The moon hung low that night, veiled behind drifting clouds.
Pale silver light leaked through the gaps of Wan Long's hut, painting faint streaks across the rough floorboards.
He sat cross-legged, breath steady, eyes locked on the glowing panel before him.
[Name: Wan Long]
[Age: 17]
[Lifespan: 63 Years]
[Cultivation Realm: Body Tempering – 1st Layer]
[Cultivation Technique: Moon Breathing Technique (Low Yellow Tier)]
[Spiritual Root: Mixed Element]
[Cultivation Skills: None]
[Inventory: 800 Days of Spiritual Energy, 10 High-Grade Tier 1 Body Tempering Pills, 20 High-Grade Tier 1 Qi Nourishment Pills]
[Recycle Points (RP): 1000]
The Qi Nourishment Pill Formula no longer appeared—it had been etched directly into his mind, as if burned into his soul.
Every ratio, herb, and heating sequence felt familiar, as though he had studied it for years.
Wan Long exhaled slowly. The faint glow of the panel reflected in his eyes.
"Recycle Points…" he murmured.
He focused, and the system responded.
[Recycle Points are used to enhance existing items, techniques, or self attributes.]
"Enhance…" he whispered, feeling a faint shiver of anticipation.
His gaze fell upon the line that had cursed both his lives—
[Spiritual Root: Mixed Element]
Jaw tightening, he willed it. "Enhance spiritual root."
[Enhancement: Spiritual Root – Mixed Element.]
[Enhancement cost: 10,000 Recycle Points.]
[Insufficient points.]
The glow dimmed, leaving only silence.
Wan Long let out a long breath. His chest tightened briefly with disappointment—ten thousand points was far beyond what he had.
But the knowledge that it could be improved sent a spark of excitement through his veins.
"So even this cursed root isn't permanent…" he muttered, a slow grin forming on his face.
That night, he didn't sleep.
He planned.
If the system rewarded him for recycling pill waste, then he just needed more of it.
More dregs. More discarded pills. More failures.
He looked at his hands—hands once used to shovel concrete and haul stone.
Now, they would dig his path to power.
....
Dawn came softly, a gray light filtering through the mist that blanketed the sect's lower courts.
The servant disciples groaned and stirred as the day began, dragging themselves out for morning chores.
Wan Long, however, was already awake—rested, alert, and ready.
When the cleaning assignments were read, he stepped forward before anyone else could speak.
"I'll handle the alchemy waste today," he said calmly. "All of it."
The others blinked in surprise.
Most servant disciples dreaded that work—the smell alone made one sick, and the buckets were heavy beyond reason.
But Wan Long's tone left no room for argument.
"If any of you hear of others struggling with it," he added, "tell them to call me. I'll take their share."
They looked at one another uncertainly, then nodded.
If someone was foolish enough to volunteer for that disgusting chore, who were they to stop him?
By midday, Wan Long had already carried over a dozen buckets from the lower alchemy chambers.
By sunset, he had moved twenty-five.
The stench clung to his skin and clothes, but he didn't care.
Each bucket he handled was a hidden fortune in his eyes.
Most of the alchemy rooms had been neglected for days—some for weeks. The piles of residue and failed pills were high enough to fill entire vats.
And while the other cleaners covered their noses and fled from the acrid smell, Wan Long's heart was racing with joy.
Every load was another chance. Another hidden resource. Another step toward ten thousand points.
By the time he finished carrying the last of the buckets down the mountain, his back was sore, his arms numb—but his spirit soared.
The sky above the sect was already painted in streaks of crimson and gold. The sun dipped behind the peaks, and shadows stretched long across the valley.
Wan Long stood at the dumping ground—a barren stretch of rocky soil where piles of waste residue were discarded. The acrid scent of burned herbs and spoiled pills hung thick in the air.
He looked around.
No one in sight.
Only him… and the mountain of pill dregs.
His lips curled slightly.
"It's time."
He took a deep breath and focused his mind.
"System—recycle all waste."
[Recycling failed pill residue….]
[Recycling complete.]
[Obtained: 1,300 Days of Spiritual Energy.]
[Obtained: 40 High-Grade Tier 1 Qi Nourishment Pills.]
[Obtained: 100 High-Grade Tier 1 Body Tempering Pills.]
[Recycle Points +5,000.]
Wan Long's breath caught.
He stared at the glowing panel that hovered before his eyes, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.
"Five… thousand?" he whispered.
The number seemed unreal.
He had expected a reward—perhaps a few hundred points, maybe a handful of pills—but this… this was beyond anything he had imagined.
Even the faint spiritual energy that filled the air felt different now—thicker, richer, responding faintly to his pulse.
He sat down right there on the rocky slope, the faint glow of the evening sky reflecting in his wide eyes.
The piles of refuse, once a nauseating sight, now looked to him like mountains of gold.
Each failed pill.
Each abandoned bucket.
Each scrap that others threw away—
was a treasure in disguise.
A laugh escaped his lips before he could stop it.
He quickly covered his mouth and looked around again, heart pounding.
No one had heard.
He forced himself to calm down, breathing slowly.
When his pulse steadied, he opened the system panel once more.
[Name: Wan Long]
[Cultivation Realm: Body Tempering – 1st Layer]
........
[Inventory: 2,100 Days of Spiritual Energy, 60 High-Grade qi nourishing pills, 110 High-Grade body tempering pills]
[Recycle Points: 6,000]
The faint numbers glowed with quiet promise.
The moon was rising above the distant peaks when he turned back toward his hut, eyes shining with determination.
Each step he took was light, almost weightless.
He no longer walked like a servant burdened by fate—
but like someone who had glimpsed the path to immortality.
.....
By the next morning, the entire servant quarter was buzzing.
Rumors spread like wildfire through the courtyards:
"Did you hear? That new guy from the southern quarters cleaned all twenty-five alchemy rooms by himself!"
"They say even some inner sect disciples noticed."
"Maybe he's trying to curry favor with Senior Sister Shen Murong."
"Ha! More likely he's just a fool who doesn't mind stinking of pill waste."
Wan Long heard the whispers as he walked toward the dining area.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Let them talk.
He'd rather they thought him foolish than realize what he was really doing.
After finishing his breakfast of plain rice porridge and half a steamed bun, he made his way toward the alchemy hall as usual.
The morning mist was lifting, sunlight spilling over the tiled roofs of the sect.
Disciples moved busily through the courtyards, the faint scent of herbs and medicinal smoke drifting in the air.
When Wan Long arrived at the southern alchemy yard, he was greeted by unusual warmth.
Several of the attendants and junior disciples smiled at him—too wide, too suddenly.
He could see through it instantly.
They just want me to carry their filth again, he thought, amused.
But he didn't mind.
Where others saw filth, he saw fortune.
He gave a polite nod and was about to start hauling waste buckets when a clear voice called from behind him:
"Wan Long! Senior Sister Shen Murong is calling for you! She said to come to the Inner Alchemy Hall immediately!"
He froze mid-step, turning slightly.
A disciple in neat green robes was jogging toward him, panting slightly.
The Inner Alchemy Hall?
That was the sacred ground of the sect's alchemists—
a place where even outer disciples rarely set foot, much less servant disciples like him.
There, the sect's top alchemists refined high-grade pills and conducted research under the direct supervision of Elder Bai Shen—the Alchemy Peak Master herself.
Wan Long followed the disciple through winding corridors until the scent of rare herbs filled the air.
The temperature rose slightly, the air shimmering faintly with the heat of active furnaces.
Then, the great bronze doors of the Inner Hall came into view—each engraved with runes of fire and wood.
Inside, rows of cauldrons burned steadily, tended by robed alchemists.
A faint, multicolored mist filled the air, glowing faintly under the lamplight.
Standing near one of the central furnaces was Shen Murong.
Her features were calm, her hair tied into a neat high bun, streaks of golden light reflecting in her dark eyes as she turned toward him.
"Wan Long," she called softly.
He bowed respectfully. "Disciple greets Senior Sister Shen."
She studied him for a moment, then gave a faint nod.
"I heard from the attendants—you cleaned all the alchemy rooms in the southern yard yesterday?"
"Yes," he said simply.
A small smile curved her lips.
"Good. The Inner Hall has been in need of capable hands. If you perform well here, I'll consider recommending you to stay and learn under the Alchemy Division."
A murmur rippled through the surrounding disciples.
For a servant to be allowed even to observe alchemy within these walls was almost unheard of.
Wan Long, however, kept his expression calm, though his heart stirred faintly.
He bowed again, voice steady. "Thank you for Senior Sister's guidance."
Inwardly, though, his thoughts were far from the honor she offered.
Learn alchemy?
Perhaps someday.
But for now…
His gaze drifted toward the piles of discarded cauldron ash and shattered pill remains stacked at the far end of the hall.
That was what truly mattered.
Where others saw trash—he saw limitless opportunity.
Where others avoided the waste, he saw a mountain of untapped potential.
As long as there's waste… there's power.
He lifted his bucket with quiet resolve, a faint smile hidden beneath his calm expression.