Great Weather, I Quit!

Three days later, Su Qing received the verdict.

Steward Li, guilty of corruption, abusing students, and insatiable greed, was sentenced per sect rules: spiritual root extraction, stripped of his position, 80 years of hard labor, and permanent exclusion from office as a warning to all.

Xu Wenqing, for betraying sect principles, harming a fellow disciple, and leading others astray, faced spiritual root extraction, 300 lashes, and expulsion from the sect to face public outrage.

Guan Chenghu, for dormitory bullying and harming a fellow disciple, defying benevolence, was sentenced to three years of confinement as a lesson.

Li and Xu Wenqing were removed from the sect post-verdict. Li, his spiritual root removed, was sent to labor in Sword Sect’s territories for 80 years—whether he’d survive was uncertain, his life doomed to rot there. Xu Wenqing, rootless and lashed 300 times, was cast out to fend for himself.

As for Guan Chenghu, the Disciplinary Hall wanted harsher punishment, but all evidence was cleanly erased. They couldn’t trace it to the Guan family’s higher-ups, nor confirm his role in harming Su Qing. With only Xu Wenqing’s and two dormmates’ testimonies, he got three years for bullying.

Su Qing had anticipated this. She’d done all she could. To punish the masterminds, she needed more power—strong enough to make them feel pain and never dare target her again.

But strength took time. She told herself to stay calm.

After the verdict, as promised, Su Qing returned Tang Yueling’s artifact and recounted the entire affair in detail.

First, she bought gifts for her friends. Why? She’d struck it rich.

For Tianning, a high-tier sword maintenance kit. For Tang Yueling, a dog-shaped alarm clock. Since Su Qing switched to morning practice, Tang Yueling became the last to leave the dorm.

Tang Yueling trained diligently but loved staying up late, disrupting her schedule and often oversleeping. The clock not only barked but crawled around, forcing her to chase it to shut it off.

Practical, but Tang Yueling wasn’t thrilled. Poking the dog’s rear, she grumbled, “Those damn refiners, making weird stuff.”

Su Qing grinned. “I think it’s fun.”

“Got money to burn, huh? Struck it rich?”

At that, Su Qing beamed. “Got some spare cash.”

Tang Yueling raised a brow. “Sounds like it’s settled. Time to tell your major shareholder?”

Indeed. Su Qing recounted everything.

Tang Yueling, chin propped, listened, her eyes glinting.

Tianning returned from sword practice, damp from washing up.

Su Qing, amused by Tang Yueling’s childish jab, paused. Tang Yueling, unfazed, waved Tianning over. “Fun stuff, come listen.”

Tianning, puzzled, sat. “What’s up?”

Tang Yueling summarized Xu Wenqing and Guan Chenghu’s actions, hinting, “Who’s behind it?”

Her expression screamed the answer.

Tianning’s brow furrowed, her face icy. “You mean the Guans?”

Tang Yueling smirked coldly. “Who else?” She pointed at Su Qing. “With her personality, who else could she offend besides that old baggage?”

It made Su Qing sound saintly. She pursed her lips, accepting it.

She didn’t start fights unprovoked—Tang Yueling wasn’t wrong.

Tianning, displeased, said seriously, “Next time, come to me first.”

“I considered it,” Su Qing explained, “but I had no proof it was the Guans.”

Tianning cut her off, eyes cold. “No proof needed. I’ll handle it. You’re my dormmate—their offense against you is an offense against me.”

Tang Yueling met her gaze, catching the unspoken: mainline Guans didn’t need evidence against branches, only results. Su Qing’s endangerment was result enough, guilty or not.

Tang Yueling thought: Tianning might want to break from the Guans, but her actions…

Tianning inspected Xuejin Sword, pinpointing suspects.

The master focused on the Great Path, ignoring petty matters, especially since Su Qing was now Tianning’s dormmate, under her protection. Guan Liwei wouldn’t defy him. Guan Lifeng was the same, but his viciousness made him unpredictable.

Likely Guan Libei, with Guan Lifeng’s handiwork.

Tianning lowered her eyes, shadows falling, decision made.

*

Guan Jiayu spat blood, face pale as paper.

Trembling, he tried channeling qi, but his form wavered, spiritual root melting, half his senses gone.

Born privileged, he’d never imagined losing awareness of his body, gripped by terror.

Gasping, he pointed at a fallen pill bottle, eyes wide. “Hgh…”

Guan Chengcui rushed to support him. “You were fine—what happened? Old injury?”

Guan Chengtang grabbed the bottle. “Qi-replenishing pill?”

A drug clash?

They’d used it for four months without issue!

No time to think—Guan Jiayu’s fall would drag them down. Guan Chengtang summoned a clan physician.

…

Later, Guan Jiayu stirred on an icy jade bed, tasting blood, nauseated.

Checking his body, his spiritual veins fused with muscles, root chaotic, cultivation dropped from Foundation Establishment to Qi Refining Layer 8. Furious, he roared, “Physician, who’s harming me?”

“Calm yourself, Young Master,” the physician soothed. “Anger disrupts qi, harming your foundation.”

His palm hovered near Guan Jiayu’s temple, channeling pure wood qi to stabilize him.

As the warm qi flowed, Guan Jiayu calmed, gasping, “Thank you. Whose scheme is this?”

The physician presented the pill bottle. “Look at these qi-replenishing pills.”

Guan Jiayu frowned. “Poisoned? These are sect rations—Sword Sect’s doing?”

“Not so simple,” the physician said, crushing a pill. “Our clan’s pills come from trusted sect stewards. No poison, but the yinchen qi grass is purer.”

“Isn’t purer better?” Guan Jiayu asked.

“Sword Sect’s unique formula eludes me,” the physician explained. “The grass’s potency must be precise. Too little, no benefit; too much, over-refinement, fusing body and root. These pills’ purity, combined with your recent injury, triggered this.”

“Such a vile method,” Guan Jiayu seethed, scared and angry. “Who did it? I’ll make them wish for death!”

“We have a lead,” the physician said, frowning. “A Pill Sect steward, Wang Bao. He’s detained. He claims no malice, only used purer southern herbs to curry favor, supplying only major clans.”

“So, for our benefit?” Guan Jiayu sneered viciously. “Torture him till his bones break and blood drains—he’ll talk.”

His ruthlessness at a young age didn’t surprise the physician—noble heirs were often so.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” he soothed. “Rest. I’ve prescribed medicine, including Cold Domain Snow Lotus. Three doses monthly, and you’ll recover in half a year.”

“Snow Lotus?” Guan Jiayu was surprised. “I drank it as a child, but isn’t it extinct?”

“Some remains,” the physician smiled. “Rest assured.”

Sword Sect forbade servants, so the physician operated as staff. Urgently, brewing medicine fell to Guan Chengcui and Chengtang.

As branch clan nobles, they were elites at home but lesser than mainline Guans. Serving Jiayu, building ties, boosted their future.

Jiayu’s casual scraps outvalued their clan’s wealth. Their blood ties meant Jiayu treated them kindly, sharing benefits. Brewing medicine wasn’t menial—it was trust.

By the furnace, Chengcui whispered, “Should we tell him about Chenghu?”

“Don’t stir trouble,” Chengtang snapped. “He’s recovering—another outburst is whose fault?”

Chengcui paused, reluctant. “But confinement has no qi, only a bun and water daily, plus labor. Three years—Chenghu’s never suffered like this.”

“Let him learn,” Chengtang scoffed. “Still acting like a young master, bullying dormmates? Wasting time on nonsense. You can tell him—I won’t.”

“What about Chenghu’s unfinished task?”

“Later,” Chengtang said irritably. “The pill mess has everyone scrambling. Who cares about this? Even the back mountain’s unresolved!”

…

Sword Sect had a big incident.

Unrelated to Su Qing, yet tangentially so.

The culprit was Wang Bao, who’d lied about reincarnation to trick qualified students into leaving.

Transferred to Pill Sect’s procurement, he took clan bribes, fawning excessively. Whether prompted by someone, rumors, or his own idea, he tampered with Sword Sect’s qi-replenishing pills, using purer southern herbs for elite disciples.

The pills required precise potency. His meddling caused spiritual vein chaos, root fusion, and cultivation drops.

The victims, all elite, tortured Wang Bao brutally. Without Disciplinary Hall’s intervention, he’d be dead. The hall was furious—such lawlessness in Sword Sect, private punishment of a steward, was blatant defiance.

More wrangling ensued.

Su Qing didn’t know the deeper details. Writing to Xiu Fu, she considered mentioning it but feared it’d seem she was dwelling on the past. She skipped it, focusing on hitching a tribulation, pill fragrance, and Manqing Sword.

Another matter stirred her: Wang Bao’s fallout led to investigations, emptying a dozen shops.

Prime locations were taken, but even lesser ones were coveted. If Su Qing wanted one, she’d need to act fast.

She wanted a bigger business but was unsure what. Her 40,000 spirit stones could buy a fourth-tier array, but to advance in cultivation, it was seed money to leverage more.

That afternoon, she worked at the tea shop, no longer for meager wages but to hone knife skills, which could aid her swordsmanship.

Manqing Sword was digesting black iron blood crystals. Itching to practice, Su Qing tested precise control under its weight.

…

Winter brought mountain pearl grapes, spirit-infused fruits like purple-red agate beads, fragrant, sweet, and popular for decor or desserts. Expensive, they required careful selection for fullness and freshness.

Costly was good for the tea shop—high cost meant high prices. Called “Crimson Pearl Spirit Fruit” on the menu, they elevated the shop’s prestige.

Su Qing’s tasks expanded from peeling potatoes to washing mountain pearls.

Lin Daniang’s complaints led Manager Lin to increase Su Qing’s workload without a raise, exploiting her ruthlessly.

Su Qing guzzled leftover tea to offset her wages. If not for her improved qi control, work efficiency, free tea, and knife practice, she’d have quit.

Washing pearls required soaking in flour water, then clear water—tedious but simple. The challenge was detaching each fruit intact, without breaking the skin.

Gripping the stem and slicing the base swiftly was key.

Under Lin’s watch, Su Qing cut a few strings properly. Once he left, she infused qi into the knife, letting it dance.

Her bracelet-laden hand struggled for precision, often cutting into the flesh, juice staining her hands. She ate the ruined fruits—compensation for her wages.

Mastering it, her knife moved swiftly and accurately, stripping a string cleanly, leaving only the stem.

Her speed stunned. Even Lin, hearing complaints, overlooked her eating, smug about assigning a sword user to knife work.

He piled on more potatoes and pearls, making her do three people’s work to offset his losses.

Lin smirked; Su Qing smirked back, silently vying.

She didn’t mind. Depleting her qi, she drank tea to replenish, cycling it ten times more than usual, gaining sword experience. She profited.

Still, she wanted to string Lin up.

He squeezed every ounce of value, as if afraid she wouldn’t collapse. Lin Daniang was just as bad, openly sniping and pulling petty stunts.

She’d sent Lin Zhiqiang to deliver wine, scrambled an apprentice’s ingredients, and stuffed another’s uniform in a pickle vat.

The uniform dripped yellow, reeking. Since it was staff food, Lin didn’t faint but raged, blaming the apprentice for negligence, docking half a month’s pay.

He knew the real culprit.

Su Qing fumed. “We can’t let her keep bullying.”

The apprentice, calm, smiled. “Don’t worry, their good days won’t last.”

Su Qing waited for his counterattack or for Master Wang to clarify, but nothing happened. Lin Daniang kept provoking, targeting Su Qing as the apprentice’s ally.

Ignoring her, Su Qing focused on knife work, her detachment infuriating Daniang.

All was chaotic but stable until three days later, when Su Qing saw blood.

Entering the tea shop’s kitchen, she noticed screens blocking the corridor to the stove room—odd, given Lin’s stinginess with assets.

Something had happened.

Slipping through a gap, she smelled blood.

Frowning, she saw bloodstains in the tile seams. A serious incident.

Joining a circle of 20 workers, she craned to see: Lin in the center, Daniang crying on the ground, Zhiqiang bleeding beside her, Liu Xiaofeng furious, restrained by two burly men.

Lin’s scolding echoed. “Xiaofeng struck first, but Zhiqiang was wrong. Still, words, not fists! This is a tea shop, not a den of chaos! Both of you, one month’s suspension, reflect! Xiaofeng, your two months’ wages go to Zhiqiang’s treatment!”

Zhiqiang, clutching a bloody cloth, wailed as if gravely wronged. Daniang, slumped, sobbed loudly, as if fainting.

“My poor son, why not bleed to death so those black-hearted folks can gloat? We’ve slaved for years, dawn to dusk, no credit but plenty of toil!”

Xiaofeng, pinned, his face twisted, eyes bloodshot, struggled to attack.

Lin, displeased, snapped, “Enough, Xiaofeng! Act up, and you’re out. Our temple’s too small for you—get off the mountain!”

Workers whispered. Su Qing heard clearly.

“Zhiqiang and his mom have been tyrants forever—another even split?”

“Zhiqiang stole first—he’s the root.”

“Poor Xiaofeng, his parents’ keepsakes ruined. No mementos left.”

Lin coughed, his bulging eyes scanning.

The whispers stopped—they knew Daniang, Zhiqiang, and Lin were kin.

Daniang, losing ground, leapt up, aiming a slap at Xiaofeng.

Her son’s blood wouldn’t be spilled for nothing—she’d knock his teeth out!

Su Qing flicked a spoon at her hand with a foot.

Using a concealment technique, she blended into the crowd. @Infinite Good Reads, Only at Jinjiang Literature City

The spoon hit, bouncing off oddly. Daniang clutched her hand, yelping, “Which little wretch did that?”

“Enough of your filth!” Lin barked. “This is a tea shop!”

Su Qing pieced it together.

Workers lived in cramped dorms, reeking of feet. Daniang and Zhiqiang, Lin’s relatives, had a cozy room.

Zhiqiang, repeatedly foiled in tripping up the apprentice, bribed Xiaofeng’s roommate to trash his belongings in a latrine, thinking Xiaofeng would stay quiet, like when his uniform was pickled.

But he’d crossed a line. Xiaofeng caught him, slamming his head against a wall, drawing blood until workers intervened.

Roommates revealed Xiaofeng’s keepsakes—clothes from his late mother, his only ties to his orphaned past.

Zhiqiang wailed, “Just a ratty scarf and gloves—I’ll replace them!”

Everyone glared like he was scum. Xiaofeng, red with rage, lunged to kill.

Lin, annoyed, had Xiaofeng dragged off. “Stop being an eyesore—reflect!”

He glared at Zhiqiang. “You, shut up!”

The farce ended.

Su Qing thought the Lin family rotten. Expecting Lin’s justice was like expecting divine intervention. @Infinite Good Reads, Only at Jinjiang Literature City

Backed by the Guans, the tea shop was a mature operation. Su Qing couldn’t be a righteous savior, but an idea formed.

She’d take down the whole shop.

Ruthlessly, like Teacher Qin Zhen’s sword-burst, but her Qi Refining Layer 2 couldn’t manage that. She’d use fair competition.

Resuming her potato-slicing—peeling, carving out eyes, slicing thinly, then shredding—she’d improved. Without Xiaofeng’s guidance or Master Wang’s help, staying was a waste.

Post-chaos, everyone was uneasy.

A nosy worker prodded, “Not checking on Xiaofeng? You two are close.”

Su Qing, slicing, said, “Who told you that?”

He backed off.

Everyone knew cultivators, even poor ones like Su Qing, could rise. But some, like Daniang, lived obtusely. She paraded Zhiqiang past, nitpicking Su Qing’s potato shreds.

“Master Wang’s taking Zhiqiang as a disciple. Stop wasting effort. Like that kid, always chasing useless dreams!”

Su Qing said nothing, guiding her knife around them thrice.

Silence followed.

She finished the tea and left work. Using concealment, she slipped back through the rear.

In the storage room, stewards had cabinets. Daniang, handling procurement, had one, where Zhiqiang often loafed.

Procurement was ripe for skimming, and Daniang never resisted. Su Qing browsed her cabinet, pocketing plenty.

She visited Daniang’s tidy room, noting her complexity—shrewd, greedy, doting on her son, cruel to others.

Under the bed and in the wardrobe, Su Qing found her target.

She took only pilfered goods, ensuring Daniang couldn’t complain openly, only stew in silence.

Her haul was substantial.

Bundled tea, wrapped like medicine, exuded rich qi—high-quality, hidden from Lin. Spices in sealed jars were worth their weight in gold. Gold and silver trinkets, bribes from the mortal world, were worthless to cultivators; Su Qing left them.

The real prize: receipts, tied with sinew, detailing illicit deals—costs, profits, kickbacks, meticulously recorded.

The sums were huge.

Su Qing figured Daniang kept them to leverage Lin or avoid being a scapegoat. No one was stupid—only interests mattered.

She kept them safe.

Checking the time, she restored the scene, erased her traces, and left.

Hiding her haul in a tree hollow at the Sword Testing Grove, she avoided her dorm.

*

Next day, Daniang shrieked, slamming her cabinet. “Rotten rat in my cabinet—bad luck!”

Her swollen eyes darted, her posture slumping.

Who took her goods?

Her home was half-empty too. A thief skipping gold for goods and receipts wasn’t after wealth—it was revenge.

She was kind, welcomed by all—who’d target her?

It was that wretch, Xiaofeng!

Lin mustn’t know, or their years of scheming would collapse. Without leverage, she was powerless.

She itched to drag Xiaofeng out and slap him, but Lin summoned her first.

Surprisingly, Lin was kind, assuring her Wang would teach Zhiqiang well if he worked hard.

Normally, she’d demand Xiaofeng’s expulsion and Zhiqiang’s sole apprenticeship. Now, panicked, she nodded meekly. “I was wrong yesterday—I’ll change.”

Should she confess?

No, exposure meant doom. If she died, what of Zhiqiang, talentless and weak?

She hid it, waiting nervously. A week passed without a ripple.

Relieved yet terrified, she felt a ticking bomb loomed.

…

Without Zhiqiang and Xiaofeng, Su Qing was reassigned.

Lin ordered, “A noble’s banquet’s coming. Stop hiding in the kitchen—count guests at the hall entrance, tally tea sets like last time.”

Glancing at him, Su Qing flipped the menu, reciting, “Dragon Well Fragrance, Biluochun Breeze, White Hair Silver Needle, Yunnan Red Dew, Oolong Clear Charm… Morning Tea Mist, White Mist Reed, Red Mist Reed, Bud Tip Reed.”

Her clear, steady recitation stunned Lin, then puffed him up: a Sword Sect student learned to read for a promotion!

“Impressive,” he coughed arrogantly. “No more peeling potatoes. You’re officially a server—20 spirit seeds per hour, how’s that?”

His condescending tone amused her.

Closing the menu, she smiled. “I refuse.”

In his wide eyes, she said, “This place is rotten—bad people, terrible environment, lousy management, low pay, no future. It’s doomed.”

“You’ll never get rich,” she cursed venomously, adding, “I’m quitting.”

Lin sputtered, “What nonsense?! Take that back!”

Ignoring him, she strode out, no one daring to stop her.

Lin’s weak protests faded. “Come back!”

She raised Manqing Sword.

Silence.

The weather was perfect, her heart bright—time to make waves.

A tea shop? Big deal. She’d open her own.