Seventy: Consecutive Failures

“I have no idea what despicable tricks he used in the previous rounds to advance. My own disciple is so disappointing—he returned to Dao Peak, stocked up on a month’s worth of water and fasting pills, and locked himself away for a long retreat!”

“You’re lucky. My third disciple went mad and declared he’d start over as an apprentice herb boy!”

...

Below the stage, clusters of three or five whispered together, but their murmurs could not disturb the high platform above.

Qin Chuan seemed to anticipate his own cauldron would explode. When he first retrieved the spiritual herbs, he had prepared three to five extra sets. With a wave of his hand, the herbs floated to his palm, and he began anew.

This only confirmed the crowd’s suspicions. Discussions swelled, loud and rampant; most agreed that Qin Chuan was self-aware enough to know success would be difficult, so he had prepared extra herbs.

Time passed swiftly—two hours slipped by.

Qin Chuan’s cauldron exploded several times in succession, drawing sighs from the audience below.

In contrast, Fang Mu had reached a crucial moment.

On the wall of the Seven-Star Cauldron, six of the seven star patterns blazed with light; the last began to gleam as well.

Fang Mu’s expression grew ever more grave. In order to have the First Pill Pavilion heal Wan Tong’s injuries, he had reluctantly agreed to the Elder’s request.

If he could force Qin Chuan to refine that body-tempering pill, he could ask the Elder to craft a single Profound Yin Pill to cure the aftereffects of forbidden arts.

The prescription he now followed for Marrow-Cleansing Powder had been provided by the Elder, practiced countless times—so long as he made no mistakes, the success rate was ninety percent.

This pill, of about Qi Refining Tier Two, was far superior to ordinary fasting pills, though it paled in comparison to the body-tempering pill.

As the end drew near, Fang Mu pressed his palms against the cauldron wall, feeling an unnatural coolness—proof the Seven-Star Cauldron was no ordinary vessel.

He poured spiritual energy into his palms, holding back a third, sending in the rest, and even pressed his face close, constantly sensing the subtle movements within the cauldron, adjusting his energy for optimal results.

Few dared such proximity, for success in pill refinement was rarely guaranteed. Should the cauldron explode, being so close risked injury.

About the time it takes for a stick of incense to burn, a hint of joy appeared on Fang Mu’s face.

He straightened, formed a hand seal, and tapped lightly on the cauldron lid.

A clear chime rang out, like moonlight meeting a brimming goblet of wine.

He opened the lid; the seven stars dimmed, swirling into a dark force that swept up the Marrow-Cleansing Powder, lifting it gently and placing it in Fang Mu’s palm.

Though this was merely a Qi Refining Tier Two pill, his back was drenched in cold sweat, soaking his robes; the breeze chilled him to the bone.

He raised the pill high, showing a relieved smile.

Wan Tong, I promised to heal your eyes. I will not break my word! Wait for me.

By coincidence, Qin Chuan’s cauldron exploded yet again. The dragon and the pig drew the gaze of everyone below.

Seeing the dark smoke rising from Qin Chuan’s cauldron, Fang Mu took notice. The area around him was littered with blackened residue—clearly, this was not his first explosion.

A surge of unease erupted in Fang Mu’s heart.

“Fang Mu thanks Brother Qin for saving my life that day. If you succeed in refining the body-tempering pill today, I will serve you faithfully from now on, through mountains of blades and seas of fire!”

Qin Chuan did not reply, but rose to his feet. As if resigned, he began to pace, circling Fang Mu’s cauldron three times left, three times right.

As he walked, he muttered, “Twenty percent, thirty percent... fifty percent.”

All this, the Master Su and others observed, though none could hear Qin Chuan’s words.

The crowd below voiced even stronger doubts. Looking up at the stage, the Elder’s face flickered between light and dark, his jaw clenched, disbelief etched deep as he inwardly cried out. Not even the Yellow Springs Fruit tempts you?

Only Master Su’s eyes shone with increasing brilliance, a smile playing at his lips.

“Fifty percent, fifty percent!” Qin Chuan frowned, clearly dissatisfied. He slapped his storage pouch and drew the Bright Moon Sword.

The crowd was stunned, their attention caught by his strange actions—why brandish a magical weapon at a pill-refining tournament?

Qin Chuan grabbed the mouth of Fang Mu’s Seven-Star Cauldron, infused it with spiritual energy and his powerful physique, and forcibly tilted it.

He braced his foot against the cauldron wall, poised to use the Bright Moon Sword to keep it steady, preventing it from rolling away.

His movements were swift and practiced. Qin Chuan inserted the Bright Moon Sword into the cauldron, stirring vigorously.

The crowd below watched in amusement, inwardly mocking Qin Chuan for his foolish antics.

Only the Elder on the stage had a sudden change of expression, an improbable guess forming in his mind.

There was but one explanation for Qin Chuan’s actions.

The Elder and several senior members exchanged glances, tension mounting. The Elder tried to rise, but Master Su caught him firmly.

“You may play your little tricks, but right under my nose, you still dare make a move?” Master Su’s tone turned icy, striking fear into all those present and leaving them uneasy and restless.

The Elder forced a bitter smile. “I’m old, my bones are frail—I merely wanted to stretch my legs.”

“Do you still wish to move, Elder? Perhaps I should accompany you,” Master Su replied, all surface smile and no warmth, her eyes sharp as daggers.

“No, no...” He sat back down, his thoughts racing, his expression grave, all lightness gone.

Qin Chuan, undisturbed, continued with the Bright Moon Sword. With no one stopping him, he relished the lack of trouble.

When he finished, he put away the sword, clenched his fists, and pounded the cauldron repeatedly. His blows echoed like thunder.

After a while, he ceased, breathing slightly heavier.

Fang Mu, beside him, grew even more anxious, about to speak when Qin Chuan interrupted.

“I, Qin Chuan, am not ungrateful. Wan Tong has shown me kindness, and I will repay it. Your scheming against me will be answered in kind—stand aside and watch.”

“I will find a way to heal your Wan Tong!”

As he spoke, Qin Chuan leaned over the cauldron, searching for a long moment. His gaze brightened as he plucked a fragment from the inner wall and placed it in his mouth.

He sat cross-legged in meditation for a full quarter of an hour before opening his eyes, now clearer than ever.

Upon opening his eyes, he softly uttered, “Eighty percent.”

Fang Mu stood beside him, hearing every word. Coupled with his previous actions, confusion first clouded his gaze, then shock.

A storm raged in his heart as he turned, watching Qin Chuan slowly stride toward the herb rack.

“Who are you, really?”