Chapter 65: Taking the Field Personally

“Do you really take me for a fool?”
A faint smile played at the corner of Pan Yang’s lips; if he didn’t have a few tricks up his sleeve, he’d never dare attempt such a thing.
If you want to blow up a cauldron, you’d best first consider whether my Demon-Subduing Sword Array will allow it.
The black-spined dragon bone was taken from within a demon beast, and even after being steeped in medicinal herbs, the demonic energy within could not be completely purged.
Since it is a demon, how could it not fear the sword in my hand?
This was the very confidence that allowed Pan Yang to attempt refining a third-grade elixir.
Sure enough, as the sword array descended, the cauldron fell abruptly silent, and one could even faintly hear the wailing of the demon boar within.
He Lin was left dumbfounded.
If one of his own disciples tried such a thing, he would have broken the boy’s legs.
The art of alchemy is about the harmonious blending of medicinal powers, each complementing the other; to suppress with external force is a minor path at best, barely even alchemy at all.
But the other was an elder of Cloud Dwelling Peak, so he couldn’t say much.
Lin Ze, too, was a little shocked.
So this was possible.
Seeing that the trick was remarkably effective, Pan Yang grew even bolder.
The path of the sword is one of extremes—extreme speed, or extreme sharpness.
Alchemy should be no different. If the goal is to strengthen the body, why be bound by the constraints of a prescription? All sword styles lead to the same destination—why not so with medicinal ingredients?
He reached into his storage pouch, pulled out the carcass of a giant snake, squeezed out a few drops of demon blood into the cauldron, then took several stalks of ghostly blue vine, peeled them with care, and tossed them in as well.
He Lin wiped the sweat from his brow—these were all potent tonics; the imbalance of yin and yang was utter recklessness!
Yet Pan Yang showed no sign of stopping. He actually took out all the medicinal ingredients from his storage pouch, laid them out before him, and began selecting with utmost focus.
When the cauldron again showed signs of trembling,
he frowned lightly and produced several more Daoist swords.
“Nine Swords to Subdue Demons! Spirits of mountain and river, suppress for me!”
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
A new layer of restriction was added atop the original sword array.
More than ten gleaming Daoist swords now hovered in the air, their power awe-inspiring. Pan Yang, like Zhao Jing, was at the peak of Foundation Establishment, but as an elder, with the thousand-year heritage of Cloud Dwelling Peak behind him, his resources ran deep.
It was no exaggeration to say he could easily deploy several more arrays of this caliber.
Time slipped by; the sun set behind the western hills.
As dusk fell, over thirty Daoist swords hung above Little Green Mountain. If anyone else saw it, they would have thought some terrifying demon beast had appeared.
Even Pan Yang himself had lost track of what he’d added to the cauldron.

At first, he merely didn’t want to lose too badly.
Now, curiosity had taken over—he simply wanted to see what would come of it.
Lin Ze lifted his brows, set down his teacup, and was about to ask a question.
Just then, the cauldron began to shake once more. Pan Yang instinctively slapped his storage pouch.
But this time, no more swords emerged.
He froze, and as the cauldron shook ever more violently, he blinked and turned apologetically to the Daoist on the bamboo chair.
“Uh, well… I…”
“…”
Lin Ze’s only real question had been just how many swords the other man carried.
Now, it seemed, there was no need to ask.
He Lin looked up with a wry smile; he’d blown up three cauldrons last month, but the combined force of all three was probably less than this.
“What are you waiting for? Run!”
He had no desire to end up covered in soot.
Blowing up a cauldron was common enough in alchemy. The Lesser Pill Peak was pitted and scarred all over; He Lin had long grown used to it. It was only a pity for the ancient trees atop Green Mountain Peak.
Looks like Pan will have to pay up handsomely to compensate Elder Lin this time.
Worried Lin Ze might be angered, Pan Yang quickly raised his hand, heart aching a little. “Let’s go. Old man, I’ll pay you forty spirit stones!”
The medicinal ingredients alone were worth thirty stones, and the cauldron itself another twenty.
Well, he’d gone too far.
He’d have to leave the sect and work for at least half a year to recover the loss.
Lin Ze sighed helplessly, rose slowly, and said to the dazed Su Bailu beside him,
“Take your two junior brothers and wander about the mountain for a bit.”
“What about you, Master?”
Before she could finish, she saw him already walking toward Pan Yang.
Passing through the sword array, Lin Ze stopped in front of the great cauldron.
Pan Yang looked puzzled but still halted. For a cultivator at the peak of Foundation Establishment, a cauldron explosion was no real danger, only a bit embarrassing.
After a moment’s thought, he suddenly brightened. “Could it be Elder Lin has come to lend me a sword? Quick, let me borrow it—I must suppress this cauldron today!”
“…”
Lin Ze shot him a look and lifted the cauldron lid.
A pungent stench mixed with the fragrance of spirit herbs assaulted his nose, forming an indescribably strange odor that made him frown.
He Lin looked up helplessly. “If old Pan knew exactly what he’d put in, perhaps he could attempt to neutralize it.”

His meaning was obvious.
Even a fourth-grade alchemist would be at a loss here, for even Pan Yang himself couldn’t say what he had added.
He understood Elder Lin’s mood, but there was little to be done—he could only hope Pan would make proper restitution and not upset the harmony of the sect.
Lin Ze gave no reply, closing his eyes instead.
After a moment, he picked up a stalk of Meridian-Melting Herb, pinched off half, and summoned innate true fire in his palm to roast it.
After about ten breaths, white ash drifted down, and a drop of spirit liquid, as clear as a gemstone, slowly floated up.
“What is he doing?” Pan Yang asked, bewildered.
He Lin did not reply, but his expression grew more solemn.
For the first time since coming to Green Mountain, his smile had vanished.
The other’s actions were not hard to understand—he was refining the herbal essence in an attempt to neutralize the forces in the cauldron.
When even the Pill Peak elder had declared himself helpless, Lin Ze’s silent assumption of this hot potato revealed his extraordinary confidence.
Yet, that confidence, built on only a few days’ acquaintance with the Immortality Elixir Manual, seemed oddly misplaced.
Lin Ze opened his eyes, looked down at the jumble of ingredients Pan Yang had produced, and crouched to sort through them.
He certainly didn’t think himself superior to He Lin.
His advantage was that he’d always been an observer—he happened to remember everything Pan Yang had tossed in, and roughly in what amounts.
“Three drops of White-Flowered Greenback Snake demon blood.”
Recalling the earlier scene, Lin Ze picked out a segment of spiritual root. “This should be balanced with three qian of Yellowstone Root.”
His handling of ingredients was clumsy—clearly the work of a layman.
Yet astonishment deepened in He Lin’s eyes, for the movements of those slender hands were becoming more practiced at a truly startling rate.
“Half a jin of black-spined dragon bone…”
Lin Ze’s calm face twitched slightly at the corners. Even after all this time, he still could not believe someone would measure ingredients for a third-grade pill by the pound.
Perhaps only this elder of Cloud Dwelling Peak could manage such a thing.
Meridian-Melting Herb wouldn’t do—it was too mild; he’d have to use stronger medicine.
His gaze swept over the remaining herbs and finally settled on an egg-sized, bright blue stone.