Three days later, the Sacrificial Shop.
It was still the same VIP reception room, quiet and solemn, as if time itself slowed once one stepped inside.
Mo Jiao, who had clearly been waiting for some time, greeted Yao Chen, Xiao Yan, and Xiao Xun'er with a perfectly measured smile the moment they appeared. His gaze lingered briefly on Xiao Yan—just long enough to register the subtle but undeniable change in the young man's aura—before turning respectfully toward Yao Chen.
"Esteemed guest, please follow me. The Shop has already prepared everything you require."
Yao Chen gave a slight nod. Before leaving, he glanced back at Xiao Yan and Xiao Xun'er, signaling them to remain where they were. His soul body then followed Mo Jiao into a deeper passage within the shop.
The corridor was long and quiet, its walls faintly inscribed with spirit runes that suppressed sound and disturbance. At the very end lay a secluded chamber, plainly furnished, with a massive stone table occupying the center.
There was no alchemy cauldron.
No medicinal furnace.
No spiritual fire prepared in advance.
Instead, resting on the stone table was a tattered ancient scroll, its edges worn and yellowed by time. Beside it lay several equally old and heavy tomes, along with dozens of jade slips arranged with meticulous order.
Mo Jiao gestured toward the table.
"This is the incomplete eighth-grade pill formula for the Nine Revolutions Spirit Nurturing Pill. Alongside it are all related texts, medicinal property analyses, and deduction records collected by the Shop over the years. Esteemed guest may deduce freely here. No one will disturb you."
Yao Chen's phantom drifted closer, his gaze settling on the scroll. He did not rush to begin.
Instead, he picked up the tomes one by one, his spirit power gently probing into them. Streams of information flowed rapidly into his consciousness—ancient annotations, failed deductions, partial theories, conflicting medicinal pathways, and countless abandoned possibilities.
The jade slips glowed faintly as they were examined, responding to the probing spirit power like echoes from another era.
Time passed in utter silence.
Yao Chen's soul body barely moved, save for the occasional ripple as thoughts surged and settled. An entire day slipped by unnoticed.
Only after finishing the last jade slip did Yao Chen finally place his hand upon the incomplete scroll.
His spirit power unfurled.
Countless impossibly fine threads of soul force extended from his palm, gently binding every character, every medicinal node, every remnant energy pattern recorded on the scroll. At the same time, his mind began operating at full speed.
Medicinal ingredients rose and fell in his consciousness.
Pharmacological properties intertwined, clashed, and recombined.
Heat resistance, soul nourishment, meridian compatibility, cyclical balance—countless variables were simulated, destroyed, and rebuilt.
The tomes on the stone table began turning their pages without wind. The jade slips emitted a low hum, as if resonating with the ongoing deduction.
At times, Yao Chen's phantom froze completely, his brows knitted so tightly they seemed carved from stone. At other moments, clarity flashed through his eyes, and his fingers traced patterns in the air. Each movement caused the scroll to glow faintly, the missing sections slowly filling with golden energy lines—as though an invisible brush were sketching them into existence.
Again and again, the deduction reached a critical juncture—only to collapse.
The simulated medicinal structure would shatter with a silent roar, the energy framework disintegrating, and the glow on the scroll dimming briefly.
Yao Chen never showed frustration.
He merely closed his eyes for a short moment, reorganized his thoughts, and began anew.
Seven full days passed.
On the seventh day, when the final broken pharmacological meridian was reconnected, a faint yet clear cry—like that of a phoenix—seemed to echo within the room.
The ancient scroll suddenly burst forth with soft, brilliant golden light.
The previously incomplete sections were now perfectly filled, each medicinal pathway flowing smoothly into the next. A vast yet gentle medicinal fragrance spread outward, imbued with an aura that nourished the origin of the soul itself.
Even outside the chamber, Xiao Yan and Xiao Xun'er felt their spirits lift, their minds becoming clearer without realizing why.
Upon the scroll, the five ancient characters—
Nine Revolutions Spirit Nurturing Pill
—shone in full clarity.
Yao Chen slowly withdrew his spirit power.
His phantom was noticeably dimmer than before, the exhaustion unmistakable, yet his eyes were brighter than ever—calm, steady, and carrying the pride of a true grandmaster who had completed a work worthy of posterity.
"I did not fail."
His voice was hoarse, low, and heavy as a mountain.
Mo Jiao stared at the completed formula for a long moment, shock lingering in his eyes before he carefully stored it away.
"Esteemed guest's skill is beyond praise. The first task is perfectly completed."
He then continued, his tone respectful, "The teaching venue has been prepared. Classes will begin at Chen Shi tomorrow. As agreed, your identity has been handled—externally, you will only be known as Elder Chen."
Mo Jiao placed a jade bottle on the table.
"This is a Three Yang Spirit Replenishing Pill. It can restore heavily depleted spirit power. It is an additional reward from the Shop for completing the task ahead of schedule."
Yao Chen accepted it with a nod, the tightness in his expression finally easing slightly.
The next day, at Chen Shi.
Inside the Seeking Knowledge Courtyard, a tiered lecture hall capable of holding hundreds was packed to capacity.
Young alchemists.
Artifact refining apprentices.
Seasoned practitioners.
And spies from countless factions.
All eyes were fixed upon the podium.
Standing there was no longer a soul phantom, but an elderly man who appeared around fifty or sixty years of age, dressed in plain gray robes. His appearance was ordinary to the point of being forgettable—except for his eyes, which were deep and still, like ancient wells.
"My surname is Chen."
His voice was not loud, yet it clearly reached every corner of the hall, carrying an inexplicable weight.
"Whether alchemy or artifact refining, all changes return to one root."
"Fire."
There was no flowery introduction.
No wasted words.
"Fire is not dead matter. It is the spirit of heaven and earth's energy. To control fire is not to overpower it—but to understand it."
"Unity of mind. Perception of nature. Communication with its spirit."
With a casual motion, Yao Chen drew a line in the air.
A crimson flame appeared, docile and fluid, like water given form. At the movement of his fingertips, it transformed—coiling into a serpent, blooming into a lotus, scattering into countless sparks that landed precisely within the braziers before each student.
Every flame was identical in height, temperature, and stability.
The hall erupted in restrained astonishment.
"Basic fire control begins with perception," Yao Chen said, his voice carrying directly into their hearts. "Close your eyes. Release your will. Listen to the fire's breath. Observe its pulse."
"It is not a tool. It is an extension of yourself."
As he moved among the students, he corrected, guided, and demonstrated.
To one trembling Yakushi, he said calmly, "Do not force it. Fire driven by impatience resists. Relax."
Moments later, the violent flame stabilized.
To an artifact refining apprentice, he murmured, "You command form, not spirit." A single touch infused the flame with vitality.
Every explanation was simple, direct, and devastatingly effective.
In the shadows, Bi Ji and Ye Leng Leng watched in silence as shock turned to comprehension, and comprehension to reverence.
Li Rong's quiet voice sounded beside them.
"How is it?"
Bi Ji answered softly, "Simplifying complexity, pointing directly to the origin. Tireless, unbiased teaching. The title of grandmaster is deserved."
Ye Leng Leng nodded. "Foundational teachings—but foundations that determine all heights."
Li Rong smiled faintly, his gaze fixed on the gray-robed figure commanding the hall with effortless authority.
"Then he's the one."
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