Chapter Forty-One: The Alchemist

The sound of rushing water cascaded from the top of the waterfall, pounding heavily upon Lu Zhe’s body. Suddenly, as he sat cross-legged with eyes closed in meditation, Lu Zhe’s eyes snapped open in anger. His right hand clenched into a fist, muscles taut, teeth gritted, veins bulging along his arm. With a fierce shout, he drove his fist downward into the water below.

With a thunderous boom, a water column several feet high erupted in front of him, splintering into countless smaller jets that rained down around him. The pool at his feet was blasted open, revealing slick green moss on the creek bed before the water swiftly returned to fill the gap.

“This Collapsing Fist is incredible; even at seventy percent strength, I can send water soaring half a yard high,” Lu Zhe exclaimed, excitement in his voice.

He glanced at his own fist. Fine cracks marred his knuckles, blood oozing from within to stain his hand crimson. Lu Zhe sighed softly, remarking, “But the backlash is too much. As expected, only those with robust strength can practice this art.”

Sitting before him, Elder Ye witnessed the entire spectacle, his brow creased in mild concern as he murmured, “Remarkable. This boy has mastered the Collapsing Fist to such a level in just five days.”

He regarded Lu Zhe, already re-immersed in cultivation, and sighed, “No doubt it’s due to that reckless, relentless training of his.”

“Shangguan Yijing, step by step, I am drawing closer to you,” Lu Zhe muttered coldly, gazing at his own fist.

———

In the imperial capital of the Kingdom of Oga, atop the windswept cliffs behind Yufeng Sect, Shangguan Yijing, garbed in robes as white as snow, sat serenely at the edge of a sheer precipice. With each breath, the spiritual energy of heaven and earth flowed into her, transforming into spiritual power with the effortless grace of a stream—a testament to her mastery.

“Young Mistress, your father has arrived,” came a respectful voice from behind her, spoken by a man in the sect’s uniform.

“My father? What does he want?” Shangguan Yijing replied coolly.

Rising gracefully, she made her way down the mountain toward the sect’s main hall.

Shangguan Yijing’s father, Shangguan Su, was heir to the Shangguan clan. According to the clan’s rules, the headship could only pass to the next generation if the current patriarch either abdicated or passed away; for now, her grandfather, Shangguan He, still held the title.

Shangguan Su rarely returned home, often traveling between kingdoms. This time, upon his return, he was promptly driven up Panlong Mountain, where Yufeng Sect resided, by Shangguan He himself—brandishing a great saber. The reason was none other than Shangguan Yijing’s reckless wager, which had become the talk of the city.

Now, Shangguan Su sat in the grand hall of Yufeng Sect, his face thunderous, index finger tapping impatiently on the tea table.

“Father,” came Shangguan Yijing’s voice just as his patience was about to break.

“You—you…” For a moment, Shangguan Su was too furious to speak.

“You’re far too headstrong! Do you realize what you’ve done?” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “You, as the eldest daughter of the Shangguan family, actually crossed swords with a dock laborer! If that wasn’t enough, you made a three-year wager with him—declaring that if he wins, you’ll become his servant! Should he truly win, what face would our family have left in Oga?”

———

Shangguan Yijing’s expression turned icy. “That depends on his ability. If he wins, I’ll willingly be his servant.”

“Insolent child! Have you no respect?” Shangguan Su roared.

She ignored him, turning her face away, refusing to meet his anger.

A gentle, aged laugh broke the tense atmosphere. “Well, well, what a lively scene. Shangguan, so you’re here.”

Shangguan Su turned to see an elderly man enter, his hair and beard white as snow, long eyebrows, robed in scholar’s white, exuding an air of refined grace. Though he appeared seventy, he addressed the much younger Shangguan Su as his peer.

“Elder Zheng,” Shangguan Su sighed.

Elder Zheng strolled over, smiling. “What’s happened to have you two so tense?”

Shangguan Su recounted the recent events. Elder Zheng stroked his beard, listening quietly, then smiled. “So it’s that. The Sect Master has consented, you know.”

Shangguan Su’s eyes widened. “The Sect Master? Feng Yao agreed?”

Elder Zheng nodded and sat down. “Yes.”

Shangguan Su was taken aback, then muttered, “Where is Feng Yao? I must see her.”

“She’s not here—don’t bother,” Shangguan Yijing cut in before Elder Zheng could respond.

“You… you unfilial daughter. How did I raise such a headstrong child?” He cursed her, then slumped beside Elder Zheng in defeat.

Elder Zheng smiled calmly. “Shangguan, there’s no need to worry. With Yufeng Sect backing Jing’er, do you really think she’ll lose to that boy?”

“But nothing in this world is certain,” Shangguan Su replied anxiously.

“You fret too much,” Elder Zheng shook his head.

“But—” Shangguan Su began, but Elder Zheng interrupted.

“Rest assured. Aside from us, there is another.”

“Who?” Shangguan Su’s eyes lit up.

“The Medicine King—Huang Bo,” Elder Zheng pronounced slowly.

Shangguan Su was astonished. “Huang Bo, the Medicine King—he would help Jing’er?”

———

Elder Zheng nodded. “He and our Sect Master have been old friends for years. He intended to teach Jing’er the art of alchemy, but her affinity is wind, not fire—what a pity. Still, providing her with cultivation pills should pose no problem.”

Shangguan Su breathed a long sigh of relief. “Then I am reassured.”

———

Meanwhile, Lu Zhe sat quietly atop a rock, recovering the spiritual power he had just expended. After a long while, he exhaled a turbid breath and slowly opened his eyes, glancing at his right hand, where several glaring scars now seemed carved into his flesh.

He sighed.

Elder Ye, hearing his sigh, came to sit beside him. “Why so downhearted?”

Lu Zhe replied bitterly, “Master, the art you taught me is incredibly powerful, but the backlash is not to be underestimated. I’ve barely trained a few days and look at me now.” He extended his battered hand.

Elder Ye examined his fist, ran his fingers over it, then closed his eyes in contemplation.

Lu Zhe, sensing his master’s need for silence, waited quietly.

At length, Elder Ye opened his eyes. “Zhe’er, have you heard of ‘Alchemists’?”

The question startled Lu Zhe. Alchemists—one of the most coveted professions on the Divine Xia Continent, also called Potion Masters. As their name suggested, they could concoct miraculous pills, some capable of raising one’s spiritual level instantly, saving decades of cultivation, while others could cure rare and deadly illnesses. Since everyone fell ill at some point and needed medicine, alchemists held unparalleled status and influence. To owe an alchemist a favor was a debt not easily repaid and could be leveraged for untold advantage. Yet, the requirements to become an alchemist were stringent: ordinary people had only one spiritual affinity, but alchemists needed two, with fire as the primary element, and a trace of wood to catalyze the flames. Moreover, formidable control over the soul was essential. Thus, to become an alchemist on the Divine Xia Continent was a matter of immense honor.

Lu Zhe’s eyes sparkled with hope. “Master, do you mean I could become an alchemist?”

Elder Ye shook his head. “I do not know.”

The words struck Lu Zhe like a bucket of cold water. Crestfallen, he muttered, “If you don’t know, why mention it?”

“But there is someone who does,” Elder Ye said offhandedly.

“Who?” That single word was like a beacon in the night, reigniting Lu Zhe’s hope.

“You’ll find out in a few days,” Elder Ye said calmly.

(Today, I checked my palms—the four blisters hurt less than yesterday, so I managed two chapters today. Tomorrow, I should be able to resume three.)