Gathered Together in the Celestial Realm

In a single batch of these Stone Spirit Pills, ten could be refined, yet only four were successfully obtained. Among them, one bore a pitted, uneven surface and exuded a faintly fishy stench—it was clearly an unusable poison pill. The remaining three, being whole and sound, were carefully placed into a jade vial. Just as he reached out, prepared to crush the poison pill, his hand suddenly froze.

He sensed a stirring. From his left wrist, where the ghostly entity known as Ghost Seven had lain dormant for some time, there was finally movement.

These past days, Ghost Seven’s aura had grown increasingly gentle, indicating it was close to acclimating to this world. Qin Chuan had assumed it would slumber for another ten days or half a month, but unexpectedly, it roused today. Thanks to the gray thread that bridged them, communication between Qin Chuan and Ghost Seven was no great difficulty.

With a single thought, Qin Chuan responded. He slapped his left wrist, and Ghost Seven’s form manifested—a hazy shape, shoulder to shoulder with Qin Chuan, startling him at first sight.

As a spirit companion, Ghost Seven was neither entirely a ghost nor a person. In the Wind-listening Domain, its form had been translucent yet with clear facial features, not so blurred. Now, its face was vastly different—eyes and nose like melting clay, smeared across its visage, and its mouth emitted two weary grunts, revealing exhaustion Qin Chuan could even sense.

“You want this poison pill?” Qin Chuan asked, surprised, eyeing the unsightly pill in his hand.

Ghost Seven could not yet speak, but it was intelligent; it gazed at Qin Chuan with longing, like a child begging for food, pitiful and plaintive.

Qin Chuan hesitated. This poison pill clearly lacked the proper balance of medicinal elements, retaining much toxicity. He worried about possible harm if it were consumed. Yet, after a moment’s consideration, he steeled himself and fed the pill to Ghost Seven.

After swallowing the pill, Ghost Seven exhibited no unusual reaction, or at most a faint one. However, Qin Chuan distinctly felt its aura strengthen ever so slightly.

Joy flickered in his eyes. He sensed that if a hundred such poison pills were consumed, Ghost Seven might fully recover, perhaps even surpass its former state. In his storage pouch, there were roughly a dozen more of these poison pills.

Normally, pills of this kind would never be kept in one’s storage pouch for fear they might be mistaken in a crisis. The reason so many remained was for comparison during alchemy, preserved temporarily.

Over the past several days, quite a number of these poison pills had been produced—nearly a hundred, though most had been crushed and destroyed. When placed before Ghost Seven, it picked and chose, swallowing only five in total.

After ingesting the five poison pills, Ghost Seven transformed in a flash, becoming a slender ribbon that coiled once more around Qin Chuan’s left wrist, resembling a tattoo from a distance.

While pondering how to obtain more poison pills, he suddenly recalled today’s event—his spirits lifted.

Wasn’t there an alchemy gathering today? With over a thousand disciples attending, could such a grand event possibly lack poison pills?

The question now was how to acquire them amid the gathering—it would depend on seizing the right moment.

When Qin Chuan had exchanged his surplus pills for some much-needed spirit stones, the number of disciples in Yellow Springs Valley increased noticeably.

The main venue of the Hundred Peaks Alchemy Symposium was not in Yellow Springs Valley, but atop Azurefall Peak.

Speaking of Azurefall Peak, there was also Steward Wang, whom he had met once before. If the opportunity arose, a visit would be worthwhile.

There were only a handful of paths leading to Azurefall Peak—besides the main road connecting Yellow Springs Valley, there was a narrow pass on the other side.

As a result, the number of disciples in Yellow Springs Valley swelled.

Scanning the crowd, Qin Chuan noted that disciples at the fourth level of Qi Refinement were few, most were at the third level.

Strangely, there was not a single Postnatally-born disciple to be seen. On ordinary days, one or two might be spotted, but at today’s grand event, none were present.

Following the crowd, Qin Chuan was swept along, and the closer they drew to Azurefall Peak, the denser the gathering became.

Leaving the borders of Yellow Springs Valley and entering Azurefall Peak, he found the scenery on either side of the flower-strewn path worthy of the name Azurefall.

Here, waterfalls cascaded in a thousand streams, like curtains of pearls and jade. Birds nested along the cliffs, and rainbows arched through the sky. The scent of pine rolled in waves, verdant forests dripped emerald, and the cloud-piercing heights gleamed with snow—earthly beauty at its finest.

The flower path wound upward, vanishing into the clouds like a colorful ribbon draping the peak.

Not long ago, Qin Chuan had arrived here and wondered aloud when he might stand atop Azurefall to gaze down at the world below. Unexpectedly, today presented that very chance.

The spiritual energy here was abundant; secluded paradises abounded, evoking a sense of otherworldly wonder.

Lost in the splendor, Qin Chuan soon noticed the disciples ahead dispersing.

At the mountain’s summit lay a vast plaza, flanked by vermillion halls of varying heights perched on flying outcrops.

These halls seemed to merge seamlessly with the surrounding landscape, without the least trace of artifice, as if shaped by nature itself.

The disciples spread out, each finding a meditation mat upon which to sit cross-legged. The mats appeared ordinary, but once seated, one’s mind grew subtly calm. In a short while, all thousand-plus attendees were settled, not a single place left unfilled.

As Qin Chuan absently traced the ribbon on his wrist, pondering how to acquire more poison pills, he heard the distant chime of a bell from the clock tower.

“Dong, dong…”

The measured toll sounded eight times, marking the hour of Chen.

Curiously, though the air was thick with clouds and mist, sunlight still pierced the ethereal veil, bathing the plaza in golden radiance and casting luminous halos atop the pavilions.

At that moment, a middle-aged Daoist entered. Qin Chuan was surprised to recognize him—it was Steward Wang.

But now, he had shed his steward’s duties to become the master of Azurefall Peak.

He recalled Wang Hao mentioning that Steward Wang’s given name was Wang Feng.

His cultivation was unfathomable, but his manner was carefree, never constrained by convention or ritual.

He had once taken on a managerial post, and had it not been for the sect master’s intervention, he might have remained indefinitely.

He was often seen with a wine jug, sharing drinks with the ordinary disciples, always winning hearts.

Wang Feng swaggered onto the stage, a touch unsteady, his cheeks flushed, clearly having indulged in more drink.

He was nudged up to the platform, and as he prepared to summon spirit wine from his storage pouch, he caught the eye of a young disciple who mouthed a silent warning: “Uncle Wang, if you drink again, I’ll call the sect master!”

His expression soured. After a drunken hiccup, he sobered a bit.

“The Hundred Peaks Alchemy Symposium—begins!” he finally managed after a long pause, prompting a rustle of amusement from the crowd below.

Many who knew Wang Feng well could not help but mutter inwardly, “As expected.”

With that, Wang Feng wandered offstage, leaving a young disciple to take his place, his face betraying reluctant resignation.