Chapter Fifty: The Newly Arrived Junior Master

"Admit defeat? Good!" The female disciple standing atop the treetop, breathing fire, placed her hands on her hips and declared triumphantly, "However, the rules are a little different this time. All of you, not only must you admit defeat in unison, but you must also slap yourselves twice and call yourselves puppies. Only then will this matter be settled today."

The male disciples exchanged glances, falling silent.

Feng Ke’er pressed her hand to her forehead, thinking to herself: As expected, the words 'admit defeat' are not so easily uttered. Senior Brother Hu, you’ve really brought ruin upon all the male disciples.

"You are going too far!" someone shouted from the crowd, leaping into the air, sword in hand, charging directly at the fire-breathing female disciple.

"Wu, don’t!" Senior Brother Hu, quick of eye and hand, tossed aside his own sword and caught the enraged disciple around the waist, restraining him. "You mustn’t break the rules."

Rules? Was there more to this than met the eye? Feng Ke’er’s curiosity was piqued.

"They’ve gone too far. I, I..." The disciple held by Senior Brother Hu was so furious his eyes were bloodshot, struggling desperately to break free and brandishing his sword. "Let go of me, Senior Brother Hu, I’m going to cut her down!"

"Let it go, Senior Brother Wu," several male disciples hurried to persuade him. Surprisingly, they spoke of 'accepting defeat with honor.'

Feng Ke’er leaned against the tree, breaking out in a sweat.

However, at these words, Senior Brother Wu seemed to fall under a spell and froze.

Senior Brother Hu took advantage of the moment to disarm him, patting him on the shoulder and returning his sword to its sheath.

But the female disciples were clearly dissatisfied with their attitude, their spirits rising, as they clamored and gestured:

"Sister Yin, they’re not following the rules! We can’t let them off so easily!"

"Exactly..."

"Hey, make it clear—who’s not following the rules?"

...

The situation on the field seemed to take a turn for the worse. Trouble was brewing again.

"How much longer do you intend to watch this tiresome spectacle?" At that moment, a languid voice sounded from behind Feng Ke’er.

She turned to see, and was surprised to find it was the plump bird—it had returned to its original form and concealed itself, standing on a branch behind her.

"Eh, where did you come from?" She was startled. So engrossed had she been in the commotion that she’d noticed nothing. Thankfully, it was only the bird; had it been someone with ill intent, she wouldn't even have known how she’d perished.

Feng Jiu snorted softly, "I’ve been standing here all along."

"Ah?" Feng Ke’er nearly toppled from the tree.

She hadn’t noticed him at all! How terrifying!

Feng Jiu, observing this, cleared his throat and said again, "Let’s go back. It’s just a little show—nothing worth watching." In truth, he had just arrived, but he wouldn’t admit it.

This was Feng Ke’er’s first time witnessing a magical duel, and she was reluctant to leave. But since the bird urged her twice, she couldn’t insist on staying. She followed him back to Courtyard Number Four.

She chose the room that had previously belonged to Bodhi. Before entering, she asked casually, "Have you found your friend’s reincarnation yet?"

Feng Jiu shook his head, sighing softly.

"It’s all right. There’ll be plenty of opportunities in the future." Feng Ke’er, about to go inside, turned to comfort him, "In fact, not finding them is a good thing, I’d say."

"How so?" Feng Jiu was perplexed.

"At least it proves your friend’s reincarnation isn’t male," she grinned, flashing her teeth. "Chubby Bird, keep trying—you still have a chance!" With that, she entered the room.

Feng Jiu was left utterly confused: He understood what was meant by 'chance,' but what on earth was 'keep trying'? He stood in the courtyard for a long while before he vaguely grasped her meaning. Rubbing his forehead, he looked up at Feng Ke’er’s new quarters.

Unexpectedly, a faint ripple of spiritual energy emanated from the room.

He hadn’t expected the girl to be so diligent, cultivating even at night. Shaking his head, he turned and went inside.

Feng Ke’er was practicing basic illusions. The events of dusk had affected her deeply: one could never know too many skills—learning more could never be a bad thing.

The next morning, she went to the dining hall for breakfast. This was her first time eating as a disciple in the Qi Refining stage. She was not disappointed. Arriving early, she received the spirit rice balls and monster meat soup reserved for Qi Refining disciples—they tasted good and were filling. She liked them very much.

After breakfast, she hurried to the Steward’s Hall to receive her assignment.

The camp remains, but the faces change. Since Uncle Wen’s passing, there was a new steward. The new steward was still at breakfast and sent Jiang Yuan to receive her.

Jiang Yuan, in an uncharacteristically warm mood, chattered away, eagerly recounting yesterday’s duel. Feng Ke’er quickly drew out the result: both sides had shown restraint, and no further trouble occurred. Thanks to negotiations by Senior Brother Hu and others, the female disciples relented, requiring only that the men admit defeat according to the rules, which they all did. Thus, the matter was settled.

All things considered, the male disciples were satisfied, even feeling a sense of honor in defeat. In the past, they could barely last two rounds against the female disciples, and this time, the women had sent an unprecedentedly strong lineup—sixty-four, all at mid-stage Qi Refining or higher.

Feng Ke’er worried about the injured male disciples.

But Jiang Yuan shrugged it off, "A few scratches—nothing serious. As long as it’s not a fundamental injury, half a Rejuvenation Pill will set things right."

Feng Ke’er felt awkward—she still hadn’t adjusted her mindset. She kept viewing this world of cultivation through mortal eyes. Here, with all sorts of elixirs, what mattered was not the body, which was seen merely as a shell.

She also wondered why Jiang Yuan was so amiable today.

She soon found out. After chatting, Jiang Yuan confided enviously: apparently, her great-aunt had intervened in the personnel arrangements. The new steward was surnamed Qin—a collateral relative of the Qin family, and a clan uncle to Qin Heng.

So, the lad was as opportunistic as ever. Feng Ke’er laughed inwardly.

At that moment, an announcement sounded from outside, "Uncle Qin has arrived."

Jiang Yuan immediately broke off, standing by the door with hands respectfully at his sides.

Feng Ke’er followed, lowering her gaze and standing opposite him.

"You are Qin Heng?" Uncle Qin sat cross-legged in the main seat, dismissed Jiang Yuan, and pointed to a cushion below. "Sit."

"Thank you, Uncle Qin." Feng Ke’er sat as instructed, stealing a glance at him.

Jiang Yuan had already told her that Uncle Qin’s aptitude was said to be poor; he'd lingered in the Outer Sect for nearly sixty years and had only recently built his foundation. Without backing from the Inner Sect, he could never have secured the steward’s role at the Hall.

Thus, Feng Ke’er thought he'd resemble Old Master Chen—a frail old man. Instead, Uncle Qin appeared ruddy and vigorous, his voice booming, looking no more than forty.

With a wave of his hand, Uncle Qin produced a parchment scroll, spread it on the low table, and read as he asked, "Qin Heng, dual water and wood roots, entered less than half a year ago, and already at early Qi Refining. Is that correct?" He raised his eyes, fixing them on Feng Ke’er, his gaze piercing.

"Yes." It was her first time hearing these details. But she saw Uncle Qin consulting the roster and, unable to resist, released her spiritual sense for a peek, catching sight of Qin Heng’s personal record.

Uncle Qin nodded slightly, put away the scroll, and said, "In a few months, there will be the Inner Sect selection. The family has high hopes for you to pass. Since you have just advanced and your cultivation is limited, I suggest you not take too many tasks for the next few months. Focus on consolidating your foundation."

The treatment of Outer Sect disciples was far inferior to that of the Inner Sect. To give an example: an elite Inner Sect disciple at the Qi Refining stage received one low-grade spirit stone a month from the sect; ordinary Inner Sect disciples received one every three months; Outer Sect disciples had to complete tasks to earn them.

For those without family support, not taking tasks meant no spirit stones. Yet how could one cultivate without them? Anyone else, hearing this advice, would surely be frustrated.

Fortunately, Feng Ke’er, under the name of Qin Heng, lacked nothing in terms of spirit stones.

"Understood, Uncle. I will heed your guidance." She didn’t even raise her eyes, bowing her head obediently.

Uncle Qin continued, "But with so many eyes watching, even as a member of the Qin family, I cannot show favoritism. The spirit rice has been sown this season. The main work now is maintenance, and it's not burdensome. As you possess water and wood roots, caring for the spiritual rice is perfect for you. What do you think?"

My goodness—he was even soliciting her opinion on the assignment? Such humility was overwhelming. Feng Ke’er felt both flattered and deeply pressured. As a child, she had been mischievous. The old director had once heard that gardening was good for temperament and so had fetched her an assortment of plants to tend. Yet, she seemed cursed—no matter how lush the plants, once in her care, they wilted within days and soon died completely. She really hadn’t been lazy or careless; she’d followed every step under supervision. Unconvinced, the director brought home hard-to-kill varieties—still, not one survived a week.

After several trials, the director concluded: not even a cactus could survive in her hands. From then on, she was excused from gardening.

Even in the Feng clan, when she tried to curry favor with Feng Que by helping with spirit herbs, she was anxious and only did odd jobs. Still, she noticed the herbs grew limp. Feng Que had puzzled over it for a long time.

And now, Uncle Qin wanted her to farm... Mercy, she’d better spare those seedlings.

But Uncle Qin’s question was mere formality. Before she could answer, he handed her the planting token, unrolled the parchment map, pointed out her assigned field, and patted her shoulder with encouragement. "This is one of the best plots in the Outer Sect, yielding excellent harvests every year. Many have coveted it. It took some effort for me to secure it for you. So you must do well and not make things difficult for me."

There was no room for refusal.

Feng Ke’er had no choice but to accept the assignment. Still, she harbored a faint hope—perhaps things had changed now that she had cultivation. She might just become a planting expert after all.

(To be continued)

Heavenly Tome, Chapter Fifty: The New Steward Arrives. Complete.