Two Jade Tokens

The living conditions at Tianxia Sword Sect exceeded Su Qing’s expectations.

She’d imagined each disciple getting a damp cave, a straw mat, and basic cookware—survive like a savage, trading sect contribution points for better resources or subsisting on fasting pills for a year or two.

That’s how the gritty cultivation novels she binged described it.

But the dormitory she now occupied was spacious and bright. The windows weren’t extravagant crystal glass but made of a translucent material, like seashells, she thought, touching them.

Four people shared the room, each with a bed, desk, wardrobe, cabinet, and a meditation cushion. The furnishings had an ancient charm, like a vintage take on a modern dorm.

A window stood slightly ajar, bamboo-green curtains swaying, sunlight casting dappled patterns on the wooden floor. Outside, lush greenery met a clear blue sky, the sun shining brightly.

Su Qing was delighted with the setup. Back in her world, she’d endured a six-person dorm, with rumors of expansion to eight due to over-enrollment—pure misery.

Better yet, each cabinet held essential supplies: toiletries, bedding, all provided. Su Qing had a mattress to sleep on, a blanket to cover her, and no fees.

Far more generous than her university.

The wardrobe even contained two sets of light blue disciple robes. Not as ornate as those worn by the escorting sword disciples, but practical, fine cloth with sleeves and pants—nothing to complain about.

Very thoughtful.

Compared to the dorm’s cleanliness, Su Qing and Xiu Fu were mud-caked monkeys. Without prompting, they grabbed bath beans and tokens from the steward and headed to wash.

No en-suite bathrooms or toilets—likely because long-time cultivators rarely needed them.

But the ground floor had a public bathhouse with constant hot water. Partitions ensured privacy, sparing newcomers awkward encounters.

No modern showers, but bamboo pipes overhead dispensed water. Oil-soaked ropes on either side—left for cold, right for hot—allowed temperature adjustments.

Su Qing figured it out quickly.

Pulling the ropes, clear water poured down, gently soaking her hair and body. She watched grime rinse off her arm, leaving a pale streak.

Her hair, neglected for nearly two months, was a tangled mess, worse wet. After breaking three comb teeth, she gave up, planning to borrow scissors to cut out the knots.

She scrubbed thoroughly, from head to toe, until her fingers pruned, reluctantly finishing.

The only surprise during this refreshing bath was noticing her newfound muscles. Her small belly, arm flab, and calf chub had vanished during their ordeal, replaced by lean muscle, prominent from her thinness.

Touching her arm, she felt bone.

She laughed, exasperated. All because of starvation.

Done, she called, “Xiu Fu, I’m finished. How long do you need?”

“Go ahead,” Xiu Fu’s muffled voice came, frantic. “My hair’s all knotted—I’m untangling it!”

No easy task. Su Qing had given up.

The bathhouse’s steamy heat could make one dizzy if lingered too long. Su Qing didn’t wait, heading to wash clothes.

Her outfit was filthy beyond salvation. To avoid re-dirtying herself, she pinched it with two fingers, dropped it in a basin, grabbed soap, and left.

No laundry in the rooms, but the steward mentioned a washroom per floor. Su Qing, basin in hand, wandered to the floor’s end, her feet instinctively guiding her.

As expected, the washroom was there.

The layout was eerily like her university’s.

But her school’s facilities were worse, with odd spending—tiled corridors but cement dorm floors.

The washroom was open, with bamboo water pipes lining the walls above stone basins. The tiled floor, rough for waterproofing, was practical.

Nothing special—laundry rooms looked alike. But what were those rectangular boxes in the corner?

Curious, Su Qing moved her basin to the second-closest pipe, eavesdropping on a group of girls nearby.

“Qiang-mei, you haven’t heard? This is a washing machine, invented by the Armory Gate. Infuse it with spiritual energy, and it washes clothes automatically. It has modes—even for magical robes. Only ten low-grade spirit stones per load. Why bother washing by hand?”

“Really? I’ll try!”

A girl followed the illustrated instructions, loading clothes and ten spirit stones. The machine started, water flowing, colorful clothes spinning like butterflies.

“Amazing! Jiaoyue-jie, if it’s this good, why have a laundry room and hire servants at home? Just use this!”

“You’re bad at math,” the older girl laughed, shaking her head. “A mortal servant costs a few hundred spirit stones a year!”

“Oh, you’re right—servants are cheaper. Too bad the Sect doesn’t allow them!”

“Dream on. Are you here to study or to be pampered?”

They giggled and left.

Su Qing stood stunned, hands frozen in her soapy basin.

Washing machine?

Was the name a coincidence?

Or did a transmigrator invent it?

And why ten spirit stones per wash?

How much was that?

Her head spun calculating: the apothecary apprentice said one tael of silver equaled one spirit seed, one low-grade spirit stone equaled 100 spirit seeds, so ten stones were 1000 spirit seeds—1000 taels of silver.

A thousand taels to wash clothes.

Outrageous!

She’d happily wash for that price!

Her university’s machines were pricey too—six yuan for twenty minutes. She’d ranted on confession walls, called the mayor’s hotline, written to the principal, nearly organized a petition.

Whether due to her or a new vendor, prices dropped to three yuan.

Here, the exorbitant machines were optional, not mandatory. Unlike her school’s, they didn’t exploit the poor.

Su Qing scrubbed her clothes fiercely, belatedly realizing the girls hadn’t added detergent.

Maybe, for ten spirit stones, the machines auto-dispensed it—fancier than her school’s.

Finished, she returned to the dorm. Xiu Fu was still battling her hair, determined to save her thick, black locks.

After hanging her clothes to dry, Su Qing noticed their two roommates had arrived.

They looked travel-worn, disheveled, eyes panicked. Their rough cheeks and calloused hands marked them as commoners, having endured a brutal trial to reach here.

Su Qing smiled, ready to socialize, but they pulled out jade tokens, speaking hurriedly.

“Could you pass these to the steward for us?”

Su Qing frowned. “Why?”

“We’re not joining the trial,” one said hastily. “My parents are waiting. I’m going home.”

They shoved the tokens into her hands and moved to leave. Su Qing swore no Sword Sect token had ever been so scorned.

“Wait,” she called. “We worked so hard to get here. Why quit now?”

She asked, “Is something wrong?”

Glancing at the tokens, she added, “If you just hand these to me without explaining, how do I tell the steward?”

The girls paused, but neither spoke.

Su Qing feared they knew something dangerous for her and Xiu Fu.

“Besides… I have a friend here,” she said, pleading. “If something’s bad, we need to prepare.”

The girls softened. One pursed her lips, steeling herself. “Does your family follow Buddhism?”

Su Qing wasn’t sure how to answer, but the girl didn’t pause, continuing, “You know, after cultivating, if you die, your soul scatters—no reincarnation!”

Su Qing hadn’t expected this.

“Immortals get one life. No rebirth. Even if soul fragments cross the Naihe Bridge, you’d become a bug or worse. How’s that acceptable?” the other added. “Thankfully, the Sect’s kind. If you quit, they don’t blame you—they give money!”

She whispered, “A hundred taels of silver, plus pills for health and longevity. If you’re thinking of leaving, go early with your friend, or it’ll be gone.”

They hurried off.

Su Qing knew arguing was pointless and watched them go.

They weren’t dejected but excited, as if the reward was a windfall.

They chattered like sparrows: “I can buy a plow ox for home. My dad’s back’s bad—this’ll help.”

“I’ll get money for my sister’s dowry cabinets. She’s marrying soon. With these, she’ll hold her head high at her in-laws’!”

But…

Su Qing lowered her gaze. She doubted the cultivation and mortal worlds shared currency.

A washing machine cost ten spirit stones. Those girls said their servants earned hundreds yearly.

A hundred taels—one low-grade spirit stone—was nothing.

Yet it could buy a future’s potential.

Was this truly the Sect’s intent? Why the contradiction?

She’d joined the Sword Sect because it welcomed commoners and cared for them throughout, from start to finish. She’d seen it—the disciples, the stewards—their actions weren’t fake.

No reincarnation after cultivating? Absurd. She didn’t buy it.

“I don’t believe immortals get one life,” she muttered. “Back home, even non-cultivators know cultivation spans at least three lives.”

Looking up, she saw Xiu Fu at the door, basin in hand, thoughtful.

Had she heard everything?

Su Qing panicked. “Xiu Fu, you don’t believe—”

“I don’t,” Xiu Fu snapped back, entering and shaking her head. “Not entirely. If this life’s a mess, why worry about the next?”

“Those who can’t live well now can’t convince me about a next life. I don’t buy it.”