Cultivation and Cooking

The letter to Xiu Fu was long—five pages, leaving Su Qing’s wrist aching when she finally stopped.

It rambled, no central theme, just scattered thoughts. @Infinite Good Reads, Only at Jinjiang Literature City

Starting with her spiritual root test, she wrote about her lackluster talent but inexplicable confidence.

She described the cafeteria’s weekly dishes and her critiques, the contrasting vibes of working at the cafeteria versus the tea shop, and the kindness of the kitchen auntie and wine vendor.

She cursed the tea shop’s Manager Lin as a textbook capitalist.

She wrote about Liu Xiaofeng, the young apprentice, who, despite his own struggles, looked out for her. So young, yet so mature—she couldn’t compare.

She detailed the Beast Sect’s literacy class, the hapless, frail Teacher Qing Ge, the chaotic Yuanbao and its exasperated master, the fat cat that stole her chicken leg, and how her meal and courier delivery business took off.

She mentioned the Sword Sect’s fierce winds tightening her skin and how sword and body training left her dog-tired.

She poured out her longing for a sword of her own and her 500-spirit-stone plan, now progressing steadily—soon, she’d have her sword.

She wrote about her roommates.

In the letter, Su Qing was candid.

Though hard to approach, they were good people, just awkward. If possible, she’d love to be friends.

Being alone felt lonely sometimes. She didn’t fear it but was curious about others’ perspectives.

Finally, she noted the high cost of sending letters but vowed to earn enough to write often. She asked Xiu Fu to write back, even if she couldn’t send them—just save them for when they met, so Su Qing could read them.

P.S. Xiu Fu, any news on Xing’er? Have you reached her? Is she doing okay?

The long letter, sealed in an envelope, felt light, but the emotions inside were heavy.

Carrying spirit seeds, Su Qing headed to the courier station, steps lighter.

The station was huge, divided into three areas: sending, receiving, and loading/unloading for couriers. No barriers separated them; people moved freely.

Su Qing, familiar from frequent deliveries, wove through the crowd to the sending area.

She didn’t expect to see Tianning.

Neither expected Tang Yueling there too.

At that moment, their roles were distinct: Su Qing sent a letter, Tang Yueling picked up Tang Clan mail and packages, and Tianning worked as a courier.

Su Qing instantly understood how Tianning, a freshman, earned over 800 spirit seeds—she had the sect’s highest-paying gig: courier.

It paid well but was grueling.

Tianning’s state proved it. A mid-Foundation Establishment cultivator, far beyond mortal limits, she was pale, panting, drenched in sweat, like she’d been fished from water—clearly drained of spiritual energy without time to recover.

The three met briefly, surprised.

A triangle is stable, stable enough for each to see the others’ unfamiliar, slightly shocked expressions: *You’re here?*

“What a coincidence.”

“Not really.”

“…”

Not close, they didn’t linger to chat.

Tang Yueling glanced at Tianning’s hurried back, muttering something Su Qing didn’t catch.

While sending her letter, Su Qing discreetly asked the clerk about Tianning.

The clerk knew her well. “Oh, that stunning girl? Everyone asks! So striking!”

“Don’t judge by looks,” she continued. “She’s tough.”

“How so?” Su Qing prodded.

“She runs three or four round-trips daily, lightning-fast. Most couriers burn out after two, whining about aches. Not her—she’s silent, like it’s nothing! Such a stubborn kid, she’ll suffer for it.”

Tianning’s beauty and relentless grit drew attention. Initially, couriers scoffed at her delicate frame, doubting she’d withstand the mountain winds despite her cultivation.

A month in, she was the station’s top runner, outpacing full-timers. No one dared gossip anymore.

Su Qing frowned. Three trips daily, over two hours round-trip from the main city station, flying by sword, plus late-night sword practice?

She had doubts.

But she wouldn’t interfere. Everyone had their struggles—she did too.

Without clan backing, they were alike.

To grow stronger, no effort was too much.

The Sword Sect’s peaceful environment and opportunities meant they had to train diligently, build foundations, and save resources.

After sending the letter, Su Qing picked up five packages for others, earning 15 spirit seeds. Dropping them at dorms, she rushed to the tea shop.

Work never ended.

Her task, as usual, was peeling potatoes. After a month, she was a pro, even peeling while eavesdropping, her mind wandering.

Liu Xiaofeng said it was her growing bond with the knife.

He was right. Touching the peeler, her hands itched to strip a potato. @Infinite Good Reads, Only at Jinjiang Literature City

Her knife skills improved, boosting efficiency. Before more tasks piled on, she practiced cutting potato threads—not crude, finger-thick ones, but fine enough to thread a needle.

It was tough. She struggled, once slicing off half a fingernail and a sliver of fingertip flesh. Tears and blood flew together.

Failed threads could be minced, mixed with starch, and fried into potato balls—no waste. Since she practiced after her work, not slacking, the staff let it slide.

Except one person.

Lin Daniang, around forty, managed kitchen inventory and restocking. With procurement duties, she had some clout, a minor supervisor.

Her son, Lin Zhiqiang, mid-teens, served tables like Liu Xiaofeng.

Lin Daniang couldn’t stand Su Qing, always sniping at her.

As Su Qing practiced, she swooped in.

“Oh my, what’s this? So coarse! Stick it in dirt, water it, and it’ll sprout by tomorrow.” Pinching a thread, she sneered, “This for the table? Don’t embarrass the tea shop with no skilled chefs.”

“No talent, no job. Such a pity for good potatoes.”

Su Qing paused her knife, smiled, and resumed chopping, each slice slamming the board with menacing force.

“Lin Daniang, I’m not wasting. I chop strips, then cross-cut—potato filling. My skills aren’t great, but I’ve got strength. I’ll mince it fine.”

“Filling needs no finesse,” Lin Daniang muttered, shrinking back. “Wasting time, aren’t you?”

She fake-smiled. “Last time, nearly cut your finger off, blood everywhere, scared us silly. Why keep practicing?”

Su Qing slammed the board, fake-smiling back. “Lin Daniang, learning a skill means eating hardship, right?”

“Lin Daniang!” Liu Xiaofeng returned from serving, wiping sweat with his neck towel, drawling, “Manager Lin’s looking for you up front. Don’t dawdle, or he’ll grumble we’re sloppy, slacking off.”

At “Manager Lin,” she cursed under her breath, hurrying off, bumping Liu Xiaofeng.

Scrawny but steady, he didn’t budge, while she stumbled.

“Don’t get cocky!” She jabbed his nose. “I’ll catch you slipping and report you!”

He grinned. “Take your time. I’ll wait.”

Su Qing watched her vanish, shaking her head with a wry smile.

All workers, yet Lin Daniang picked fights. “Xiaofeng, she’s a Lin too. Related to Manager Lin?”

After a month, Su Qing and Liu Xiaofeng, the tea shop’s leftover-tea-drinking duo, were tight.

Gulping tea, he said, “Distant relation, or her brains wouldn’t handle procurement. Not close—Manager Lin doesn’t favor her.”

Su Qing frowned. “Then why target me? Thought she was protecting family assets.”

“Nope.” Leaning on the wall, he explained, “First, the tea shop isn’t Manager Lin’s—it’s the Guan Clan’s. He’s just a small-time manager.”

“The banquet Guan Clan?”

“Yep. Didn’t you see him fawning that day?”

Rested, Liu Xiaofeng grabbed Su Qing’s knife, slicing potato threads. His thin, scarred fingers moved with dexterity and strength. A lefty, he gripped the blade with thumb and forefinger, right hand steadying the potato, chatting without looking.

One pass forward, one back. Su Qing tested the threads in a tea bowl—they floated like fine silk.

No matter how often she saw it, it was impressive.

He grinned. “Two years of practice. Without this, Master wouldn’t have taken me.”

Su Qing clapped, always ready to hype him up.

He sighed. “You’re so dense. Lin Daniang targets you because she thinks you’re practicing to catch Master Wang’s eye. She wants her dumb son to apprentice under him.”

“But Master Wang picked you,” Su Qing realized. “No wonder…”

Wang chose Liu Xiaofeng for his knife skills. Lin Daniang feared Su Qing’s practice was to steal a spot.

Su Qing had a hunch who slipped Liu Xiaofeng the laxative at the banquet.

“She’s overthinking. I’m practicing to maybe apply it to swordsmanship, not to be a chef.” Cautiously, she added, “Not saying being a chef’s bad.” @Infinite Good Reads, Only at Jinjiang Literature City

Her internet habits made her shield herself first.

“No need to backtrack. That’s why I say they’re both idiots,” Liu Xiaofeng scoffed. “Who’d choose cooking over immortality? She’s just bored, picking fights. We’re not even on the same path.”

Having lost two friends, Su Qing saw it clearly. “Everyone’s got their road.”

Then it hit her: Liu Xiaofeng’s words hinted at a longing for cultivation. His tea-drinking—was it for immortality too?

After a pause, she said, “I don’t know if our sect’s techniques can be shared. I’ll check. If they can, and you want to learn, I’ll teach you, like you taught me knife skills. But,” she added sheepishly, “I’m not as good at cultivation as you are at knife work…”

The Carefree Immortal founded the Sword Sect to share swordsmanship with the world. Su Qing figured sharing was likely allowed. Teaching others meant relearning herself, improving her grasp.

Liu Xiaofeng was speechless, staring like she was a freak, making her wonder if her clothes were on backward.

“What’s that look? Something on my face?”

“You—you know what you’re saying?”

Snapping out of it, he scratched his cheek, flustered. “Don’t say that to anyone else. Cultivation and knife skills aren’t the same. Who said I want to cultivate? I’m a mortal—my dream’s to be a great chef!”

“Okay.” Su Qing never pushed. “Will you keep teaching me knife skills?”

“…Sure.” He clutched his chest. “Just don’t say scary stuff like that again.”