Chapter 73: Pill Refining Complete (Gratitude to

In the depths of winter, snowscapes were another marvel of Yishan.

The granite cliffs rose nearly vertical, riddled with cracks and uneven protrusions, where only Yishan pines could take root—now entirely blanketed in snow, turning heaven and earth into a blinding white expanse.

Two figures were climbing the cliff.

Both wore small hoes at their waists and carried tiny bamboo baskets on their backs, with no protection whatsoever, gripping fissures in the rock and stepping on jutting stones as they climbed with painstaking care.

Occasionally, loose pebbles tumbled down, or clumps of ice shattered loose.

“Huh…”

Lin Jue paused, exhaling mist into the cold air.

He turned to look back—

Beneath his feet stretched an endless sea of clouds, churning endlessly, with strange peaks and jagged rocks rising from within, ancient pines stretching from their summits like monkeys gazing at the sea or brushstrokes conjuring flowers—all draped in silver, every branch and needle of every pine heavy with snow and ice.

It was a world of ice and clouded mountains.

He could not help but widen his eyes.

In them lay both peril and awe.

“Younger brother…”

His second senior’s voice came from above.

Lin Jue pulled his gaze away and continued climbing.

Compared to this vast heaven and earth, to Yishan itself—even to the cliff they were scaling—the two of them seemed utterly insignificant.

Lin Jue climbed with careful, steady steps.

Yet within him echoed the voice of Yunhe Daoist:

“The Dao is never easy. To reach the ancient true immortals and attain freedom and eternal life is exceedingly difficult. Like these ancient pines scattered across the mountain, taking root where no soil exists, one must be exceptionally resolute, unyielding, never broken.

“This path is like climbing to gather medicinal herbs.

“It is fraught with peril, long and obstructed—you must not fear danger, you must have patience, yet boundless vistas lie upon the perilous peaks. How can one fear danger if one seeks immortal herbs?”

These were the words Yunhe Daoist had spoken to him.

Suddenly, Lin Jue looked up—

He had assumed the entire mountain was stone and snow, yet suddenly a patch of red appeared on the cliff.

This red was startlingly beautiful—like autumn maple leaves or February blossoms, yet blooming in the dead of winter, clinging to the sheer cliff and perilous peak. Heavy snow made the flowers bloom brighter; icy cold did not wither their leaves.

“Found it.”

This was Lingshan Flower, an ingredient for many spirit pills—Lin Jue and his second senior had come here specifically to find it.

There were perhaps a dozen blooms in this patch.

So one went left, the other right; one climbed higher, the other lower, gathering them all.

“Huh…”

Lin Jue first blew gently upon it—as if dispersing the surface ice crystals, as if awakening its spirit—the Lingshan Flower, already vivid red, grew even more radiant.

Only then did he carefully use his small hoe to harvest it and place it in his basket.

This was the simplest method of gathering.

“Younger brother, have you finished?”

“Finished.”

Lin Jue had just harvested the last plant, glanced left and right to confirm completion—only to notice his second senior had left two behind.

“Senior, there are still some above you.”

“It’s fine. Things of the mountain are born of heaven and earth, and in Yishan, they belong to all its creatures. We’ve gathered enough. We must take only what we need. Leaving one or two allows other spirits of the mountain to benefit, and perhaps years hence, they’ll grow back here, so future disciples of Fuqiu Pavilion may also profit.”

“I see.”

Lin Jue nodded thoughtfully.

Whether Yunhe Daoist or his pavilion seniors, they all seemed to share this mindset and approach—this philosophy clearly influenced him and his junior sister in subtle ways.

“Going down will be harder. Be careful.”

“Understood.”

Lin Jue took a deep breath and replied.

It was nearly dusk; the setting sun cast golden light, gilding the sea of clouds below, the icy peaks, and the ice-laden ancient pines—just one glance revealed a scene unmatched in the world.

Looking down again, the depth was immeasurable; within the swirling mist, glimmers of divine radiance flickered briefly when the wind parted the fog, then vanished again as the mist thickened.

Exceedingly perilous.

Do spirit herbs always grow in such treacherous places?

Lin Jue recalled that over the past few months, since he began refining pills, his junior sister had gone out to do hard labor, returning every few days with wild spirit plants and rare herbs from the mountain—if they all grew in such deadly terrain, then her still being alive was nothing short of fate’s mercy.

As he thought this, his second senior began descending.

Lin Jue followed.

Sounds came from the other side of the mountain.

That slope was far gentler—his junior sister was repairing the path there, leveling the ground into steps and removing overhead rocks so travelers need not bend low.

A bored cat from the pavilion kept her company.

Occasionally, mountain spirits emerged through the snow to gawk at the spectacle.

…

Behind the pavilion, in the Pill Refining Pavilion.

In the center: the Yin-Yang diagram; a pill furnace; shelves of pills along the walls; piles of firewood and spirit plants on the floor.

Lin Jue sat cross-legged, retrieving firewood.

The firewood had been carved into crude human, fox, and cat shapes—he no longer hesitated, tossing them all into the furnace.

He glanced outside, calculating the time—it was now the third watch of noon.

“Fire!”

He pointed, and flame erupted.

He pointed again—the flame surged, radiating subtle spiritual resonance and an unusual warmth.

His current cultivation was still insufficient, and pill refinement took long hours, so he still needed firewood—but he could now make the furnace’s flame burn hotter and fiercer.

He added mountain spirit spring water to be boiled.

Behind him, a leisurely qin melody played—his second senior kept watch, idly amusing himself.

Lin Jue silently recited the steps in his mind.

He also counted the spirit plants beside him.

This refinement centered on Lingshan Flower, which grew deep in the mountains, imbued with pure heavenly-spirit essence—but born in bitter cold, its yin and chill were too strong, requiring balance.

Thus, auxiliary ingredients were needed.

This time, he was only refining, not forming pills, so no metals or minerals were required.

At the third watch of noon, yang energy peaked—he lit the fire; at the third watch of the afternoon, he added Lingshan Flower; at the fourth watch, he added other materials. Each hour had its timing—until his skill reached profound depth, he must strictly follow these rules; thus, “knowing the hour” was a fundamental skill for pill refiners.

Throughout, he must remain utterly focused, fixing his gaze, constantly observing the yin-yang energies within the furnace, always ready to balance them.

The furnace would be opened at dusk.

“Bang!”

He opened the furnace—

The bucket of mountain spirit spring water he’d poured in was now reduced to less than a cup, thickened and shimmering with spiritual light; faint aromas of various spirit plants lingered, clearly infused with spiritual essence.

This was the refined spirit liquid.

“Good, good—decent enough. If you’d added cinnabar and Bai Yin three watches before opening, it would’ve become a Xiao Yuan Pill—restoring depleted qi or replenishing vigor if qi remained. Reaching this stage means you’ve entered the art of pill refining; with strict adherence to formulas, you can now refine many common spirit pills.” His second senior sat behind him, plucking qin strings, not even looking, yet knowing the result.

Lin Jue carefully poured the spirit liquid into a vial.

This was pure essence of spirit plants—his first finished product. A single drop would make him ache.

So he dared not speak.

His second senior continued speaking as if to himself:

“Pill refining has four levels:

“The first level: you control fire, understand pill-refining techniques, the essence of the Dao, and yin-yang principles. At this stage, you can follow formulas to refine many pills—this isn’t hard; the simplicity of pill Dao lies here.

“The second level: you spend vast time and energy studying pill principles deeply. At this stage, no matter the time, place, or differing materials, you can always refine pills with stable efficacy. When mastered, no pill is too difficult—even if some ingredients are missing, you can substitute others.

“You can also easily create your own formulas.

“The third level: you understand that each person’s constitution differs, and you know your own. The pills you refine are no longer perfect—but they are perfectly suited to you, or to one specific person.

“You might consume them as an immortal pill, while others turn them into poison.

“The fourth level: you comprehend the ultimate truths of heaven and earth, the great Dao’s laws. At this stage, you can refine the legendary Ninefold Golden Pill—its consumption equals a thousand years of cultivation; one grain can make you ascend to immortality.

“In just a few months, you’ve reached this point—you’re exceptionally gifted.

“When I joined the mountain, my master was younger, time less rushed. He carefully selected disciples, chose me after thorough testing, then carefully selected which art to teach me, and after long trials, settled on pill refining. Yet my progress wasn’t much faster than yours now.

“…”

His second senior shook his head: “Pity—besides aptitude, interest is also a vital part of talent.”

Lin Jue turned to look at him.

His second senior was undoubtedly right—

Interest was part of talent.

With interest, one forgets food and sleep, constantly thinking, advancing by leaps and bounds, inspiration flowing endlessly.

Though Lin Jue had learned pill refining and showed talent in fire control and yin-yang balance, he had little genuine interest in pill refining itself—he was far more fascinated by the fire-element techniques his second senior used to assist refinement.

Second Senior Brother’s fire cultivation techniques fall into two types:

generating fire and controlling fire.

Lin Jue mastered both well.

Lin Jue’s original intention had been to learn alchemy, but he only reached the beginner level—understanding the principles of pills and being able to follow recipes was enough; he did not delve deeply.

It wasn’t that he thought alchemy useless or disliked it—he simply knew that with the current changes in heaven and earth, celestial treasures and rare herbs were growing ever scarcer, and sometimes gathering the ingredients for a single pill was no easy task.

Take the Swift Step Pill, for instance.

This pill’s crafting was never particularly difficult, but now the xingxing, this rare beast, has nearly vanished; only a few still hide deep within Yishan, otherwise you couldn’t even find its fur.

Alchemy has become hard to master to the highest level.

This was one reason Lin Jue decided not to spend too much effort on alchemy.

He hadn’t expected Second Senior Brother to notice.

At that moment, he could only rise and bow to Second Senior Brother:

“Thank you, Senior Brother.”

“The pavilion isn’t locked—you may come anytime.”

“Good!”

Lin Jue’s alchemy method had just taken shape and needed stabilization; fortunately, there were still many spirit plants gathered by the junior sisters nearby, which could be refined into essences or turned into pills—useful indeed.

Second Senior Brother smiled and continued playing the qin.

The qin’s melody drifted, intermittent and serene, while outside, heavy snow fell in torrents, often snapping bamboo and shattering jade, harmonizing perfectly with the music—truly exquisitely elegant.

Perhaps his state of mind at this moment was much the same.

Lin Jue stepped out with the spirit essence, just in time to see his pet fox playing in the mountains, treating the swirling snowflakes as fluttering feathers, leaping and darting, wildly chasing them, utterly carefree.

Then he saw it leap high into the wind and snow, its front paws pressed together, suddenly plunging downward into the ground.

Its fur had grown long and beautiful, dancing with every gust of wind—a vivid, lively splash of red against the endless white.

As if hearing the door open, it froze abruptly and turned its head.

Seeing Lin Jue, it bounded over joyfully.

The fox that approached had thick, vibrant fur dusted with a thin layer of snow, its eyes sparkling with spirit.

“You’re becoming more fox-like by the day.”

Lin Jue brushed the snow off its fur with a casual hand and smiled.

Suddenly, both man and fox turned their heads toward the path leading up the mountain.

Amid the swirling snowstorm, someone had come to deliver a message.