Chapter Seventy: The Helpless "Scorching Nitrate Pill"

“Steady, steady, steady,” the old healer muttered anxiously, his brows deeply furrowed as he watched the strained face of Lu Zhe. His words tumbled out one after another, urgent and tense.

In stark contrast, Lu Zhe’s face was drenched with sweat, so profuse that even in the chill of winter, his clothes were soaked through at the collar. He was pouring every ounce of his strength into stabilizing the elixir inside the cauldron, both his hands trembling uncontrollably as he channeled spiritual energy and soul force into the vessel, struggling to keep the potion intact.

But just as Lu Zhe was doing his utmost to steady the concoction, the cauldron abruptly gave a muffled pop and then fell silent for a heartbeat.

At the sound, the old healer’s eyes flew open and he froze, then, as if realizing something, he threw himself to the ground. Lu Zhe, understanding instantly, also withdrew his hands and dove for cover.

As the two of them hit the earth, the cauldron gave a slight wobble and then—

Boom!

A deafening roar erupted from the cauldron, the shockwave sweeping out for dozens of yards in all directions. Birds took flight in alarm from the trees, stones on the ground trembled as if the world were shaking, and a blast of air sent dust and grit swirling, obscuring everything in a storm of chaos.

“Pah! Pah! Ugh!” The old healer spat out a mouthful of dirt as he got to his feet, waving away the cloud of dust before him and looking around.

Not far away, he spotted another figure sprawled on the ground—Lu Zhe.

Lu Zhe moved a little, as if struggling to get up, then shook his head vigorously to dislodge the mud from his hair and slowly pushed himself upright.

“How many times have you failed now? This is just a double-cauldron silver elixir, and you’ve blown it so many times,” the old healer chided, pointing an accusatory finger at Lu Zhe.

“Oh, don’t blame me. Of all the things to refine, you had to pick the ‘Fiery Nitrate Pill’—the most explosive of them all!” Lu Zhe retorted, spitting out the dirt from his mouth.

The Fiery Nitrate Pill was a peculiar elixir, classified as a double-cauldron silver grade. It held no medicinal value whatsoever and was notoriously volatile, prone to violent explosions during refinement. Few alchemists ever bothered with it—some used it for explosives, others for practicing control and precision. The old healer’s intent was clearly the latter.

The healer’s hand formed a blade, slicing through the air. A gust of wind burst from his fingertips, cleaving the swirling dust in two like a tidal wave, then with a flick of his sleeve, he sent the remaining debris flying away.

“I’m only making you do this to train your control of the flame,” he sighed.

Clapping his hands together, the healer mused aloud, “You know, you’re a master at grilling meat, always getting the heat just right. So why can’t you manage it with alchemy?”

“Exactly—how can that be?” Lu Zhe slapped his thigh in agreement.

“I’ll tell you this: if you can refine this Fiery Nitrate Pill in one go, with the strength of your soul, you could handle even a four-cauldron elixir,” the healer said, brushing the dirt from his clothes.

Lu Zhe retrieved the cauldron lid, blown away by the explosion, and hurried to cover the vessel. He ran his hand along the solid, timeworn surface, feeling its sturdiness sink into his bones. Taking a deep breath, he murmured to himself, “Why can’t I get this right?”

With a shake of his head to clear his thoughts, he inhaled deeply, eyed the cauldron, picked up the scattered medicinal herbs, tossed them in, closed his eyes, and began again.

The old healer dusted himself off and, seeing Lu Zhe entering his meditative state, strolled over and sat down nearby, settling in to observe.

Minutes ticked by. Sweat began to bead on Lu Zhe’s forehead, his hands trembling ever so slightly. The healer frowned but said nothing.

As time wore on, the sweat on Lu Zhe’s brow grew heavier, large droplets trickling down to soak his shoulders and collar.

Suddenly, Lu Zhe’s eyes snapped open. His hands moved in a blur, slapping the cauldron’s lid. The vessel vibrated with a deep hum, and the lid popped off. A perfectly round pill shot into the air.

In a flash, Lu Zhe sprang up, kicking off the ground, arm outstretched to snatch the flying elixir. With a flip, he landed in front of the old healer.

The healer smiled approvingly and nodded. “Not bad.”

Lu Zhe smiled back and slowly opened his hand.

Boom!

A thunderous blast erupted from his palm. Lu Zhe felt a jolt of numbness, quickly followed by searing pain. Gritting his teeth, he looked at his hand—blood streaming, flesh torn, five fingers shredded to the bone, not a patch of unbroken skin left. The sight was enough to make anyone’s skin crawl.

“Aaah!” Lu Zhe let out a howl that echoed through the mountains, rivaling the explosion itself.

The old healer took in the injury at a glance, stunned for a moment before swiftly pressing several points on Lu Zhe’s arm. He fished out a few jars, sprinkled various powders on the mangled hand, and bound it quickly with a length of bandage.

As soon as the powders touched his flesh, Lu Zhe’s howls ceased. He sucked in a sharp breath, his face contorted in agony.

The healer let out a chuckle, then teased, “You really are bold. The Fiery Nitrate Pill explodes on contact with heat outside the cauldron. Most people store it in jade bottles—you went and grabbed it with your bare hand! Who else would it blow up on but you?”

Lu Zhe glared at the healer, his eyes full of fury, leaving the old man momentarily speechless.

Glancing at his bandaged hand, Lu Zhe was amazed to find that the pain had already subsided by half—the healer’s medicine was truly miraculous.

Sitting on a nearby rock, the healer said, “Though I’ve treated you, it will take three to five days to recover. No training or alchemy until then.”

He gathered up his jars, brushed off his robe, and headed down the mountain.

That evening, Lu Zhe and the healer sat silently by the campfire, the flames painting their faces a burnt yellow glow.

The healer tossed a dry branch into the fire, sparks crackling and popping as it was quickly engulfed.

“In a few days, we’ll need to return to your homeland for a while,” the healer said, gazing into the fire.

Lu Zhe paused, looking up at the healer, who stared deep into the flames, his dark eyes reflecting twin points of light, a look of tiredness etched in their depths.

“Very well,” Lu Zhe replied, his tone flat.

The two sat quietly, watching the fire.

Above them, a pale moon hung high, the heavens as dark as ink, and a chill, somber air filled the world.