The night was thick as ink.
A single oil lamp in the servant quarters threw four unsteady shadows against the mud wall. On the table, a jade bottle glowed softly under the dim light. Wang Duobao stared at it, his throat bobbing.
"Brother Jiang," he whispered, "five Soul-Stabilizing Pills… On the black market, one goes for seventy spirit stones."
Lu Hanshan said nothing. He was sharpening his cleaver, the blade now cold-bright, reflecting the hard line of his lips. In the corner, Zhou Xiaohuan sorted herbs while Zheng Xiaoqi patched a fishing net—both pretending not to listen, though their ears were tilted toward the table.
Jiang Muchen didn't answer.
He picked up the jade bottle, his thumb tracing the fine patterns along its surface. Then he asked calmly,
"Duobao, what do you think was our greatest gain from this trip to the Herb Valley?"
Wang Duobao blinked.
"Three stalks of Nine-Revolution Soul-Returning Grass, a thousand-year spirit mushroom, and—"
"Wrong."
Jiang Muchen cut him off and set the bottle down with a soft tap.
"Our greatest gain was that all four of us walked out alive. That Elder Huoyun lets us call him 'Elder.' That people in the outer sect now know—there's a group like us in the servant quarters."
He rose and cracked the window open.
Night wind rushed in, carrying mountain chill. The lamp flame dipped sharply.
"Nine-Revolution Grass is precious," Jiang said quietly, his back to them. "But it's dead. Spirit stones are useful—but they run out. What lasts is a life someone owes you. A debt a group remembers."
He turned back, candlelight cutting his face into stark planes of light and shadow.
"Those things are alive. They take root where you least expect."
Lu Hanshan's hand paused on the blade.
"Senior Brother Zhang Yi's injuries," Jiang continued, "the Medicine Hall already declared them fatal."
The room tightened.
"But we have medicine."
Zhou Xiaohuan hesitated.
"But these pills… Brother Jiang, what if later we—"
"There is no 'later' without 'now.'"
Jiang picked up the bottle again.
"A life is waiting to be saved. And a chance is sitting right here—to make every low-born disciple remember the name Muchen. Which do you choose?"
The lamp crackled softly.
Zheng Xiaoqi set the net aside.
"I'll follow you. My father said—money can be earned again. A debt of favor costs your life to repay."
"I'm with Brother Jiang," Zhou Xiaohuan said, lifting her head. Her eyes shone in the dim light. "Senior Brother Zhang carried firewood for me last winter. I won't watch him die."
Wang Duobao sighed, half bitter, half resigned.
"Alright. You've convinced me. Tell us what to do."
Lu Hanshan slid the blade back into its sheath with a clean shing.
"Do it," he said.
Jiang Muchen smiled.
He pushed the jade bottle toward Wang Duobao.
"Tomorrow morning, go to the Medicine Hall. Say we were lucky enough to find a single Soul-Calming Herb in the Herb Valley. Say Elder Huoyun taught us a bit of alchemy, and we tried refining a few pills."
"Remember—say the quality is average."
"Average?" Wang Duobao frowned.
"We're servants," Jiang said evenly. "Servants don't refine high-grade pills. If we do, it's either a miracle—or a crime."
Realization hit. Wang Duobao nodded hard.
"As for the remaining Soul-Returning Grass—"
Jiang took out the jade box and removed one intact stalk.
"This one I keep. The other…"
A glint flashed in his eyes.
"Break it down. Leaves and roots stored separately. Sell the leaves in small amounts, half price if needed—safe and quiet. Keep the roots. Some ancient formulas use them as catalysts."
"Split it up!" Wang Duobao's eyes lit up. "Brilliant. No attention, more buyers."
"Exactly. But not yet. Let the wind pass first."
He turned to Lu Hanshan.
"Spend these days checking the mission hall. Group tasks. Decent contribution points. Let the name Muchen spread slowly."
"Muchen?" Lu Hanshan raised a brow.
"Others are already calling it that," Jiang said with a shrug. "We'll accept it. Loose for now—too many rules only slow us down."
Dawn had barely broken when Jiang Muchen stood before the anvil in the Refining Hall.
Elder Huoyun's hammer rang out, sparks bursting like golden threads in the early light. He didn't look up.
"Sort the ore. Over seventy percent iron to the left. Fifty to seventy on the right. Anything less—back into the furnace."
"Yes, Elder."
Sorting ore was brutal work. Each piece had to be tapped and heard. Clear, ringing tones meant high purity. Dull sounds meant impurities. After an hour, sweat beaded on Jiang's brow, fingers nicked raw by sharp edges.
Huoyun checked a few samples, nodded.
"Decent. Come here. Lesson one—watch the fire."
He dragged Jiang to the earthfire vent.
"The soul of forging is fire," Huoyun said. "Different materials, different heat. Miss by a hair, and it's heaven or hell."
He tossed ore into the furnace. Flames surged, shifting color three times in three breaths. The iron softened, black smoke curling away—impurities burned out.
"Three-Turn Iron Refining. Basic."
"Your turn."
Jiang stepped forward.
First try—too hot. The ore cracked.
Second—too mild. Impurities remained.
Third time—
He closed his eyes.
The Myriad Spirit Resonance Art stirred.
This time, he heard the metal soften. Felt where the fire needed to breathe.
The flames steadied. Began to pulse.
Huoyun's brow lifted.
"Huh."
Half an hour later, three pieces of refined iron lay on the table. Rough—but real.
"You ever forged before?" Huoyun demanded.
"No," Jiang said honestly. "I just… felt it."
Huoyun stared, then burst out laughing.
"That 'feeling'—that's the door! Anyone who follows manuals forever never steps inside!"
He slapped Jiang's shoulder hard enough to make him wince.
"From today on, same hour, every day! Slack off and I'll throw you into the furnace!"
Wang Duobao came running, breathless.
"Brother Jiang—trouble at the Medicine Hall."
"The pills were accepted," he gasped. "Senior Brother Zhang will live. But Lin Tianying's people are there—accusing us of illegal gains."
Huoyun snorted.
"Lin Tianying? That useless nephew of Lin the Fossil? You go. Say you're my registered disciple. Let's see who dares touch you."
Those four words—registered disciple—fell like a mountain.
At the Medicine Hall, Lin Tianying was already shouting.
"These are high-grade pills! Servants can't refine this! Investigate them!"
Jiang Muchen stepped forward calmly.
"Senior Brother Lin is right. The source should be verified."
Lin Tianying grinned—until Jiang continued.
"I'll refine another batch. Right here."
Silence.
A moment later, under dozens of eyes, Jiang lit the earthfire.
An hour passed.
The scent rose.
When the furnace opened, three pale-gold pills lay inside.
Perfect.
The courtyard erupted in murmurs.
Lin Tianying's smile shattered.
Jiang handed the pills over.
"For emergency use."
Then he turned and walked away.
Far off, Lin Tianying stood frozen, his face dark as a coming storm.
Jiang touched the intact Soul-Returning Grass at his chest.
Ten days.
Ten days—and he would return to the cold pool.
The dragon soul was waiting.
Tongue of the Dao — Entry Fifty-Two
If you want someone to save you one day,
plant the cure in their heart first—
even if that someone is a dragon.
That's not mercy. That's survival.