Chapter Seventy-Three: The Alchemist Examination

Lu Zhe hurried into the main hall. By the time he arrived, the space was already filled with people—he estimated there were around forty or fifty gathered there. He reached up to touch his nose, then started toward the crowd.

As soon as he entered, he noticed the conversation suddenly died down. A deep, resonant voice rang out: “Quiet, everyone, quiet!”

Lu Zhe looked up. Not far ahead, a middle-aged man stood atop a platform about three feet high. He pressed his hands down, signaling for silence. Once the hall was hushed, the man cleared his throat and announced, “The alchemist examination is about to begin. Due to space constraints, only twenty people can be assessed at a time. I will hand out tokens to each of you—each group of twenty will enter together. Is that clear?”

Though murmurs rippled through the crowd, no one objected.

Seeing there was no opposition, the man gestured to a table at his side and said, “Come here to collect your tokens. Then, enter the examination room in order according to your number.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than the crowd surged toward the table to receive their tokens—a small, black square badge for each.

Lu Zhe accepted his token and glanced down. It was numbered nineteen.

He forced a wry smile. “Just one off,” he muttered to himself.

Glancing around, Lu Zhe noticed the variety of reactions among the others—some were grinning with delight, some indifferent, others cursing under their breath. Every type of expression was present.

He gave a soft chuckle, then heard the same middle-aged man call out, “Very well, will the first twenty please enter for the examination.”

Lu Zhe strode quickly to the examination room’s entrance, handed his token to an attendant, and joined the rest as they filed in.

Inside, Lu Zhe surveyed the large room. Rows of cauldrons stood ready—twenty in all. At the front, a platform reminiscent of a stage, upon which stood an elderly man.

Lu Zhe regarded the elder. His forehead was broad and high, his hair and beard white as snow. Though his face was lined with age, his bearing was vigorous, and the black robe he wore draped low, lending him an almost otherworldly aura.

The middle-aged man from outside hurried up to the stage and bowed deeply to the elder. “Vice President, the twenty candidates are assembled.”

The old man nodded slowly, then opened his eyes and surveyed the group below. His voice, though frail, carried authority. “I am Odesse, Vice President of the Alchemists’ Guild of the Orga Empire, and your chief examiner. Do you all understand?”

“We understand,” came the united reply.

The old man nodded slightly, then swept his hand. “Let the examination begin. Step in front of a cauldron—your recipe and ingredients are there. You have three attempts. Fail all three, and you’d best withdraw. When your pill is finished, present it to me for review. Only those who pass may become alchemists. Understood?”

Another chorus of assent followed.

Lu Zhe, with the others, moved to stand before a cauldron. He picked up the recipe from the table and read it carefully, frowning slightly. Glancing around, he saw the others furrowing their brows as well. Among the faces, he recognized a few acquaintances: the third imperial princess, Princess Yao Meng, and the beautiful young woman with short silver hair he’d met earlier. Both of them appeared troubled by the recipe.

The pill in question was not particularly rare: a single gold-grade “Healing Pill,” renowned for swiftly mending wounds—though only minor injuries or external wounds; anything deeper or life-threatening was beyond its power. While classified as a gold-grade pill, it was notoriously difficult to craft, demanding precise control of the flames; too much heat would destroy the pill, too little and it would fail to form. With only three tries, no one dared to rush in recklessly.

As everyone hesitated, unwilling to be the first to take the plunge, the old man on the stage cracked his eyes open and smiled faintly. He strode over to a pillar, flipped the hourglass atop it, and said, “You have the time it takes for this sand to run. If you haven’t finished by then, you fail all the same.”

His words caused a stir. A few impulsive candidates, after glancing at the recipe, immediately pressed their hands to the cauldron, warming it, then tossed in an herb to begin the process.

Lu Zhe managed a bitter smile. He studied both the recipe and the ingredients with utmost care, took a deep breath, then closed his eyes. He calculated the required heat in his mind, then began to warm the cauldron.

Onstage, the old examiner glanced around at the candidates. Noticing that others had started, but Lu Zhe had not, he frowned in puzzlement. When he saw Lu Zhe close his eyes, he was even more surprised, and as Lu Zhe began to warm the cauldron, the old man fixed his gaze on him for a long moment.

“Vice President, what are you looking at?” the middle-aged man behind him asked.

“That young one is different from the rest,” Odesse replied, pointing at Lu Zhe.

The middle-aged man looked over. “How so?”

“He’s much calmer than the others,” Odesse replied, stroking his beard.

“Maybe he’s just uncertain and afraid to start?” the man suggested.

“No. There’s no confusion in his eyes, only a confident boldness,” Odesse said with a faint smile.

“And what do you think of your own disciple, Ruoya?” the man continued.

Odesse shifted his gaze to the silver-haired girl, scrutinized her, then shook his head. “That girl, though outwardly composed, has anxiety showing in her eyes. If she manages to produce a good pill, it’ll be a feat.”

“And what of Princess Yao Meng, the third princess?” the man asked, pointing to a woman not far from Lu Zhe.

“Oh? That old fellow’s disciple is here too?” Odesse chuckled.

He studied the princess, stroked his beard, and said mildly, “The old man trained her well; she’s a promising seedling. Pity, though.”

“Pity in what way?” the man asked urgently.

“She’s seventeen now, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” the man replied.

“A shame. She has talent, but she’s a bit too hasty. If only she were steadier,” Odesse sighed, stroking his beard.

His gaze returned to Lu Zhe, and he continued to watch him intently, brow furrowed, fingers absently stroking his beard.

Suddenly, he asked, “Whose disciple is that young man?”

The middle-aged man hurriedly flipped through the roster in his hand. “It’s not written here, but according to Xiangru, he’s the disciple of a five-cauldron gold-grade alchemist.”

Odesse was taken aback. He turned. “A five-cauldron gold-grade alchemist? Besides myself and a few old fogies, who else in the guild has five cauldrons or more?”

“His master isn’t a member of our guild, it seems,” the man replied after thinking for a moment.

Odesse fell silent, then turned back to Lu Zhe, his brow tightening. He murmured to himself, “What a mysterious lad. I like him. Hahaha...”