Zhao Mu, Zhou Haoyu and Li Zixuan arrived at the cafeteria. Visiting for the first time, the three of them had their eyes opened.
The Qingfeng Camp cafeteria was top-tier; the food was self-serve, and entry required swiping an electronic wristband.
After entering, you picked up a tray and helped yourself to the food.
At a glance there were more than thirty dishes arrayed in two gleaming rows of high-grade steel trays. The variety alone was mouth-watering.
Besides the mains, there were side dishes, staples and fruit.
Such fare was unthinkable for an ordinary household.
Zhao Mu had noticed the cafeteria had three floors; the first, where they were allowed, was clearly the lowest grade.
The standards upstairs would be even higher.
The perks of joining Qingfeng Camp could already be glimpsed from the meals alone.
Li Zixuan's Family was fairly well-off, yet even he didn't often eat this well—let alone Zhou Haoyu, whose background was much like Zhao Mu's.
Each grabbed a tray and began a sweep-and-clear operation.
Before long all three were carrying heaping plates to a table.
The other examinees fared no better; apart from those from Golden Elephant City and similar upper-crust families of Lujiang City, most rarely saw such a spread.
The Xuanfeng Empire levied heavy taxes, but military spending was lavish.
Otherwise, why would people be stampeding into Qingfeng Camp?
Zhao Mu wolfed down his food; his appetite had grown considerably.
At eighteen he was still growing, and with the demon clown ability he trained almost without rest—his consumption was enormous.
A piled-high tray was no problem at all.
While eating, a familiar yet polite voice sounded beside him.
"Hello, may I sit here?"
Zhao Mu glanced up mid-bite and saw the little tycoon Meng Qiuer.
Recalling the solid-gold business card, Zhao Mu answered courteously, "Please do."
Meng Qiuer sat opposite him, while the youth carrying the weapon case stood silently beside him, exuding reliability.
Meng Qiuer invited the youth to sit; neither took food—obviously cafeteria fare held no interest for them.
Meng Qiuer sat smiling quietly, not interrupting.
Zhao Mu raised an eyebrow. "If you're not here to eat, you want something—spit it out."
Meng Qiuer chuckled. "I only wish to be friends. Brother Zhao, please accept this small token."
He produced a black bank card and slid it across the table.
"It's an Imperial Bank universal card with a modest million xuanfeng coins. If you don't mind, I'd like us to be friends."
Li Zixuan and Zhou Haoyu, mouths stuffed, nearly choked; grains of rice pattered onto their trays.
One million xuanfeng coins!
An ordinary Xuanfeng Family might never save that much in a lifetime.
Yet this scion of the Jiangnan Meng Family was throwing it around just to befriend Zhao Mu?
They felt they were dreaming.
They hadn't even entered Qingfeng Camp yet, and the odds of becoming big shots were slim.
Meng Qiuer's notion of friendship was beyond their comprehension.
Even Zhao Mu's eyes flickered at the sight of the million-coin card.
His parents had died fighting the Dark Race; the annual pension for both was only sixty thousand.
A million was a fortune to him.
After a second's thought Zhao Mu smiled. "A million to be friends? What do you want—help in the upcoming Martial Trial, or to be your bodyguard?"
Meng Qiuer waved his hands hastily.
"No, no, you misunderstand!"
He scratched his head, looking perfectly honest.
"Our Meng Family has traded for generations; we value people of talent. And to me, Your Excellency Zhao, you're worth befriending!"
Shrewdness gleamed in his small eyes.
"A perfect score on the Written Exam—Lujiang hasn't seen one in ten years. And a decade ago they deliberately lowered the difficulty; this year's test was far tougher."
"That alone tells me you're a rare prize!"
He rubbed his hands. "For a limitless prospect, a mere million to make friends is a bargain!"
Zhao Mu was taken aback; Li and Zhou gaped.
Spend a million not for favors but simply to be friends and plant goodwill?
The world of the rich was beyond them.
The Jiangnan Meng Family, wealthy as a nation, thrived on harmony and networking with every sort of talent.
That was how they flourished for generations.
Meng Qiuer had arrived with a huge start-up fund for the sole purpose of befriending promising youths in Qingfeng Camp.
A single correct investment could bring thousand- or ten-thousand-fold returns later.
Their ancestor Meng Buwei had backed a duke during the founding of the Empire, catapulting the Family into the realm's top consortiums and giving them monopolies over Jiangnan trade.
Looking at the million-coin card, Zhao Mu couldn't deny its allure; strength required resources.
But taking it outright carried risks—he who takes favors loses leverage.
Meng Qiuer hastily laughed. "Brother Zhao, please relax; your friendship itself is Face to me. How could I dare use a bit of money to order you around?"
"Rather, it's my honor if you accept it."
His words were so agreeable that Zhao Mu dropped further refusal.
He was poor and had a drunkard at home.
He needed money.
"Then I'll accept with thanks."
Zhao Mu pocketed the card; if Meng Qiuer ever wanted something, he'd deal with it then.
He had promised nothing.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)