The Azure Flame Sect was never impressive. Perched on a mountain ridge half-consumed by fog, its cracked stone steps and crooked pavilions looked more like the remnants of a forgotten temple than a thriving alchemy sect. Yet even among mediocrity, there were hierarchies, and at the very bottom—beneath the disciples with average talent, beneath the beggars with patched robes—sat Lin Jinhai, the boy everyone called furnace idiot.
By sunrise, the entire sect buzzed with one rumor. Some whispered that he had refined a pill. Others laughed, saying it was impossible. "The furnace idiot? He couldn't refine cooked rice, let alone a pill." But there were those who swore they had seen it with their own eyes—three Healing Pills, smooth and glowing. The doubt spread like fire through dry grass. Disciples gathered in corners, whispering, their voices laced with derision.
"Maybe it was an accident."
"Even trash can stumble onto success once in a lifetime."
"Or maybe he stole them."
No matter the truth, his name was on every tongue that morning.
Jinhai had not even finished inspecting the notification floating in his mind when his hut door slammed open. Shen Rong stood there with his usual sneer, though his eyes flickered uneasily. "Trash. The Elder wants you."
Jinhai rose slowly, brushing dust from his ragged robe. "Lead the way."
Shen Rong's lip curled in annoyance at the calm reply. He had hoped for fear, not composure.
Inside the sect's main hall, the air was thick with incense. Elder Han Zhi sat cross-legged on a raised platform, his long beard flowing, his eyes cold. Beside him stood two senior disciples, both staring at Jinhai with contempt thinly veiled as neutrality.
"Lin Jinhai," the elder intoned, "I hear you managed to produce a Healing Pill yesterday."
Jinhai bowed. "Yes, Elder."
Han Zhi's gaze narrowed. "Do you expect me to believe that after hundreds of failures, you suddenly succeed? Miracles do not exist in alchemy."
"It wasn't a miracle," Jinhai said evenly. "It was refinement."
The disciples erupted in murmurs. How dare this trash speak so boldly?
Shen Rong stepped forward, cupping his fists in mock respect. "Elder, with your permission, I suggest a duel. Let Lin Jinhai prove himself before the sect. If he truly succeeded, let him show us again. If not…" He let the words hang, his smirk widening. "We should expel him before he wastes more of our herbs."
The crowd approved instantly, laughter and cheers filling the hall.
Han Zhi stroked his beard, then nodded. "Three days from now, at the alchemy grounds. Lin Jinhai versus Shen Rong. If you fail, Jinhai, you will be cast out."
Shen Rong's smirk was hungry, confident of victory. But Jinhai met his eyes with a gaze sharp enough to draw blood. "Fine. But when I win, I expect an apology."
The laughter turned deafening. Disciples slapped their knees, tears rolling from their eyes at the audacity. Shen Rong barked out a laugh so loud it shook the rafters. "Apology? From me? You'd better prepare your farewell speech, furnace idiot."
Back in his hut, Jinhai sat before the battered cauldron. His fists were tight, but his mind was clear. Three days. Enough to prove them wrong.
The Furnace System shimmered awake at his thought.
[Simulation Module Activated]
[Objective: Grade-1 Healing Pill]
[Success Rate: 15%]
"Still low," he muttered.
He fed the herbs into the simulation. The cauldron in his mind glowed, then exploded into smoke. Failure. Again. Again. Again. But unlike reality, there was no waste, no scars, only data.
Dozens of attempts passed in minutes. Each failure gave him feedback—ratios, timings, flame control. He adjusted with the precision of the scientist he once was. By the hundredth simulation, the herbs glowed steady green.
[Simulation Success. Success Rate: 55%]
Jinhai exhaled, sweat dripping down his temple though his body hadn't moved. "Better."
That evening, Mei Yulan appeared at his door carrying a small bundle of herbs. Her robe was patched, her hair tied clumsily, but her eyes were steady. "I heard about the duel," she said softly. "If… if you need extra herbs to practice, I found these in the valley."
Jinhai blinked. She had nothing, yet she offered what little she had. He accepted the bundle, his voice rougher than intended. "Thank you."
Her lips curved in the faintest smile. "Don't lose, Lin Jinhai. I… I don't think you're trash."
Her words struck harder than any insult. For the first time in two lifetimes, someone looked at him without mockery.
On the second night, when Jinhai went to collect his allotted herbs from the sect's storeroom, he noticed something. The Spirit Grass smelled faintly sour. The Mistleaf was brittle. Someone had swapped his materials with inferior stock. Shen Rong's cronies snickered behind his back as he carried the pouch away.
Inside his hut, the Furnace System pulsed.
[Abnormal Materials Detected]
[Hidden Quest Triggered: Defy the Dao]
[Objective: Win the Refinement Duel despite sabotage]
[Reward: +200 FP, Rare Formula Scroll]
Jinhai's lips curved into a cold smile. "So that's how it is."
Instead of anger, a strange calm settled over him. This was no different from the modern world, where rivals poisoned reputations and sabotaged experiments. And just like then, he would turn their sabotage into fuel.
On the morning of the duel, the entire sect gathered at the alchemy grounds. The cracked stone platform was lined with cauldrons, the air heavy with the scent of herbs and smoke. Disciples jostled for position, eager to see the furnace idiot humiliated one last time.
Shen Rong strutted onto the stage, his robe pristine, his hair tied in an elegant knot. "Try not to embarrass yourself too quickly, Lin," he sneered. "I'd like to at least enjoy the show."
Jinhai ignored him, setting his herbs down with steady hands. The gong sounded. Flames roared beneath both cauldrons.
Shen Rong moved with practiced ease, herbs chopped neatly, flame bright and stable. Whispers rippled. "Shen Rong is so skilled." "This will be over quickly."
Jinhai, meanwhile, fed his herbs in careful sequence. The cauldron rattled violently, smoke pouring out. Laughter erupted from the crowd.
"Look! He's failing already!"
"Hahaha, the furnace idiot returns!"
But Jinhai wasn't panicking. Inside his mind, the simulation replayed every ratio, every flicker of flame, every critical second. He adjusted the heat by a fraction, added the withered Mistleaf at the exact instant. The rattling eased. The smoke thinned.
Inside the cauldron, light swirled.
Shen Rong smirked as he revealed three Healing Pills—dull green, cracked at the edges, but passable. He raised them high, basking in the cheers. "See, Elder Han? This is how it's done—"
His words cut off as gasps spread. From Jinhai's cauldron, a pure fragrance drifted into the air. When the lid lifted, three glowing pills lay within—round, smooth, radiating vitality. Perfect Healing Pills.
The crowd fell silent.
Shen Rong's face twisted. "Impossible!" He lunged forward, snatching one pill, crushing it in his fist to prove it false. But the fragments shimmered faintly, releasing healing aura even as dust.
Everyone stared.
Lin Jinhai finally raised his head, his eyes sharp, his voice calm but cutting. "You call me trash… yet my pill speaks for itself. Tell me, Shen Rong—what does that make yours?"
Gasps, whispers, stunned silence. The sect had just witnessed the birth of a devil in the furnace.