Chapter Twenty-Two: A Frightening Encounter in the Dining Hall

Perhaps she was too accustomed to eating the meat of spirit beasts, for that pot of ordinary wild rabbit soup did nothing to stave off her hunger. The next morning, Feng Ke’er was roused from sleep by the gnawing emptiness in her belly.

Climbing out of bed, she lifted the lid of the pot, only to discover that the rabbit soup had once again been polished off without a single drop remaining, and the nine wild chicken eggs had vanished without a trace.

Born to a family of abject poverty with not a grain of food stored away, she now found herself saddled with such a shy, voracious houseguest. Swallowing her hunger, she could only spread her hands helplessly toward the rice pot. “Sorry, I’ll have to eat whatever I can scrounge from the dining hall today. You’ll have to endure for a day, but tomorrow, I’ll go up the mountain and hunt a spirit beast for your soup, all right?”

The rice pot gave no reply.

As usual, she took its silence as acquiescence and patted one of its ears with delight. “Good pot!”

Unlike going to the market, attending lectures in the Assembly Hall made it unseemly to carry her entire household bundled up like moving day. So, Feng Ke’er packed her belongings into the bronze cauldron, secured the lid, and used her dagger to dig a deep pit beside her stone bed. She placed the cauldron inside, coaxing it softly, “Rice pot, everything I own is in here now. While I’m out, you must guard the home well. Otherwise, I swear, you’ll never taste even a drop of wild chicken soup again!” Finally, she plucked a handful of straw from her bed and carefully covered the pit before turning to leave.

Suddenly, Feng Ke’er felt her right shoulder grow inexplicably heavy, as if something had landed there.

Yet when she turned to look, her shoulder was perfectly bare.

Since her advancement, all her senses had grown exceptionally keen, so she frowned—she must have been too tightly wound, with nerves stretched taut and senses overly sharp. The combination could only be described as “mild neurosis”… How embarrassing!

Relax, relax! It’s just a lecture—what’s there to be so nervous about? Feng Ke’er closed her eyes and took three deep breaths.

Feeling somewhat better, she stretched out her arms and, to bolster her courage, bellowed “Skipping Dragonfly!” at the top of her lungs. With nimble steps, she leapt across the lotus leaves and over the pond.

Meanwhile, the secret passenger on her right shoulder wiped a cold sweat: For two days, it hadn’t even managed a half-full meal, and that miserable rabbit soup last night might as well not have existed. And yet, it seemed to have grown a size larger—how strange!

It had originally hitched a ride here, having sensed the Aura Concealing Talisman on Feng Ke’er at the market, which filled it with wild joy—it thought Feng Ke’er was the one it had long been searching for, little Xi. Without hesitation, it abandoned its previous “ride,” leapt into the bronze cauldron, and followed Feng Ke’er to her cave.

However, after two days of careful observation, it came to the same conclusion as that idiotic “ride”: Feng Ke’er was not the one it sought. She was merely the current Saintess of the Feng clan, which explained her possession of the Aura Concealing Talisman.

Still, now that the talisman had appeared, it was likely that Feng San and little Xi were hiding somewhere within the Azure Cloud Sect. It had no intention of wasting time in the cave—following this penniless, useless girl meant poor food and worse sleep. If not for being trapped by the pond outside the cave, it would have left last night, not waited till morning.

Of course, with Feng Ke’er’s current cultivation, she was completely oblivious to its existence. If she knew that her gluttonous guest had resolved to leave for good and had no intention of returning, she might have celebrated with fireworks.

On her way to the dining hall, Feng Ke’er ran into Bodhi. The little fellow seemed to be waiting for her by the roadside. Upon seeing her, he waved his small arms and jogged over with heavy steps. “Sister Feng!”

She noticed that he’d tied a blue cloth pouch to each of his shins, the bottoms bulging. Feeling a bit embarrassed, she asked, “You’ve already tied on the weights?” All that talk of lightness skills and sandbags yesterday—it had just been an excuse. She hadn’t expected the child to take it seriously. Since advancing, she’d realized the chasm between the acquired and innate stages of cultivation; even the best among the acquired could not match a novice cultivator. So, sandbag training for lightness skills was a mere trifle; only dedicated cultivation truly mattered.

“Yeah! Sister Feng, is this how you tie them on?” Bodhi hopped in place a couple of times, quite pleased with himself. “When I got back, the other senior brothers in my courtyard saw me training with sandbags on my legs and said it was a good way to strengthen the body. Now they’re all tying sandbags to their legs too.”

She glanced at the bags. Good heavens—together, they must weigh at least ten pounds!

“In training, you must always know your limits. You can’t grow fat in a single bite—don’t get too ambitious,” she advised gently. “You’re still young, your bones are tender. Don’t use too much weight at first; you can gradually add more later.” Perhaps sandbag training didn’t help much with cultivation, but as the senior brothers had said, taken gradually, it was excellent for building leg strength. Boys didn’t need delicate, slender legs like birds; two sturdy muscles wouldn’t hurt.

“It’s nothing! These bags are light—I can handle them.” To prove his point, the boy bounced again. “The senior brothers’ bags are even heavier!”

Meanwhile, the secret passenger on her right shoulder snorted inwardly in disdain: What a know-nothing, self-important fool! Does he think tying on a couple of sandbags will temper his body? Misleading children!

“Good, as long as you can handle it.” Having said her piece, Feng Ke’er didn’t nag further, unaware she’d just been silently scorned.

As she and Bodhi entered the dining hall together, she suddenly felt a heavy slap land on her right shoulder from behind.

Startled, she spun around. Had she seen a ghost? Within three paces behind her, there was no one.

“What’s wrong?” Bodhi turned to look as well.

The nearest young woman, dressed in a short white robe with blue trim, noticed their gaze and glared at them. “What are you staring at? Never seen a rice bowl before? And is it your turn to eat yet?”

Their eyes fell on the “rice bowl” cradled in her hands, and they nearly lost their composure. Goodness, you call that a rice bowl, miss? What would a washbasin say for itself? That “bowl” was clearly a size bigger than her head!

Suppressing their laughter, they quickly apologized and respectfully made way. “After you, Senior Sister.” Admittedly, they had arrived a little too early—some of the last group of novice disciples hadn’t finished their meal yet.

“Hmph!” With a huff, the young woman swept past them and entered the hall, head held high.

Bodhi covered his mouth, stifling a giggle.

Feng Ke’er rubbed her forehead. The sister in charge of serving soup in the dining hall would surely feel a pang of regret today.

That little episode was enough to make her forget the strange slap on her shoulder earlier. There had been no one behind her—just a certain someone giving a mighty kick of short legs, flapping its wings and making a beeline for the dining table.

I’m starving! Time to eat!

In an instant, cries of alarm rang throughout the dining hall.

“Ah!”

“Yikes!”

“My rice ball…”

“The soup—where’s my soup?”

“Who?”

“Who did this?”

…

The hundred or so novice disciples eating breakfast all experienced something chilling at the same time—their rice balls and spirit beast meat soup vanished mysteriously from their hands in an instant.

Chaos erupted.

Moments later, the steward in charge stormed out from the back of the hall, forming hand seals. “What’s all the noise? Quiet down! Shut the doors!” At her command, with a cacophony of clangs, every door and window in the dining hall slammed shut at once.

Luckily, Feng Ke’er and Bodhi were quick to react; otherwise, their noses would have been caught in those suddenly closing doors.

“What’s happening in there?” Glancing at each other, Feng Ke’er and Bodhi’s first instinct was to press their faces to the crack in the door to see what was going on.

A young boy in a blue robe, who had arrived slightly early, chuckled with folded arms. “It’s useless. Once the steward shuts the doors and windows, she activates the protective formation. We can’t see or hear anything from outside.”

Unwilling to give up, Feng Ke’er and Bodhi tried peeking again, but sure enough, there wasn’t so much as a crack to spy through.

The blue-robed boy snorted and turned away to stare at the courtyard, refusing to spare them another glance.

Gradually, more and more blue-robed disciples arrived for their meal. Seeing the doors and windows sealed, they gathered in groups, whispering in low voices. The courtyard soon buzzed with rumors that quickly spread throughout the crowd.

Feng Ke’er’s keen hearing made it all the more unbearable. Every scrap of gossip wormed its way into her ears.

“What happened?”

“I heard from a senior sister who just came out that there was a thief inside. The thief was so skilled—all the rice balls vanished in a flash.”

“All of them? Are we getting any food today, then?”

“I heard they won’t be serving us today.”

“What? Why?”

“No rice balls left…”

“How could this happen?”

…

As the tale spread and morphed, the original story of a thief turned into a debate about rice balls, then finally became a chorus of protests: “Why won’t the dining hall prepare food for us new disciples?”

Voices rose, complaints mounting, and the tension threatened to boil over—until, with another series of clangs, the doors and windows of the dining hall suddenly swung open.

The novice disciples filed out in rows of two, lips pressed tight, eyes forward, backs slick with sweat. Those waiting in the courtyard felt a sudden chill and fell silent, standing straight as boards.

Once all the disciples had left, a senior sister emerged from the dining hall and called the others in to eat.

Uncharacteristically, everyone became exceptionally polite and considerate, letting others go first; no one dared step forward.

“What’s the holdup?” The senior sister stood at the door, hands on her hips, glaring at the unfortunate Feng Ke’er and Bodhi, who stood at the front. “Do you want to eat or not?”

“Yes, of course!” Bodhi answered at once, hurrying inside ahead of Feng Ke’er.

“And you? How many times do I have to ask?” The senior sister’s ire focused entirely on Feng Ke’er.

Face flushing, she hurried after Bodhi.

Bodhi turned and pulled a face at her, whispering, “Don’t worry, I told you I’d look after you.”

That little rascal! Feng Ke’er made a face right back. Though the boy’s repeated promises to “look after” her were a bit embarrassing, they warmed her heart nonetheless.

Looking around, she saw that lining the earthen walls of the hall were rows of novice disciples, standing every few paces, faces solemn, armed to the teeth as if bracing for battle.

[End of Chapter 22: Panic in the Dining Hall]