Chapter Thirty-Five: Alchemy (Please leave your comments!)

White Cloud Powder—one of the several medicinal recipes recorded at Crane-Cloud Temple—was said, according to memory, to grant a notable enhancement to the practice of the Crane-Cloud Technique.

The chief ingredient was Tangerine Silver Fruit, accompanied by seven other herbs in total, including Root of Vitality, Yellow Hundred-Leaf, and Bai Zi Ling.

In the courtyard, Chen Yu was gripping two gray copper cauldrons, each as large as a human head, one in each hand. He set them before him, left and right.

Clang!

Pebbles trembled beneath the weight of the cauldrons’ three legs, pressed firmly into the ground.

He lifted the lid and peered inside. All he could see was pitch darkness, so he fetched some dry grass, mixed in well water, and began to scrub and wash out the cauldrons. Clang after clang, he poured out wave after wave of black, coal-like grime.

Heaven only knew how long these cauldrons had gone unopened, for a thick layer of medicinal residue clung stubbornly to the bottom and sides. It took considerable effort to scrape it clean.

After a good while, both cauldrons were thoroughly washed and set out, gleaming, on the stone steps. With a final wipe down, the last traces of water evaporated slowly in the morning sun.

Meanwhile, Chen Yu had not been idle. He took up a stone pestle and began to grind the herbs, following the recipe’s proportions as best he could recall, placing each ingredient into the mortar.

He was now physically quite strong, and even tried to use his inner force, but he found he had yet to reach the level where energy flowed smoothly, let alone the point where it could be projected outside the body.

The stone pestle sat unmoved in his hand, the force wasted for nothing.

After two attempts, Chen Yu gave up and obediently reverted to traditional methods. Perhaps, when his cultivation advanced, he could try again; for now, it was beyond him.

It was said that only martial masters could project their inner strength outward—a feat that made them celebrities in the martial world, renowned across the land.

Such figures were admired by all practitioners, hailed as the very pinnacle.

Above that, one reached the level of grandmasters, a rank so rare it might emerge only once in several generations.

Even the founding abbot of the temple, famed for subduing tigers and slaying pythons, was far from such heights.

As for Chen Yu at present, he was nowhere near.

Thud, thud, thud!

The pestle fell, crushing each herb to fragments.

Pounding herbs was a delicate task, far more subtle than it seemed; brute strength alone would not suffice. Each strike required careful control, as some herbs needed to remain in larger pieces, while others had to be ground to powder.

After each ingredient, the mortar was changed to prevent any clash of medicinal properties. Later, during mixing, a little water would be added; combining the herbs two by two would draw out and neutralize toxins, ensuring no harm.

Herbal powders for martial practice generally served two purposes: extraction and neutralization.

Extraction drew out toxins and beneficial properties alike; neutralization mostly targeted toxins or inert components.

Mixing herbs without the proper recipe or discernment could yield not a healing remedy, but a lethal poison.

Thus, one could see how precious true medicinal recipes were.

For example, the Dragon-Tiger Elixir of True Martial Mountain was said to be concocted only in hidden caves, with the fire drawn from the earth, never allowing outsiders to observe.

This was all to prevent theft.

Chen Yu, however, had always regarded such so-called celestial pills, loaded with mercury and lead, with skepticism.

After all, the alchemical sects had wrought too many calamities, and in his previous life, he’d heard countless cautionary tales.

Not only him: aside from those dying nobles or the deluded seekers of immortality, most Daoist disciples remained clear-headed and did not dabble deeply in such things.

Even at True Martial Mountain, the Dragon-Tiger Elixir was produced only once every few years, and by their own claim, it relied mostly on herbs, with mercury and lead as mere adjuncts in small amounts, supposedly harmless to the body.

Such was their caution in alchemy.

But these musings were idle thoughts, having nothing to do with the herbal powder Chen Yu was making.

His mixture was purely herbal, akin to traditional Chinese medicine in his previous life; its efficacy aside, past cases showed little in the way of serious side effects.

As memory served, the worst outcomes were excess loss of vital energy, a nosebleed, excessive sweating under the arms, or peeling skin on the feet—

Minor problems, all.

Given his current constitution, these side effects, while not negligible, were nothing to worry about.

Thud!

With the last herb crushed, Chen Yu took out a sheet of yellow paper and poured the powder onto it, setting it with the rest.

Then, it was time to rinse the cauldrons and begin.

The kitchen was poorly ventilated, so to avoid being choked by smoke, Chen Yu boldly set up his operation in the open courtyard.

Smoke drifted away, flames rose, and steam began to billow from the cauldron.

He placed his hand on the bottom. The medicinal cauldrons in this world differed from those used for cooking: the latter were thin for quick heating, but the former had a double base with a gap between, so the heat rose slowly and was not scalding to the touch.

Not bad.

Judging the temperature, Chen Yu added the first powder, spreading it thinly across the bottom with the pestle.

Sparks crackled as the flames grew fiercer and the heat inside the cauldron climbed.

He added another ingredient, not powdered but broken into granules the size of soybeans.

He closed the lid and stoked the fire.

This was his first time making medicine, but his former self had assisted the old master with several batches before, preparing remedies for his senior and junior brothers, so he was well practiced.

Soon, there came a faint crackling from within.

“Time for the Tangerine Silver Fruit.”

It was amusing—though he was refining medicine, it felt more like cooking.

Whoosh!

As soon as the fruit went in, he heaped on more firewood; the flames flared, suffusing the cauldron with a reddish glow.

Batch after batch, timed precisely; a few times he nearly made a mistake, but caught himself in time.

Before the last herb went in, Chen Yu lifted the lid and poured in half a ladle of well water.

Gurgle, gurgle.

The cauldron rumbled, and soon it boiled.

He waited for the bubbling to subside, then drew out the firewood and let the flames die.

After a quarter of an hour, the cauldron cooled on its own.

Curious, Chen Yu opened it and was immediately assailed by a thick medicinal aroma—so potent it made him retch.

Coughing, he hurriedly slammed the lid back on. Only after a few deep breaths did he recover.

Yet it was this pungent fragrance that told him his first attempt had not failed; the pot of golden-yellow, rice-like substance inside was precisely the White Cloud Powder he sought.

But Chen Yu did not stop. He immediately began preparing a second batch.

He lit the fire, added the herbs, and, at the final stage when water was to be mixed in, made a change—

This time, he poured in a measure of spiritual essence.