The feasts of the magicians were no more spectacular than those of ordinary human life.
They could always conjure interesting novelties however, such as troll elves dancing in grass skirts, siren banshees singing high in mid-air; magical snowflakes fluttering all over, and gently tapping the ground, harmonizing with petals falling in a beautiful symphony.
But to Zheng Qing, all of these held no appeal.
The absurd dances of the fairies could not mask their crude and impolite manner, the strong scent of the sirens couldn't conceal the hidden hint of fishy smell, and even the floating magic snowflakes - if caught by hand - would instantly be transformed into a puddle of cold water by the warmth of one's palm, disappearing through the crevices of their fingers.
Not to mention all those rigid protocols, clichéd sayings, and complicated rules.
All of them were secret recipes to wear down the sharp spirits of young wizards.