Chapter Sixty-Three: Crane Forest Takes Action

Two days passed.

Lin Ze had more or less figured out what this group was really up to.

They claimed it was an alchemy symposium, but that scrawny old man followed Xiao Bao around like a nursemaid, never leaving his side. He seemed desperate to pour all the essentials of his palm technique into the boy’s head.

These were all sects ranked at the bottom. It had simply been too long since they’d encountered a truly promising disciple. Even if an elder personally taught a class or answered questions, those with a hint of talent would still gravitate toward the great sects. Their desire to nurture talent could hardly be suppressed.

He Lin could only smile wryly. They had intended just to use the pretext of the alchemy symposium to quietly offer a few pointers, but who would have guessed Old Zhang would make it so blatant? If Elder Lin were even a little narrow-minded, he’d have lost his temper by now.

Elsewhere, Pan Yang, stumped by Yang Mu’s questions, decided to set aside swordplay altogether and began instructing him instead on the basics of drawing a sword.

Contrary to what the pot-bellied old man imagined, Lin Ze found nothing improper about this. With Xiao Bao’s aptitude, picking up an extra lower-grade technique wouldn’t hinder him in the least. The more skills, the better—there was no such thing as too much ability.

And though Yang Mu possessed the innate Moonlight Sword Sutra, his foundation was still shaky; having Pan Yang’s guidance could only help.

Lin Ze watched the two cauldrons at the center of the clearing in silence.

He saw Elder Yang of Miao Fa Mountain lift his lips in a slight smile, withdraw his hand to let the flames die, wait for five breaths, then lightly lift the cauldron lid. “Old Qin, you’re sure to lose this time.”

He Lin shook his head with a good-natured chuckle.

The energy in the cauldron was still nurturing the pills; too soon and they’d lack luster, too long and there was a risk the pills would crack. By his reckoning, eight or nine breaths would be ideal. Clearly, Old Yang hadn’t timed it quite right, which was why he’d opened the cauldron so quickly.

As he mused, he glanced back and a trace of puzzlement flickered in his eyes.

He saw Lin Ze’s hand beneath his sleeve, counting off with his fingers—three still remaining, as if marking time. If one looked closely, there was even a fleeting hint of disappointment on his handsome face.

Alchemists cared about details, and He Lin, pondering this, felt a flicker of surprise.

Surely not.

Old Yang had studied the alchemical arts with him for more than ten years, after all. Lin Ze, by contrast, had only encountered the Longevity Pill Manual two days prior.

At that moment, Elder Qin also lifted his cauldron lid. He glanced briefly at the pills inside and a smile grew on his face.

He’d endured the other’s teasing long enough, and now, full of pent-up ire, he sneered, “A cauldron that cost sixty spirit stones, and this is all it can do?”

“Keep talking, old man,” Elder Yang chuckled, raising his hand to extract a milky-white pill, which flew into his palm.

“Excellent quality, twelve pills in all.”

Brewing a True Origin Pill wasn’t difficult, but this was the best batch he’d made in over a dozen attempts recently. The expensive Radiant Stone cauldron was certainly a factor.

Elder Qin shot him a glance, produced a jade bottle, and unhurriedly began to collect his own pills inside.

Three.

Eight.

Thirteen.

No more, no less—just one more than his rival.

Elder Yang’s face darkened. He fished around in his own cauldron to make sure none were left, then forced a smile and said, “If we’re only counting numbers, my three-year-old grandson could roll dozens of pills from mud and urine.”

Seeing the two about to bicker again, He Lin, seeming used to this by now, said, “They’ve always been like this—children at heart. Forgive us, Elder Lin.”

As mentioned earlier, judging a pill’s quality, appearance was only the first step. True Origin Pill was only a first-grade product. The difference between the two elders’ pills was minimal—both were slightly above average. The true value could only be determined after swallowing one and experiencing its effects.

With everyone looking her way, Su Bailu walked forward, a little nervous, and took one pill from each of the elders.

Li Qianchen hadn’t held back with his strike, and the blow had injured her qi sea. Without medicine, it would take her at least half a year to recover. Swallowing the pill, she felt a gentle warmth flood her qi sea, soothing and healing her injury. Delighted, she opened her eyes, then took Elder Qin’s pill.

Moments later, Su Bailu looked apologetically at Elder Yang.

The old man slapped his cauldron and cursed, “Useless thing! I’ll take you apart when we get home.”

He was, after all, a respected senior—he didn’t truly suspect the girl of lying, he just wanted an excuse to cover his embarrassment.

Elder Qin didn’t bother to expose his rival and smugly put away his cauldron. “Take one a day for seven days straight. And do avoid those inferior pills—wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

“Go to hell!”

Having spent two days and a night here, the two old men traded insults with a laugh and returned to their bamboo hut for a rest.

Lin Ze watched them with a faint smile.

Perhaps this was simply how they interacted day to day, but at the moment, there was undeniably a touch of deliberate display for his benefit. Take the True Origin Pills—He Lin could easily produce piles of them. Using the symposium as cover wasn’t just to avoid being misunderstood by the great sects; it was also a gesture that cost them nothing and required no boasting. They were just using Green Hill as a place to spar, not intentionally helping him—he needn’t feel indebted.

“Much appreciated.” Lin Ze cupped his hands to He Lin.

“No need for such formality, Elder Lin,” the elder replied, patting his large belly with a smile. If the small sects didn’t help each other, sooner or later they’d be swallowed up by those big ones.

“Finally, it’s my turn,” Pan Yang said, rubbing his hands as he approached. “So, what’s the next challenge?”

“Let me think,” He Lin replied, stroking his chin. “These are all youngsters, just the age for growing. How about a test of physical strength?”

He was still pondering when a problem arose elsewhere.

The scrawny old man, busy instructing Xiao Bao in palm techniques, waved irritably. “No, no, don’t bother me.”

In Elder Zhang’s mind, pills were always secondary. This child’s aptitude for palm techniques was so remarkable that with a few years of careful teaching, he could certainly be molded into something fine—if only he were their own disciple.

Precisely because he wasn’t, the old man was all the more unwilling to waste his time.

He Lin could only withdraw his gaze helplessly. “Well…”

Pan Yang patted his storage pouch confidently. “If Old Zhang won’t join in, I’d like to compete with Elder He myself.”

With a look of challenge in his eyes, He Lin paused in silence, then slowly produced a palm-sized copper cauldron.

“Don’t accuse me of bullying you—only pills of grade four or below.”

“As if you could refine a fourth-grade pill,” Pan Yang shot back with a sly grin. “Little Pill Peak blew up three cauldrons just last month—you think I don’t know what happened?” Although Elder He was a recognized fourth-grade alchemist, he’d never participated in the symposium before. Without the proper materials on hand, at best he could manage a third-grade pill on short notice.

Pan Yang, meanwhile, had recently had a stroke of luck, and the challenge happened to align with a third-grade pill recipe he’d been studying. If he could win by chance, he’d have bragging rights for years to come.