The Soul-Stabilizing Pills hit the Outer Sect like cold water thrown into boiling oil.
For three straight days, the uproar didn't die down.
Wherever Jiang Muchen went, eyes clung to his back—some curious, some probing, most laced with envy sharp enough to cut. A servant disciple at the third level of Qi Refining, openly producing a high-grade Yellow-tier pill—just hearing it felt like a slap across the faces of those who had spent years grinding through the ranks by the book.
The name "Muchen Circle" began to circulate in small groups, whispered like a private passcode.
Jiang Muchen ignored it all.
By day, he stayed in the Refining Hall, learning from Elder Huoyun how to listen—how iron spoke differently under different flames, how impurities revealed themselves through sound alone. By night, he returned to the servant quarters to cultivate the Myriad Spirit Resonance Art, his perception stretching steadily outward. Fifteen zhang now. And growing.
Wang Duobao's stall was up in the market. Starting with a few dozen spirit stones, flipping low-grade herbs, he'd somehow turned a profit.
Lu Hanshan mastered the first move of the Wind-Cleaving Blade Art, his strikes now carrying a faint tearing whistle.
Zhou Xiaohuan handled the accounts.
Zheng Xiaoqi landed a job hauling ore in the Refining Hall—courtesy of Elder Huoyun, and Jiang Muchen's face.
Everything was moving upward.
Everything—except the thorn lodged in his heart.
On the ninth night, Jiang Muchen sat beneath the old locust tree behind the servant quarters.
Moonlight filtered through the branches, shattering into silver fragments across the ground. In his hand was a jade bottle holding five Soul-Stabilizing Pills, its surface glowing faintly in the dark.
Tomorrow was the tenth day.
The day of his appointment with the dragon soul beneath the cold pool.
Go—or don't go?
If he went, it could be a trap. A being at or beyond Foundation Establishment could turn hostile on a single thought.
If he didn't…
A broken deal. A broken promise.
With something like that watching, breaking faith was worse than death.
"Thinking about the cold pool?"
Lu Hanshan's voice came from behind the tree.
Jiang Muchen didn't turn. "Yeah."
Lu Hanshan sat beside him. After a long silence, he said, "I'll go with you."
"No."
"Why?"
"Too many people makes escape harder." Jiang paused. "And if things go bad, one more person won't change anything."
Cruel. But true.
Lu Hanshan swallowed, then finally said, "Be careful."
"I will."
Tenth day. Hai hour, third quarter.
Jiang Muchen changed into plain gray clothes, secured the jade bottle, and slipped out of the servant quarters without a sound.
He avoided the main paths, cutting through the back mountain forest along a trail nearly swallowed by weeds. Zheng Xiaoqi had found it years ago while gathering herbs—a wild route that bypassed most patrols and led to a damaged restriction on the edge of the Herb Valley.
The night was thick, heavy.
The Myriad Spirit Resonance Art ran at full power. His perception spread like a web—
a night rat turning ten zhang away,
a patrol disciple crushing twigs thirty zhang out,
an owl taking flight at fifty.
All of it fell into his listening field.
He moved like a shadow.
Half an hour later, spiritual mist appeared ahead.
Qingming Herb Valley.
He stopped, adjusted his direction, and crouched before an ancient tree wide enough for three men to embrace. At its roots lay several stones, scattered casually. He moved the third one, revealing a hole just big enough for a person to slip through.
A forgotten backdoor, dug long ago by a guard elder who never returned.
Jiang Muchen entered.
The tunnel was damp and narrow. After crawling several dozen feet, he emerged behind hanging vines on a cliff face. He pushed them aside, breathing in the familiar scent of herbs.
At night, the valley felt deeper. Strange plants glimmered faintly under moonlight. Distant beast roars echoed now and then. Cold air drifted from the Cold Mist Ravine, weaving through the night like gauze.
He exhaled slowly and headed toward the waterfall.
This time, he circled wide, approaching the cold pool from the opposite side. Jagged rocks, twisted shadows—difficult terrain, but well hidden.
A hundred zhang out, he stopped.
Pressure rolled toward him from the pool—dense, restrained, restless.
The dragon soul was waiting.
He steadied himself and continued.
Moonlight turned the waterfall into a silver ribbon. The cold pool below steamed faintly, glowing an eerie blue.
Jiang Muchen stopped before the same bluestone slab. He placed the jade bottle where the jade slip had once been.
"Senior," he said clearly, bowing toward the water. "I've come as promised. Five Soul-Stabilizing Pills. Please examine them."
He stepped back three paces and waited.
Silence.
Then the pool rippled.
Not surface waves—but something deeper. A slow-spreading distortion. A vortex formed at the center, mud rising as cold, ancient pressure surged upward.
Jiang Muchen held his breath.
Two points of dim golden light appeared.
Eyes.
They rose until they hovered three feet above the water. A massive, translucent dragon head took shape—only an outline, yet unmistakable.
Even as a remnant soul, its dignity crushed the air.
Jiang Muchen felt his legs weaken. He forced himself steady and bowed again.
"Junior Jiang Muchen greets you."
The dragon's gaze fixed on the jade bottle.
A thought slammed into his mind—clearer than before, still laced with pain.
"Pill… medicine…"
"Please inspect them."
The bottle floated up. The stopper popped free. Five pale-gold pills spun slowly in the moonlight.
The dragon inhaled.
Light vanished.
Silence followed.
Then—relief. Subtle, but real. The agony ebbed.
"Not enough…"
Restlessness crept into the thought.
"Need… more…"
Jiang Muchen's heart stirred.
"As expected," he thought.
"How many does Senior need?" he asked respectfully.
"Five… each month… three months…"
"Or… the soul disperses…"
Fifteen pills.
Jiang Muchen calculated fast. One intact Nine-Revolution Soul-Returning Grass could yield six to eight pills. With the split plant's leaves, it was barely possible.
But the real question was—
Why?
He raised his head. "Junior is willing to refine pills for Senior."
The dragon waited.
"But I have difficulties," Jiang Muchen continued calmly. "The main ingredient is rare. Junior's cultivation and resources are limited. I can't sustain this alone."
Truth—and a probe.
The pressure rose.
Jiang Muchen didn't retreat.
Flattery without leverage was begging.
This was a transaction.
At last, the thought returned—almost amused.
"Human… you are clever…"
"What do you want?" the dragon asked.
Jiang Muchen inhaled. "Nothing excessive. Only that once Senior recovers—if I face mortal danger within this valley—Senior will intervene once."
One time.
No techniques. No treasures. Just a life-saving promise.
The dragon was silent for a long time.
Then—
"Agreed."
A single word. Heavier than a mountain.
"But… only within this valley."
"That's enough." Jiang Muchen bowed deeply.
The vortex faded. The dragon sank back into the depths, its golden eyes lingering a moment longer.
Then the pool was still.
Jiang Muchen collected the empty bottle and left.
Dawn broke as he emerged from the tunnel.
He didn't return immediately. Instead, he sat on a small hill behind the Refining Hall.
Morning wind carried the scent of grass.
He studied the intact Nine-Revolution Soul-Returning Grass in his hand.
Worth hundreds of spirit stones.
Now feeding a dragon soul of unknown origin.
Was it worth it?
Jiang Muchen smiled.
Of course it was.
A Foundation-level life—how much was that worth?
And more importantly, he now knew the dragon could be negotiated with.
That was the real gain.
Back at the servant quarters, the others were training.
"Did it work?" Lu Hanshan asked.
"Yes," Jiang Muchen said. "And I'll have to go again next month."
Concern flashed across faces.
"Dangerous things," Jiang Muchen said softly, "are worth doing."
Later that morning, after meeting Zhang Yi and receiving the Introductory Array Manual, trouble arrived.
An inner disciple stepped into the courtyard, arrogance written across his face.
"You're Jiang Muchen?"
"I am."
"I'm Chen Xuan. Hand over the pill formula. Refine three batches for me."
He sneered. "I'll guarantee your entry to the Inner Sect."
The yard went quiet.
Jiang Muchen smiled politely.
"The formula belongs to Elder Huoyun. I can't decide. If Senior Brother wishes, he may ask Elder Huoyun directly."
Chen Xuan's expression stiffened.
Everyone knew Elder Huoyun's temper.
"You're hiding behind him?"
"Not at all," Jiang Muchen bowed. "I simply obey my master."
Chen Xuan stared, then turned away.
"I'll remember you."
When he left, Jiang Muchen finished his porridge calmly.
Then, quietly, he thought—
How many people in the sect needed Soul-Stabilizing Pills?
Perhaps this wasn't just medicine.
Perhaps it was a key.
Dao of Leverage — Entry Fifty-Three
The best deal isn't an equal exchange.
It's giving first—what the other side can't live without—
and letting the debt compound until it's worth more than any price.