The smell hit before they even arrived.
From the far end of the courtyard, four shadowed figures emerged in the moonlight—each dripping in thick, tar-black residue that left a glistening trail on the stone tiles. The stench rolled ahead of them like an invading army, so potent that even the evening crickets went silent.
Yuying's face was locked in a regal snarl, though her hair clung to her cheeks in tar-streaked clumps. Meiyun's glare could have shattered jade. Yangshen and Jinhai, for all their dignified bearing, still carried themselves like death had personally tried to court them.
Haotian—who had been in the middle of re-sorting formation scrolls—froze mid-motion. He blinked. Then, very slowly, pinched his nose with one hand and bowed deeply.
"I… sincerely apologize… Ancestors… I forgot to mention the, ah, external side effects."
The four stopped in front of him, their combined aura pressing down like a storm—if storms also smelled like rotting corpses soaked in bitter herbs.
Jinhai's voice was deceptively calm. "Forgot?"
Haotian kept bowing, nose still pinched. "Entirely… my fault… If I could turn back time—"
"Haaaotian!" Yuying snapped, black droplets flying from her sleeve. "You could have told us to take this in a bath!"
Meiyun's voice carried just as sharply. "Do you have any idea—any idea—what it took to keep from collapsing from the stench?!"
Yangshen merely gave a curt, "We're going to bathe," before all four swept past him, leaving a noxious trail like a battlefield's poison fog.
The estate's servants were in chaos for the next hour—airing out corridors, burning incense, and pretending not to have seen the esteemed Ancestors stomp through the halls looking like swamp demons.
By morning, however, the storm broke.
When the four emerged from their chambers, the change was unmistakable. Their posture was straighter, their movements sharper. Energy radiated from them—not the heavy, aged kind, but the vibrant edge of renewed vitality.
Yangshen's once-greyed hair now shone black with streaks of silver, his face less lined, his skin healthier. Jinhai looked as if decades had been rolled back, the stubborn stiffness in his shoulders gone.
Yuying's skin glowed with a smoothness that caught the morning light like polished jade. Meiyun's eyes were brighter, her hair lustrous, her complexion radiant as though years had melted away overnight.
The Zhenlong estate erupted in whispers before breakfast. Servants bowed extra low, elders stared openly, and younger disciples stumbled in mid-step when they passed. Even Wuhen was caught blinking in disbelief, his usually composed expression faltering.
Ruolan hid a knowing smile. Qirou simply narrowed her eyes, clearly calculating the implications.
By midday, the entire family knew: the four Ancestors now looked young enough to match their partners' prime, their power and presence sharper than in decades.
And somewhere in the courtyard, Haotian sat reading again—this time with a faint smirk—already considering the next "unplanned" experiment.
The rumors did not just spread—they ignited like wildfire. By the third day, word of the Zhenlong Ancestors' miraculous rejuvenation had leapt beyond the city, carried by merchants, wandering cultivators, and awestruck guests. By the end of the week, the story had crossed provinces, whispered in sect halls and shouted in taverns.
When the official celebration was announced, the capital's streets swelled with visitors. Dignitaries in silken robes, wandering masters in travel-worn garb, and even rival clan representatives arrived to "pay respects." The estate gates became a constant flow of carriages, banners, and ceremonial gifts.
Fortunately, the Ancestors had agreed on a backup story. Calmly, they explained to anyone who asked that the change was due to four rare pills discovered in an ancient ruin—treasures that cleansed their bodies of centuries of residual toxins, unblocked their meridians, and restored their youth.
It worked. Mostly.
The women of the estate could not hide their envy when Yuying and Meiyun stepped into the banquet hall. Their once-graying hair now fell in glossy black cascades, skin luminous, figures poised with the vitality of twenty-year-olds. They could have passed for maidens in their first prime, and it made even the proudest matrons subtly adjust their hairpins.
The culprit, of course, was nowhere to be seen.
Ruolan leaned toward Lianhua, a sly smile curling her lips. "Where's Haotian?"
"Where else?" Lianhua replied without hesitation. "A shut-in like him is probably still in that courtyard."
Both women laughed quietly, and Ruolan added, "Then go get him. It wouldn't be right to honor the Ancestors without the boy who—" she caught herself, "—without the boy present."
Lianhua gave a graceful bow and turned, her smile carrying an edge of mischief.
In the courtyard's alchemy chamber, Haotian was hunched over a scorched workbench, his eyes gleaming with focus. Scrolls of runic theory lay scattered around him, while an array of jade mortars, glowing formation plates, and bubbling pill furnaces surrounded his seat like a miniature fortress.
He was muttering to himself, tracing invisible diagrams in the air. "If I merge the marrow-cleansing function with a spirit vein stimulant, the breakthrough rate should—"
"Haotian."
The voice cut clean through his thoughts. His head snapped up to find Lianhua framed in the doorway, her expression halfway between patient and dangerous.
"You're coming to the banquet."
"…Banquet?" He blinked, as if the word was from another language.
She stepped forward, and her sharp eyes caught everything—the smudges of soot on his cheeks, the chalk dust streaking his hair, the ink stains across his sleeves. His robe was rumpled beyond saving, with a suspicious burn mark near the hem.
Her brow twitched. "Bath. Now."
"What? But I was just—"
"Now!"
The force in her tone hit harder than a qi blast. Haotian startled, stumbled upright, and bolted from the alchemy table, leaving tools clattering behind.
Lianhua sighed, then shook her head with a reluctant smile. "Genius or not… he's still a boy."
The banquet was already in full swing by the time Haotian arrived. Conversations rippled through the hall like waves, fine wine poured in crystal decanters, and the scent of roasted spirit beast mingled with the floral sweetness of immortal-grade tea.
The moment he stepped inside, heads turned. The youngest in the room—clean now, in fresh robes—yet carrying an air of casual detachment that seemed to unsettle some and intrigue others. Among the guests, a cluster of alchemists narrowed their eyes; they had heard the whispers of his recent… involvement with the Ancestors' sudden youth. Sect leaders eyed him like a puzzle they couldn't quite solve.
Haotian made his way forward, offered a polite bow, and greeted the Ancestors. The four smiled warmly, each gesture making the watching crowd even more curious. Then, with a wave of Yuying's hand, a seat was prepared beside them.
It was no small honor. Sitting beside the Ancestors at the high table was a privilege reserved for the most distinguished guests. But for Haotian, it felt like a trap. He was a shut-in by nature, far more comfortable in the quiet of his courtyard than under the glare of dozens of curious eyes.
As the hall filled with laughter and conversation, Haotian quietly focused on the food before him—at least at first. Soon, his mind drifted. A new pill formula was taking shape in his thoughts, fragments of theory falling into place, and the clamor of the banquet faded to a distant hum. Without realizing it, he began absentmindedly picking at the air with his chopsticks, lifting imaginary morsels to his mouth.
From her seat, Yuying spotted the vacant glaze in his golden eyes and smirked. She nudged Meiyun under the table, then tipped her chin toward the boy. Meiyun turned, took one look, and immediately had to stifle a laugh.
At the women's table further down, Lianhua had noticed too—and was giggling along with Ruolan and even Qirou, who covered her smile behind a sleeve. Across the table, Wuhen cleared his throat in a pointed cough. Haotian didn't even flinch.
Finally, Meiyun leaned over and gave him a sharp nudge. "Haotian," she said in a low but firm voice, "you should eat the food on your plate… not the air."
He blinked, confused, then glanced down—and realized his bowl was empty. Heat rushed to his cheeks.
"You were somewhere else again," Meiyun said, her voice half-chiding, half-amused. "Focus on what's in front of you, not your experiments. Prioritize your surroundings."
Haotian bowed his head slightly. "Yes, Ancestor. I apologize."
With that, he actually began to eat the real food, though the faint twitch in his fingers suggested his mind was still in that courtyard, surrounded by furnaces and half-finished formulas.
The banquet was winding down when Haotian felt it—a faint ripple, like the subtle prickle of a hostile gaze brushing the back of his neck.
He rose to leave, but before he could take three steps, a figure stepped out from behind one of the carved crimson pillars. The man was tall, with sharp features and the faint scent of rare herbs clinging to his robes. His hair was tied in a strict topknot, and a jade token marked him as a senior alchemist of the Azure Cauldron Sect.
"Haotian, is it?" The man's tone was smooth, but the weight behind his words pressed faintly against the air, a thread of cultivation pressure curling toward him like smoke. "Quite the… attention you've been receiving lately."
Haotian gave a small bow, polite but measured. "Senior is…?"
The man's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Elder Shentu Liang. Perhaps you've heard of me."
The name rang faintly through Haotian's memory—known for high-grade pill crafting, equally known for looking down on anyone who hadn't earned their fame through decades of grinding apprenticeship.
"I find it… interesting," Shentu continued, stepping closer until the edge of his spiritual aura pressed just slightly into Haotian's space, "that someone so young could be… involved in such miraculous events. Youthful Ancestors, rumors flying across the land—quite the coincidence."
Haotian didn't flinch. His gaze stayed steady, his voice calm. "Coincidences do happen."
Shentu's eyes narrowed. "Do they? Or is it that certain people… take credit for what they've stumbled into? You see, true alchemy is not a game for recluses who only—"
Haotian shifted his weight, letting his own spiritual pressure leak—not forcefully, but with a density that made the air between them tighten. The hall's distant chatter faded beneath the low hum of qi pressing against qi.
"Senior," Haotian said quietly, "if you've come to test me… I suggest you use a furnace, not a banquet hall."
The words were polite. The intent was not.
For a moment, the two stood there—qi locking, invisible sparks snapping in the space between. Shentu's eyes glinted, then he leaned back, the corner of his mouth twitching in something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Hmph. Perhaps another time, boy." He turned and strode away, though Haotian could feel the man's lingering interest like a brand at his back.
From across the hall, Lianhua—watching with her mother—had to hide her grin. She knew full well Haotian had just sent a senior alchemist away without raising his voice or losing his composure.
The crowd in the banquet hall had thinned, the glow of lantern light now softer against the carved beams overhead. Haotian was just stepping toward the outer corridor when a hand, steady but firm, closed on his shoulder.
Turning, he found himself facing Jinhai, his great granduncle, dressed in plain ceremonial robes now that the formal greetings were over. His expression was calm, but there was a certain weight in his eyes—the look of someone who'd seen far too many political games unfold in slow, dangerous arcs.
Without a word, Jinhai guided him out through a side passage, away from the laughter and music, into a quieter wing of the estate. The faint scent of sandalwood lingered here, mingled with the chill of the night air drifting in from an open lattice window.
When they were alone, Jinhai finally spoke."Haotian, that exchange you just had…" His tone was not scolding, but layered with meaning. "That man—Shentu Liang—isn't the type to walk away from a perceived slight."
Haotian frowned slightly. "He started it."
"I know," Jinhai replied, "but men like him build their reputation over decades. He sees your presence—and your recent… 'connection' to the Ancestors' rejuvenation—as a threat to that image."
Haotian stayed silent, though his eyes narrowed a fraction.
Jinhai stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Mark my words, he will challenge you. Not with fists or swords, but with fire and cauldron. A public pill duel. He will want to prove that your name is nothing more than hype. And he will not make it easy—he'll choose the field, the rules, the furnace, even the ingredients to tilt the match in his favor."
Haotian's lips quirked slightly, though it was unclear if it was amusement or challenge. "Then I'll just have to make something better than his."
Jinhai's gaze softened for a moment. "Confidence is good. But arrogance will feed him. Prepare yourself quietly, and when the day comes… crush him so thoroughly that no one ever questions you again."
The older man turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. "Oh, and Haotian—clean robes, well-combed hair, and not a single smudge of soot when that day comes. If you walk into a duel looking like a cave hermit, you'll have lost before it starts."
With that, Jinhai left, his footsteps fading down the hall, leaving Haotian alone in the quiet, the faint flicker of lanternlight catching the hint of a grin at the corner of his mouth.
Haotian returned to his work without a second thought for the banquet's politics or Jinhai's warning. The alchemy chamber greeted him with the familiar, comforting scent of heated herbs and faint mineral tang from the stone crucibles. Shelves stacked with dried roots, shimmering petals, and tightly stoppered vials lined the walls. The warm glow of rune lamps cast shifting patterns across the floor as he stepped back inside.
He moved straight toward the Elemental Cultivation Chamber, its walls embedded with channels of flowing spiritual energy. The moment he stepped through the inner door, the air shifted—heat rolling over his skin, the faint buzz of fire-aspected qi licking at the edges of his senses. He knelt in the center of the formation and began circulating his own energy, coaxing the herbs suspended in the chamber's levitation rings to release their essence into the fiery flow.
Hours passed in silence, save for the occasional crackle of energy and soft hiss of herb oils vaporizing into the chamber's air. Yet his mind was not fixed solely on fire. He was already sketching diagrams on the inner walls of his thoughts—formations that could weave wind, ice, lightning, light, and shadow together into a balanced array. Theoretically, it could push pill refinement into realms no sect master dared to attempt.
The problem was balance. Fire and ice, lightning and shadow, light and wind—opposing forces could either harmonize into power or tear the cauldron apart in a catastrophic implosion. Without the proper balancing method, he could only hypothesize. His chalkboards were filled with half-finished formulas, discarded after a single glance told him they'd fail under real conditions.
It was during one such deep dive into the equations that a faint noise reached him from outside the sealed chamber. The sound of footsteps, muffled conversation, and—briefly—what might have been a town crier's voice calling his name.
He ignored it.
Minutes later, a paper slip was slid under the door, the crimson seal of the Pill Masters' Assembly stamped across its corner. Haotian barely glanced at it before returning to grinding a set of moonleaf seeds into powder. The slip's message—public announcement of a formal pill duel between Haotian and Shentu Liang—went entirely unread.
In his mind, the outside world could wait. The cauldron was hot, the herbs were ready, and his next refinement test might just push his theories a step closer to reality.
Far from the quiet hum of Haotian's cultivation chambers, the Jade Serpent Inn was alive with a very different kind of energy. The main hall was thick with incense smoke, whispered conversations, and the sharp clink of porcelain teacups. At the center table sat Shentu Liang, posture stiff, a cold smile playing on his lips as a group of attendants and allies leaned in close.
"Are the invitations confirmed?" he asked without looking up.
A man in dark green robes bowed slightly. "Every major sect and alchemy hall within five provinces has received word. They will be here to witness you… crush him."
A murmur of satisfaction swept the table. Across from Shentu Liang, a silver-haired woman—one of his senior disciples—poured him tea with a precise hand. "We will make it a spectacle, Master. Your victory will not only humiliate the boy but also force the Zhenlongs to acknowledge your supremacy in the pill arts."
Shentu's smile widened. "Good. And the pill format?"
The attendant produced a lacquered scroll case, sliding it across the table. Inside was a jade slip detailing the duel: a three-stage refinement test judged by efficacy, purity, and speed. It was a grueling format designed to punish inexperience—and they all knew Haotian had never been seen in any public competition.
"Let the people think it's a fair duel," Shentu said, voice dripping with quiet malice. "But by the end, they will see the gap between a hidden shut-in and a master who has stood at the pinnacle for decades."
They drank to his words, voices lowering as they began plotting the finer details—what rare ingredients to use to unnerve him, how to manipulate the crowd, and even subtle ways to shake his concentration mid-refinement.
Meanwhile, across the city, Haotian sat cross-legged in the glow of his elemental chamber, utterly unaware. He was deep into another round of tests, adjusting fire flow by fractions of a breath while calculating wind qi modulation in his head. The sound of faint crackles and herb fragrance filled the air, shutting out the outside world entirely.
Outside, the storm was gathering. Inside, Haotian didn't even hear the first rumble.
By the third day after the announcement, Skyveil City was no longer simply talking about trade caravans or cultivation breakthroughs—every tea house, market stall, and sect meeting hall was buzzing with only one thing: the upcoming pill duel.
Street vendors hawked illustrated broadsheets showing imagined depictions of Shentu Liang towering over a kneeling youth, while eager spectators debated the odds in loud, heated voices. The alchemy guild branches in neighboring provinces began sending disciples early just to secure viewing spots. Even wandering cultivators who had no love for alchemy were curious—after all, rumors claimed that the reclusive Zhenlong clan's youngest genius might finally be forced into the open.
Inside the ancestral meeting hall, the four Ancestors sat beneath the hanging jade lanterns, their expressions a mix of concern and calculation.
Yuyin folded her arms, the shimmer of her freshly restored hair catching the light. "He's not paying attention. I had Lianhua bring him food this morning—he barely noticed she was there before diving back into his formations. If this continues, he'll walk into the duel without even knowing the rules."
Meiyun tapped a lacquered nail against the armrest. "And if we tell him, we risk him preparing too much. The boy learns faster under pressure… remember the defensive ward incident?" Her lips curved faintly, though her tone stayed serious. "Sometimes, surprise forces brilliance."
Jinhai let out a slow breath. "Surprise also gets you killed if you don't know the battlefield. Shentu Liang will not play fair. If this duel becomes a spectacle, it's not just Haotian's pride on the line—it's the family's name."
Yuying, silent until now, finally spoke, her voice calm but edged. "This is more than a contest of skill. If Haotian crushes Shentu Liang without preparation, his name will echo across the cultivation world. But… if he falters…" She let the thought hang, the weight of it filling the chamber.
The silence stretched. Finally, Yuyin's eyes flicked toward Meiyun. "We watch. If the boy truly cannot handle it, we intervene. But if he can…"
Meiyun's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Then the world will see what kind of monster our Haotian really is."
Outside the hall, the city's anticipation only grew, every whispered bet and street-corner discussion feeding the storm that was now rolling straight toward the young alchemist—who still sat in his chamber, oblivious, refining herbs under the glow of his elemental array.
The day of the duel dawned without ceremony for Haotian.
The city outside was already alive before the sun had burned the morning mist away—drums echoing from the central square, hawkers shouting about the "Great Pill Contest," and cultivators in fine robes flocking toward the arena like migrating cranes. But deep inside the Zhenlong estate, behind three layers of sealed doors, Haotian didn't hear any of it.
In the dim alchemy chamber, the elemental cultivation array hummed faintly under his feet. Streams of earth, fire, and water qi flowed through carved channels toward a suspended cauldron, while Haotian carefully adjusted a silver stirrer inside. The rich herbal fragrance thickened, his eyes narrowing as he calculated the ratios. In his mind, wind, ice, lightning, light, and shadow danced as untested variables—elements he was desperate to incorporate, if only he could find the correct stabilizing sequence.
His hand hovered over a small pouch of powdered frost lotus when the doors slammed open.
The first to rush in was Lianhua, flushed and breathless. "There you are! The duel starts in less than half an hour!"
Haotian didn't even look up. "What duel?"
Behind her came Wuhen, his voice halfway between exasperation and urgency. "The one the entire city is talking about! Shentu Liang! He called you out a week ago!"
Haotian blinked, his stirrer still mid-turn. "…Oh."
"Oh?!" Lianhua stepped forward, snatched the stirrer out of his hand, and pointed toward the door. "You're going to the arena. Now. Ancestors' orders."
"I can't," Haotian said matter-of-factly, "the pill's at its critical phase. If I leave now—"
"You'll have a ruined pill," Wuhen cut in, "and a ruined reputation if you don't show up." His tone hardened. "This is not optional."
Lianhua's eyes narrowed at his soot-stained robe, streaked with chalk dust and ash. "And for heaven's sake, you are not walking in there looking like this. Bath. Fresh robes. Move!"
Before Haotian could argue, she grabbed his wrist and dragged him bodily toward the side hall, Wuhen following with the grim determination of a man herding a particularly stubborn spirit beast.
Far above the city, the bells of the central arena began to toll, each deep note rolling through the streets like a countdown to an execution. And for the first time, Haotian began to suspect—without knowing the details—that his quiet, shut-in world was about to be very loudly shattered.
The roar hit him before the sunlight did.
As Haotian stepped out of the shadowed tunnel into the open arena, the sound of thousands of voices slammed into him like a solid wall—cheers, jeers, shouted wagers, and the unmistakable electric hum of cultivators flexing their qi in anticipation. The stands rose in dizzying tiers all around, packed shoulder-to-shoulder with sect disciples, city nobles, wandering cultivators, and merchants craning for a better look.
The midday sun poured down onto the white stone platform at the arena's center, its polished surface gleaming like a mirror. Opposite him stood Shentu Liang, draped in emerald and gold alchemist's robes, hands clasped behind his back in a posture of calm superiority. Around him, half a dozen retainers murmured quietly, their eyes cutting toward Haotian with open disdain.
Gasps rippled through the front rows as the four Ancestors took their seats in the high box above, their newly youthful faces still fresh in everyone's memory. The crowd erupted louder still when they saw Haotian walking toward them… only to realize he was in plain, freshly laundered robes with his hair slightly mussed from being dragged here minutes ago.
Some laughed. Others whispered. A few alchemists in the stands—fellow guild members of Shentu Liang—leaned toward each other, smirking at the supposed "shut-in genius" who looked more like he'd wandered in from his backyard than prepared for a grand duel.
Haotian barely seemed to notice. His gaze flicked once to the platform, then to the Ancestors' box where they motioned for him to stand ready. The heat, the noise, the stares—it all pressed against him like a living tide.
And yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, formulas for elemental balance and pill stability continued ticking away, stubbornly undisturbed by the spectacle.
Shentu Liang smiled faintly, the kind of smile that promised he'd enjoy what came next.