Ch. 62 - The Pricey Meditation Room

I carefully carried my slightly warm burner out of the shop. 

Huanxin’s look and charm had made me uneasy—not because I disliked her. Honestly, I liked her too much. But I knew that pull was unnatural, so I instinctively resisted.

Once I was out, I felt free. On the bus, I relaxed, idly studying the burner. It was just a plain little thing, still carrying a faint whiff of incense. Even that weak scent was soothing, almost hypnotic. After just a few minutes in the shop, I was yawning, fighting sleep.

I regretted not taking the bus home.

Yup, this wasn’t the route to my villa. I was headed to the meditation room.

The academy’s meditation building was massive, packed with individual rooms for practice. But with so many students, was one building enough? I had my doubts.

I’d skipped Ying Shiqian’s advice to hit the library for ritual research. I wanted to try meditating on my own first, maybe fail a bit to humble myself, then I’ll check out the ritual stuff. This world had transcendence, sure, but rituals still felt iffy—like a last resort.

Soon, I reached my stop. The building loomed larger than it looked on my phone’s map, way more impressive in person. Even at this hour, I saw seniors coming and going. Pretty lively.

Curious, I stepped into the grand lobby, my footsteps echoing.

“Freshman? Here for a meditation card?” the front desk senior asked right away, cutting straight to business.

“Meditation card?” I echoed, thrown by her directness.

“Yup, it’s like a membership. You can sign up online if you don’t want the hassle. There’s a bunch of plans—want me to go over them?”

“No, no, thanks. I just want to try the meditation room, see how it feels. Not thinking long-term yet,” I said.

“Temporary visit? Fine. You can apply with a card, and if you’ve got questions, ask me,” she said, her enthusiasm fading. I got it—she was stuck working late. I’d already clocked out, after all.

“Where do I check for that? In the academy system?” I asked, phone in hand. The system was loaded with features—library registration, even some online reading.

“Yup. Got your student ID linked? If not, it’s a pain,” she said.

“It’s linked. Found it, thanks!” I said, sparing her the trouble.

In the meditation section of the app, I spotted the reservation system. Yup, reservations. The rooms were limited, but there were open slots, so I relaxed.

The meditation rooms were tiered, like standard versus deluxe hotel suites. A quick glance showed the differences boiled down to service levels, with photos for reference.

There were basic options—standard and premium meditation rooms—plus custom bookings for special needs.

I checked the prices and skipped the fancy ones. Way too expensive for my wallet.

Standard rooms it was, then. Those ran 50 to 100 bucks an hour. Yeah, hourly. The photos didn’t scream “worth it,” but I couldn’t let my incense go to waste, right?

It was still early, despite the detour to the aromatherapy shop—assuming I ignored my usual bedtime.

I checked my balance and the time, then booked the top-tier standard room at 100 bucks an hour. No real choice; it was all that was left. If I hadn’t been quick, I’d have been out of luck.

I picked two hours. My incense would last about an hour, so the extra time was for me to fumble through and maybe make some progress.

The app pinged with a list of rules: no staff interruptions to preserve the vibe, pay for overtime promptly, and you’d only get kicked out after 24 hours overdue. Set your own timer or keep track yourself.

After skimming the fine print, I got my room number: 01032.

“Uh, do I find this myself?” I asked the front desk senior again.

“Yup, Room 32 on the first floor. Easy to spot. Go on,” she said.

“Thanks!” I replied, heading in.

The interior was a long corridor lined with doors, packed tight—space used to the max. It felt bigger inside than the building looked from the outside. Weird.

I found Room 01032 quickly, the number hanging on the door. A quick scan with my phone unlocked it.

Inside, a faint, lingering incense scent hit me—subtle but persistent.

The room was smaller than I’d pictured, almost bare: just a floor mat and a spot for shoes. The worn floor showed it’d been used plenty.

No time to be picky. I set my tiny burner on a designated spot—conveniently carved out for it—and recalled Huanxin’s demo. Carefully, I unpacked my incense. This little bag cost a day’s wages; I wasn’t wasting a speck.

I let out a breath as I lit the incense with the special match. The familiar scent began to waft, and I started sizing up the room’s setup. The incense needed time to work, so I had a moment to poke around.

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