Chapter Twenty-One: Attempting Alchemy

As night deepened, the moonlight gathered upon the talisman papers, shimmering like water, illuminating the courtyard as though it were a pool. Seeing this scene, Yingchen nodded quietly to himself; as long as this step was not amiss, tomorrow he could begin to refine medicine at the furnace.

He did not return to his room, but sat down in the courtyard, waiting calmly for time to pass. Because he needed to watch over the medicinal herbs, Yingchen could not fully enter meditation; during cultivation or contemplation, time always seemed to fly by, but now the long night stretched endlessly.

"No wonder those apothecaries and alchemists all take on apprentices or train young disciples," Yingchen mused. "It turns out that medicine refining and pill making truly require assistance with many tedious tasks."

It was not that Yingchen lacked patience, but as time wore on, he thought he might as well find something to do. Practice talismans? Talisman patterns and papers were his deepest study, and he had not neglected them these past few days.

Yet practicing talismans required complete concentration, which was clearly unsuitable now. Reviewing medical texts? Pondering swordplay? Even tempering magical power? Yingchen considered, but all seemed inappropriate.

Whatever the task, it demanded his full attention, and he had long since trained himself to do so. At last, his gaze fell upon the water vat in the courtyard.

This vat had been purchased when he first entered the sect, for storing water. Later, he mastered talisman craft and could conjure clean water at will, so it gradually fell into disuse. Until a few days ago—when he needed to preserve the Hundred Flower Fish obtained from Zhuo Qing—Yingchen filled the vat once more, and froze the water by magic.

Remembering this, a thought arose; since there was nothing else to do, why not prepare the fish, nurtured in Hundred Flower Dew, and see what flavor it possessed.

He thawed the ice and took out the fish, but then faced a dilemma. He was not skilled in cooking, nor had suitable tools at hand. After thinking a moment, he fetched a small knife and sliced the fish into sashimi. Bringing a piece to his nose, he caught a faint, pure fragrance, with not a hint of fishiness.

"Meow!" Just as Yingchen was about to taste it, a soft cry rang out, unusually distinct in the quiet night.

He looked up and saw a pure black cat standing at the corner of the wall, gently swaying its tail and calling softly.

"Eh?" Yingchen smiled in surprise. "Such a bold, uninvited guest—where did you come from?"

On Crimson Water Cliff, there were no wild cats; even the ferocious beasts kept in pens would meet their end if they wandered about.

But this black cat gave no answer, only pacing back and forth, gazing at the courtyard and swaying its tail.

Yingchen's eyes fell on the sashimi held by his knife, and he immediately understood.

He opened the barrier, and the black cat leapt down, running to Yingchen's side and circling him incessantly.

Yingchen tossed a piece of sashimi to it, then sampled another himself. True enough, it melted on the tongue, lingering with subtle flavor—exceptionally fresh and sweet.

"Wonderful!" Yingchen exclaimed. "It truly deserves its reputation as a rare delicacy."

He realized he possessed a bit of a gourmand's spirit, but gave it little thought. Following one's heart was, after all, the principle of the innate Dao.

He happily sliced the fish, occasionally sharing a piece with the black cat, adding a touch of leisure to the long night.

Since arriving in this world, such ease had been rare for Yingchen. He suddenly felt reluctant to let it go, wishing to prolong this idleness. The black cat, too, was considerate, lazily waiting nearby.

Thus, the dawn arrived unnoticed.

Yingchen finished slicing the fish and removed the last talisman from the final herb, knowing that his moment of leisure had ended.

He picked up the black cat, startling it into a cry, but merely opened the courtyard gate and released it, then closed the barrier and carried all the herbs into the refining chamber.

The residence at the Ink Bamboo Daoist Temple was not equipped with a pill chamber, but as long as he opened the barriers of the cultivation room to allow air flow, it could serve well enough.

He placed the furnace at the center of the chamber, added charcoal made from spiritual wood, the indispensable clean water for refining, and finally inserted two pieces of spirit stone into the slots on either side of the furnace.

Even these preparations cost a considerable sum. No wonder it was often said that the wealth consumed in alchemical pursuits far exceeded what the written requirements implied.

Had Yingchen not come into a windfall, even with all the herbs gathered, he would likely have been stopped at this step, with countless expenses yet to follow.

But at this stage, he could not turn back.

Fortunately, what he had prepared would suffice for this attempt at medicine refinement.

Yingchen pointed with a casual gesture, and a talisman flew onto the charcoal, igniting a bright flame.

This was ordinary fire, but the spiritual wood charcoal was extraordinary, and it quickly blazed fiercely.

Yingchen watched the mercury gauge atop the furnace, and when the temperature reached the required level, he did not hesitate, adding the prepared herbs in the standard order and intervals, beginning the refining.

Indeed, medicine refining was so straightforward. Unlike concocting powders, which required only mixing the processed ingredients, nor as complex as true pill forging.

Of course, straightforward did not mean easy.

Timing three hours precisely, Yingchen extinguished the flame, let the furnace sit for another hour, then opened it. Inside, the herbs had condensed into tiny pellets.

These pellets were not "pills," each no larger than a grain of sand, but particularly smooth.

Yingchen picked one up, held it in his mouth without swallowing, just tasting it; he immediately knew the batch was a failure.

Though the pellets had formed, nearly ninety percent of the medicinal power was lost, leaving them almost useless.

"As expected..." Yingchen remained calm, cleaned out the pellets, added fresh water, and began refining again without pause.

His first attempt had followed the formula to the letter, but it proved to be a novice approach.

According to "On the Art of Alchemy," the age and properties of herbs, even their color after preparation, could never match the formula exactly. Whether refining pills or medicines, true achievement required observing the changes in the herbs within the furnace and adapting accordingly.

An excellent alchemist could anticipate these changes before even opening the furnace, allowing perfect adjustments.

Such skill was unattainable without talent and years of experience.

Yingchen had no expectation of immediate mastery. This time, he attempted to observe the changes through the furnace's viewing port, adjusting the intervals between adding ingredients.

Unfortunately, lacking experience, his efforts were clumsy, and not only did he fail, but the mixture did not even form pellets.

A batch of fine herbs had been rendered into useless residue. Still, Yingchen did not lose heart; instead of rushing to start again, he paused to think deeply.