Wealthy and Magnificent

In less than the time it takes to finish a cup of tea, the rules were fully explained.

Hua Song observed that none of the disciples in the arena seemed confused and nodded slightly. “It’s getting late, so I hereby declare the Hundred Peaks Alchemy Gathering officially open!”

With that, he produced a jade-green vial, murmured an incantation, and lightly tapped the seal with his right forefinger.

A crisp command: “Open!”

Countless green seeds, each the size of a grain of rice, streamed out of the vial, weaving ribbons of verdant light through the air. After circling twice, they floated gently down to settle before the crowd.

Qin Chuan gazed at the unremarkable green seed now hovering before him, a glint of understanding in his eyes.

Sure enough, he then heard Hua Song continue, “This is Spirit Sprout Grass. Simply infuse it with spiritual energy, and it will begin to grow. Your task is to make it grow as much as possible. Those who cannot meet the standard need not proceed to the next round.”

Without further explanation, Hua Song took a Spirit Sprout Grass and placed it in his palm.

A soft, pale spiritual energy seeped in, and under this subtle infusion, four tender leaves instantly sprouted. In the blink of an eye, the plant grew further, vines clinging and winding up Hua Song’s arm.

Three incense sticks’ time passed. By the time the sprout had grown into a vine a full ten feet long and as thick as a thumb, the surrounding pale spiritual energy slowly dissipated. Deprived of support, the leaves yellowed, and at last the vine withered into a modest, finger-length twig.

With a thought, he stored the twig away in his pouch, a surge of satisfaction rising in his heart at the increasing refinement of his subtle control.

“This is not difficult,” he mused. “The key lies in the finesse of one’s spiritual energy—an essential foundation for any alchemist…”

Qin Chuan had already discerned the true intent: from the moment spiritual energy was infused, there were three incense sticks’ time before the plant would wither on its own. To make it grow longer, one could not merely pour in energy indiscriminately; it was all about precision.

Glancing at the other disciples already holding seeds, he felt no ripple of emotion.

Calm and unruffled within, he chose not to use the Profound Breath Dust Technique for now, curious to see what he could accomplish relying solely on his own abilities.

With a thought, his spiritual energy flowed through his meridians like a tiny stream, retaining four parts and releasing six—leaving him with strength to spare.

In the time it took to burn a single incense stick, several disciples in the plaza, unable to control their energy, caused their seeds to burst and were forced to leave, disappointment written on their faces. The rest were sweating to varying degrees.

No longer distracted, Qin Chuan focused, narrowing the flow of energy in his meridians even further, balancing five parts retained and five released.

The Spirit Sprout Grass greedily absorbed the spiritual energy he provided. With a soft sound, it shot up—one inch, three inches, five inches.

In just half an incense stick’s time, it had grown to more than thirteen inches, enough to draw a sideways glance from Hua Song.

With a thousand people present, Qin Chuan’s progress was not especially conspicuous; in theory, it should not have attracted such attention.

Yet fate intervened: any subtle movement was noticed by Hua Song, as if the elder’s entire focus was fixed on him.

If he activated the Profound Breath Dust Technique, Qin Chuan was confident he could channel his energy as finely as a strand of hair, but relying on his own strength alone, he was not quite there yet.

Holding his breath, heart pounding, he refined his control further—retaining six parts, releasing four, and then retaining seven, releasing three!

The Spirit Sprout Grass grew even faster, a mysterious aura radiating outward, drawing the curious gazes of nearby disciples.

Before long, even the young attendants outside the plaza were staring in awe. Wang Feng, watching the dense radiance around Qin Chuan, looked amazed. “This little one is truly something!”

Many were distracted by Qin Chuan’s display, and in their surprise, lost control, causing their Spirit Sprout Grass to explode.

The limit of pure spiritual finesse—without using any special technique—was retaining seven parts and releasing three. Knowing his current limit, Qin Chuan no longer hesitated; he triggered the Profound Breath Dust Technique, unleashing the true extent of his control!

With a soft crack, the vine surged forth, quickly wrapping half of Qin Chuan’s body. The tender white roots thickened, breaking through the marble tiles of the plaza and burrowing deep.

Five feet, ten feet, thirty feet…

By the end of the three incense sticks, it had grown to a full seventy-three feet before stopping. The plant could hardly be called a vine any longer—it was more akin to a towering tree.

Curiously, perhaps because the roots found nourishment in the soil, the plant did not immediately wither. Palm-sized, deep green leaves fluttered in the breeze, capturing the attention of all nearby.

Qin Chuan had not intended to attract such attention, but the withered vine obtained after the Spirit Sprout Grass died was a superb alchemical ingredient—the more produced, the better the quality.

Yet things turned out otherwise: now that the roots were anchored in the earth, the plant did not wither, and there was no withered vine to collect.

Gradually, some disciples around him began to breathe heavily, their eyes burning with longing as they gazed at the Spirit Sprout Grass.

What alchemist could resist the lure of such a rare treasure? Then they looked at the thumb-length withered vine in their hands and felt a pang of bitterness.

A sigh escaped Qin Chuan’s lips; he had guessed why the plant was not withering. Patting his storage pouch, he drew his Bright Moon Sword.

Infusing it with spiritual energy, he did not summon any sword intent, but the silver blade gleamed with a hint of the moon’s radiance.

Bracing himself, he poured his strength into both arms and struck. The move was plain and unadorned, yet effortlessly sliced the Spirit Sprout Grass in two. The upper part withered swiftly, turning into a vine about two feet long.

Before the others could express their envy, Hua Song spoke. “Those with withered vines at least one inch long, stay. The rest may leave.”

At these words, most of the crowd left in disappointment, while those remaining felt a rush of relief, their hearts pounding with excitement.

This withered vine was no ordinary item, and so many Spirit Sprout Grasses were even rarer.

Qin Chuan suddenly found himself unable to discern the true purpose behind this sect’s alchemy gathering.

It all seemed like a farce—there was no real assembly of the Hundred Peaks, few elders presided, and yet the bait being offered was tremendous.

Could it be, as a certain elder had previously suggested, that the sect was deliberately distributing treasures and elixirs in preparation for the grand sect competition less than a year away?

And what would the final reward for that contest be? At this thought, Qin Chuan’s heart began to race.

Now, only about one or two hundred disciples remained in the arena. If not for the distraction caused by Qin Chuan, the elimination rate would never have been so severe.

“The rules for the second round are as follows: before sunset, you must refine a pill on site. The type of pill does not matter.”

“For your cauldrons and flames, fetch them yourselves. And in the third and final round, only two will remain!”

At this, a number of young attendants entered from outside the plaza, each producing cauldrons and bundles of herbs from their storage pouches. The thick aroma of medicinal herbs filled the air, and instantly, the spiritual energy in the surroundings grew noticeably denser.