Season Xu, the Taoist

In a haze, Qin Chuan recalled the moment his cultivation had broken through—it was precisely when the two energies of heaven and earth harmonized and the human energy was at its most agile. No wonder he had managed to step into the first stage of Qi Refinement ahead of others; it had all been due to the confluence of favorable timing and location. He let out a bitter laugh, inwardly mocking how long Candle Flame had kept this from him.

He had always known the effect but not the cause, and Candle Flame had only ever hinted at it without offering much explanation. Today, by chance, as the memory surfaced, it happened to confirm his suspicions.

He had pored over “Heart’s Insight” countless times in this first volume, fearing he might miss even half a word. Seeing the morning light brighten further, he guessed the hour was nearly come. Too lazy to wash and groom, he instead formed a hand seal; a surge of spiritual energy swept over him, leaving him refreshed.

Today was the second morning lesson. Afterward, he would have to proceed to the Hall of Ancestors to pay respects to the sages of the Divining Hall.

Gathering his thoughts, he returned to the present, took a few steps, and crossed the lofty threshold, turning to close the lacquered crimson wooden door.

This place was only a temporary residence; Divining Mountain was the main peak of the Divining Hall and was not commonly inhabited. Of course, Master Su and Li Yue were exceptions.

He straightened his robes and strode to the door of the library, peering inside. As expected, Li Yue was already reciting scriptures quietly within.

The volumes on her desk were far more substantial than those on his, and she was so absorbed in study that she didn’t notice his approach.

Seeing her lovely face set in a look of deep concentration, Qin Chuan did not disturb her. He could guess well enough what had happened after she fainted yesterday.

He cleared his mind of distractions and turned to the books on his own desk.

The book was not thick, nor did its plain cover reveal any contents or even a title. He opened to the first page, read a few lines, and immediately settled his mind.

It was a fundamental scripture of alchemy, detailing the four basic methods for refining pills and medicines: earth, wind, water, and fire. It emphasized the complementary nature of pharmacology and the balance of yin and yang.

Long ago, in the transformation stage of the second cauldron, when Qin Chuan had questioned Daoist Xingzhi, he had already gained a rough understanding of the interplay between yin and yang, the principles of mutual generation and restraint. Now, as he reinforced these concepts, it was like bubbles slowly rising in warm water, gradually approaching perfection.

The path of alchemy was easy to learn but hard to master.

Humans, as the most intelligent of all beings, naturally excelled at employing the Way; those recipes handed down through generations had been refined countless times—so much so that even a pig could follow them and yield results, given ample materials.

However, the formulas were fixed, while everything else was variable.

The quality of ingredients could change, the cauldron’s make could affect outcomes, and even the spiritual energy contained in the world could differ.

This was the greatest challenge in specializing in alchemy.

The human way was often superficial, only after enlightenment could one see beneath the surface and attain the prowess of a true master.

Cloud Fruit, which grew atop mountains thousands of feet high, required a spring-like climate and ten years of growth to become medicinal.

Water refinement produced Profound Yin, which could be used in Spring Jade Pills. Wind refinement yielded Xun Wind, suitable for Cloud Dispelling Pills...

Further reading revealed no specific water or wind refinement methods, only highlighted the variations within.

Though a bit disappointed, feeling the content insufficient, he realized his foundation was simply too shallow.

He sorted through the jumbled, disorganized, or outdated knowledge he had acquired from Daoist Xingzhi, integrating and connecting them.

Once he had read through the entire book and pondered it carefully, he noticed the hour was late.

He had indeed experienced much these past two days; perhaps it was best to organize his thoughts.

First, regarding cultivation: he had only just broken through to the first stage of Qi Refinement, but it was already stable. The impure Qi in his lower dantian had long since been ground away, so he would no longer need to perform grand cycles excessively.

The Qi vortex in his lower dantian remained exceptionally weak, its center occupied by a rough, uneven pill embryo. He vaguely sensed its mysteries, though they were not yet of use.

The middle dantian, or Niwan Palace, was naturally blocked by impure Qi. Spiritual energy avoided it entirely; a mere touch would render it inert, like a rusted blade.

The cloud sea in his upper dantian was not yet something he needed to worry about—it was still too early.

Having spoken of internal matters, he considered external ones.

The object resting in his bosom slept peacefully; he had no idea what the increasingly thick frost-white substance accumulating on it was. Apparently, the longer it slept since his first awakening, the thicker the frost grew.

He mused inwardly—if given enough time, would it eventually become a sphere?

As an inner disciple of the Divining Hall, his alchemical attainment was barely at the entry level.

Divining Hall was indeed peculiar. As the alchemical branch of the Qingshan Sect, its influence was unmatched, yet its talent pool was so scant. Li Yue could not cultivate for now, and he was little more than a half-trained novice.

The Qingshan Sect had two orthodox alchemical branches; the others were mere offshoots. These were the Divining Hall and Pill Pavilion.

Pill Pavilion boasted numerous disciples, and even when he was still a registered disciple, he often heard it mentioned by others. Divining Hall, on the other hand, seemed to stand aloof from the mundane world.

Take Xing Hua, for example.

Xing Hua was an elder of Qingshan Sect, yet it was only two days ago that he first set foot on Divining Mountain, which spoke volumes.

There was also an unremarkable item—the Wind Listening Token.

He still recalled Xing Hua’s words at his ear, in which the token was of utmost importance. There had been so much happening these days that he hadn’t had the opportunity, but today, he certainly would.

Having finished with external objects, he turned to his own principles.

Jiang Li’s death was shrouded in mystery; thinking back, ordinary arrows would not make a sound only when close. The mysterious Dust Art’s origin was equally enigmatic, with many secrets he could not fathom.

He was just coming to his senses when Li Yue reached out her palm, holding a brownish-yellow pill.

“Take this, it’s a Fasting Pill. Master has been waiting in the Hall of Ancestors for a while now. I have important matters to attend to, so I won’t accompany you.”

“The two wooden swords you had—after tidying them up, I placed them under your bed in your room. I feared you hadn’t noticed, so I wanted to remind you.”

With that, she rose and departed.

Seeing her hurry away, Qin Chuan didn’t mind; he swallowed the Fasting Pill, feeling warmth spread from his abdomen through his body, the hunger vanishing instantly—he would not need to eat at all today.

He straightened his robes, left the library, closed the door, and strode toward the Hall of Ancestors.

Before he got close, he saw a lean Daoist murmuring to a young boy. The Daoist’s sullen expression suggested he was scolding the child, but given the setting, he dared not raise his voice.

Qin Chuan considered taking a detour, but the Daoist caught sight of him.

“This must be Nephew Qin Chuan—truly a handsome young man!”

The Daoist’s formerly grim face melted away, revealing a cultured smile that instantly inspired goodwill.

“I am your uncle, Ji Xu from Sky Sword Peak; just call me Uncle Ji,” he said, clearly delighted to see Qin Chuan, paying no mind to the child beside him.

“Qin Chuan greets Uncle Ji,” Qin Chuan replied, not wishing to interrupt, but now called over, he could only brace himself and bow solemnly.

“No need for such formality, Nephew. Today is your formal induction; your uncle has little to offer, but I do have this sword talisman.”

Ji Xu lightly tapped his storage pouch at the waist, producing a round white jade, which he handed to Qin Chuan.

Before Qin Chuan could refuse, Ji Xu continued, “No need to decline, Nephew. Your cultivation is still shallow, and this sword talisman is extremely useful, just right for compensating the weaknesses of alchemists when their strength fails.”

“Keep it close; in times of danger, it’ll ensure your safety.”

“Besides, the alchemical branch has always gotten along with the sword branch. Divining Hall is not like Pill Pavilion, which doesn’t keep its word.”

With that, he snorted coldly, startling the child. Then, he smiled, nodded, handed over the talisman, and departed.

The way he alternated between cold and warm left Qin Chuan dumbfounded, feeling it was all too genuine.

The old Daoist gone, the boy gazed at Qin Chuan with envious eyes. He sidled closer, and perhaps lacking sense, said something startling.

“Don’t be fooled by how well the old Daoist looks—he’s actually very sly!”

The boy was half-grown, about thirteen or fourteen, innocent in mind, speaking out of turn. Qin Chuan rubbed his forehead, sighing to himself; there seemed to be quite a few problematic children in Qingshan Sect—he’d met several in just a few days.

Lei Ya was one, Li Yue another, and now this boy.

If Qin Chuan were cunning, or sought to curry favor with Ji Xu, he could expose the boy’s indiscretions today, which would surely bring trouble for the lad.

Choosing not to respond, Qin Chuan tried to walk past quickly, but the boy continued, “My poor brother Wang Hao—he’d only just joined, and already got bitten by the beast the old Daoist keeps.”

Wait, Qin Chuan’s interest was piqued. “Do you mean Wang Hao, who just entered a couple of days ago?”

“Yes. Do you know him?” The boy looked puzzled—just moments ago, Qin Chuan had seemed indifferent, but now was suddenly curious.

“He joined just the other day; Master saw his affinity for immortality and took him in as a servant. If he accomplishes something within half a year, he’ll advance to inner disciple.”

“Sadly, yesterday morning, delivering medicine, he was bitten by the beast—truly unfortunate.”

“Master spent much effort healing him, now still mixing pills in the alchemy room, so won’t attend today.”

“I was sent to Divining Hall to deliver congratulations and gifts. Unexpectedly, as I was leaving, the old Daoist accused Pill Pavilion, which was really maddening.”

...

The boy poured out his frustrations, and Qin Chuan gradually understood the sequence of events.

Each drink and morsel is predestined—the outcome is always shaped by its cause.

These matters involved Divining Hall and Pill Pavilion, and were but minor episodes in the greater environment of the sect.

Divining Hall’s superiority over Pill Pavilion lay not in quantity, but in quality.

Pill Pavilion served as the sect’s pharmaceutical support, supplying basic pills like Fasting Pills and Qi Absorption Pills in vast quantities.