He stepped forward calmly and placed his small pile of Green Oak Charcoal into the wooden tray before Deacon Gu.

  Every piece in the tray was a pure, unblemished black with a surface so smooth it looked less like burnt wood and more like naturally polished Ink-Jade.

  Deacon Gu, his eyes usually half-lidded with boredom, finally opened them fully. He reached out a withered finger, picked up a piece, and examined it closely. With a slight squeeze of his fingertips, the charcoal dissolved soundlessly into a cloud of incredibly fine powder.

  The hall fell into a heavy silence. The disciples who had just been scolded felt their faces burning. They stared at Gensheng’s tray, their eyes filled with disbelief.

  How is this possible?

  A 'Five-Element Waste' with muddled spiritual energy... how could he purify 'Dross Qi' more thoroughly than disciples with proper Spirit Roots?

  Deacon Gu lifted his gaze, finally taking a proper look at the handsome youth before him. "What is your name?"

  "Disciple Chen Gensheng."

  "Hmph." Gu let out a sound from his nose—it was impossible to tell if it was praise or a sneer. "I thought Elder Wan had gone senile, picking up a pretty but useless vase from the mountain to decorate the place."

  He paused, his eyes scanning Gensheng’s calm face. "I didn't expect that a brat with such a delicate face would have such delicate skill with his hands."

  "The Alchemy Fire Room is short of a charcoal-feeder. You’ll take the post starting now."

  The hall erupted in an uproar.

  The Alchemy Fire Room! That was the heart of the Outer Sect’s pill production. To work there, even as a lowly laborer feeding the fires, meant daily contact with real Alchemists. There was even the chance to beg for Pill Dross (discarded medicinal remnants)—a windfall that ordinary Outer disciples wouldn't dare dream of.

  A disciple who considered his own Spirit Root superior couldn't hold back. He stood up, face flushed with indignation. "Deacon Gu, I object! He is a Five-Element—"

  "What kind of trash are you?"

  Gu didn't even blink, cutting the boy off mid-sentence. "If you have an opinion, go burn your charcoal into that state first. Then come back and argue with me."

  The disciple’s face turned beet-red. He sat back down, silenced, his eyes brimming with jealousy and venom as he glared at Gensheng.

  Gensheng offered a deep bow to the Deacon. "My thanks, Deacon."

  Deacon Gu led Gensheng through several corridors into a courtyard enclosed by high walls. A powerful heatwave, smelling of fresh herbs mixed with scorched carbon, hit them square in the face. Seven or eight furnaces of various sizes stood in the yard, their roaring flames distorting the very air. Several disciples in Outer Sect robes were rushing between furnaces and herb racks, drenched in sweat, their expressions tense and strained.

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  "This is the Alchemy Fire Room," Gu’s voice remained lazy despite the clamor. He pointed to a mountain of Green Oak Charcoal in the corner and then to a bin filled with discarded medicinal waste. "You’ll be in charge of the charcoal and clearing out this garbage."

  He gestured to a disciple fanning a furnace. "Wang Qi, this is the new guy. Show him the ropes."

  With that, Gu tucked his hands into his sleeves, yawned, and strolled away.

  The disciple named Wang Qi stopped his work and sized Gensheng up. His face was expressionless. "Elder Wan’s influence is truly great, isn't it?" He shoved a large cattail fan into Gensheng’s arms. "Don't just stand there. The fire in Furnace No. 3 is dying. Go add charcoal."

  Gensheng took the fan without a word and walked to the third furnace. The vessel was white-hot; even from several paces away, the temperature was searing. He used iron tongs to feed the purified charcoal into the base, then began to fan with a steady, rhythmic motion.

  Wang Qi watched him for a moment. Seeing that the youth’s movements were nimble and practiced—not at all like a pampered young lord—he grunted and went back to his own business.

  BOOM!

  An explosion erupted from Furnace No. 5. The disciple in charge of it staggered back, his face turning pale. A thick, scorched smell accompanied a cloud of black smoke. There were no pills inside—only a pool of bubbling, pitch-black sludge.

  "Failed again!" The disciple collapsed to the ground, despondent. "What the hell is this Clear-Sight Pill? I followed the recipe exactly, step by step! Why does the furnace always blow at the final condensation stage?"

  A disciple nearby, who was struggling to control his own fire, let out a bitter laugh. "Junior Brother Zhou, save your grief. My batch is probably a lost cause, too. The pills the Saintess wants aren't that easy to refine."

  "I truly don't understand! Her Highness has divine talent in the Alchemical Dao and is already a Golden Core cultivator. Why does she insist on us Outer disciples refining these mere Grade-2 Clear-Sight Pills for her? If she did it herself, wouldn't it be done in the flick of a finger?"

  Another disciple sighed, stopping his hand seals as his batch also turned to dross. "Who knows? I heard Her Highness needs to consume three top-grade Clear-Sight Pills every single day now. Not one less. But this pill is cursed; the success rate is terrifyingly low. There are a dozen of us here working day and night, and we’re lucky if we get two or three finished pills a day."

  "The spirit herbs the sect has wasted on this could form a mountain."

  Gensheng stood in the corner, listening intently.

  Clear-Sight Pills.

  In his mind, the girl Lu Zhaozhao was pouting, kicking away a heap of scorched dross. "Husband, these Clear-Sight Pills are too hard to make! My fingers are going to snap! You have to use thirty-two different hand seals to draw out seventy-nine medicinal properties. One mistake and it’s over. It’s so annoying!"

  It wasn't that she couldn't refine them. It was that during that century-long dream, refining these pills had become her Inner Demon. Every failure, every moment of frustration in the dream had been branded into the depths of her Dao Heart. Even though she was now a Golden Core, the moment she tried to refine them herself, that dream-born failure would haunt her, unsettling her mind.

  She didn't want the pills. She was using this as a way to force herself to remember, to search for her six-armed husband from the dream.

  How tragic.

  The failed disciple, Zhou, stood up in frustration. He shoveled out the glowing, molten dross and dumped it viciously into the waste bin. "Bad luck!"

  Wang Qi walked over and tapped Gensheng on the shoulder. "What are you staring at? It’s your turn to work. Go clear out that dross and dump it in the waste pit behind the mountain."

  Gensheng nodded. He hoisted the half-man-high waste bin and walked out of the alchemy room.

  The bin was filled with the failed remnants of several Clear-Sight batches, still radiating heat. He walked to a secluded corner where no one was watching and stopped.

  His broad sleeves fell, masking his movements. A hand—smaller than a normal man’s but with perfectly defined fingers—reached silently into the bin and pinched a piece of warm dross.

  As he brought the dross close to his body, two more hands slithered out from his sleeves. With three hands moving in a bizarre, rhythmic dance, he began to press, knead, and channel spiritual energy into the discarded scrap.

  The thirty-two complex hand seals were dismantled and performed simultaneously by his three hands. The chaotic, muddled medicinal properties were, under his fingertips, slowly combed, soothed, and fused back together.