Chapter 2: Shadows in the Medicine Hall
The Medicine Hall perched on the eastern slope of Azure Peak, its roof tiles gleaming green with cultivated moss. Dawn light caught the steam rising from its many chimneys, where alchemists toiled over cauldrons and furnaces, transforming spiritual herbs into pills and elixirs.
Chen Feng approached with measured steps, his outer disciple robes freshly washed a small dignity he insisted upon despite his circumstances. Around him, other disciples hurried past with barely a glance. Invisibility had its uses.
The hall's entrance was guarded by two stone lions, their eyes inlaid with jade that glowed faintly with protective formations. Chen Feng had researched these wards extensively over the years. They detected hostile intent and unauthorized spiritual energy manipulation, but were blind to passive observation.
He was here for neither.
"State your business." The voice came from a middle-aged woman behind the reception desk, her face lined with the impatience of one who handled hundreds of requests daily.
"This disciple seeks employment in the herb processing division," Chen Feng said, performing a respectful bow.
The woman's eyes flicked up from her ledger, assessment swift and dismissive. "Outer disciples are allocated two spirit stones monthly. That should suffice for your level."
"This disciple has additional..expenses."
A thin smile crossed her lips. "Gambling debts? I hear the Azure Garden has been particularly profitable this season."
Chen Feng said nothing, allowing her to draw her own conclusions. Better she think him a fool with vices than someone with dangerous ambitions.
"Hmm." She consulted her ledger, tracing a finger down columns of names. "Elder Han needs someone to process mortal-grade herbs. The work is tedious and the pay is minimal half a spirit stone per week. Interested?"
Half a spirit stone was insulting for a week's labor. But Chen Feng needed access more than money.
"This disciple accepts gratefully."
The woman wrote his name with quick efficiency. "Report to the processing room in the eastern wing at the morning bell. Elder Han will explain your duties. And Chen Feng?" She looked up, her expression hardening slightly. "If you're caught stealing even a single herb, you'll wish Elder Shen's punishment hall was your only concern."
"This disciple understands."
He left before she could reconsider, navigating the Medicine Hall's corridors with the ease of long familiarity. Five years of wandering these halls during his attempts to cure his damaged foundation had taught him the layout intimately.
The processing room was precisely as he remembered a large chamber filled with wooden tables, each covered in drying herbs, grinding mortars, and classification tools. The air was thick with mingled scents: bitter, sweet, acrid, floral. To an untrained nose it was overwhelming. To Chen Feng, each scent told a story of potential and power.
Elder Han sat near the back, examining a jade container with scholarly focus. He was thin, almost skeletal, with ink stains on his fingers and the distracted air of one who lived more in texts than reality.
"Elder Han." Chen Feng approached with proper deference. "This disciple has been assigned to assist with herb processing."
The elder glanced up, his eyes magnified oddly behind thick spectacles. "Ah. Yes. The new assistant. Can you read?"
An unexpected question. "Yes, Elder."
"Good. Most of the idiots they send me can barely distinguish between their own fingers." Elder Han gestured to a table piled with dried plants. "Those are Moonlight Grass common, used in basic healing salves. Sort them by quality: first grade with silver veins prominent, second grade with veins faint, third grade for everything else. Any questions?"
"No, Elder."
"Then begin. I'll check your work in an hour."
Chen Feng moved to the indicated table and began sorting, his movements practiced and efficient. The Moonlight Grass was indeed mundane, barely containing any spiritual energy. But the task gave him time to observe the room's layout, to note which cabinets held which materials, to map the movement patterns of the few other assistants working in quiet concentration.
Information was the first currency of survival.
An hour passed quickly. Elder Han returned, inspected Chen Feng's sorted piles with a critical eye, and gave a small grunt that might have been approval.
"You have decent eyes," the elder said. "Better than the last three assistants combined. Tomorrow you'll start on Crimson Root it's slightly more complex."
"This disciple is honored by Elder Han's trust."
The old man waved a dismissive hand. "Save your flattery for the elders who care about such nonsense. Here, we care about precision and competence. Fail at either and you're gone."
Chen Feng bowed, hiding a small smile. Elder Han's disregard for politics made him predictable and predictable people were useful.
For the next three weeks, Chen Feng fell into a routine. Dawn cultivation using the Celestial Demon Scripture, morning bell to afternoon in the Medicine Hall, evening cultivation, and midnight study of the forbidden techniques now burned into his memory.
His progress was microscopic by normal standards, but for someone with his damaged foundation, it was revolutionary. The thread of power in his meridians grew slowly thicker, fed by the ambient spiritual energy he consumed with increasingly efficient hunger.
But he needed more. The Scripture's initial stages required vast quantities of spiritual energy to transform his body into a proper vessel. Two spirit stones monthly, plus his meager wage, was insufficient.
That was where the Medicine Hall became crucial.
On his twenty-third day of employment, Elder Han called him over to a locked cabinet.
"I need to catalog these," the old man said, producing a key and opening the doors to reveal rows of jade boxes. "Spiritual herbs from the outer mountains. Nothing too valuable, but they require proper classification before I can determine their use. Think you can handle it?"
Chen Feng's heart rate remained steady through sheer discipline. "This disciple will do his utmost."
"Good. I'll be in the alchemy room refining a batch of Foundation Pills. Don't disturb me unless the building catches fire." Elder Han paused at the door. "And Chen Feng? I know your reputation. Don't make me regret giving you this opportunity."
The door closed with a soft click.
Chen Feng waited precisely three breaths before moving to the cabinet. His hands were steady as he opened the first jade box, revealing a cluster of pale blue flowers with silver-edged petals.
Azure Dream Lotus. Low-grade spiritual herb, used in meditation aids and minor spiritual recovery pills. Worth approximately three spirit stones in the market.
He opened the second box. Still fresh, the Crimson Heart Berries glimmered with a jewel-like, blood-dark radiance. Mid-grade spiritual herb, used in strengthening blood and qi. Worth approximately eight spirit stones.
Box after box revealed similar treasures. Not the rare materials stored in the restricted vaults, but valuable enough.
Chen Feng moved with care, recording details of every herb. When he came to the fifteenth box, he stopped for a moment.
Inside were small, withered roots that resembled twisted human fingers. Ghost Vein Root a herb used in certain unorthodox cultivation methods, considered mildly toxic by conventional alchemy. Worth very little to the sect.
But to someone practicing the Celestial Demon Scripture, it was invaluable.
The Scripture had detailed several herbs that others considered worthless or dangerous, explaining methods to extract their spiritual essence in ways orthodox cultivation would never attempt. Ghost Vein Root was one such herb its toxins, when properly refined through demonic cultivation methods, would accelerate the transformation of mortal meridians into spiritual conduits.
Chen Feng glanced at the door. Listened to the distant sounds of the Medicine Hall. Calculated risks and rewards.
Then, with movements smooth as water, he transferred three of the smaller roots into his inner robe pocket. Not enough to be obviously missing, but sufficient for his immediate needs.
His hands never trembled.
He finished the cataloging precisely as Elder Han returned, presenting the old man with meticulous notes on each herb's quality and potential applications.
Elder Han reviewed the work with scholarly intensity, his eyes scanning each entry. Finally, he nodded. "Adequate. You're more thorough than I expected."
"This disciple merely applies what Elder Han has taught."
"Hmm." The elder's gaze lingered on him for a moment, unreadable. "Continue your work. You're proving less useless than anticipated."
That night, in the privacy of his room, Chen Feng carefully prepared the Ghost Vein Root according to the Scripture's instructions. The process involved grinding the root into paste, mixing it with his own blood the technique required blood as a binding agent and consuming it while circulating his qi in a specific pattern.
The taste was indescribably bitter, like swallowing earth mixed with metal and despair.
Then the pain began.
It felt as though insects were crawling through his meridians, each one biting and burrowing. Chen Feng bit down on a leather strap, forcing himself to remain seated in cultivation posture. The Scripture had warned: physical movement during the refinement process could cause the toxins to settle in the wrong channels, resulting in permanent damage or death.
Sweat poured from his body. His muscles spasmed involuntarily. But beneath the agony, he could feel it his meridians expanding, strengthening, transforming from fragile channels into robust pathways capable of containing significantly more spiritual energy.
The process lasted four hours.
When Chen Feng finally opened his eyes, dawn light was seeping through the cracks in his shutters. His robes were soaked through, and the leather strap in his mouth bore deep teeth marks.
But when he circulated his qi, the improvement was undeniable. What had been a thread was now a cord, and his absorption rate had increased noticeably.
He checked his reflection in the salvaged mirror. His face was pale, shadows deep beneath his eyes, but there was something else a faint quality in his gaze that hadn't been there before. Sharper. Hungrier.
The Celestial Demon Scripture was working.
Over the following weeks, Chen Feng continued his dual existence. By day, the diligent if unremarkable assistant in the Medicine Hall, earning Elder Han's grudging approval. By night, the forbidden cultivator, slowly rebuilding his foundation through methods that would see him executed if discovered.
He stole sparingly and carefully only herbs that were plentiful enough that their absence wouldn't be noticed, only materials that the sect undervalued. Each theft was calculated against risk, each use of stolen herbs planned to maximize benefit while minimizing evidence.
Lin Mei visited occasionally, her concern genuine but distant. She never asked about his cultivation, sensing perhaps that the topic was painful. Instead, she spoke of sect politics, of Zhao Tian's recent breakthrough to the eighth level of Qi Condensation, of the upcoming Outer Disciple Competition.
"They're saying it will be particularly competitive this year," she mentioned during one visit, her voice carefully neutral. "Several disciples from branch families will be participating, hoping to prove themselves worthy of greater resources."
Chen Feng understood the subtext: and you will be expected to lose spectacularly.
"Competition breeds excellence," he said, the platitude falling easily from his lips.
Lin Mei studied him with eyes that saw more than she revealed. "Chen Feng... you seem different lately. Not worse, just... different."
"People change, Senior Sister."
"I suppose they do." She rose to leave, then paused at the door. "Be careful. Zhao Tian has been asking questions about you. I don't know why, but when someone like him takes an interest..."
"Nothing good follows. I understand. Thank you for the warning."
After she left, Chen Feng sat in the darkening room, considering her words.
Zhao Tian's interest was concerning but not unexpected. The young master had orchestrated Chen Feng's expected humiliation at the competition having the victim show unusual behavior might trigger additional scrutiny.
He would need to be more careful.
But he would not stop.
By the end of the second month, Chen Feng had reached what the Celestial Demon Scripture called the First Devouring Stage his body could now actively consume spiritual energy from external sources beyond simple ambient absorption. His meridians had transformed into something neither fully orthodox nor completely demonic, a hybrid system that drew gasps of horror from no one because no one knew it existed.
In orthodox terms, he had finally achieved the first level of Qi Condensation two months of forbidden cultivation accomplishing what five years of conventional methods could not.
One month remained until the competition.
Chen Feng calculated his progress coldly. Even with his advancement, reaching the second level in four weeks was impossible through conventional accumulation. He would need something more a larger source of spiritual energy, or a catalyst that could accelerate his breakthrough.
That night, while cataloging herbs in the Medicine Hall, he found his answer.
Elder Han had left out a reference manual, opened to a page discussing the Azure Peak Sect's annual beast tide a natural phenomenon where spirit beasts descended from the higher mountains, drawn by fluctuations in the sect's defensive formations. The sect used these opportunities to harvest beast cores and train disciples in combat.
The next beast tide was predicted in three weeks.
Beast cores contained concentrated spiritual energy, perfect for cultivation breakthroughs. The Celestial Demon Scripture had entire sections devoted to consuming beast cores, methods far more efficient than orthodox refinement techniques.
Chen Feng smiled in the empty room, the expression cold and calculating.
The competition had been meant to showcase his failure.
Instead, it would announce his return.