Chapter 14

The next morning began innocently enough, which should’ve been Mingyue’s first clue that disaster was looming.

She awoke to the pleasant weight of not-death and the faint warmth of Xiao Zhu curled like a smug ember in her core. Outside the dorm window, the mist rolled lazily over the courtyard, pretending it wasn’t hiding fifty sharp-toothed magical beasts and even sharper-tongued sect elders.

She got dressed, slipped a fortified pill into her sash (for emergencies), and mentally reviewed her schedule.

Today’s Agenda:

1. Qi Regulation Practice
2. Spirit Beast Temperament Lecture
3. Afternoon Tea with Jiang Feng (aka checking on her patient who moonlights as a demigod)
4. Not dying

She stepped into class number one with every intention of being responsible. That lasted exactly twelve seconds.

Instructor Qian, a shriveled man who looked like he’d been squeezed out of a dried gourd, was already lecturing about “appropriate qi intake rates.”

“Regulating qi is like brewing tea,” he droned. “Too hot, and the spirit shatters. Too cool, and you may as well drink leaf water.”

Mingyue blinked. She raised a hand.

“Yes, Disciple Shen?” Instructor Qian said, already suspicious.

“Wouldn’t it be more accurate to compare it to French press coffee? You need to steep at precise temperature ranges or you overextract the essence. Plus, qi behaves like volatile oils. Should we not be using heat-timed compression cycles?”

There was a pause. Then, “You’re banned from metaphors for the rest of the lesson.”

“Fair,” she said, completely unapologetic.

Behind her, someone snorted. She turned to see Chen Guang, her newest accidental friend, trying to suppress a laugh.

By the time they reached the qi breathing exercises, Xiao Zhu decided it was time for enrichment. A sudden surge of internal warmth bloomed in her core. Mingyue tried to tamp it down, but the little phoenix was clearly playing with his new “qi radiator” powers.

You’re enhancing my breath cycle? she thought at him.
Xiao Zhu chirped happily.
This isn’t a playdate. I’m trying to not explode in front of forty people.
He sent back an image of a very content flaming bean.
She sighed. Just don’t tea-kettle my organs, okay?

The session ended with only two minor qi rebounds and one smoldering sandal, so Mingyue considered it a win.

Lecture Hall: Spirit Beast Temperament

This one was more… theatrical. Elder Lian, dressed in layers of pastel silk, paraded in front of the class with a tiny spirit ferret perched on her shoulder.

“Spiritual beasts are like lovers,” she said airily. “They are temperamental, dramatic, and extremely dangerous when bored.”

The lecture turned into a parade of cautionary tales: one disciple lost eyebrows to a Lightning Rabbit, another was yeeted off a cliff by a clingy wind squirrel. Someone in the front row fainted during the part about soul bonding gone wrong.

Mingyue remained stone-faced. Her soul had already been flambéed and decorated with a phoenix chick who treated her dantian like a studio apartment.

After class, she slipped away and made her way toward Jiang Feng’s pavilion. The moment she stepped through the outer mistward, she felt the difference. The spiritual air here was heavier, thicker—like it knew it was being judged.

Jiang Feng was waiting in the courtyard again, sipping what appeared to be tea.

“You’re early,” he said, eyes narrowing faintly. “Also radiating minor scorch marks.”

“Qi class,” she replied. “Bird sabotage. It’s fine now.”

He offered her a second cup.

She eyed it suspiciously. “Is this going to purify my soul or peel my tongue?”

“It’s osmanthus,” he said dryly.

“Oh. Fancy.”

They drank in silence for a moment before Xiao Zhu poked his head into her mental sea.

And then—

pop.

Not a big explosion. Not even a real one. Just… a sudden, sharp puff of heat that surged through her core and right into the teacup.

Mingyue’s cup detonated in a glorious spray of floral-scented steam.

Jiang Feng blinked once. “Did your tea… explode?”

“Bird sneeze,” she said, shaking scalding petals from her sleeve. “Sorry.”

He looked at her, then at the remains of her cup.

Then he did something unexpected.

He laughed.

It was a low, quiet sound—almost a hum—but it shook the stillness around them like wind in a bell chime.

“You’re chaos,” he said, amusement flickering in his dark eyes.

“I’m medicine,” she corrected. “With flavor.”

They sat a little longer after that, the air between them softer than usual.

And somewhere in her soul, Xiao Zhu purred like a tiny furnace with an attitude problem.