It was here that the elite of the sect gathered to "network," which was just a fancy word for comparing family wealth and cultivation bases while eating tiny portions of expensive food.

Wen Shiru sat at the head of the best table, fanning himself with lazy elegance, while Gu Zhiwei sat to his right, looking at the clouds and humming happily.

Lu Jianheng sat to his left, looking bored as he dissected a spirit-fruit with a dagger.

"The tea here is excellent today," Wen Shiru commented, swirling his cup. "Picked from the misty peaks of the Southern Continent. It aids in mental clarity."

"It tastes like grass," Lu Jianheng grunted. "Where is the meat?"

"Patience, Brother Lu," Wen Shiru smiled. "We are waiting for the rest of Class 1. Unity is important."

Suddenly, the chatter in the pavilion died.

The temperature dropped. The spirit cranes stopped flying and glided away nervously.

Xie Wangchen walked onto the terrace.

He didn’t look at the main table. He didn’t look at the waiters bowing to him. He walked with a singular, terrifying focus.

"Brother Xie!" Gu Zhiwei waved, knocking over his tea cup. "Over here! We saved you a seat!"

Wangchen didn’t even turn his head. He walked past the dining area entirely.

He headed straight for the "Quiet Study Zone", a row of secluded desks separated by bamboo screens, usually reserved for disciples who were cramming for exams or being punished.

No one actually used it during lunch. It was the social equivalent of sitting in the library while everyone else was at a party.

Wangchen chose the desk furthest from the group. He sat down and placed Winter’s Sigh on the table.

He didn’t order food or pull out a book.

He crossed his legs, placed his hands on his knees, and closed his eyes.

Whoosh!

A visible aura of white, freezing mist erupted from his body, creating a personal blizzard around his desk.

He was meditating in the middle of lunch.

The silence in the pavilion was deafening. Forks paused halfway to mouths. Wine cups hovered in mid-air.

Wen Shiru’s smile twitched.

"He... is cultivating?" Wen Shiru whispered, scandalized. "Now? During the designated social hour?"

"He’s mocking us," Lu Jianheng slammed his dagger onto the table. "Look at him. He’s sitting there radiating ’I am working harder than you’ energy. It’s disgusting."

"It’s inspiring!" Gu Zhiwei clapped his hands, his eyes shining. "Brother Xie is so diligent! He doesn’t waste a single second! No wonder he’s so strong!"

Gu Zhiwei stood up.

"Where are you going?" Wen Shiru asked, alarmed.

"I cannot let Brother Xie outwork me!" Gu Zhiwei declared. He grabbed his cushion and marched over to the Study Zone.

He sat down two desks away from Wangchen.

Gu Zhiwei closed his eyes. A golden, warm aura of Sun Qi flared up, combating Wangchen’s Ice Qi.

"I will meditate too!" Gu Zhiwei announced (loudly).

Now there were two of them. One Ice, one Sun. The colliding auras created a strange, swirling vortex of pressure in the pavilion.

The other disciples in the dining area began to sweat. They looked at their food. Suddenly, the delicious Spirit-Duck looked like a symbol of their own laziness.

"If the Holy Son and the Ice Genius are training..." one disciple muttered, putting down his chopsticks. "And I’m just... eating?"

"I... I should probably review my sword forms," another disciple whispered, guilt washing over him.

One by one, the peer pressure spread like a virus.

Lu Jianheng watched this unfold with horror. He looked at his half-eaten fruit. He looked at Wangchen, who hadn’t moved a muscle.

"Damn it!" Lu Jianheng roared. He kicked his chair back. "Fine! You want to play the ’Hard Work’ game? I was the one who invented the ’Hard Work’ game!"

He stomped over to the Study Zone, sat down between Wangchen and Gu Zhiwei, and pulled out a massive, ancient sword manual.

He began to read it aggressively, turning the pages with unnecessary violence.

SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

Wen Shiru sat alone at the main table. The "networking lunch" he had spent three days planning was now empty. His guests were all huddled in the corner, meditating or reading.

He looked at his fan. He looked at the empty seats.

"This is bad for morale," Wen Shiru muttered. "But... if I am the only one eating, I look like a glutton."

With a heavy sigh of capitalist resignation, Wen Shiru stood up, straightened his robes, and walked over to the Study Zone. He pulled out a ledger and began to do accounting.

Within ten minutes, the entire Sky Pavilion, a place of joy and feasting, had turned into a library of intense, competitive silence.

Xie Wangchen was oblivious to the social apocalypse he had caused.

He wasn’t trying to show off. He wasn’t trying to inspire anyone.

He was just... full.

Ji’an’s meatballs were packed with high-grade spiritual energy. The Nine-Petal Golden Marrow Pill had expanded his capacity, but his body was still adjusting.

The rich, loving food sitting in his stomach was currently converting into massive amounts of pure Qi.

’Warm,’ Wangchen thought, focusing on his dantian. ’Her food is always so warm.’

The warmth clashed with his Ice Spirit Root, creating a powerful reaction. Steam began to rise from his skin, instantly freezing into diamond dust.

He was hitting the barrier. The wall between Foundation Establishment Late Stage, and Half-Step Golden Core.

Most people needed months of preparation, pills, and safeguards to bridge this gap. Wangchen just needed a lunch packed with love and a quiet corner.

Crack!

The sound came from inside his body, audible only to those with high cultivation.

But then came the sound audible to everyone.

CRACK!!!

The jade table in front of him developed a spiderweb fracture.

Lu Jianheng stopped reading. He looked at the table. "Hey... that’s expensive."

WHOOSH!

The ambient temperature in the pavilion plummeted. The tea in Wen Shiru’s cup froze solid. The ink on his ledger turned to ice crystals.