Work-Study

Su Qing woke early the next morning.

Despite the dorm’s awkward atmosphere, she’d slept soundly, dreamless until dawn.

Her limbs still ached from her long journey. Quietly, she slipped out of bed, grabbed her toiletries, and left the dorm.

Outside, she noticed the black-clad girl was gone—likely off cultivating. The red-clad girl sat behind translucent shark-silk curtains, holding a fiery spirit stone, meditating.

Only Su Qing had slept all night, a sudden pang of urgency hitting her, like catching a roommate studying while she slacked.

While washing up, a thought struck her. She’d chosen Sword and Body Cultivation. Body Cultivation just needed a body—no issue there. But Sword Cultivation… didn’t she need a sword?

Like preparing notebooks for class, shouldn’t she get one?

Where could she buy such a controlled weapon?

Surely the Sword Sect had a sword market. But—did she have money?

Pondering, she instinctively checked her disciple token.

Her love for phones was ingrained; without one, muscle memory made her clutch rectangular objects. The token, her new favorite, was often fiddled with.

As if on cue, a message had arrived overnight: the Sword Tomb would open tomorrow at noon. Students should prepare.

Since many disciples were mortals, the message was detailed. Su Qing understood: tomorrow afternoon, the Sword Tomb would release thousands of masterless swords for bonding.

The Tomb opened only once per cohort, so students had to seize this chance to bond with their fated sword. But, like drawing one scoop from a vast river, they could choose only one—no greed, no indecision.

Free swords from the sect? Perfect. Su Qing’s sword-buying worries vanished. With thousands of swords and fewer than 2,000 freshmen, she’d surely get one.

Stepping outside, the Sword Sect buzzed with new energy.

Above, disciples flew on swords—campus rules banned flying below 100 meters. Their graceful silhouettes were marred by bulky luggage slung over shoulders or balanced on blades, shattering the immortal vibe.

The path to the cafeteria now hosted numerous stalls, orderly and bustling. Unfamiliar seniors manned them, eagerly pitching to passing freshmen.

Su Qing glanced over.

Some sold essentials like pots and pans, but most offered enticing materials: Sword Tomb Sword Catalog, Top 50 Must-Have Swords, Sword Cultivation: Beginner to Master, Nascent Soul Senior’s Guide to Bonding Your Fated Sword, Tianxia Pavilion Sword Quotes, Senior’s Blood-Sweat Exam Outline for Sword Techniques!

“One spirit seed! Just one! Don’t miss out!”

Which freshman could resist?

Almost none.

Stalls were swarmed.

“I’ll take a Sword Catalog!”

“Gimme the Tomb guide!”

“One of each—how many seeds?”

Su Qing paused but, broke, could only linger. She soaked in the scene.

To draw crowds, seniors shouted juicy tidbits.

“Cold Core Sword is top-tier—Ling Han Immortal’s fated sword! Even without its soul, it’s one of a kind!”

“Why’s Mad Blade Senior’s Gale Knife in the Tomb if it’s not a sword? Swords and blades are kin! Mad Blade’s been gone a century—he can’t complain.”

“The Tomb’s best sword? The Free Immortal’s Free Sword! It shines like water, cuts jade like mud!”

“Sure, good swords do that, but this was the Free Immortal’s! The Free Immortal!”

“Its feats? Let me think—since her fall, it’s never chosen a master. A divine sword among divine swords, the undisputed number one.”

“Its spirit’s said to linger, awaiting its old master. Bond with it, and you’re the Free Immortal’s heir, fame ringing across the Nine Continents!”

“…Who’s the Free Immortal? You—stranger, you’re expelled. Don’t talk to me.”

“Want more? Grab Top 50 Must-Have Swords—it’s got everything for 50 spirit seeds!”

“Haha, my exam outline’s one seed! Buy the book, and I’ll throw it in free!”

Su Qing caught fragments, intrigued.

She’d buy if she could, but her pockets were empty. With her work-study shift nearing, she reluctantly left.

What sword would she meet tomorrow? She didn’t care about divine weapons—just one that suited her. She craved her own blade.

The cafeteria’s serving crew fell under the rice vendor’s management.

Per her schedule, Su Qing worked Thursdays and Fridays (Wood and Metal days) for lunch and dinner, serving and cleaning.

She liked the timing—it freed up weekends for other gigs.

Another perk: free meals during her shifts, saving her food costs.

Since it was Friday, she tidied up and started work.

The rice vendor clarified that work-study officially began next week, but since Su Qing was here, she might as well dive in.

Serving was simple: memorize meat and veggie prices, don’t miscalculate, and have students scan their “Lingpass” to pay.

Lingpass was slang for the disciple token. Su Qing planned to adopt the term. It was versatile—messaging, payments, almost a phone, minus entertainment.

Serving required no finesse. The rice vendor grinned, “Our disciples train hard, sweaty as mud monkeys. We in logistics ensure good food. Steady hands, sharp eyes, fill every tray compartment.”

No need for the “spoon-shake, drop-three-meat-slices” trick. Just be honest.

Su Qing picked it up fast.

Though not yet lunchtime, the cafeteria suddenly grew noisy. She overheard helpers: today was the first day of Return Day.

Return Day marked the end of summer, with freshmen arriving and seniors returning, making the cafeteria hectic.

Flying was banned near the cafeteria and academic buildings, so even elders and senior stewards walked.

But soon, Su Qing witnessed something bizarre.

A round black hole appeared at her serving window, formed of dark mist.

A pale, slender hand emerged, its nails bloodless, like a plaster sculpture.

It beckoned, and five trays flew to Su Qing. A cold, raspy voice said, “Four trays of chicken legs—100 total. One tray of rice.”

“Huh?” Su Qing thought she misheard.

“Hurry, please. Our teacher let us go before those masochist body cultivators.”

Su Qing glanced at the rice vendor, who smiled, unbothered.

“Okay.” Su Qing complied, piling chicken legs high, her physics knowledge keeping the stacks stable.

“624 spirit seeds.”

The hand swiped its Lingpass briskly.

The trays vanished into the mist, leaving a pleased voice. “I win today.”

Winning meant chicken legs?

They were delicious, though.

Crispy, golden skin; tender, juicy meat bursting with flavor. Together, the fat’s aroma, rich sauce, and savory meat danced in the mouth, pure carnivorous bliss.

Su Qing decided to eat some later.

The 100 legs cleared two pans. As she stacked them, another voice came.

She looked up—a bird.

Chirp chirp.

A palm-sized yellow fluffball hovered, dragging a huge vine basket, flapping to stay aloft.

Su Qing retrieved a note and Lingpass from the basket.

The note read: [Pack 10 braised meat rice and soy ribs, thanks! ~Little Flower]

The bird flapped. Chirp chirp.

Polite bird, polite person.

Suddenly, dozens of figures stormed the cafeteria, splitting into lines at each window.

One, the fastest, barreled to Su Qing’s window, knocking the bird aside.

“First!”

“Sis, the usual—oh, new server? Hey, kid, 20 chicken legs, 20 braised pork, 10 crispy meat, 10 watercress, 20 buns, five bowls of rice!”

The figure was drenched in sweat, clothes tattered, flesh torn, bones and organs exposed. Su Qing’s scalp tingled. Before she spoke, the bird and rice vendor shouted.

Chirp chirp! Chirp chirp!

“Zhu Xu!” The rice vendor charged, ladle raised. “How many times have I said—clean up after body training before entering! Who’s mopping this blood?”

“Sorry, sorry!” Zhu Xu slapped her head, splattering blood on the window. Su Qing sidestepped. “I survived on the will to eat. Sword Mountain’s gales were brutal—I lost sensation and forgot I was bleeding.”

Body Cultivation, terrifying.

The bird flapped furiously, chirping.

To save the poor thing from fainting, Su Qing gripped her ladle. “Sorry, this bird was first. Please queue.”

Zhu Xu deflated. “I was so fast and still not first? I hate second place!”

The bird pecked her in rage.

Su Qing packed food while explaining, “Actually, a hand was first. You’re third.”

Zhu Xu nodded. “Wei Yue, huh? Makes sense. She’s fierce.”

She queued behind the bird, poking its tail feathers with bloody fingers, earning furious pecks.

The pain didn’t faze Zhu Xu, a body cultivator. She gleefully chased the bird’s beak, letting it peck.

Stunned by her shamelessness, the bird turned away, ignoring her.

Su Qing packed the bird’s order into the basket, and it wobbled off.

She served Zhu Xu, speeding up as the line grew.

“Bringing food for roommates? 383 spirit seeds. How do you scan?”

“Nah.” Zhu Xu paid with her Lingpass. “All for me. I’m worried it’s not enough, but my purse is tight this month.”

Su Qing was floored by her appetite. If everyone ate like this, would food run out?

The rice vendor said nothing, and the kitchen restocked quickly, so it was fine. But Su Qing’s wrists and arms ached. Serving wasn’t technical, but it demanded strength.

Handing Zhu Xu her trays, Su Qing noticed her shallower wounds healing, blood flow slowing.

Body Cultivation, terrifying.

After packing meals for a line of animals fetching food for their masters, Su Qing’s morning shift ended. She ate, helped clean the kitchen, and was free.

Her overworked arms hadn’t rebelled yet, so she wolfed down her meal.

While tidying her assigned seating area, she found some stall materials—likely dropped by a seller or buyer. Per the rice vendor’s instructions, she took them to lost and found.

With nothing else to do and dreading her roommates’ cold stares, she stayed to help at lost and found, skimming the free materials.

Since high school, only exam weeks had made her feel illiterate. These materials did it again. With limited literacy and no cultivation knowledge, she struggled with quotes and techniques, settling on Top 50 Must-Have Swords.

The Tomb’s top sword was the Free Sword, once wielded by the Sword Sect’s founder, the Free Immortal. At her peak, she could reverse time and sever karma with it. After her fall, its spirit faded, lingering unclaimed in the Tomb’s depths.

A cultivation adage: He who claims the Free Sword inherits the Free Immortal’s legacy and the Sword Sect’s.

Second was the Tai’e Sword, a divine weapon that couldn’t cut anything—not even tofu. A pure defensive sword, it guarded but didn’t attack. It was held by the current sect master, Wang Quan.

She skimmed the 50 swords.

The rest covered sword contracts. The sect favored mutual bonds. A fated sword connected heart-to-heart, forming a contract only if both consented. If either refused, no bond formed.

She finished, forgetting most of it. Only the Free Sword, Tai’e Sword, and a few distinct blades stuck. Her brain was too smooth for the rest.

Over half the 50 had masters; the rest lay dormant, their glory faded. Tomorrow, she might see these legendary swords.

The Qi Clan’s drawn blades flashed in her memory—dangerous yet captivating.

She wondered if her transmigration came with some destiny. Maybe she’d snag a great sword.

Better not dream too big.

She’d thought the same at her root test and ended up congenitally underdeveloped.

This time, any sword would do.

As long as one chose her, she’d accept it gladly.