Thresholds and Appetites
The knowledge of a Head Chef wove itself into Yao Xuan's mind, not as a foreign manual, but as a lifetime of instinct. The warmth of a well-seasoned pan, the sound of a perfect julienne, the balance of flavors on the tongue—it all felt familiar now. A hundred points was a small price for a skill that would build a home, not just serve a meal.
Putting away their belongings with Gu Yue felt quietly momentous. Choosing where to place a cushion, deciding which cabinet would hold the tea, it was the simple, tangible start of a shared life. Their list for the academy market was practical: a good knife, a durable wok, specific spices Gu Yue had mentioned liking. Each item felt like a promise.
Next door, the sounds of Xu Xiaoyan humming, Tang Wulin thumping a heavy trunk into place, and Xie Xie complaining about closet space filtered through the walls. Their four dormitories encircled a communal training court—a space for sparring and growth, a far cry from the stark work-study barracks Yao Xuan had been determined to avoid. The very existence of the 'couples suite' felt like a silent nod to the path he and Gu Yue were choosing together.
Twenty minutes later, they regrouped in the hall, the newness of their rooms still clinging to them, and followed Shen Yi out into the sprawling campus. Their destination hummed with legend: the Inner Court.
They stopped before a wall of ancient stone draped in flowering vines, under an archway marked by two profound characters: Inner Court. No guards stood post, but the air was thick, almost reverent, saturated with the presence of the Title Douluo who dwelled within. It felt less like a checkpoint and more like standing at the edge of a sacred grove.
"Master Zhuo Shi is waiting," Shen Yi said softly, and led them through.
The Inner Court was a sanctuary. Sunlight dappled paths of worn stone that wound through gardens where every plant seemed purposefully, perfectly placed. The air smelled of damp earth, blooming jasmine, and an incredible, profound stillness. At its heart lay a lake so clear and calm it mirrored the sky perfectly. At its center, an island rose, crowned by a pagoda that seemed crafted from captured light—Sea God Island.
"The crossing is spatial. It will feel strange for only a moment." Shen Yi stepped forward and simply wasn't there anymore. One by one, they followed, the world dissolving into a gentle, weightless swirl before their feet found solid, mossy ground on the island shore.
The air here was richer, older. They followed a path to a simple two-story house of dark wood, nestled between two gentle hills. At Shen Yi's knock, a voice like smoothed gravel called from within, "Come in."
Crimson Dragon Douluo Zhuo Shi sat in a worn wooden chair. His hair was a cloud of white, but his shoulders were broad, his gaze so alert and alive it seemed to vibrate in the quiet room. The space around him was simple—wooden tables, shelves of scrolls, the scent of old paper and pine. It was the home of a man whose mind lived in realms far beyond furniture.
Shen Yi made the introductions. The bows they offered were deep, fueled by genuine awe for the living history before them.
"Enough of that," Zhuo Shi grumbled, though his eyes were kind. "Sit. Let's talk." He spoke to them all, his wisdom on soul power density and the philosophy of Battle Armor forging applicable to any path. But Yao Xuan noticed how the elder's eyes would soften when they landed on Tang Wulin, how a question about foundational stamina would be aimed his way. It was the natural, warm partiality of a grandfather seeing his legacy continue. Yao Xuan felt no jealousy, only a sense of being invited to sit at the foot of a very large tree, sharing in its shade.
Time slipped away in that wooden room. When Zhuo Shi brought out his infamous black steamed buns for lunch, Tang Wulin attacked them with a sincerity that made the old man chuckle, a real, warm sound that filled the small house.
In the afternoon, Shen Yi led them back across the spatial divide. The transition back to the bustling outer campus was jarring, like stepping out of a deep forest into a lively market square. With a promise to meet later, Shen Yi departed, leaving them to their own curiosity.
They spent hours simply wandering, overwhelmed. The academy was a city of learning: towering libraries with windows like eyes, forge complexes that rang with distant hammers, greenhouses brimming with glowing flora. They were children in a candy store, knowing they could only sample one corner.
By evening, the scent of roasting meats and baked grains led them to the central dining hall. The food, even the standard complimentary fare, was a revelation. A simple braised pork rib was fall-off-the-bone tender in a sauce that sang of star anise and ginger. The rice was perfectly steamed, each grain separate and fragrant.
Yao Xuan and Tang Wulin shared a look that needed no words. For Yao Xuan, every flavorful bite was a direct conversion to precious evolution points, a currency too vital to waste. For Tang Wulin, this rich, energy-dense food was fuel—the kind of fuel his ravenous bloodline needed to storm the next great seal within him.
They began to eat. Seriously eat.
Plates began to accumulate around them. A passing student enforcer, a stern-looking senior with an armband, slowed, his brow furrowing at the mountain of empty dishes. He approached, his expression set in lines of bureaucratic disapproval.
"What seems to be the issue here? This level of waste is—"
His lecture died in his throat as he watched. Tang Wulin, methodical and calm, finished his twentieth plate of protein-rich steak and vegetables. Yao Xuan, savoring each bite of a complex fish stew, polished off his eighteenth serving. Neither looked pained or bloated; they looked… pleasantly satisfied, like men who had just finished a good day's work.
The enforcer stared, his mouth slightly agape. He shook his head slowly, turned on his heel, and walked away, muttering about "this year's batch of bottomless pits."
The incident might have ended as dinner-table legend, but the man in charge of the cafeteria's bottom line had been watching from the ledger-cluttered office overlooking the hall. A middle-aged man with the permanently concerned expression of someone who budgets for miracles, he made his way to their table. His eye developed a faint tic as he surveyed the battlefield of porcelain.
"Ahem. Students," he began, his voice strained with the effort of sounding reasonable. "The academy's complimentary sustenance is generous, designed to support vigorous training. However, for the long-term health of our… provisions… the allotment is standardized at ten portions per meal per student." He paused, letting the number hang in the quiet that had fallen at their table. "Any additional culinary exploration will require… alternative currency. Your contribution points will be charged accordingly."
The message was delivered politely, but its meaning was bedrock solid. Shrek's bounty was vast, but it was not infinite. The spectacle of two human vortices absorbing a small fortune in premium ingredients at every sitting was a line item that had to be addressed.
Yao Xuan met Tang Wulin's eyes across the table. In them, he saw a reflection of his own wry realization. Their road to power, it turned out, would have a very concrete, and very edible, toll. The era of the unlimited free meal was, deliciously, over.