you’re amazing! What kind of technique was that?”

“Lightness skill,” Feng Ke’er replied without missing a beat, completely unflustered. “It’s the most popular martial art where I come from. Everyone knows it.”

“Sister Feng, can you teach me?”

“Of course.”

…

Working together, they finished roofing the main house in just over an hour. Bodhi also learned the method for practicing lightness skill and was eager to try it out—Feng Ke’er told him it was simple: other than when sleeping, tie sandbags to your calves all day, gradually increasing their weight. Do this for three to five years, and you’ll have mastered the art. When you finally remove the sandbags, you’ll move as if flying, climbing mountains and crossing rivers with ease.

Seeing it was nearly mealtime, Feng Ke’er suggested they head to the dining hall for lunch.

The dining hall was north of the Steward’s Courtyard. Though called a “hall,” it was actually a large thatched building, much like a modern warehouse.

It was the biggest building Feng Ke’er had seen since arriving. Inside were four rows of long wooden tables and benches, enough to seat a hundred people at once.

However, as there were thousands of outer disciples, meals were served in staggered shifts—first come, first served—and everyone was encouraged to bring their own bowls and chopsticks. The menu, said to have been set by the founder, the Immortal Jinshi of Green Mountain, had never changed since the hall’s inception: two millet rice balls and a bowl of vegetable-meat soup.

Bodhi didn’t have his own bowl and always used those provided by the hall, so he hadn’t reminded Feng Ke’er to bring hers. As a result, they both had to eat in the dining hall.

They picked a quiet corner and sat facing each other.

Feng Ke’er whispered, “Why are there only new disciples here? Where are the senior brothers and sisters in the Qi Refinement stage? And the uncles and elders in Foundation Establishment? Is there another kitchen just for them?”

“The dining hall serves the seniors first. After they’ve eaten, it’s our turn,” Bodhi explained. “Their food is different from ours—they get spirit rice balls and soup made from demon beast meat. Once cultivators reach Foundation Establishment, they no longer need to eat, so the elders and uncles don’t come here.”

So that was it.

After eating, as required, they queued up outside the hall to wash their bowls and chopsticks in a large pond, then lined up again to return them to the kitchen.

When Feng Ke’er went to return her bowl, she noticed that beside the enormous cupboard was a string of brownish stones, large and small, glinting with a metallic sheen. Some were as big as millstones, others smaller than a fist. She quietly asked, “What are these?”

“Salt stones,” Bodhi answered. “They crush the stones and add some of the powder to the soup. I’ve heard from a senior that drinking soup with salt stone powder over time makes you stronger.”

Just salt, then? Feng Ke’er was delighted but kept a curious expression, probing further. “Where do you get so many salt stones?”

“They mine them. There’s a mountain in the inner sect that produces salt stones, and these are brought over from there.” Clearly, Bodhi had picked up a lot of new information over the past couple of days.

Feng Ke’er’s thoughts began to churn: outer disciples couldn’t enter the inner sect unless they had a special transfer token, so mining for salt herself was impossible for now…

Taking advantage of the moment, she quickly glanced around, then stealthily slipped a fist-sized salt stone into her sleeve before hurrying away.

Unexpectedly, Bodhi followed her out, openly carrying an even larger salt stone. “Sister Feng, this is for you.”

Feng Ke’er was caught off guard.

As it turned out, Bodhi explained, the outer sect encouraged disciples to cook for themselves, so many salt stones were kept by the cupboard for anyone who wanted to use them. No wonder there was no salt for sale in the marketplace. And she had been tempted to steal a salt stone because of her poverty. Ah, when you’re poor, even your ambitions shrink… Clutching two salt stones and flushing with embarrassment, Feng Ke’er bid Bodhi farewell.

Luck was on her side—on the way back, she spotted a grey hare foraging and immediately gave chase. She was fast; in less than a hundred meters, she caught it alive.

Back at her small courtyard, Feng Ke’er ran eagerly into the cave. Heaven could testify to how much she longed for a bowl of chicken soup with salt.

However, when she lifted the lid, she found that nearly the entire pot of chicken soup was gone. The bottom of the cauldron was dry, not a drop left. Looking around, there wasn’t a single chicken bone in sight.

“Well, you sure can eat!” Feng Ke’er chuckled wryly at the cauldron. She didn’t know whether to be grateful that her cauldron was so polite and never competed with her for food, or to lament her own misfortune. With such a glutton on her hands, being its owner was stressful indeed.

She only had ten wild eggs left at home. Even if she nobly gave them all up, they probably wouldn’t be enough to fill the cauldron’s belly. If she hadn’t caught the hare, she’d have had to go hunting on Pheasant Slope under the blazing sun that afternoon.

What a situation—transported to a primitive world of cultivation, saddled with a copper cauldron that ate like a bottomless pit, and forced to become a chef and hunt constantly just to keep it fed.

That evening, Feng Ke’er butchered the hare, broke off a small piece of salt stone, ground it into powder for the pot, and made a full cauldron of rabbit stew. Then, using a stick, she raked through the fire and a thin layer of earth to retrieve ten roasted wild eggs. Throughout, she never felt the slightest hint of a level-up. Clearly, only killing demon beasts counted for experience—ordinary animals or their eggs were useless.

With salt, the soup was truly delicious! Feng Ke’er drank two full bowls of rabbit stew and ate a wild egg as well.

Satiated, she peeled the rest of the eggs and tossed them all into the copper cauldron, threatening it fiercely: “You’d better have some extraordinary abilities, or else… or else I’ll fire you! No, not just fire you—I’ll sell you as a chamber pot!” She burst out laughing at her own words, shaking with mirth—she was actually threatening a cauldron!

Just then, a childish, impatient voice echoed in the cave: “Stupid girl, what are you muttering for? Hurry up and bring over dinner! I’m starving here!”

Tongtian Manual, Chapter 21: A Trace of Warmth — end of update.