Xu Baozhu blinked, clutching her near-empty peanut sleeve. Did she just... raid my stash?
Gu Qingxi suppressed a laugh. Adorable. She pulled a vacuum-sealed pack from her spatial bracelet—pre-apocalypse honey-glazed walnuts. "Trade?" She tore the foil for the wide-eyed girl.
"Amber walnuts?!" Xu Baozhu gasped at the futuristic packaging. "The art's so lifelike!"
"Caramel-coated. Try one."
"You like sweets too?" Baozhu nibbled, then bliss exploded across her face.
"Not just sweets." Gu Qingxi's eyes gleamed. "I worship all delicious things."
"KINDRED SPIRIT!" Baozhu vibrated, shedding aristocratic poise. "I'm Xu Baozhu! You?"
"Gu Qingxi. Want jerky?" Those hamster cheeks demand pinching.
"YES!" Baozhu produced dried fruit,Osmanthus Cake, spiced nuts—a snack avalanche from her embroidered pouch. "Your jerky's divine! Here, try candied ginger—"
Patriarch snorted: "She's swapping cheap goods for your gourmet treasures! Saw her wince when you grabbed those peanuts!"
Gu Qingxi ignored him, unloading post-apocalyptic rations: vacuum-sealed pudding cups, freeze-dried berries. Baozhu accepted them like sacred relics, tucking most away with reverence.
"Tch. Cultivators enslaved by base appetites?" A sneer cut through. A sword-bearing girl in silk robes eyed their feast with disdain. "No wonder your paths will be short."
Gu Qingxi didn't glance up. "None of her damn business."
Baozhu beamed. "None of her damn business!"
The sword girl flushed scarlet. "You vulgar—!"
"Next!" A sect disciple herded them toward the trial gates.
Mountain Pass Trial Grounds:
The disciple gestured to a shimmering portal. "Survive three days. Find the exit. Go."
Baozhu grabbed Gu Qingxi's sleeve. "Stick together?"
"Always."
They stepped through—
—and Gu Qingxi sat alone on a dragon throne.
Gold-pillared hall. Prostrating officials. A eunuch squeaked: "Petitions, Your Majesty?"
Illusion? Gu Qingxi gripped the jade armrests. What's the test?
Minister #1 stepped forth: "Your wise policies bring eternal peace—"
Minister #2: "—harvests overflow under Your Grace—"
Minister #3: "—enemies tremble at Your might—"
On and on. A relay race of flattery. Identical sycophancy. Repetitive. Nauseatingly repetitive.
Is this hell? Gu Qingxi massaged her temples. Do these people work or just rehearse compliments?
"Enough!" She rose, imperial robes swirling. "Court adjourned."
Behind her, the eunuch scampered like a panicked chicken.
"Heh. Never took you for the empress type," the Patriarch teased.
"Shut it," Gu Qingxi growled, striding toward private chambers. How to shatter this farce?