The next morning, instead of climbing the stairs into the Verdant Pavilion with his cousin and other young disciples, Arthur was in a secluded chamber that was completely different. Its doors were carved with the sigil of the sect's Alchemical Pavilion, a place reserved for Alchemy Masters and their chosen disciples.
Inside, Elder Yan awaited him, his long beard flowing as he turned, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"Qing Tian," Elder Yan said warmly, clasping his hands behind his back, "you have made the right choice. I knew you would not squander the Origin Tempering Elixir. Until you enter the Amber Radiance Realm, I will personally guide you. After that, the most qualified alchemist of our sect shall take over your instruction. The sect will not treat you lightly."
Arthur bowed his head; his expression was calm, concealing the thoughts within. He let Elder Yan believe he had swallowed the potion when, in truth, what coursed through him was the legacy of the Five Immortals.
From that day forward, Arthur followed Elder Yan's every instruction, but his hands worked with an ease born not of learning, but of rediscovery. Recipes Elder Yan presented to Arthur included common draughts for Crimson Furnace Body Tempering Pills, Crimson Furnace Qi Recovery, or Qi Stabilization Pills, and many others. They were unfamiliar to Arthur, yet not because they were too profound. In truth, they were crude and primitive compared to the tales of Lianhua and the techniques etched into Arthur's memory of the Purgatory's imprisonment.
Still, he played his role.
Cauldron after cauldron roared beneath his touch. Where others would falter, Arthur succeeded. Not once did his failure rate exceed a handful of attempts. Elder Yan, astonished, proclaimed his talent as heaven-sent.
Yet what shocked him more was Arthur's refinements. The pills and potions Arthur brewed were not merely equal to Elder Yan's; they often surpassed them, and some pills bore the radiance of Triple Crown Pills, their potency, efficacy, and purity soaring far beyond the norm. Elder Yan had no words, only quiet awe. Arthur was improving the quality of Pills and Potions in the Ember Ignition Realm and Crimson Furnace Realm in the whole sect.
A moon passed in this fashion. Within the sect, Arthur's name spread quickly. To the outer disciples, he was already a genius who rose overnight. To the inner circle, he was a talent to be nurtured. But Arthur saw it in their eyes —the hidden disdain flickering like shadows behind their forced smiles.
"How long can he last?" they whispered in silence.
"He swallowed the Origin Tempering Elixir."
"Yes, even if he gulps down a Longevity-Defying Marrow Pill, he will never match the lifespan of a true cultivator."
"At best, he will crawl to the age of a mortal elder."
In their hearts, Arthur was both a blazing torch and a candle burning itself out. To the sect, he was not just a rising genius; he was the one who would fuel the sect's treasuries. And fuel was meant to be consumed.
Arthur ignored their joy. In the last moon, he had gathered more knowledge than he had in his first moon within the Duan Sect. His new status opened doors that had once remained sealed, and whispers that elders had once withheld now flowed freely to him.
He learned that Tianyu was divided into nine provinces, each ruled by its own sects, clans, and petty kingdoms. Beyond them stretched the Endless Sea, a vast and storm-churned expanse said to conceal forgotten legacies that slumbered. The Duan Sect, though respected, was but a middling force, resting in the Azurefall Province — a land of rivers, waterfalls, and hidden marshes.
Here, his father still served quietly, his uncle maneuvering cunningly for the position of sect master. It was for this reason that Ming Hao treated Arthur with such disdain; the boy believed that one day Arthur's lineage would rise higher, leaving him overshadowed. In such rivalries, petty seeds of hatred were sown.
Yet, for all the sect's discipline, their knowledge was crude. Their Primitive Alchemy consisted of little more than heating herbs in cauldrons, ignorant of deeper refinements. Their cultivation system knew nothing beyond the Nine Luminary Realm, and their understanding of the body extended no further than Spirit Roots, as if no other Qi Energy Centers existed. For Arthur, it was a cage. His chances of rising here were slim, and his chances of escaping were slimmer still. Retaliation, should he defy the sect, would be inevitable.
But Arthur was not one to bow to fate.
One evening, within the silent chambers of the Alchemical Pavilion, Elder Yan found him standing before a neglected shelf, examining worthless odds and ends.
Grey Hearth Ash, a residue from ordinary cooking fires, was usually swept away by servants and held faint traces of mineralized carbon.
Withered Lotus Filaments from discarded strands of dead stalks, long forgotten because only blossoms and seeds were deemed ornamental.
Stale Spirit Wine Lees. A cloudy dreg at the bottom of cheap wine jars, considered to contain only dead substances, and finally —
Moss Dew. A faint droplet gathered from shaded stones, used only to wash wounds by the unlearned.
Arthur's eyes lingered on them.
"Perhaps," he murmured, "these might serve me well."
Elder Yan, watching silently, hid his doubt. He thought the title of genius had gone to the boy's head. Was Arthur already trying to forge new recipes, barely a moon after touching the basics? Yet Yan did not rebuke him. Instead, he placed a small jade vial on the table.
"This is an Origin Tempering Elixir," the elder said kindly. "It's time you made use of it. It's been a moon since you have taken one."
Arthur accepted it with both hands, bowing politely.
"I will, Elder Yan. But before that, let me… test something. It won't take long. I'll return to the recipes afterward."
Elder Yan gave him a measured nod and departed, leaving Arthur alone in the dim glow of the pavilion's lanterns.
Arthur sat cross-legged, pulling a mortar close. He placed the brittle Withered Lotus Filaments inside, sprinkling in the soft Grey Hearth Ash. Slowly, he ground the mixture until it became a fine, pale gray powder, with a faintly metallic scent.
He gazed at it with steady eyes.
Arthur whispered in his mind, In this lifeless dust lies the spark that will serve me greatly.