Square Wood Alchemy Path

Qin Chuan’s eyes revealed even more astonishment—the variety of these herbs was astonishingly rich, enough to concoct almost any basic Qi-refining elixir. The rules of the second contest appeared simple, but advancing was a daunting feat indeed.

From now until sunset, no more than four batches could be attempted. Considering the importance of quality, one absolutely could not waste time on common pills like the Fasting Pellet. But if he attempted to refine a Barrier-Breaking Pill, success was by no means guaranteed. What’s more, there was a clear restriction: certain herbs were present in only the barest quantities. Should the first attempt fail, the remaining herbs would likely be insufficient for another batch.

After a moment’s thought, Qin Chuan reached his decision.

While he was still pondering, several others had already selected their cauldrons and ingredients, beginning their preparations. Without further hesitation, he chose a familiar three-legged round cauldron, two fire spirit stones for fuel, and a set of herbs for the Barrier-Breaking Pill.

“Wait!”

His hand, reaching for the herbs, paused abruptly.

At that moment, in an inconspicuous pavilion on Biluofeng, two elderly Daoists were warming their wine. After a long hesitation, one raised his hand and placed a chess piece on the board.

“The boy has noticed?” The black-haired elder’s hand stopped in midair as he made his move.

“It would seem so,” replied the white-robed elder, tapping the chessboard idly, his tone mild and unhurried.

“And yet, this is an open ploy. Were it not for Master Su, his secrets would have long since been exposed.”

Their conversation drifted, idle and sporadic.

“It is a pity the domain formation was not broken; it has disrupted the sect’s grand design.”

“Fate is as it must be. Fanner and the Law Sword were never destined for each other; always a move too slow.”

With that, the black-haired elder placed the final black piece, prompting a sigh from his companion. “A single move short.”

Qin Chuan had no inkling that his every move was being watched by the sect.

These herbs didn’t seem quite right, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why.

As he pondered, his gaze suddenly sharpened.

“Fang Mu?”

He was surprised to see a familiar face appear at his side.

“We were supposed to share a drink—where have you been?” Fang Mu’s expression was complicated.

The journey to the domain had lasted only four or five days, but that was enough time for one’s mind to clear. After much reflection, Fang Mu could not shake the suspicion that the sect had treated the four of them as expendable pawns.

Had Qin Chuan not been there at the end, their soul-blood would surely have been extracted.

“I left hastily that day, and never learned where you were staying,” Qin Chuan replied with a wry, subdued smile. “How is Wan Tong?”

“She’s not bad. I hear Lufu Mountain and the First Pill Pavilion are trying to heal her sight, but it’s a pity. After using such a forbidden art, residual rune fragments linger in her eyes. They are very hard to cure.”

Fang Mu’s gaze flickered. “Do you know what elixir we’re supposed to refine?” he whispered, drawing closer.

“Hm?” Qin Chuan was momentarily taken aback. Then, glancing at the herbs in Fang Mu’s hand, the confusion in his eyes cleared, replaced by sudden understanding.

When he’d first picked up these herbs, something had felt off. Now, he realized what it was.

Because the herbs had been piled together in large quantities with no precautions, their properties had run amok. Using these herbs would nearly guarantee a ruined cauldron; and even if a pill was produced, it would be a toxic concoction with chaotic medicinal power.

Qin Chuan’s gaze followed Fang Mu as he walked away.

How far had Fang Mu progressed in the art of alchemy, to discern the problem in the herbs at a glance? The thought arose unbidden, leaving him faintly awed.

It seemed the herbs had been intentionally stacked this way, so that even before reaching the cauldron, subtle antagonistic reactions would occur. Alchemy was already a precarious endeavor; a little more instability made success nigh impossible.

Although Qin Chuan was familiar with many recipes, he had full confidence in only a few.

But in this contest, it was not necessary to refine something especially rare or high-grade.

His gaze swept over the herbs, and a plan formed in his mind.

Most of the herbs had been contaminated, but a lucky few were untouched. With those, he could refine Qi Recovery Pills, Spring-Autumn Elixirs, or Spirit-Clearing Powder...

Unconsciously, his attention settled on the Spring-Autumn Elixir, and his heart stirred.

The Spring-Autumn Elixir was no ordinary pill. It could extend one’s lifespan by half a year, but could only be taken once in a lifetime, and only by Qi-refining cultivators or ordinary mortals.

Few true cultivators ever used such an elixir; more often, it was brought home for aged mortal relatives on the brink of death.

Refining the Spring-Autumn Elixir was not especially difficult—the challenge lay in obtaining its principal ingredient: the Spring-Autumn Bamboo.

This half-green, half-yellow medicinal wood, each piece about an inch long, was precious. Yet here, five pieces could be found.

Excitement rose in his chest as he picked up the one piece untouched by contamination. The other required herbs were all common, and he identified each in turn before beginning his preparations.

The surrounding disciples, ever since Qin Chuan’s dazzling display in the first round, had been watching him closely. When they saw him select ingredients for a Spring-Autumn Elixir, they couldn’t help but sneer.

So he was just a mediocre alchemist after all. The Spring-Autumn Elixir was only a bit harder to refine than the third-tier Nan Sang Pill.

Whereas in my hands, I have the Stone Spirit Pill, used to advance disciples of the fifth Qi-refining level! Surely one of the most difficult pills in the contest.

Yet even so, my chances are only fifty-fifty—one pill per batch if I’m lucky. He silently hoped no one would pay Qin Chuan any further attention.

Many thought the same.

Qin Chuan knew that nine out of ten contestants would likely ruin their cauldrons, so he found a secluded spot, lest he be affected by their mishaps.

Never having refined a Spring-Autumn Elixir before, he dared not be overconfident. Using a jade pestle, he ground a little Spring-Autumn Bamboo into powder and sampled it, focusing his mind. He repeated this process seven or eight times.

After nearly half an hour had passed, he set up his cauldron, infused spiritual energy into the fire spirit stones, and they emitted a gentle orange glow. He began the process of alchemy.

Explosions rang out sporadically across the square, but Qin Chuan had anticipated this and paid it no mind.

Steadying his mind, he applied his arts—grinding, extracting juices, purifying impurities—with the practiced ease of a master, as if he had rehearsed it a thousand times, without the slightest hesitation.

His movements were as smooth as flowing water, entirely unhurried. To an onlooker, it would have been a marvel. The techniques Qin Chuan employed—Jade Pestle Hand, Gui Water Art, and others—were not stunning, merely uncommon.

But to wield these arts as if they were extensions of his own body was an uncommon feat indeed. This was not merely alchemy; it was an art form.

Through countless trials, coupled with his meticulous methods, each step proceeded in perfect order, unfolding slowly and deliberately.