Chapter 35

Yangxin Dan is a spiritual elixir that nurtures the heart meridians, one of the most common types among spiritual elixirs, many itinerant alchemists can refine it. Liu Xiaolou had seen this elixir before—two years ago, on a certain day, his master returned wounded and ordered him to buy it at the town’s marketplace; he indeed found it, at the cost of two spirit stones per Yangxin Dan.

This price is also the cheapest among all spiritual elixirs.

Of course, even the cheapest spiritual elixir is still beyond easy reach. Liu Xiaolou wouldn’t dare spend his own spirit stones, but Star Dejun had some—two spirit stones lay idle in his satchel.

He glared at Star Dejun: “Aren’t you telling me to leave? Do you want the Yangxin Dan or do you want me gone? If you really make me leave, you’ll just wait to die!”

Having vented his anger, Liu Xiaolou hurried down the mountain immediately, traveling through the night to the Tianmen Mountain marketplace a hundred li away, entered a shop called “Chunhua Fang,” and indeed found Yangxin Dan—but they were priced at three spirit stones!

Liu Xiaolou thought the price too high, and after visiting five shops in succession, three had Yangxin Dan in stock, while the other two required waiting three to five days—all still priced at three spirit stones.

He couldn’t negotiate a lower price; the shopkeepers and clerks at all five shops showed no interest in haggling with him. After leaving the sixth shop, he felt lost: Did he really have to add one spirit stone of his own? Or should he expect Star Dejun to repay him later? But given Star Dejun’s habit of denying debts the moment he turned his back, getting repayment would be difficult. At best, he’d just tack the debt onto the cost of crafting the array plate—but then Liu Xiaolou would be massively cheated. He’d saved Star Dejun’s life; having him craft the array plate should’ve cost zero spirit stones.

While hesitating, someone whispered behind him: “Brother, are you buying Yangxin Dan?”

Liu Xiaolou turned around and saw a shabby man wearing a conical hat addressing him, his gaze darting nervously across the bustling street.

This behavior was familiar to Liu Xiaolou—wasn’t this exactly the old trick the outlaws of Wulong Mountain used?

He shook his head, ignoring him, and moved to walk away.

But the shabby man followed close behind: “One spirit stone per pill.”

Annoyed by the man’s persistence like a stubborn plaster, Liu Xiaolou cut him off: “Brother, if you’re trying to sell fake goods, you’ve picked the wrong target...”

The man immediately replied: “Inspect the goods first, then pay.”

Liu Xiaolou sneered: “Find a quiet spot to ambush me?”

The man said again: “Inspect right here.”

Liu Xiaolou sighed: “Brother, how do I know what kind of poison you’re handing me? Some incense? Some herb? What’s your ‘three-step-drop’ formula?”

The man paused, then smiled: “You’re knowledgeable... Rest assured...” He stepped back three paces, creating a safe distance, and tossed a small vial toward him: “Take your time examining it. Oh, you might want to hold your breath.”

Liu Xiaolou instinctively caught the vial, glanced around—this was the bustling heart of the marketplace, crowds flowing endlessly, occasionally punctuated by patrols from some major sect, their eyes sharply scanning every passerby.

He couldn’t imagine any trick possible here. After a few mental calculations, he held his breath and carefully opened the vial.

Inside lay a round, glossy elixir glowing with a dark red sheen.

His heart stirred. He poured the elixir into his palm, gently rolled it, and confirmed its color matched exactly the Yangxin Dan he’d bought years ago.

He slightly released his breath—a faint, clean fragrance laced with sharp spiciness entered his nose, nearly making him sneeze.

As a disciple of Sanxuan Gate, Liu Xiaolou was an expert in incense. Sanxuan’s cultivation method granted extreme sensitivity to odors, exceptional discrimination—even if not the best in the realm, or even in Jingxiang, it was certainly top-tier in Xiangxi. As the scent passed over his nostrils, he instantly identified its signature—this was the same Yangxin Dan he’d bought before.

The elixir was genuine—but why was the price so low?

“Where did you get this elixir?” Liu Xiaolou worried it might be tainted, or stolen from some major sect’s shop—accepting it could bring trouble.

The man smiled and stepped closer, whispering: “You’re clearly one of us. To be honest, this elixir comes from Miaofeng Mountain, refined by a great alchemist of Miaofeng Dan Sect—its efficacy rivals that of any major sect.”

“Miaofeng Dan Sect?” Liu Xiaolou was puzzled—he’d never heard of such a sect occupying a blessed land.

The man chuckled: “The alchemist’s cultivation is profound, his alchemy exquisite—just obscure in reputation. If you ever need more in the future, find me again. I’m stationed permanently at Tianmen Mountain marketplace—easy to find.”

Liu Xiaolou nodded: “What’s your name, brother?”

The man bowed: “I’m Yan Sanfei. And you?”

Liu Xiaolou evaded: “My surname is Liu.”

They struck the deal. Star Dejun’s injuries were severe—would one Yangxin Dan be enough? So Liu Xiaolou bought two, using both of Star Dejun’s spirit stones from the satchel.

After buying the Yangxin Dan, Liu Xiaolou didn’t pause—he raced another hundred li and returned to Star Dejun Temple before midnight.

Upon entering the room, he saw Star Dejun lying under the bed, face as white as paper, unconscious—no one knew when he’d fallen.

He quickly lifted him onto the bed, rechecked the pulse—so weak it was nearly gone. The true qi that had previously blocked his inspection now scattered and sealed in various acupoints and dantian pools, unable to converge—his condition was dire.

He pulled out one Yangxin Dan, forced it into Star Dejun’s mouth, used technique to make him swallow, then sent a thread of true qi into his body, slowly guiding the elixir’s medicinal power toward the heart meridians.

One Yangxin Dan wasn’t enough. By the second half of the night, Liu Xiaolou had no choice but to give him the second one. He toiled until dawn, and finally Star Dejun’s complexion improved, regaining some color, his eyes fluttering open.

After regaining consciousness, Star Dejun sat cross-legged and began self-cultivation. Only then did Liu Xiaolou stop aiding him with his true qi—he was utterly exhausted.

Through this night, Liu Xiaolou finally gauged Star Dejun’s cultivation base: Star Dejun had unblocked ten meridians—the three yang and three yin meridians of the hand, and the foot taiyin meridian; the foot jueyin meridian he was currently cultivating had nearly all its acupoints opened, leaving only seven unopened.

Though not yet Qi Refining Level Ten, he was firmly at Level Nine—a true expert!

How had such an expert suffered such grievous injuries? Likely from a Foundation Establishment cultivator?

But hard to say—combat prowess doesn’t always match cultivation level. If he’d angered a disciple of a major sect, even if that disciple was below Level Nine, with high-grade magic treasures or elixirs, Star Dejun would still be defeated—he hadn’t seen Star Dejun possess any remarkable treasures.

That day, Star Dejun finally rose from his bed, looked at Liu Xiaolou, and said: “I want meat. Fresh meat.”