The Earth Spirit Root sat on a square of clean cloth like a relic—ancient, dense with potential, and quietly humming with life. Lu Chenyuan studied it under the slanting light of morning, its knotted, earthen skin seeming almost to breathe. This one root—along with the carefully dried Green Dew Grass—was hope distilled into form. He lacked the elusive Three-Leaf Ginseng, yes, but the pill formula allowed for substitutions. The pill wouldn't be as potent, but it could still work. It had to.
He would try again.
Days passed in quiet preparation. The memory of his first failure—sharp smoke, wasted ingredients, the bitter sting of disappointment—lingered in his mind like the aftertaste of ash. But this time, he moved with patience. Precision. Intention.
On a morning cool with dew and promise, Lu Chenyuan stepped into the small woodshed that doubled as his alchemy hut. The bronze pill furnace stood before him, newly scrubbed and polished, every trace of past failure wiped away. He laid out the ingredients: Green Dew Grass leaves, pale and fragrant; the Earth Spirit Root, scrubbed clean; and lesser herbs—Common Sorrel and Stone Fungus—arrayed like soldiers before a battle.
Outside, Uncle Liu lingered near the door, pacing with cautious hope. Shen Yue stood farther back, by the edge of the spirit field, her slender form still after morning cultivation. She glanced toward the hut now and then—not out of doubt, but quiet faith.
Inside, Lu Chenyuan lit the Fire Induction Charcoal and knelt before the furnace. "Control," he whispered, "not force." His breath slowed. His Qi stilled. This was not just about heat—it was about harmony.
He began with the Earth Spirit Root, shaving it carefully and feeding slivers into the furnace. The thick aroma of soil and old forest rose with the smoke. He closed his eyes and extended his spiritual sense, not to shape the concoction yet, but to listen. To feel. He traced the flickering heat currents, learned their patterns, sensed the subtle pulses where heat pooled or waned.
The furnace became less a tool, more a conversation partner.
Time stretched. Sweat soaked his back. His Qi waned. But the brew transformed—slowly, steadily. The root melted into a dark, viscous essence, thick and rich. No acrid smoke. No explosive backlash.
Next, he introduced the supporting herbs, carefully portioned. The mixture deepened in color and scent. Everything moved in rhythm, like a tide guided by moonlight.
Then came the Green Dew Grass.
He crushed the leaves gently in his hand, the scent sharp and sweet, like spring rain on new shoots. As he dropped them in, he guided his Azurewood Qi—calm, nurturing, steady—into the furnace. It was no longer raw power. It was a thread of intention, of care.
The mixture hissed, not violently, but like a kettle reaching its song. Steam rose—white with a tinge of green, fragrant like living things. His heart beat faster.
Now, the most dangerous part: pill condensation.
He coaxed the heat higher, then dropped it. Fluctuations, deliberate and precise. He pulsed his Qi, subtle and controlled. The steam thickened, then thinned. He felt the texture shift. And then—
Click. Click. Click.
His breath caught.
He waited, resisting every urge to lift the lid early. When the furnace had cooled to a gentle warmth, he opened it with trembling hands.
Nestled in the bronze basin were three small pills, pale green and slightly misshapen. They weren't beautiful. But they were real. And they were his.
A quiet exhale, half a laugh, slipped from his lips.
[System Notification: Host has successfully concocted Low-Grade Qi Nourishing Pills (Variant - Earth/Wood affinity, 2 primary ingredients). Alchemy Skill Experience +10. Understanding of 'Qi Nourishing Pill Formula' +5%.][Item Created: Qi Nourishing Pill (Low Grade, Minor Impurities) x3][Effect: Slowly replenishes Qi for cultivators below Foundation Establishment. Aids in stabilizing cultivation after breakthroughs. Minor impurities may result in slight digestive discomfort if consumed in excess.]
Low-grade. Minor impurities. But success.
He stepped out of the shed, cradling the pills like fragile glass. Uncle Liu and Shen Yue were already approaching, drawn by the change in air—the sweet, herbal fragrance that clung to his robes.
"Young Master…?" Uncle Liu asked softly, eyes darting to the pills in his hand.
Lu Chenyuan beamed. "Three of them. Crude, but they're real."
Uncle Liu let out a bark of astonished laughter, hands clasped in joy. "Heavens be praised! The Azurewood Lin Clan has an alchemist again!"
Shen Yue's eyes widened, a smile blooming on her face like morning light. "Patriarch Lu… you did it."
Their joy wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. It pulsed through them like warm Qi—steady, life-giving, real.
Over the following days, optimism took root and flowered. Lu Chenyuan stored two of the pills in a small jade bottle found among his predecessor's sparse belongings. The third he would save—for when it was truly needed.
Meanwhile, Shen Yue's cultivation unfolded like springtime. Her control over her Wood Spirit Qi refined with each session. She could now hold a coherent flow for nearly an hour without interruption. But more than that, she was beginning to feel the world differently.
She could sense the energy of plants, their subtle hums and sighs. She could tell when a stalk of millet was thirsty, or when a patch of herbs harbored hidden rot. On their foraging walks, she instinctively veered toward groves thick with edible mushrooms or healing moss. Where once she had shrunk from the earth, now she listened to it—and it listened back.
The withered potted herb on their windowsill now burst with life. Its leaves had grown lush, dark, and fragrant. She had even begun tentatively guiding the growth of weaker millet stalks. Under her care, they seemed to catch up to their neighbors—slowly, but surely.
[System Notification: Wife Shen Yue has deepened her understanding of Wood Spirit Qi manipulation. Spiritual Root (Variant - Wood) awakening progress: 8%. Clan Vitality +1. Host receives minor insight into nurturing spiritual plants.]
The Clan Prosperity Meter ticked forward again. 8 out of 100. Each point a victory carved from hardship.
The millet harvest, too, had begun to yield deeper benefits. Meals, now rich with spiritual grain, brought real change. They felt it in their bones—in the way their weariness faded faster, in the quiet hum of energy that lingered after meals. Even Uncle Liu, old injuries and all, moved with a little more ease.
Yet peace remained a fragile shell.
One afternoon, Uncle Liu returned from a trade run, his face tight.
"I saw them," he told Lu Chenyuan, voice low and urgent. "Men from the Stone Tiger Li Clan. Not posturing. Preparing. Buying hides. Sinew. Armor supplies. Asking about spirit beasts in the Serpent's Coil Hills."
Lu Chenyuan's jaw tightened. "They're gearing up for something."
"There's more." Uncle Liu hesitated. "They say Li Hu's been seen visiting a disreputable alchemist in the deeper hills. One known for crafting… Berserker Pills."
The words hung in the air like poison.
Berserker Pills. Brutal, dangerous concoctions that gave short bursts of power in exchange for control—and health. They were pills of desperation. Or intent.
Lu Chenyuan said nothing for a long time. His gaze turned to the two small pills on the table. His first triumph. Not a weapon—but a foothold.
That night, Shen Yue slept soundly beside him, her breath soft as leaves. Lu Chenyuan lay awake, staring into the dark. The quiet hum of her Qi comforted him. Life was stirring in their clan, fragile but resilient.
But far beyond their walls, predators stirred too.
And so, he planned. He measured. He resolved.
The alchemist's spark had been lit. The matriarch's bloom had begun.
Now came the wind, the flame, the storm.