The Strange Cafeteria

Good thing Xiu Fu didn’t believe it.

Su Qing exhaled. “You hungry? Let’s explore and check the Food Hall for meals.”

She’d been penniless, but Zhu Xing’er left them each ten taels of silver before departing, so they weren’t broke. Still, she wondered if the Sword Sect’s cafeteria prices would stretch their budget.

At the cafeteria, she learned it was free for new disciples for the first three days.

The Food Hall was massive—three floors, eight restaurants. Su Qing visited the first floor’s first restaurant, marked by a large plaque with four bold, whimsical characters: “Wine Full, Belly Satisfied.”

Entering, her eyes widened.

So many people. So many kinds of people.

Her university had crowds, but everyone looked similar—comparable clothes, hairstyles, ages, behaviors within a narrow range.

Here, everyone was bizarre, distinct.

Beautiful female cultivators, handsome male ones—normal enough. But also children, elders, vagabonds, circus performers, fortune-tellers, and sprite-like figures.

Not like they came from one school.

Near the entrance, a table of stunning women sat—jade-like skin, soulful phoenix eyes, rosy lips, cascading black hair. Anyone would praise their beauty.

But Su Qing squinted. Why were their chests so flat? Suspicious bulges at their throats, oversized finger joints…

Nearby, a man in tattered rags—pants half-gone, worse than a beggar—ordered a lavish spread of fish, meat, and wine. He didn’t eat, instead placing the dishes before his sword.

Yes, his sword “sat” beside him, mouthless but served a meal.

In the center, a group of humanoid… things, black as pitch, shedding soot as they ate, hair exploded into mushroom-cloud clumps. Only their white fingertips, gripping chopsticks, hinted at their original skin tone.

The cleaning auntie fumed, nearly twisting their ears. “Wash before eating next time! Look at this floor—you’ve doubled my work!”

The “Africans” shoveled rice like starved ghosts. “Next time, next time!”

Amid their gobbling, complaints surfaced. “Your fault! If you hadn’t overdone the heat, would the furnace have exploded? It was nearly done!”

“No, your herb dosage was off!”

“Bull! Your spiritual energy was uneven, causing a clash. Don’t pin it on me!”

They bickered, snatching meat from each other’s plates, flinging rice and greens. The auntie smacked their heads.

The next table seemed normal—youthful faces, proper attire, polite speech, impeccable table manners. Except their food stacks towered half a person high. Terrifying appetites.

Eating much was nothing compared to the blood-soaked figure nearby, wiping blood, taking a bite, wiping again. Before the auntie could scold, they vowed to clean their mess, handling their own blood.

Beside them sat a woman with twelve spiritual pets. She expertly divided each dish into twelve equal portions for them. One pet, unimpressed, drooled at the “blood person.”

She told the auntie, “I’ll clean the drool—and fur! And you, mutt, skip this meal, and I’ll beat you if you eat dung later!”

This ordinary cafeteria was chaotic, otherworldly. New disciples, overwhelmed, huddled like quails.

Someone muttered, disillusioned, “Are these immortals? Have they gone mad?”

Su Qing spotted two familiar faces: the rice vendor and wine elder worked here.

The wine elder guarded a wine jar, selling spiritual wine at a small window.

His wine, Dream Gold, was spicy, golden-hued, smooth, and fragrant but pricey and potent. He warned each buyer, “No drinking and sword-flying. If you’re caught drunk-flying, you’ll brew with me—eighty-one vats before you leave.”

Su Qing dragged Xiu Fu over. “Who are these people?”

The wine elder’s eyes widened, amused. “Who? Your senior sisters and brothers!”

Upperclassmen?

But wasn’t their batch recruited after sixty years? Why were there still students?

These seniors hadn’t graduated in sixty years.

Su Qing felt awe. “What’s the graduation standard?”

He grinned, stroking his beard. “Simple. Just Nascent Soul.”

Mortal Su Qing shut up.

His tone suggested Nascent Soul was common. Was his cultivation above it? Why sell wine with such power? A hidden master, like a sweeping monk?

Her eyes couldn’t tell.

But she learned the Sword Sect’s academic system spanned four “years,” each roughly sixty mortal years. End-of-year exams required: Year 1, Qi Refining Perfection; Year 2, Foundation Establishment Perfection; Year 3, Golden Core Perfection; Year 4, Nascent Soul Fifth Layer.

No graduation without Nascent Soul Fifth Layer. The bar seemed high, but reaching Nascent Soul in 240 years sounded impressive. Was hitting each stage—Qi Refining, Foundation Establishment, Golden Core, Nascent Soul—in sixty years feasible? Didn’t cultivation grow harder later?

Puzzled, she whispered, “What’s the graduation rate?”

“Well,” he smiled, “Those who survive usually graduate.”

Some didn’t survive…

A chill hit Su Qing. Xiu Fu frowned. “So, some here are 120, 180, or 240 years old?”

“Of course. Can’t tell?”

“Not at all…” Xiu Fu murmured. “Is this cultivation?”

Some had white hair, but she couldn’t fathom centuries-old ages. It shook her.

“Staying young forever’s nice,” Su Qing mused, adapting better. Cultivation chased longevity and power—compatible goals.

Unseen, Xiu Fu lowered her head, looking pained.

At the food window, the rice vendor recognized Su Qing, beaming. “Good kid, we meet again! I knew you were sharp—you’d make it. Eat up!”

She piled meat and vegetables high for Su Qing and Xiu Fu, her ladle steady, dishes overflowing.

Even starving, Su Qing protested, “Too much, I can’t finish!”

The vendor smiled knowingly. “You’ll finish. If not now, later. Best get used to it.”

Su Qing and Xiu Fu tackled their heaping plates.

The food was exceptional, ingredients fresher than mortal fare.

Glazed pork belly glistened, oil soaking plump rice grains—a perfect match.

Scrambled eggs with chives, simple but addictive, with golden, chunky eggs and tender chives, kept her chopsticks moving.

Braised chicken drumsticks had crispy skin, tender, flavorful meat sliding off the bone.

Su Qing alternated bites with rice, sipping savory winter melon rib soup when it got heavy.

She exhaled, content.

This meal made everything surmountable. The past month’s trek was worth it.

Xiu Fu mumbled, “This meal’s nearly a year’s worth of meat.”

The feast sparked hope in Su Qing. She and Xiu Fu could thrive here, avoid trouble, study diligently, learn skills, and build a foundation. The sect’s environment was great, food plentiful. As immortals, they’d soar through vast skies, fearless with power.

Her fears eased, replaced by plans for the future.

First, she wanted a sword.

Overstuffed, she grew drowsy. With nothing else to do, she told Xiu Fu, “I’m too full. Napping.”

“Rest,” Xiu Fu said. “I’ll do the same.”

Su Qing’s head hit the pillow, and exhaustion from weeks past pulled her into deep sleep.

As her breathing steadied, Xiu Fu slipped off her bed, gazing at Su Qing’s peaceful face. She sighed softly, reluctant.

But she pushed the door open, left, and closed it gently.

Su Qing, unaware, slept soundly.

She dreamed of a radiant future.