Thick carpets muted every footstep. A faint incense burned in the corner, its scent clean and grounding. Outside the latticed window, the silver-leaf forest whispered softly in the night wind.
Mingzhi barely registered any of it.
The moment the door closed behind them, the tension holding him upright vanished. His legs gave out, and he sat down heavily against the wall, sliding until his back met the floor.
His limbs felt hollow. Not tired—emptied. As if someone had scooped out his strength and left only the shell behind.
Rou wasn’t in much better shape. She sat cross-legged on the bed, shoulders slumped, hands resting loosely on her knees. Her breathing was slow, but uneven, like water after a storm.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then Rou exhaled softly.
“…Ming’er.”
“Hm?” Mingzhi replied without opening his eyes.
“I think,” she said hesitantly, “I’m about to break through.”
Mingzhi’s eyes snapped open.
He turned his head to look at her properly now. Rou’s aura—normally calm and flowing—was subtly changing. It felt tighter, denser, like mist being drawn inward before rain.
“Cloud Gathering… Level Four?” he asked.
She nodded, biting her lip. “It’s unstable. But it’s there. Like a door that won’t stop rattling.”
Mingzhi pushed himself upright with effort. “Good. Don’t force it. Sit straight. Let it come to you.”
He moved closer, settling across from her. Not touching—just close enough to sense the fluctuations.
“I’ll keep watch,” he said quietly. “You focus.”
Rou closed her eyes.
Her breathing deepened, slowing until each inhale felt deliberate. The Water Qi in the room responded, drawn subtly toward her like obedient threads. It pooled around her Dantian, compressing, folding inward.
Mingzhi watched carefully, ready to intervene if it surged out of control.
At the same time, he leaned back against the wall and let his own awareness sink inward.
“Spirit,“ he thought. “How are you holding up?“
There was a brief pause—longer than usual.
“…Exhausted,“ the Spirit replied at last. Its voice was quieter, stripped of its usual sharp edge. “My consciousness is intact, but my reserves are thin. I will require several days to fully recover.“
Mingzhi let out a slow breath. “That’s fair. What we did… that can’t become routine.“
“No,“ the Spirit agreed. “It must remain an emergency measure.“
Mingzhi stared at the ceiling, tracing the carved wooden beams with unfocused eyes.
“I’ll need time too,“ he admitted. “To cultivate. To stabilize my body… and my mind. I can still feel it shaking.“
A faint echo stirred in his chest—the memory of perfect motion, of impossible precision not born from his own flesh.
“Now I understand why you were so strict with me before,“ Mingzhi continued. “Back then, I thought it was harsh. But compared to yesterday… that was children’s play.“
The Spirit did not interrupt.
“My body couldn’t have moved like that without you,“ Mingzhi said quietly. “Not even close. And now that I’ve felt it… I know how far I still have to go.“
For the first time, the Spirit did not correct him.
“Do not discard that sensation,“ it said instead. “You touched a level of harmony most cultivators never even glimpse. Even borrowed… it leaves an imprint.“
Mingzhi’s fingers curled slowly against the floor.
“I won’t forget it,“ he promised.
“Good,“ the Spirit replied. “That memory will serve you better than any manual—especially in future alchemy.“
Silence returned.
Then—
Rou’s aura shifted sharply.
The scattered Water Qi snapped inward, spiraling down toward her core. The air in the room grew heavy, cool, then suddenly still.
Rou’s brows knit together. A soft sound escaped her lips—not pain, but effort.
Mingzhi leaned forward. “That’s it. Don’t resist. Let it settle.”
Her Dantian pulsed once.
Twice.
Then—
Click.
It wasn’t loud, but Mingzhi felt it clearly. The invisible threshold gave way, and Rou’s Qi stabilized into a deeper, more cohesive flow.
Her breathing steadied.
Moments later, she opened her eyes.
For a heartbeat, she looked stunned.
Then she laughed softly, almost disbelieving. “I… I did it.”
Mingzhi smiled, genuine and unguarded. “Congratulations. Cloud Gathering Level Four.”
Rou’s cheeks flushed faintly. “If you hadn’t been here—”
“You earned it,” Mingzhi interrupted. “I just kept the door from slamming shut.”
She studied him for a moment, then frowned slightly. “You look happy. But also… annoyed?”
Mingzhi chuckled under his breath. “Motivated.”
Watching her break through, feeling the contrast between her steady progress and his own borrowed leap—it lit something sharp and restless in his chest.
I want that, he thought. Not borrowed. Not assisted. Mine.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
The night passed quietly after that.
For the first time in days, Mingzhi slept without dreams.
Morning came gently.
Sunlight filtered through the window lattice, painting silver lines across the floor. Mingzhi woke feeling sore, but whole. The hollow ache was gone, replaced by a deep, honest fatigue.
A knock sounded at the door.
Firm. Respectful.
Mingzhi sat up.
“Young Master Mingzhi,” a voice called from outside. “Patriarch Liu requests an audience, if you are awake.”
Mingzhi exchanged a glance with Rou.
“…Looks like business resumes,” he said, standing.
And with that, the quiet ended.
“Come in.”
The door slid open.
Patriarch Liu entered first, his posture dignified but relaxed, followed by the grey-robed Physician Mo.
Both men paused the moment they stepped inside. Physician Mo’s eyes flicked over Mingzhi—not with his old skepticism, but with a lingering sense of disbelief and deep respect. He looked at Mingzhi’s hands, as if still seeing them moving in a blur.
“Good morning, Young Master Mingzhi,” Patriarch Liu said warmly. “Miss Rou. I trust you rested well.”
“Well enough,” Mingzhi replied with a polite nod. “Thank you for the hospitality.”
Physician Mo bowed deeply, his hands clasped—a gesture of deference from an elder to a junior that surprised the guards outside.
After a few words of courtesy, Patriarch Liu’s expression grew more formal.
“As promised,” he said, “the Liu family will honor its agreement. You are free to enter our treasury and select one herb of your choosing as a bonus.”
He produced a rolled parchment from his sleeve.
“In addition, this document certifies that you have completed the sect-issued mission. It will be recognized by the Azure Cloud Sect.”
Mingzhi accepted the parchment—but did not open it.
Instead, he grew thoughtful.
“Patriarch Liu,” he said after a moment, “before this is finalized… I have a suggestion.”
The Patriarch raised an eyebrow. “Please.”
As the four of them began walking down the corridor toward the treasury, Mingzhi spoke calmly, as if discussing the weather.
“The document should state that I completed the mission and cured your son. But it should also say that his condition was too severe—that although his life was saved, his cultivation was crippled beyond repair.”
Physician Mo stopped walking, his eyes widening in realization.
Patriarch Liu did not stop—but his steps slowed.
“Continue,” the Patriarch said quietly.
“There are two reasons,” Mingzhi went on. “First, I need to remain inconspicuous. A miracle cure creates attention I do not want.”
“And second,” Mingzhi said, turning his head slightly, “the Zhao family.”
Physician Mo nodded slowly, the respect in his eyes deepening. He thinks like a warlord, not just a healer, Mo thought.
“If they believe they failed completely,” Mingzhi said, “they will investigate. If they believe they succeeded… they will relax.”
A pause.
“While you,” Mingzhi added evenly, “prepare.”
The corridor fell silent.
Patriarch Liu stopped at last. He looked at Mingzhi—not as a grateful father now, but as a clan leader reassessing a piece on the board.
Then he laughed softly.
“Excellent,” he said. “Discretion over glory. And misdirection layered on top.” He nodded once. “I will have the document rewritten exactly as you suggest.”
Physician Mo stared openly now, shaking his head slightly.
“…You are very young to have such a ruthless mind,” the physician muttered, his tone appreciative.
Mingzhi smiled faintly. “That helps.”
The treasury lay beneath the Liu estate, guarded by two armored cultivators. When they saw Patriarch Liu approach, they snapped to attention immediately.
Their eyes flicked—briefly confused—toward Mingzhi and Rou.
Why was the Patriarch walking beside a boy in plain robes?
Why was Physician Mo, normally proud to the point of arrogance, following a teenager like a humble student?
No one voiced the question.
The doors opened.
Inside, the treasury glowed.
Shelves of jade and ironwood stretched into the distance, each etched with protective formations. Spirit herbs rested in suspended glass cases, their auras muted but unmistakable—fire-red roots, shimmering water reeds, veins of crystallized earth pulsing slowly like a living thing.
The air itself felt heavy with wealth.
Mingzhi stepped forward—and quietly closed his left eye.
“Spirit. Find it.“
There was no dramatic response.
Just a brief, inward shift of awareness.
Three shelves to your left, the Spirit said calmly. Second tier. Earth-Attribute: Stoneheart Root. Suitable for an Earth Cultivation Pill, Level Two.
Mingzhi walked straight to it and stopped.
“This one,” he said.
Patriarch Liu followed his gaze, then nodded approvingly. “A solid choice.”
Rou glanced at him curiously. “Are you planning to use this… to make cultivation pills?”
“Yes,” Mingzhi replied without hesitation.
The word barely left his mouth before Physician Mo inhaled sharply.
“…You make cultivation pills too?” the physician asked, stepping forward eagerly.
Patriarch Liu turned as well, eyes sharpening with interest.
Mingzhi met their gazes calmly. “For early stages. Yes.”
Silence.
Then Patriarch Liu laughed again—this time with unmistakable excitement.
“My son’s Ice Constitution will require specialized support,” he said carefully. “Ice pills are rare in the lower realms. Ice is Water’s advanced attribute—most alchemists cannot refine it deliberately.”
His gaze locked onto Mingzhi.
“If,” he said slowly, “you were willing to assist… the Liu family would not be stingy.”
Mingzhi did not answer immediately.
“Spirit?“ he asked inwardly.
“A shorter Void Eye session will suffice,“ the Spirit replied. “After your recent training, Level One and Two pills are well within your capabilities. However—Ice is an advanced element. Using only the Five Elements, the quality will not reach perfection.“
Mingzhi nodded internally.
Then he looked back at Patriarch Liu.
“I can do it,” he said. “But the pills will not be flawless. They will be stable. Effective. Not transcendent.”
Patriarch Liu’s smile widened. “That is more than enough.”
Physician Mo hesitated, wringing his hands slightly, then asked carefully, “May I… observe the process? I will not disturb you. I simply must see how you handle the heat regulation.”
Mingzhi considered him for a moment, seeing the genuine hunger for knowledge in the old man's eyes.
He nodded. “You may.”
Relief and excitement flickered across the physician’s face.
They selected the remaining herbs together.
Four main sets:
- One for Liu Feng’s Ice cultivation
- One for Mingzhi
- One for Rou
- One for Qingyu
When the selections were complete, Patriarch Liu gestured toward the exit.
“The alchemy room is prepared,” he said. “Whenever you are ready.”
Mingzhi closed the treasury doors behind them.
The real work was about to begin.
The Alchemy Room was a sanctuary of function over form. Unlike the opulent treasury, this chamber was built of soot-stained dark stone and reinforced iron. A heavy copper cauldron sat in the center, positioned directly over a circular grate in the floor—a tap for the subterranean Earth Fire vein that ran beneath the city.
It was simple, but the tools were top-tier. The cooling racks were jade; the ladles were cold-iron.
Physician Mo stood by the wall, holding his breath, notebook in hand. Rou took up a guard position by the door, though here, she seemed more curious than tense.
Mingzhi arranged the ingredients on the stone table. The Stoneheart Root for himself. The Tide-Caller Root for Rou. And the delicate, shivering stalks of Frost-Grass for Liu Feng.
He sat cross-legged before the cauldron. He placed his hand on the heavy iron lever that controlled the Earth Fire vent. It was cold to the touch.
"I need to prepare mentally," Mingzhi said, his voice echoing slightly in the stone room. "Do not disturb me."
He closed his eyes.
The darkness of the room vanished, replaced instantly by the swirling grey mist of the Void Eye.
Standing before him was the Spirit—a silhouette of white light, arms crossed, looking unimpressed. Beside him was a perfect replica of the copper cauldron and the iron lever.
"About time," the Spirit grumbled. "I have reconstructed the room’s parameters. The variable today is not your Qi, but that crude hole in the floor they call a fire vent."
Mingzhi stepped up to the virtual cauldron. "It’s Earth Fire. It’s wilder than my own energy."
"It is untamed geological heat," the Spirit corrected. "In the attempts before, you used your body as the conduit. Today, you must master the valve. If you open it too fast, you incinerate the herbs. Too slow, and the essence stagnates."
"Let's grind," Mingzhi said.
Simulation: Attempt 1
Mingzhi threw in a virtual stalk of Frost-Grass. He yanked the lever.
ROAR.
A pillar of yellow flame shot up, engulfing the cauldron.
"Congratulations," the Spirit droned dryly. "You have successfully refined ash. Next."
Simulation: Attempt 8
Mingzhi adjusted the valve with trembling fingers. He tried to maintain a low simmer. But Earth Fire pulsed like a heartbeat; it surged unexpectedly.
Crack.
The pill fracture.
"You are reacting, not predicting," the Spirit chided. "Listen to the hiss of the vent. The pressure builds before the flame rises. Adjust the valve before the spike."
Simulation: Attempt 19
Mingzhi’s eyes were locked on the virtual flame. He wasn't looking at the lever anymore; his hand moved instinctively, feathering the valve, riding the pressure waves of the earth like a boat on a choppy sea.
He introduced the Frost-Grass. The heat rose.
"Now," Mingzhi whispered. "The Insulation Layer."
Since he couldn't channel Ice Qi directly, he had to wrap the delicate Frost essence in a shell of Earth Qi to protect it from the fire. A ceramic casing for a frozen core.
He poured his Earth Qi into the mix. The fire licked at the shell, baking it hard, while the inside remained cool.
Hum.
The simulation stabilized.
As the essence condensed, the Spirit's voice cut in.
"Too dense," the Spirit warned. "You preserved too much of the Frost-Grass. If you seal that into a single shell, it will detonate like a bomb in the boy's stomach. Split it."
Mingzhi didn't hesitate. He used a mental blade of Divine Sense to slice the swirling liquid sphere in half.
Pop. Pop.
Two smaller, pale white pills hovered in the furnace. Stability achieved. It wasn't perfect—it lacked the translucent brilliance of a Supreme Pill—but it was solid, round, and radiated a steady cold.
"High Grade, almost Supreme," the Spirit assessed, nodding once. "Acceptable. You have the rhythm. Now... wake up and do it for real."
What’s been your favorite moment, character, or idea so far? I’m genuinely curious what’s resonating.
I’ve written 50+ chapters already, so there’s a lot more ahead.