Love Burning Amidst the Ashes. - Chapter 13 - Secrets of the Alchemy Chamber"

The night was so thick it felt congealed, like cotton wool soaked in ink, pressing down heavily over the Hundred Herb Valley. The ethereal aura of plants and trees that shimmered during the day had now sunk into silence, replaced by a deeper, more stagnant stillness. It mingled with the damp, earthy scent of soil and a faint, cloying odor of decay drifting from the distant herb fields.

Xu Qing Xuan curled up in a corner of the wooden hut, its air pungent with mildew. His back pressed against the cold, damp wall as he fought to suppress the chill of the Yin evil force within him and the searing pain left by the day’s labor.

Outside the window, the dim yellow glow of the night patrol’s lanterns moved slowly along the stone path like dying fireflies. Their footsteps, rhythmic and hollow, beat against the dead silence. In the darkness, Xu Qing Xuan opened his clear, sharp eyes—devoid of sleep, calm as the frozen surface of a lake. Through his mind flashed the venomous wariness in Manager Zhao’s eyes, the dark, writhing energy beneath Old Wu’s skin, the sycophantic smiles of the trusted attendants as they handed him the jade box, and the charcoal markings he’d traced along the edge of the table—clues to a hidden route. Countless fragments collided and rearranged in his racing consciousness, pointing to a cold reality: in this gilded cage disguised as an immortal’s paradise, he had to find a way out—and fast. Otherwise, he would either be consumed by the Yin evil gnawing at his organs or be crushed silently into dust by Manager Zhao.

The key lay in the Alchemy Hall.

During the day, he had glimpsed the imposing structure at the valley’s heart, built against the mountainside. Its walls, thick and cold, were piled high with bluish stone, while its glazed tiles reflected glaring sunlight. The faint shadow of a massive bronze cauldron flickered within the glow of formation spells, breathing in and out a dense, suffocating aura of medicinal energy. From what he had learned, this was the core of the outer sect’s alchemy studies for the Tian Ji Pavilion—a treasury of countless pill recipes, ancient texts, and, undoubtedly, ways to dispel Yin evil and enhance cultivation. And among them, The Compendium of a Hundred Herbs—said to document the properties, preparation taboos, and foundational alchemical principles of tens of thousands of spiritual plants across the Yun Huang Continent—was the very key he desperately needed now.

Against his chest, the Yin-Yang jade pendant rested cool and smooth, its gentle chill steadying his turbulent mind and resisting the erosion of Yin evil. On the other side, the cold black compass weighed heavily, like a shard of ice from the abyss, a constant reminder of unknown dangers. He spread his palm, fingertips lightly tracing the markings on the table’s edge in the dark—clues to the “missing supplies,” perhaps his future leverage.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The night watchman’s wooden clappers sounded from the valley entrance, three strikes that echoed like blows upon a taut string, hollow and foreboding. The patrol’s footsteps faded gradually, swallowed by the depths of the herb fields. Silence fell again, thick as congealed ink.

Now.

Xu Qing Xuan slid from the bed like a predator emerging from shadows. The movement tugged at the wounds on his back, a tearing pain that stole his breath and brought cold sweat to his temples, but he swallowed the groan. He changed into the drab gray robes of a menial laborer, the rough fabric scraping against his scorched injuries with pinpricks of fresh pain. Taking a deep breath, he fastened the leather belt around his waist and gathered his remaining energy. His deductive abilities stretched out like invisible tendrils, probing cautiously into the heavy night.

After a moment, he moved without hesitation. His figure melted into the darkness like a wisp of smoke as he silently pushed open the slanted wooden door and slipped into the ink-thick night.

The night wind carried the unique scents of Hundred Herb Valley—the sour tang of aged medicinal residues, the damp rot rising from deep soil, and the cloying, unnatural fragrance of some night-blooming spirit flower, all blending into a dizzying, complex aroma. Xu Qing Xuan held his breath, crouching low as he moved along the cold, rough edges of the herb fields. The soft soil beneath his feet demanded absolute control—each step precise, no sound allowed. Stirred by the thick spiritual energy, the Yin evil within him writhed like a provoked serpent, sending alternating waves of icy prickling and searing pain through his meridians. He gritted his teeth, sweat tracing lines down his pale temples, absorbed instantly by his robes, leaving only deeper cold.

The jade pendant continued to emit a faint, cool clarity, barely preserving a sliver of order in his mind, helping him detect the subtlest energy fluctuations and sounds around him. In the distance, the lanterns of the patrol swayed like wandering ghost fires. He hid behind a thick cluster of Seven-Glow Flowers, their broad, fleshy leaves exuding a strong, strange fragrance that masked his faint scents of sweat and blood. The deep shadows of the flowers swallowed him whole.

Ahead, the Alchemy Hall loomed in the darkness like a crouching beast. Its bluish stone walls gleamed with a cold, hard sheen under the moonlight, faintly revealing formation runes flowing across the surface like breathing light. The large glazed windows were tightly shut, darkness within. At the side, a ventilation window less than two feet square lurked like an unnoticed scar on the beast’s body, hidden in the shadows of iron-vine creeping up the wall.

Here, Xu Qing Xuan’s deductions met resistance. The energy flow around the ventilation window was noticeably sluggish, like a clogged stream—not entirely dead, but risky to touch. He needed a key, a momentary “resonance” with that stagnant node.

Instinctively, he grasped the Yin-Yang jade pendant. It responded with a faint pulse in his palm, like a dormant star stirred to life. Suddenly, the brief but startling resonance with the formation spirit on the Ascension Steps flashed through his mind—and an audacious idea sparked in his cold, calculating thoughts.

Slowly closing his eyes, he sank his consciousness into the chaotic ice-plains deep within his mind. Instead of suppressing the Yin evil, he carefully guided a wisp of its energy—like maneuvering a dangerous serpent—into the palm holding the jade pendant. At the same time, he focused the faint glimmer of insight into spatial defense runes, awakened earlier by the pendant, and concentrated it into a pinpoint of light.

Hum.

A tremor, perceptible only to his soul! The rice-grain-sized bead at the pendant’s center glowed with a barely discernible grayish light—not the pure luminescence of the Ascension Steps, but tinged with the gloom of Yin evil. The Yin-Yang fish circling the pendant’s surface began to reverse their flow, slowly, laboriously, with a stiff, grinding tension. A cold, murky, erosive energy fluctuation—extremely faint—diffused from the pendant, aiming precisely at the clogged formation node around the ventilation window.

Like ice meeting boiling oil.

Hiss—!

A faint, almost imperceptible sound of dissolving energy echoed in Xu Qing Xuan’s mind. Where the stagnant energy flow around the window met this reversed, erosive force, it corroded like rotten wood, leaving a tiny, fleeting gap.

Now!

Xu Qing Xuan’s body shot forward like a released bowstring. Not fast, but with precise, measured grace, he reached the base of the Alchemy Hall wall just as the patrol’s lantern light swept past, merging into the shadows of the iron-vine. The motion tore at his wounds, pain so sharp his vision darkened, and he bit deeply into his lower lip, tasting blood.

Without pause, he focused his last strength into his fingertips, swiftly gripping the rusted iron grate of the ventilation window. It felt cold, slippery with moss. With silent effort, his muscles tensed, bones in his arms groaning faintly under the gray cloth. A faint, rusty creak—the corroded window hinge forced open a crack!

A wave of heat, ten times denser than the valley’s air and saturated with countless medicinal scents, rushed out. Pungent aromas, acrid fumes of alchemical toxins, the dust of aged furnace ashes, and a strange, almost metallic, rust-like odor merged into a suffocating blast that filled Xu Qing Xuan’s nose and mouth.

Suppressing the urge to cough and the burning in his lungs, he contorted his body like a serpent, slipping through the narrow gap. The movement tore again at the wounds on his back—scorched flesh seeming to split once more, warm liquid seeping out, soaking through the gray robes. He landed heavily on the cold, hard floor inside the Alchemy Hall with a muffled thud, quickly stifling the sound.

Darkness, thick as substance.

Sight was stripped away, but his other senses sharpened to an extreme.

The vast space stretched out like the belly of some great beast, oppressive in its emptiness. The air was scorching and thick, saturated with a dizzying cacophony of scents: the lingering pungent fragrance of countless processed spirit plants, the sulfurous char of furnace embers, the fleeting cool sweetness or cloying richness of newly formed pills, and the sour, rotten stench of discarded dregs piled in corners… These odors coiled like venomous serpents, invading his nostrils and assailing his consciousness.

What made his heart clench tighter was the immense, intangible energy field that filled the entire space! It was the residual might of alchemical fires accumulated over years within countless pill furnaces, the faint hum of active formation arrays, the potent medicinal essence seeping from jade caskets storing precious pills, and the lingering spiritual imprints of powerful alchemists who had worked here! This energy field felt like a colossal crucible, or the breath of a slumbering leviathan—heavy, searing, and radiating an aura of inviolable authority. The Yin evil force within Xu Qing Xuan’s body stirred as if encountering its nemesis, thrashing wildly against his meridians, bringing waves of tearing agony and a cold, searing burn. He stifled a groan, curling deeper into the shadows of a corner. Cold sweat poured from him like a tide, instantly soaking his robes.

The jade pendant against his chest trembled violently, its gentle coolness almost completely overwhelmed by this ferocious energy field! The black compass grew piercingly cold, as if trying to freeze his very heart! The threat of death had never felt so palpable.

He gritted his teeth until his gums bled. No retreat! This is the only chance! The pendant’s waning coolness desperately shielded the core of his consciousness. His deductive ability, like a small boat tossed in a tempest, forced itself to analyze the surroundings: massive pill furnaces stood like silent beasts throughout the hall, their mouths occasionally glowing with dull-red embers; rows of towering medicine cabinets reached towards the ceiling like a forest of black tombstones, their countless drawers bearing faded labels; faint energy currents in the air traced the spiderweb patterns of alarm formations; and in the distance, a tightly shut stone door, from whose seams seeped purer medicinal energy and a sliver of faint light—perhaps the place where the ancient texts were stored!

Just then—

Shh… Shh… Shh…

An extremely faint sound, like footsteps treading upon his very heart, approached from the direction of that stone door! Slow, steady, drawing nearer.

A supervising deacon on patrol!

Every muscle in Xu Qing Xuan’s body tensed like iron! The wounds on his back screamed with a tearing pain, a frantic warning! He held his breath sharply, shrinking his body into the deepest shadow cast by a giant pill furnace in the corner, freezing like a stone statue. His heart pounded like a war drum, thunderously loud in the dead silence of the alchemy hall; he could almost hear the roar of blood rushing through his temples.

The footsteps grew closer, accompanied by the soft rustle of robes. A faint scent, akin to sandalwood mixed with some pungent medicinal herb, diffused through the air, carrying an imposing, lofty pressure. A vague figure appeared at the edge of his vision, holding what seemed to be a lantern emitting an exceedingly dim light, illuminating only the ground immediately beneath its feet. The sickly yellow halo swayed, sweeping across the cold floor, over the massive bases of the furnaces.

The edge of that light was less than three feet from the shadow where Xu Qing Xuan hid!

Xu Qing Xuan’s pupils contracted to pinpoints. He could even make out the intricate silver cloud patterns embroidered on the deep blue hem of the deacon’s robe, could feel the spiritual pressure emanating from the other—far exceeding the Qi Refining stage! That pressure weighed upon his soul like an invisible mountain, stifling his breath, making his very bones creak under the strain. The Yin evil force, oppressed by this immense power, raged in violent backlash; the cold, searing pain felt like countless steel needles piercing every nerve! The pendant’s coolness was almost completely drowned, leaving only the biting cold from the black compass as the sole stimulus keeping him conscious.

The deacon’s steps paused before the giant pill furnace. He seemed to sense something. The lantern lifted slightly, its yellow glow beginning to probe the shadowy area behind the furnace!

A critical moment of life and death!

Xu Qing Xuan’s consciousness spun wildly under extreme pressure! The pendant’s remaining power was squeezed to its limit! Just as the light was about to lick the tip of his shoe, he fiercely directed a wisp of his mental energy—tainted with Yin evil and gathered at his fingertip—into the specific indentation on the back of the jade pendant!

Hum!

A violent tremor, perceptible only to his soul! The grayish-white light at the pendant’s core flared brightly! A surge of extremely obscure, murky energy fluctuation, marked by the corrosive nature of Yin evil, rippled out like a stone thrown into still water, striking precisely towards a waist-high discarded dregs barrel not far away!

Clang!

The barrel, struck by this invisible force, swayed violently. Several chunks of dried, blackened medicinal residue clattered down its side, producing a sharp, crisp sound in the dead silence!

“Hmm?” The deacon uttered a low murmur of surprise. The lantern’s glow instantly shifted away from the shadow, turning towards the dregs barrel. The sickly yellow light illuminated the grimy stains sliding down the barrel’s side and the scattered residue.

“These foolish menials again, can’t even dispose of the dregs properly!” The deacon’s voice held clear displeasure and a trace of imperceptible relief, as if he’d found a reasonable explanation for the disturbance. He muttered a low curse, no longer paying attention to the shadowy corner. Lantern in hand, he turned and continued his patrol in another direction, his footsteps gradually fading until they disappeared deep into the passage.

Xu Qing Xuan slumped like a puppet with its strings cut, collapsing into the cold shadows. His back slammed against the hard furnace wall; the pain made stars burst before his eyes. A metallic, bloody taste surged into his throat, which he forcibly swallowed. Cold sweat streamed down like rivulets, soaking through his inner and outer robes, clinging icily and clammily to his skin. He gasped for breath raggedly, each inhalation bringing a tearing pain in his chest and the dense medicinal dust, threatening to trigger a cough. He stifled it desperately, a suppressed whimper escaping through the fingers clamped over his mouth.

A full incense stick’s worth of time passed before he was certain the lethal footsteps and pressure had completely vanished. Only then did Xu Qing Xuan struggle to rise, leaning heavily against the cold furnace wall. His legs felt leaden, each step unbearably heavy. Not daring to waste a moment, he activated his deductive ability once more. Like a precision probe, it sought the lingering traces of the deacon’s aura in the air, avoiding possible alarm nodes, as he ghosted towards the stone door from which the faint light seeped.

The stone door was slightly ajar, not fully closed. A stream of medicinal energy several times purer and richer than outside, mingled with the faint scent of aged ink, wafted through the crack. Xu Qing Xuan’s heart hammered again. He turned sideways and slipped through the narrow gap like a sheet of paper.

Inside was a modest stone chamber. A few luminous moss-agates embedded in the walls cast a soft white glow, barely illuminating the room. Rows of ancient, heavy ebony bookshelves lined the walls, neatly stacked with jade slips, silk scrolls, and thread-bound volumes, some new, some old. The air held the serene scent of aged paper and inksticks, interwoven with the subtle, fleeting fragrance of medicinal herbs emanating from certain jade boxes on the shelves.

This was it—the repository of alchemical texts!

Xu Qing Xuan’s gaze swept across the entire stone chamber like the most precise measuring tool. There were no complex warning formations—perhaps because this place mostly housed foundational texts of relatively low value. His eyes finally locked onto an inconspicuous corner of the bottom shelf. There, stacked haphazardly, were several thick, thread-bound volumes with heavily worn covers. One of them bore four large characters in ancient seal script on its cover: The Compendium of a Hundred Herbs!

He hurried forward, ignoring the tearing pain in his back from the sudden movement. Crouching down, he carefully extracted the hefty tome. The book felt weighty in his hands. Its cover was made of deep-brown animal hide, the edges already frayed and worn, exuding a scent mixed with dust, ink, and the faint, musty aroma of aged paper and plants.

Time was critical! He swiftly sat cross-legged on the floor, spreading the thick volume open on his lap. Under the soft glow of the luminous moss-agates, densely packed, ant-like columns of tiny seal script flooded his vision. It began with a general introduction, expounding the principles of mutual generation and restraint among all things: how spiritual plants, born of the essence of heaven and earth, were categorized by Yin-Yang and the Five Elements, their properties vast and varied…

No time for careful reading! He had to memorize—as much as possible!

Xu Qing Xuan took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the turbulent energy within him and the stabbing pain in his consciousness. He channeled his entire focus, along with the pendant’s remaining power, entirely into his eyes! Abandoning any notion of reading and comprehending word by word, he aimed only to imprint everything before him, like a seal pressing into wax, furiously etching it into the depths of his mind!

One page! Two pages! Three!

His gaze moved like the most precise engraving tool, sweeping rapidly across the pages. Dense text, intricate plant diagrams, symbols marking medicinal properties as cold, hot, warm, or cool, arrows indicating compatibility taboos… A torrent of information flooded into his consciousness like a breached dam!

At first, it was a tearing, expanding agony! His mind felt like a sack being forcibly stretched, the chaotic fragments of information and the Yin evil energy within him stirred into even greater frenzy by this deluge! Darkness flickered at the edges of his vision, his sight began to warp and tremble. Sweat dripped like rain onto the yellowed pages, blooming into dark, wet stains. He clenched his jaw—his lower lip had long been bitten through, the taste of blood spreading in his mouth.

Yet, under this extreme torment and pressure, a sudden change occurred!

The Yin-Yang jade pendant against his chest, seemingly sensing the crisis of his teetering consciousness, erupted with a wave of cool clarity far more potent and pure than before! This coolness poured into his parched, chaotic mind like celestial spring water! The rice-grain-sized bead at the pendant’s core glowed with a soft, white light brighter than ever before! The interlocking Yin-Yang fish on its surface, no longer moving in reverse, began to accelerate their flow along a profound, mysterious pattern!

An indescribable sensation of coolness radiated from his the third eye, instantly washing over his entire head! The consciousness that had felt like a red-hot iron brand being forced into it miraculously calmed under this cooling cascade! The chaotic fragments of information seemed to be momentarily sorted and pushed back by an invisible force. And the massive influx of text and images, now enveloped by this cooling power, no longer felt like a disordered flood—instead, it transformed into clear, distinct “imprints”!

To his astonishment, Xu Qing Xuan found that wherever his gaze swept, every character on the page, every line of the diagrams, even the texture and folds of the paper itself, were being etched into his mind with flawless, microscopic precision by an intangible chisel! They formed suspended, frozen “images”! Photographic memory! This wasn’t trained recall, but an instinctive talent awakened by the pendant!

A surge of wild joy, like an electric current, shot through him! Without hesitation, the speed of his visual scanning increased dramatically! Pages turned rapidly before his eyes, the soft rustling sound unusually loud in the silent chamber. The contents of each page were being frantically “imprinted” into that temporarily cleared “storage space” forcibly opened in the depths of his consciousness by the pendant’s power!

The Compendium of a Hundred Herbs, Volume I: General Principles of Flora, Attributes and Interactions…
Volume II: Illustrations of Common Spirit Plants (Golden Thread Grass, Frostflame Fruit, Seven-Glow Flower…), Detailed Medicinal Properties…
Volume III: Processing Methods, Heat Control, Taboos…
Volume IV: Foundational Pill Formulation Principles (Dew Condensing Pill, Yellow Sprout Pill, Heart-Clearing Powder…), and Case Studies of Failed Attempts…

Time flew by in this frenzied imprinting. The book on his lap grew thinner. The wound on his back grew numb from the prolonged, tense posture. The Yin evil energy, seizing its chance while the pendant’s power was concentrated on his mind, ran rampant through his meridians. But he was oblivious, wholly absorbed in the unprecedented, exhilarating sensation of “imprinting” like a whale swallowing the sea.

Just as he reached the end of the final volume, his eyes sweeping over a case study about a failed attempt to improve a low-level “Earth-Moistening Technique”—

Tap… Tap… Tap…

That sound, like a death warrant, came again from outside the stone door! Closer this time! Clearer! He could even hear the faint rustle of robes stirred by movement!

Every hair on Xu Qing Xuan’s body stood on end! It felt as if ice water had been poured over him from head to toe! The deacon was back! And heading straight for the archive!

He snapped the book shut! His movement was swift as lightning, yet it still produced a soft “thump”!

Too late! The footsteps were right outside the door!

In that critical moment, Xu Qing Xuan’s eyes swept the chamber like a hawk’s! The bookshelves? No! Not enough cover! The corner? Too exposed! His gaze instantly fixed on a half-height ebony chest at the innermost part of the room, used for storing discarded jade slips and damaged books! Its lid was half-open, filled with clutter.

Without a second thought, he lunged toward the chest like an arrow from a bow! At the very moment the stone door began to creak open, he curled his body into a ball, clutching the book, and rolled into the pile of musty, discarded jade slips and broken volumes! Simultaneously, his right hand shot out, grabbing a handful of dry, intensely pungent “Wormwood” fragments scattered inside the lid—a strong insect repellent—and pressed it fiercely over his nose and mouth! The sharp, bitter smell instantly masked his faint breath and the scent of blood!

Almost the instant his body vanished into the clutter, the stone door swung fully open!

The sickly yellow lantern glow flooded into the chamber once more, brighter than before, overpowering the soft light of the moss-agates, casting a long, distorted shadow across the floor.

The hem of a deep blue robe appeared in the doorway, followed by the feet clad in cloud-patterned soft boots. The deacon stepped inside, lifting his lantern. The dim yellow light swept across the rows of bookshelves, across the floor.

Xu Qing Xuan curled up inside the cramped ebony chest, his body aching from the pressure of the cold, discarded jade slips. The overpowering mustiness and the pungent scent of wormwood nearly suffocated him. He held his breath, heart pounding so violently it seemed about to shatter his ribs! In his consciousness, the vast amount of text and images he had just imprinted churned like a boiling star chart, causing waves of dizziness. The Yin evil force rampaged through his meridians, the cold, searing pain feeling like countless tiny knives scraping his bones! The pendant’s power had fallen dormant after its earlier surge, leaving only the faintest thread of coolness guarding his heart meridian. The black compass pressed against his chest, its chill like an ice spike piercing his heart.

The lantern’s glow shifted slowly, like the scythe of death, sweeping across the floor, over the base of the shelves… and finally, it stopped before the ebony chest where Xu Qing Xuan hid!

The edge of the light even illuminated the rough wood grain on the chest’s lid!

Xu Qing Xuan’s blood seemed to freeze instantly! He could clearly hear the roar of his own blood rushing in his ears! The wound on his back, strained by extreme tension, split open again. Warm liquid seeped out, soaking through the gray cloth robe, sticking clammily to the cold jade slips beneath him. Not even the strong odor of wormwood could completely mask that fresh trace of blood!

The deacon’s footsteps stopped in front of the chest.

Time seemed to congeal. Each breath felt as long as a century. The sickly yellow glow enveloped the lid. The only sounds in the air were Xu Qing Xuan’s own heart, pounding with suppressed intensity, and the deacon’s faint, almost imperceptible breathing.

“Hmm?” The deacon seemed to utter another soft sound of doubt. He bent down, bringing the lantern closer. The dim yellow light threatened to pierce through the crack of the lid!

Xu Qing Xuan’s fingernails dug deep into his palms, the sharp pain bringing a final sliver of clarity. He recalled the properties of “Wormwood” he had just imprinted from The Compendium of a Hundred Herbs—pungent scent, dry and harsh nature, repels insects and wards off impurities, but when stored too long, its dried fragments easily attract dust, forming fine particles… And in an important place like the Alchemy Hall, unknown dust was strictly forbidden!

Just as the dim light was about to penetrate the crack and illuminate the clutter inside—

Whoosh!

A faint yet concentrated stream of air, expelled by Xu Qing Xuan using his last dregs of spiritual energy, subtly blew out from within the chest! It stirred the layer of wormwood fragments covering the surface!

Tiny, almost invisible gray-white dust particles instantly billowed up in the dim yellow glow! Like a disturbed micro-sandstorm!

“Ahem!” Caught off guard, the deacon choked on the sudden dust. He straightened abruptly, taking a step back, instinctively moving the lantern away, his face showing clear disgust. “Damned! These discarded scraps, not cleaned properly! Nothing but filthy dust!” He waved his sleeve irritably, dispersing the particles before him, evidently losing any interest in investigating this chest of junk.

The lantern’s light finally shifted away from the chest, scanning other areas casually. The deacon muttered a few low curses, seemingly deciding nothing was amiss here—just some negligent menial’s leftover dust causing trouble. He lingered no longer. Lantern in hand, he turned and walked out of the archive. The heavy stone door closed slowly behind him, cutting off the last sliver of light.

Click.

A faint sound of a mechanism engaging. The stone door was fully shut.

Silence once again enveloped the small chamber, broken only by the weak glow of the moss-agates illuminating the fine dust that had not yet fully settled in the air.

Inside the ebony chest, Xu Qing Xuan felt as if he’d been dragged from water, drenched utterly in cold sweat and seeping blood. He gasped for breath raggedly, each inhalation trembling with post-crisis shock and carrying the strong odors of wormwood, blood, and mildew. The massive amount of imprinted information in his consciousness churned like boiling magma, battering against fragile mental barriers, bringing waves of tearing, expansive pain and dizziness. Seizing its chance, the Yin evil force counterattacked; cold, searing pain washed over his entire body like a tide, threatening to consume him.

With great difficulty, he pushed open the heavy lid and struggled out from the musty pile of clutter, like a ghost crawling from a grave. His legs were so weak he could barely stand. Leaning against the cold wall, he broke into violent coughs, each spasm pulling at the muscles in his chest and abdomen with knife-like pain, bringing a thick, metallic sweetness to his throat.

But he couldn’t dwell on that. He unfolded The Compendium of a Hundred Herbs, which he had clutched in a death grip. The book’s cover was stained with his clammy sweat and a trace of blood from his palm. Quickly and silently, he returned the volume to its original place, wiping away all traces he had left—the sweat stains on the floor, his fingerprints on the book, the footprints by the chest…

Once finished, he took a final look at this stone chamber that had nearly become his tomb. His gaze swept over the shelves holding texts filled with countless mysteries, finally resting on that case study about the failed “Earth-Moistening Technique” modification he had just read. A vague idea, like a faint spark in the dark, flickered once through his exhausted, near-dead consciousness.

He lingered no longer. Silent as when he arrived, he slipped out of the archive, avoided the lingering traces of the warning formations, retraced his path, and slid out through the ventilation window where the formation gap still remained, merging once more with the cold night of Hundred Herb Valley.

The night wind, carrying the damp scent of plants, brushed against his face, bringing a sliver of cool relief from having survived a catastrophe. Xu Qing Xuan leaned against the cold wall outside the Alchemy Hall, in the shadows, gasping heavily. He looked up at the narrow strip of sky visible between the towering cliffs. A few cold stars twinkled faintly through gaps in the thick clouds.

Deep within his consciousness, the vast imprinted text and images of The Compendium of a Hundred Herbs hung like a suspended star chart—unbelievably clear, yet also a heavy burden causing tearing, expansive pain. The gift of photographic memory was a double-edged sword: it brought an endless treasure of knowledge, but it had also drained the last of his energy and further strained his fragile mind. The Yin evil force surged wildly through his meridians like serpents that had shaken off their bonds.

Leaning on the cold wall, dragging his nearly shattered body, he moved one heavy step at a time, making his difficult way back towards that musty wooden hut.