Chapter Seventeen: Encounter with an Old Friend

Lu Qian bowed solemnly to Li Du.

This man, cold on the outside but warm within, had likely come to offer him guidance after seeing his breathing technique reach completion, so as to spare him unnecessary detours.

Returning to his quarters, Lu Qian took out the Fish-Dragon Herb, pondering his next steps.

The finest way to utilize the Fish-Dragon Herb was, of course, to refine it into a pill. However, only Qi Refining cultivators capable of producing true fire could perform alchemy. Such a treasure, valuable for breakthroughs even at the Qi Refining stage, was not something a mere novice like him dared to take out openly; he might not even be able to keep it safe.

“I can only consume it directly. Though some of the medicinal efficacy will be lost, most of it will still benefit me,” Lu Qian thought to himself.

He called forth the panel within his mind.

The Mysterious Breathing Technique (Great Accomplishment: 701/1000)

There were still three hundred points left to reach perfection.

At his current rate of practice—three sessions a day—it would take a hundred days to break through. With the aid of medicinal herbs, perhaps a bit more than two months.

He was unsure just how potent the Fish-Dragon Herb would be, but as a precious item for the Qi Refining stage, it might enable an immediate breakthrough.

For now, the only thing holding him back was his Dao Merit.

He had only two Dao Merit points left, still short eighteen to exchange for a new technique.

After submitting his tasks, he would still have over twenty stalks of Fish Grass, worth more than forty legal coins—equivalent to four Dao Merit points.

“Maybe I should try my luck at the Ghost Market.”

The temple’s purchasing price was usually the lowest.

In the hands of someone who truly needed it, the value could be much higher.

He would wait for some free time to visit.

Elsewhere, in a lavish palace—

Several white-robed guards patrolled the key areas.

A richly attired man sat in the brightly lit hall—this was Li Lin.

Xie Te stood before him, head bowed, speaking softly.

A sharp slap rang out; Xie Te’s cheek swelled instantly.

Li Lin’s face was cold. “Useless. You can’t even handle a novice, and your spell was broken.”

“It was my own incompetence. I dropped your name, but that brat said…” Xie Te dared not resent Li Lin, blaming Lu Qian for all his grievances.

“Said what?”

“He said, ‘What does the nephew of the Mountain Patrol Steward amount to? I’m an alchemy novice—if you want revenge, come at me.’”

“Oh? He really said that?” Li Lin asked.

“Absolutely.”

“In a few days, take the Mountain Patrol token, find an excuse, and lock him up. I want to see just who’s so arrogant.”

The next day, Lu Qian stood before his workbench.

Various vessels floated at his sides, each moving in orderly fashion as he worked. Lin Qing and Zhu Long, watching nearby, were dazzled by the display.

Neither had expected their junior, who had joined after them, to have come so far.

After a while, two sets of Tortoiseshell Vitality Pills and one packet of Blood-Nourishing Powder were completed.

Lu Qian set down his tools and wiped his brow.

Li Du, arms folded, was well satisfied with Lu Qian’s dazzling performance.

“The day’s quota is finished. If you wish to rest, you may leave,” Li Du said kindly, his tone softer than any of the others had ever heard from him.

The pharmacy had daily quotas set by superiors. As long as deliveries were made on time, any extra time was their own to arrange.

This was precisely why the novices all hoped to become alchemy assistants; such a position freed them from endless hours spent in the dark, toxic air of the workshop.

“Junior Brother, do you know what people from the other pharmacies say about you?” Lin Qing asked.

In the past half-year, Lin Qing had grown much quieter, no longer as lively as when she first arrived.

She had come to understand the hardships of cultivation—the feeling of being endlessly stuck, with no hope of advancement, was truly despairing.

“Oh? What do they say?” Lu Qian turned his head.

“They say you’re the greatest talent after Yan Jianfeng. Our Xuan-class pharmacy can finally hold its head high—no more fear of being ridiculed outside,” Zhu Long chimed in.

“Yan Jianfeng—the first-grade alchemist from the Tian-class pharmacy?” Lu Qian coughed modestly. “That’s too much praise. I still have a long way to go.”

Li Du encouraged him, “Don’t belittle yourself. Yan Jianfeng is a top-ranked novice, with resources and family far beyond yours. If you had his background, you’d be his equal. You must be close to mastering the fetal breathing stage? I’ll reduce your workload; focus on your cultivation, there’s not much time left.”

“Thank you, Daoist,” Lu Qian said with genuine gratitude.

In truth, this thanks was heartfelt. Novices were a sorely exploited class; in other pharmacies, the overseers would squeeze every bit of rest time out of them to earn more Dao Merit for themselves.

But Li Du was different. Work was never shirked, but rest was always fairly granted.

“It’s a pity you haven’t reached first rank yet. Otherwise, you could refine higher-level medicines and earn Dao Merit within the temple,” Li Du said.

Lu Qian registered this quietly, hiding his thoughts as he took his leave.

“So, once I’m a first-grade alchemist, I can earn Dao Merit by refining medicine?” he mused. “But now is not the time.”

In the following days, Lu Qian’s speed in completing his tasks grew ever faster.

His techniques improved daily, earning Li Du’s frequent nods of approval.

It would not be long before he broke through to first-grade alchemist.

During this period, Li Du assigned him tasks to search for medicinal herbs as well, helping Lu Qian accumulate Dao Merit.

Lu Qian spent most of his time outside, so Xie Te and his group failed to catch him on several attempts.

Though Li Du’s rank was lower than the steward’s, he was still not someone regular novices could provoke.

Only if they could quickly seize Lu Qian and bring him to the Mountain Patrol’s quarters under some pretext would Li Du be unable to intervene.

Lu Qian was unaware of the threats quietly looming over him.

He had no time to worry about them; all his focus was on breaking through.

As long as he succeeded, everything else would resolve itself.

The Ghost Market.

Contrary to its reputation, it wasn’t especially hidden.

Most transactions took place at night, with both parties concealing their identities—hence the name.

Anything could be traded here, whether genuine or fake, illicit or legitimate.

The market was located on the shadowed side of the mountain, shrouded in ghostly mists and chilling cold.

Ahead stood a decorated archway inscribed “Mysterious Market.”

Inside, stalls of all sizes lined the roads.

People hurried by in silence, most without a word.

A long-tongued hanging ghost floated past Lu Qian.

At another stall, the vendor was a ten-zhang-long yellow snake, its icy vertical pupils surveying the crowd.

An owl negotiated a price, grabbed an item in its beak, and flew off into the night.

The market was full of bizarre figures and strange sights, but passersby paid them no mind.

The wares on display were equally astounding: ghosts, corpses, strange beasts, herbs that wailed like infants…

Clad in a black cloak, Lu Qian felt stifled and lifted his hood for some air.

He’d bought the cloak at the entrance; many wore similar garb, so he didn’t stand out.

“Lu Qian!” a man’s startled voice called nearby.

He turned to see a short-bearded man at a nearby stall waving at him.

“Wang Ming, what are you doing here?”

It was none other than Wang Ming, the oldest novice in their little group, holding the Ding rank.