Chương 110: Age of Majority

March 2028, Connecticut Leo rang the doorbell at his parents' house in Connecticut. They'd insisted he come home for his eighteenth birthday, and after two years of celebrating at the Bulldogs training camp, he couldn't exactly refuse. After all, eighteen was an important threshold for any young cultivator. Voting, the draft, and most importantly, it marked the age where they could finally step into Foundation Establishment without permanently damaging their bodies.

Every cultivator remembered their eighteenth birthday. The door swung open.

"Leo! You came!" His mom looked him up and down, then turned to examine Vivian.

"And who is this?" Vivian executed a small bow.

"Vivian Xin, Mrs. Chen. I'm Leo's friend. We're teammates for the Grand Formations Summit." She was wearing contacts. This was the first time he'd seen her without the frames. She seemed more approachable, and something about her eyes caught the porch light in a way he hadn't noticed before.

"Leo's friend." Mrs. Chen smiled and glanced at her husband.

"How nice. Welcome, Vivian." Mr. Chen appeared in the hallway behind her. His eyebrows rose when he saw Vivian.

"Leo brought someone home? He hasn't brought a friend home since junior high."

"Dad."

"What? It's true. I remember because you spilled orange soda on the carpet and we had to..." Vivian stepped forward, producing a gift bag. Nestled on top, gleaming under the light, sat a melon. Its pale green rind was netted with raised golden veins, each one tracing a perfect hexagonal pattern across the surface. The faint sweet fragrance made Leo's mouth water.

"A T1 Yubari King Melon," Vivian said.

"For Leo's birthday."

"You shouldn't have." Mrs. Chen accepted the bag with both hands.

"This is too much."

"I insist. It's not every day someone important to me turns eighteen." She glanced at Leo, just for a second. Mr. Chen was already ushering them inside.

"Yes, yes, Leo is a big fan of fruit. This will be perfect for him. Come in, come in." Leo winced.

"I also brought cake," Vivian added.

"I heard Leo likes ice cream cake, but I'm personally not a fan. Too sweet." Leo felt a flicker of unease. How did Vivian know about the ice cream cake? He'd never mentioned it to her. Mrs. Chen paused mid-step.

"Ice cream cake has been his favorite since elementary school. He's never once asked for anything different."

"This is from Lady M in New York. A matcha crepe cake. It's my favorite because it's not too sweet." Mrs. Chen's eyes widened.

"Not too sweet? You must tell me more about this cake."

The dining table held two cakes, both half-eaten. On the left sat the Dairy Queen ice cream cake, its familiar blue and white frosting carved into by several forks. The cursive "Happy Birthday Leo" was missing its final letters where someone had scooped out a generous slice. His parents bought him this same cake every year, even during the lean times when his father was between jobs and his mother was still completing her residency.

Even now, with both of them pulling salaries well into the six figures, they never saw a reason to change. On the right sat Vivian's Lady M confection, its layers of paper-thin crepes visible through the cut edge, alternating with pale green matcha cream. Mrs. Chen had already gone back for seconds. Leo sat between his parents, watching Vivian charm his mother with ease. Maybe it was something about the contacts. He tried not to stare at her.

"Twelve hours of formation practice problems a day?" Mrs. Chen leaned forward, her cake forgotten.

"You study with Leo for twelve hours every day?"

"When we're at the Institute, yes. Professor Vogt runs the program. She's German. Old school." Vivian paused to let that sink in.

"She catches every mistake. Leo's improved a lot under her." Mrs. Chen's eyebrows rose.

"German discipline. Good, good. That's what Leo needs."

"Leo studies?" Mr. Chen asked, genuinely surprised.

"He complains about it constantly," Vivian said, "but he does the work." Mrs. Chen beamed at Leo. He hadn't seen her this pleased with him since his Qi Refining Ceremony.

"You brought this cake all the way from New York?" Mr. Chen gestured at the Lady M box.

"That's quite a journey. Is that where you're planning on going to school next year?" Vivian shook her head, a small bitter motion.

"I haven't figured out what I want to do yet. I got a full ride to Harvard, but I don't know if I can accept it." The table went silent. A full ride. In a world where defaulting on your student loan debt could cost you Foundation Establishment itself, a full ride was freedom. College tuition in this America covered more than classes. It included the Mortal Shedding Pill that Qi Refiners took to advance to Foundation Establishment, plus four years of Tier 2 spiritual qi to sustain the new cultivation base.

A public, state-subsidized school ran about thirty thousand a year. Private schools started at eighty thousand because they bundled introductory body refining medicine. Most students paid extra for better medicine on top of that. Some graduated with nearly a million in debt. And just like in Leo's previous world, student loans here were impossible to get rid of. But the consequences hit different. If you couldn't land a job that covered both daily cultivation expenses and loan payments, you defaulted.

And if you defaulted, you couldn't afford Tier 2 spiritual qi, and your cultivation regressed back down to Qi Refining. Everything you built over four years, gone. Full scholarships were almost mythological for a reason. The Lords who owned and operated universities refused to part with even a single dollar. And the government had no interest in pressuring them. Too many graduates joined the military just to pay back their loans. Scholarships threatened one of the military's most valuable recruitment pipelines.

A full ride to Harvard meant Vivian would walk out with Foundation Establishment, zero debt, and total freedom to choose her own path.

"A full scholarship?" Mrs. Chen's voice had gone faint.

"To Harvard?" Vivian nodded, still not meeting anyone's eyes.

"But... why wouldn't you accept it?"

"I'm doing the same divine sense training as Leo." Vivian's fingers traced the edge of her dessert plate.

"But I started late. They think it'll take at least five more years before I can reach the 10, 000 Si limit of Qi Refining." Leo had already briefed Vivian on the cover story Mike came up with for Leo four years ago. She handled it smoothly. Mrs. Chen winced. She remembered Leo's first session. The screaming, the dry heaving on the carpet, the way he'd curled into a ball clutching his temples.

"Isn't it very painful?" Mrs. Chen asked softly.

"It's manageable," Vivian said. Mrs. Chen leaned in.

"What tier of tea are you using?"

"My family can't afford the Tier 3 Spirit Calming Tea that Leo uses," Vivian answered.

"Even with Tier 2, it's still twenty-two thousand a year." Leo's fork slowed. They drank tea together all the time after training sessions. Vivian always brought her own thermos, and whenever he offered her a cup of his, she'd wave him off with some excuse about preferring her own method. He'd never thought twice about it. Mrs. Chen's hand flew to her chest.

"Only Tier 2? For that kind of training? That must be agony."

"It's okay. I'm used to it. And I only do it once every fifteen hours." Vivian paused.

"I heard Leo had to do it every three hours." Everyone at the table winced, including Leo. He had conveniently forgotten those memories of his freshman year spent in agony and sleep deprivation. Mrs. Chen was already rising from her chair.

"That's terrible. I'll give you some of Leo's extras. We always order more than he needs."

"Mrs. Chen, really, I can manage."

"Nonsense." Mrs. Chen was halfway to the kitchen.

"Leo, after you get your NFL money, you should buy her some Tier 3 tea. Take care of your girlfriend properly." Leo nearly choked on his ice cream cake.

"I'll buy it for her after the draft. But she's not my girlfriend. She's just a friend." This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work. Mrs. Chen paused in the doorway.

"Really? Not your girlfriend? She has a full ride to Harvard. She studies with you. She brought a wonderful new cake." Her eyes narrowed.

"Oh wait. There's that Kim Yuna girl, isn't there?" She made a face that suggested she'd just smelled something unpleasant. Mr. Chen nodded.

"I don't like that Kim Yuna girl. I think she's using you for the fame."

"I'm not dating Kim Yuna either!" Leo's voice cracked.

"I don't even have time to date. She's just a girl I asked out to prom. I'm still not sure how I got mixed up with her." Vivian's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. Instead, her hand drifted up toward the bridge of her nose, then stopped. Her fingers hovered for a moment before she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and turned back to Mrs. Chen.

"So I'm thinking of declining Harvard. I don't want to be the only Qi Refining student on campus, and I can't exactly defer admission for five years."

"That's right," Leo said, grateful for the subject change.

"Harvard isn't everything." Mrs. Chen nodded.

"I agree. Your divine sense training is more important. You should max it out before Foundation Establishment, like Leo did. Harvard isn't everything."

"Exactly!" Leo's eyes lit up.

"See, Mom, Harvard isn't everything. I'm going to be playing in the NFL. I don't have time for..." His mother turned on him.

"What are you talking about? The NFL is only for Foundation Establishment. Once you age out and advance to Gold Core, how are you planning to make a living?" Leo's mouth opened. He'd walked right into that one.

"I heard from your guidance counselor," Mrs. Chen continued.

"You didn't apply to a single college! He called me complaining that all the admissions officers were asking when you were going to submit an essay. And when I texted you about it, you said you'd do it next week."

"I was busy..."

"It's March, Leo! All the decisions are out. You still haven't applied anywhere!" She brandished her fork at him like a weapon.

"When are you going to start thinking about your future?" Leo sank lower in his chair. Across the table, Vivian was doing an admirable job of pretending to be fascinated by the tablecloth pattern. He caught the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth.

"The draft is in two months," he tried.

"After that..."

"After that nothing! You think you can just play Flying Aces forever? What happens in seven years when you hit Gold Core and can't compete anymore? You think those NFL millions will last forever?" Her voice climbed higher.

"Don't tell me you're planning to join the military and go back to the Catacombs. I still have nightmares about the time I showed up at the hospital and you were unconscious in the ICU. You promised me you weren't going back in there!" A stab of guilt hit him square in the chest. Mr. Chen had wisely gotten up to use the bathroom. Some battles, Leo's father had long ago learned, were not meant to be won. Leo looked at Vivian, silently pleading for rescue. She smiled sweetly and took a bite of Lady M cake.

Las Vegas"I can't believe the gall of these people," Arthur said, jabbing his finger toward the casino floor.

"You literally own ten percent of this place. What do you mean we can't gamble for free?" Leo, Arthur, Mike and Thad stood huddled around an ATM near the entrance of the Bellagio. Slot machines chimed in the distance. A fountain show was starting outside, visible through the massive windows, but none of them were paying attention. Thad had invited himself along the moment he heard Leo owned a piece of a casino.

He'd shown up at the airport with a packed bag and a grin, and Leo didn't have the heart to turn him away. At first, Thad had been visibly confused by Arthur and Mike. They were a different generation entirely, and Leo's friendship with them didn't make obvious sense. But the flight to Nevada sorted that out. By the time they landed, all of them were arguing like they'd known each other for years. Leo rubbed his temples.

"I don't own ten percent of this place. I have a ten percent voting interest, but my economic interest is one percent."

"All I can say is you're getting ripped off, Leo." Thad crossed his arms.

"It's your eighteenth birthday! We came here to have fun with you at your new hotel. These employees are cramping your style." He paused, frowning.

"I would talk to their manager, but you're technically their boss." Leo sighed. It had taken almost a year for MGM and the other casinos to finish transferring control after the Yale Bulldogs Army bankrupted half of Las Vegas with their bets during last year's College Flying Aces season. The restructuring had been a nightmare of lawyers, accountants, and endless paperwork that Leo had mostly ignored while his father handled the details.

"My dad said I'm technically worth a hundred and twenty million," Leo said.

"But in reality, they suspended the dividend due to restructuring costs as well as taxes due to the Debt-for-Equity Swap. He doesn't think I'll see a single cent for a decade."

"Bad news, guys." Mike stared at the ATM screen, his face tight.

"My credit card declined." Before anyone could respond, Mike's phone rang. He glanced at the screen, and his face went pale.

"Worse news, guys. My wife is calling." He was already backing away, phone pressed to his ear.

"I have to take this." He disappeared around a corner, his voice dropping to a placating murmur. Leo turned to Arthur.

"What about you? Do you have a credit card? Let's go gamble something." Arthur stared at him.

"What? Do you think I have money? I mortgaged away my pension." Leo leaned closer, dropping his voice to a whisper.

"Why haven't you guys been trying to make money? Why didn't you just draw some formations?" He kept his voice low since Thad was nearby. Technically, all of them could make really good money if they wanted to by refilling their Qi in the Azure Profound Continent and then selling formations using said Qi on Earth. Arthur whispered back.

"We all decided to wait until we're Gold Core. We'll earn money ten times as fast at that level. Why waste time now?" He tapped his temple.

"Besides, all that formation stuff will be easier at Gold Core. We'll all get a boost in intelligence after breaking through." Leo stared at him.

"You're telling me you're all broke because you're all too stupid to draw formations?"

"We have better things to do with our time!"

"Like what? Argue with cranes?" Leo slumped against the ATM. This birthday had gone from bad to worse. First he'd gotten lectured by his mom about his lack of college ambition. Then he'd gotten carded trying to claim his free drink from his own casino. The pit boss had looked at his ID, looked at the ownership documents Leo had pulled up on his phone, and then called security anyway. Mike came back around the corner, grinning. Leo perked up.

"Please tell me you have good news."

"I have some money." Mike held up his phone.

"But there are a few restrictions. No gambling and no strip clubs." Arthur's face fell.

"No strip clubs? How else are we supposed to celebrate Leo's eighteenth birthday?"

"It's fine." Mike was already walking toward the exit.

"I know where we can take Leo. It'll be hilarious. It's a couple of miles away, so we need to fly."

The Heart Attack Grill stood on Fremont Street, a monument to American excess. Neon signs blazed in the evening air, promising 'ONE BITE CLOSER TO QI DEVIATION' in three-foot letters. A massive cartoon nurse dominated the facade, holding an absurdly oversized burger. But the real attraction stood at the entrance. A waist-measuring formation had been inscribed directly onto the sidewalk. Glowing lines of spiritual energy pulsed gently, ready to measure the waistband of any cultivator who stepped into the circle.

A sign above it read: "CULTIVATORS OVER 60 INCHES EATS FREE." Thad stopped dead in his tracks. A line of cultivators waited to be measured. They were, without exception, the largest human beings Thad had ever seen. Bellies strained against t-shirts. Chins multiplied. Mobility scooters squeaked.

"How in the world," Thad said slowly, "do people voluntarily do this to themselves?"

"It's the wonder of high fructose corn syrup," Mike said cheerfully. A man at the front of the line stepped into the formation. The spiritual energy pulsed, scanning his midsection. Numbers flickered in the air above him. Fifty-nine inches. The waitress operating the formation shook her head in disgust. She wore a tiny white uniform with a red cross on the cap, and she wielded her spiritual measuring tape like a weapon.

"Fifty-nine? That's it?" She jabbed a finger at the man's stomach.

"You call that a gut? My grandmother has more belly than you. Eat more! Come back when you're serious!" The man shuffled away, looking genuinely ashamed. Leo watched him go. The man had just failed a test where the passing grade was super morbid obesity, and he looked devastated. This country was wild. Thad's jaw hung open.

"That wasn't fat enough?" A shadow fell over them. Thad turned. An even larger man approached the measuring station. He had to be pushing six hundred pounds, maybe more. His face was flushed and sweating, but his eyes sparkled with childlike excitement as he waddled toward the formation, huffing and puffing like a steam engine climbing a mountain.

"Oh," Thad said quietly.

"I see."

They sat down at a booth inside, and a waitress immediately deposited a literal bucket of fries in front of them. A five-gallon bucket, the kind you might use to collect rainwater or store industrial supplies. Thad grabbed a handful and stuffed them in his mouth. His eyes widened.

"These are amazing." The waitress smiled. She wore the same tiny nurse uniform as the woman outside, complete with fishnet stockings and platform heels.

"That's our specialty. Flatline Fries. Cooked in pure lard." Thad paused mid-chew. A brief flicker of concern crossed his face. Then he shrugged and grabbed another handful.

"I'll be Foundation Establishment in a few months. I'll start body refining. Not a big deal." Leo picked up the menu. It was laminated and sticky with grease. The first few pages listed the expected fare: single, double, and triple bypass burgers. Butterfat shakes. Cigarettes available for purchase. Then he turned to the back section.

"Foundation Establishment Menu," the header read.

"For Cultivators Who Want to FEEL Something." Leo scanned the items. Quadruple Bypass Burgers with spirit beast bacon. Butterfat milkshakes enhanced with T1 cream so thick you needed a spoon.

"The Flatline Special": an entire deep-fried turkey wrapped in bacon and stuffed with cheese. Each entrée listed its caloric content. The numbers were staggering. Eight thousand calories. Twelve thousand. The Flatline Special clocked in at twenty-three thousand calories, roughly a week's worth of food for a normal person. Leo showed the menu to Thad. Thad stared at it. Then he slowly turned his head toward a table a few booths away. Three cultivators sat there.

They were clearly Qi Refiners based on their spiritual presence, but they were also enormous. Their clothing had been custom-tailored to accommodate stomachs that spilled over the table edges. One of them shoveled fries into his mouth with both hands while the other two studied the Foundation Establishment menu with intense concentration.

"They're Qi Refiners," Thad said.

"And they're ordering off the Foundation Establishment menu." Leo watched one of them slam the menu shut and announce to his table that they were doing the Flatline Special. The other two cheered and high-fived each other.

"How can people eat like that?" Leo asked.

"Every entrée is a week's worth of calories." A sound like a gunpowder explosion cracked through the restaurant. All four of them spun around, hands instinctively reaching for their dantian. On the far side of the restaurant, a Foundation Establishment cultivator was bent over a special padded bench. His pants were around his ankles. Two nurse-waitresses stood behind him, wielding formation-inscribed paddles that glowed with spiritual energy. One of the waitresses wound up and swung.

The paddle connected with the cultivator's rear end with another thunderous crack. Spiritual energy flared. The cultivator yelped. The formation on the paddle enhanced the impact, Leo realized. And the waitress channeled a body-strengthening martial art to put even more force behind each swing. The cultivator yelped again. The other diners cheered.

"What in the world," Leo said. Mike laughed.

"It's a specialty of the shop. If you don't finish your meal, you get spanked." Arthur watched the spectacle with profound disbelief.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever seen. Why would anyone do that?"