We ate and drank our fill.
The bakery had closed early, but it didn’t inconvenience anyone around.
In the end, Ying Shiqian and Tang Yihan had to drag Xia Li out.
Six of us were there, including the chef, and two got plastered. One was the owner.
I could feel the owner’s apprentice cringing, totally helpless.
So, I got a paid half-day off. Nothing to do this afternoon.
Just some small chores at the shop, then lock up.
“Wait, Yuehan, hold up,” Tang Yihan called as I was about to clock out.
“What’s up, Senior?” I turned, eyeing her warily. She wasn’t about to make me work overtime, was she? Paid half-day or not, extra hours meant extra pay.
“You’re in luck,” she said with a sly grin, like I’d hit the jackpot.
“Lucky? How?” I asked.
“Here, take this.” She handed me a glowing orb, weightless and soft, its light easy on the eyes.
“What’s this?” I asked, holding it carefully.
“Spell Book. Nabbed it from Xia Li’s stash while she was in a good mood. It’s the Cleaning Charm we talked about.”
“No way!” My eyes widened. This was a Spell Book? I’d pictured a book-book, not… this.
“Yup. Use it quickly. It’ll fade outside its storage container,” she said.
“Okay, but how?” I asked, a little panicked. I was eager but clueless.
“Easy. Just smack it onto yourself—head, chest, wherever,” she said, miming the motion.
“That’s it?” I was skeptical but trusted her.
I held the glowing orb loosely, worried it might slip through my fingers despite its weightlessness. Following Tang Yihan’s advice, I pressed it to my chest.
The orb dissolved, scattering light like tiny threads sinking into me.
No big sensation at first. Then—a faint connection, like it was always part of me. And a rush of info hit my brain.
“Don’t sweat it,” Tang Yihan said, calm as ever. “Spell Books usually need a manual, but Xia Li’s come with built-in instructions. Feel it out. Make it second nature. Spells are just tools you wield.”
I nodded, barely listening, too busy processing the flood of info.
It was wild—having a manual beamed straight into your head. Weird, but handy.
“You good?” Tang Yihan asked, noticing me snap out of it.
“Yeah, thanks, Senior,” I said, meaning it. This was my first real spell. The badge thing didn’t count. This was mine.
Sure, it was just a utility spell, no firepower, but still—a spell!
“No problem,” she said with a grin. “But now you’re on dish duty for the baking tools.”
“Deal!” I nodded. I’d scrub them all if I had to.
I kept that to myself, though. No need to overpromise and get stuck with extra work. Keeping your word is harder than it sounds.
After saying bye to Tang Yihan, I headed back to my dorm.
It wasn’t a long walk, but I couldn’t wait to try the Cleaning Charm.
The manual in my head explained it all, but I had to test it myself. No way I could hold off.
Per the instructions, you cast spells with mental focus, letting the spell draw mana on its own. There is no need to mess with mana directly.
How did the spell use mana? The manual didn’t say.
I felt my dormant mana core stir, a surge of energy flowing into the Cleaning Charm in some mysterious way.
“So this is what casting feels like?” I muttered.
The spell activated, and I could feel the power under my control.
I flicked on my Psi-vision, watching it all: from my mana core to the spell, to this soft, pliable energy I could now bend at will.
The shift from mana to spell was crazy complicated, but the power in my hands wasn’t raw mana anymore.
Keeping the Cleaning Charm going barely tapped my mana core. It felt like my mana was refilling as fast as it drained.
If I had to use Psi-vision to say which was scarier—mana core or spell—I’d pick the core. The Cleaning Charm was complex, sure, and Psi-vision’s feedback left me stumped. But they were different kinds of confusing.
The mana core was like a stripped-down equation, simple but terrifying, unfolding into a mind-boggling mess of calculations. The spell? It was intricate too, but I could pick out bits that seemed familiar, like I could maybe grasp them with my old theory knowledge—if I had years to study.
I didn’t get either yet, but the manual let me use the spell anyway.
Practice beats theory every time.
I tried the Cleaning Charm on my clothes. Dust, visible or not, vanished in a flash.
That was wild.
The manual had a disclaimer, though: if the spell stripped away a surface, color, or dye, it wasn’t the Charm’s fault—blame the shoddy material. It even listed a complaint hotline for refunds.
This manual got weirdly detailed about the oddest stuff. Why not throw in the spell’s principles too?
Fat chance. In the transcendence world, knowledge probably came with a price tag.
Whatever. Back at the dorm, I’d zap the whole place with the Cleaning Charm. Good practice.
Sure, we had that smart butler bot, but that little vacuum droid? Totally unreliable.