Supply Point

Each team set off from different locations.

This prevented dangerous stampedes from crowded groups.

For fairness, every team’s route to the main peak of Tianxia Sword Mountain was roughly the same distance.

Su Qing had overheard candidates’ chatter: the 300-li journey wasn’t long or short, but it crossed lakes, forests, and mountains.

It felt less like a test and more like a triathlon.

She didn’t understand: shouldn’t they test spiritual roots first, selecting those with cultivation talent?

What if she struggled to the main peak only to learn she couldn’t cultivate?

That’d be wasted effort.

Back at the inn, she’d heard the waiter and manager gossip: countless candidates flooded in, filling every inn.

Clever locals saw opportunity, renting out spare rooms, yards, backhouses, even cowsheds, for lodging fees.

Those with skilled wives cooked meals, earning extra food money.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

The city lord ordered temples and shrines to open pilgrim spaces and cleared militia barracks to house the tidal wave of candidates.

The waiter smacked his lips: “Tianque City’s big, but it can’t hold them all. Must be ten thousand people. The Sword Sect’s got some clout!”

“Not just that,” the manager stroked his beard. “At dawn, I went to the market for today’s ingredients. Every rice, flour, vegetable, and meat stall said the city’s consumption’s doubled these days. I reckon at least fifteen thousand came.”

Fifteen thousand competing for just two thousand sect jade tokens, with a two-week limit.

No small challenge.

Zhu Xing’er, defiant, said: “Even if it’s sixteen thousand, that’s sixteen to two thousand—an eight-to-one ratio. Beat seven out of eight, and you’re in.”

Su Qing was speechless for a moment. “That’s not how it works… You have to outrank fourteen thousand to be in the top two thousand.”

“I’ve never seen so many people,” Li Xiu Fu said, relieved. “Good thing the elders said no harming sect siblings. Otherwise, it’d be a bloodbath.”

She recalled her grandma’s tales of drought-time village brawls over water, where blood flowed more than the irrigation.

Her grandma claimed she was fiercer than her brothers in youth, swinging a stick blindly and toppling several men.

Su Qing nodded. “If it was the elder, I wouldn’t believe it. But the old lady? She could do it.”

They didn’t talk long before the stewards ordered departure.

The long road stretched endlessly, far from the urgent dread of her college 800-meter tests.

Su Qing lacked that whistle-blow, race-start reality.

But when hundreds surged toward the main peak, she ate a mouthful of dust.

“Why run?” she asked, jostled side to side amid thundering footsteps. “Can they sprint for two weeks straight?”

Xiu Fu quickly pulled her and Zhu Xing’er to the edge, away from the crowd, saying nervously: “Let’s stay back, take the side paths.”

The roads outside the city were desolate.

Beyond a lone main road, it was all wilderness.

Farther out, fields stretched endlessly, repetitive scenery with no end.

Su Qing’s group trudged quietly along the edge, not fighting or rushing.

Morning’s meal fueled their mechanical steps forward.

It wasn’t that they didn’t want to move faster—their stamina couldn’t sustain it.

Better to pace steadily than sprint and collapse.

After a day of unhurried travel, they were, as expected, left behind.

The upside: no fighting, staying safe and steady.

The downside: no chance to compete—any jade tokens on the path were likely snatched by those ahead.

When they crossed wheat fields to reach a village, they luckily hit the first—and only—supply point.

The supply point was humble, a dusty tent at the village entrance.

Inside were wheat cakes, steamed buns, basic herbal salves, and some jerky.

But arriving late, they found little left—just scraps.

The tent was manned by a man and woman, about fifty, plump and rosy-cheeked, with warm smiles.

For some reason, Su Qing felt a familiar warmth, especially when the woman, stuffing buns into her pack, reminded her of someone.

…Like the college cafeteria auntie who always piled her plate high, worried she’d go hungry.

The woman, called Sister Rice, proudly said after filling their bags: “Eat sparingly, and this’ll last a week. It’s for emergencies. Keep going into the mountains—you won’t starve. This season, Tianxia Sword Mountain’s so lush, lie down, and wild fruit falls into your mouth.”

The man, Old Man Wine, grinned: “Exactly. The fire cherries are ripe—perfect for brewing. Not fancy, but the wine’s sweet-tart, smooth, and light. Quite a treat.”

With supplies, the trio gained confidence for the journey.

They thanked in unison: “Thank you, Sister! Thank you, Uncle!”

As they prepared to leave, Su Qing remembered something. “Sister, Uncle, do you have salt or sugar?”

The journey was grueling—dehydration and exhaustion were worse than hunger.

Electrolyte imbalance could lead to shock in severe cases.

Having salt-sugar water on hand to replenish fluids and electrolytes would be safer.

Old Man Wine and Sister Rice exchanged a glance.

Old Man Wine said: “No white sugar, but I’ve got a small jar of wild honey. It’s not free, though. What’ll you trade?”

Zhu Xing’er jumped in: “I’ll pay. Name your price.”

Old Man Wine shook his head, smiling. “I don’t need money—just love wine.”

Xiu Fu frowned. “We didn’t bring wine. If you don’t mind, after the selection, we’ll bring you some.”

Old Man Wine chuckled. “I’m tired of town wine.”

Su Qing thought and said: “After the selection, we’ll stay and pick fire cherries for your brewing.”

“Good idea,” Old Man Wine boomed. “It’s a deal, young friend.”

With a flick of his sleeve, a gourd floated to Su Qing’s side.

She opened it—rich, fragrant honey of fine quality.

Sister Rice tapped him. “You old coot, so stingy over a bit of honey!”

Old Man Wine retorted: “I’ve my own way of fate.”

“Small things like this, just give them away. All this talk of fate—such a fuss,” Sister Rice shook her head. “I’ve got salt. Take what you need. There, by the pickle jar.”

Su Qing followed her direction, lifting the tablecloth and crouching.

She saw the black pottery pickle jar and found a paper-wrapped salt packet beside it.

But…

Her gaze froze.

Why was the pickle jar’s weight so neat, with patterns?

Picking it up, her eyes widened.

She stood abruptly, banging her head with a “thud” that made others wince, but she ignored it, holding the object to the sunlight.

It bore four ancient characters: Tianxia Sword Sect.

If this wasn’t a disciple jade token, what was?

Su Qing held it up. “Look!”

Xiu Fu was slow to react, but Zhu Xing’er gasped: “A jade token! Where’d you find it?”

Sister Rice clapped, laughing: “Congratulations! You found the last one!”

Su Qing realized: “This is a disciple jade token…”

She never imagined asking for salt would yield such a windfall.

Who’d expect a sect to use a jade token to weigh a pickle jar?

Old Man Wine smacked his lips. “All things are fate.”

Still dazed, Su Qing bid them farewell, and the trio moved on.

The careful Xiu Fu boldly asked about the route ahead.

Zhu Xing’er wanted to see the token.

Su Qing handed it over.

She wrinkled her nose. “Smells like pickles.”

They passed it around, each hand catching the pickle scent.

As they walked, they reflected, saying in unison: “We need to watch for fire cherry spots. There’s bound to be opportunities there.”