The sect's physician escorted Zheng Xie to the Medicinal Hall. His body, marred with bruises and internal injuries from the battle with Chen Lan, needed immediate treatment.
The treatment didn't take long. He had suffered no life-threatening wounds—mostly fractured bones and bruised muscles—but still, the pain was considerable.
"You'll be sore for two days. Don't try to act tough and duel anyone again," the old man grumbled.
Zheng Xie gave a soft nod, then stood up slowly and left the Medicinal Hall. Instead of returning to the training grounds, he headed back to his cottage.
He had already fought his duel. Another fight would be foolish. His body could barely move without discomfort. But more than that—it wasn't physical pain that weighed on him.
It was what the duel revealed.
A cold, biting truth.
His inadequacy.
He'd faced someone with higher cultivation, yes. And while he'd earned praise from the others for holding his ground, inside, he knew better. That battle made it brutally clear—if he couldn't defeat someone like Chen Lan, a merely above-average inner disciple, then what chance did he stand against a true genius? Against the chosen children of heaven?
None.
That reality pressed down on his chest like a stone.
So, once he was inside his cottage, he sat cross-legged and took a deep breath. Rather than wallowing in defeat, he turned to the one path that had always given him clarity—cultivation.
Besides treading his soul path and the pain inducing body cultivation path. He needed to decide another path. Another path of the dao to gain strength. But that could take its time.
'I think I should hold onto another path, first I should get my hands on the Ling family manual. It must have its own rules, what if it wasn't compatible with the other dao path. I can't take that risk.'
For the next seven days, his routine became ironclad.
Morning sparring with fellow disciples.
Noon lectures—alchemy, formations, weapon comprehension, and the abominable spirit beast control class. Evening—meditation.
At night, in the silent dark, when others rested, Zheng Xie sat alone in his cottage, eyes closed, spirit spread wide. He roamed Wu Zhu's memories, scouring for techniques, insights, or knowledge of the characters that had populated the novel.
Most of the protagonist or antagonist's techniques were beyond his reach. They required pure qi. Refined, crystalline qi—which Zheng Xie didn't possess.
But he kept digging.
Even if he couldn't replicate their cultivation techniques, there had to be something. Some martial skills. Some body cultivation techniques. Something less suicidal than the one he currently cultivated.
But after endless nights of sifting through borrowed memories… nothing. No technique that wouldn't harm him worse than what he already endured.
Eventually, he gave up trying. He focused solely on his own.
He comprehended the Dao of Soul with all his heart.
Even if it was just a fragment of insight, he would grasp it.
…
On the eighth day, while he was practicing [Flowing Swift Fist] in the training grounds, a young disciple wearing the lavender robes of the Calm Pill Pavilion came jogging toward him, slightly breathless.
"Zheng Xie!"
He stopped mid-punch, the wind still rippling from his last movement, and turned calmly to face the boy.
The messenger offered a polite bow before speaking, "Mister Zheng Xie, the Patriarch of Calm Pill Pavilion has sent a message for you. He wishes to speak with you personally."
Zheng Xie narrowed his eyes slightly, expression unreadable. His mind moved faster than his body.
He asked, "Does he say why? Have I perhaps unknowingly angered him?"
The messenger grinned nervously. "The Patriarch never discloses his reasons. But I assure you—he's not angry. In fact, our patriarch is known for his kindness. Even demonic cultivators fail to provoke him. I believe it's something important."
Zheng Xie didn't respond immediately. He turned his gaze to the clouds drifting above the mountain peaks.
'No reason was disclosed. So, if something happens during the negotiations. I would have some leeway.'
After a moment of silent thought, he offered the messenger a polite smile. "Then I should not delay. If the Patriarch is truly so generous, this junior is honored to be summoned. I hope it's something good."
The messenger chuckled heartily. "Good or bad, I'm sure it'll be memorable. Our Patriarch rarely calls even the Pavilion's elders, much less a disciple from outside. You must've caught his attention, Mister Zheng!"
Zheng Xie bowed. "You flatter me too much. Still, I must inform any elder before I accompany you."
"Of course," the boy nodded. "I'll make my way back to the Pavilion. Please be swift—our Patriarch doesn't like to wait long."
With that, the messenger turned and left.
Zheng Xie immediately made his way toward his Martial Master's quarters. The elder raised an eyebrow upon hearing the news, but nodded without hesitation. He had seen the messenger approach earlier and could sense no hostility.
"I give you permission," his Master said. "Be sure to return before the day ends, you have already left the sect for months. I can't give you leaves any longer."
Zheng Xie bowed respectfully. "This disciple understands."
…
Zheng Xie made his way toward the Calm Pill Pavilion. As he approached the spiral jade steps that led toward the Pavilion's core, two elders stood waiting outside a round archway.
The one on the left—Elder Lian Zhen—gave him a familiar nod, stroking his short, snow-white beard with a thoughtful expression.
"Zheng Xie," he greeted warmly, "we've arranged the meeting just as you wanted. However, we did make a slight change to your plan. That method of yours—using the Spirit-Seizing Pill—was far too reckless. It was too dangerous, especially given who we're dealing with."
He gave Zheng Xie a meaningful look.
"Instead, we told the Patriarch that you had a business proposal. One that suited his kind temperament… a proposal in harmony with his ideals."
Zheng Xie looked at Elder Lian Zhen for a few seconds, his lips curling into a subtle smile. "That's perfectly fine, Elder. In fact, you've made things easier for me. And about the business proposal—well, it's not a complete lie. If I succeed, I believe even the way of the Calm Pill Pavilion might change for the better."
Elder Lian Zhen chuckled, pleased with the confidence in his voice. "I hope you do succeed, Zheng Xie. Every elder of our Pavilion is hoping for your success. Though none of us know how exactly you intend to make Qi Fan quit… we trust you'll try your best."
Zheng Xie's smile didn't fade. "Naturally. I hope for my own success as well—if not for change, then at least to preserve my reputation."
His inner thoughts, however, were sharper.
'If I kill Qi Fan, it would also be considered as him quitting right?'
With the same composed smile etched on his face, he gave a respectful bow and turned his back on the two elders, ascending the path toward the heart of the Pavilion.
…
The doors to the Patriarch's chamber opened without a sound.
Stepping inside, Zheng Xie was immediately engulfed in an atmosphere saturated with spiritual energy—thick and pure to the point that the air itself shimmered like morning dew in sunlight. A faint humming filled the space, subtle and melodic, as if the Dao itself sang here.
In the center of the chamber, an old man with waist-length silver hair and a matching beard hovered several inches above the ground in a lotus position. His robes were white with golden embroidery of coiling dragons and medicinal herbs.
Qi Fan.
The Patriarch of the Calm Pill Pavilion. One of the most respected alchemists in the Central Continent.
Even without exuding pressure, his very presence forced Zheng Xie's breath to catch for a moment.
Zheng Xie calmed his heartbeat, keeping his expression neutral.
Qi Fan opened his eyes slowly. They were deep-set, sharp, and observant—eyes that had seen through thousands of ingredients and thousands more souls.
"Zheng Xie…" his voice was surprisingly light, like a whisper on a breeze. "You are Tianren's son, aren't you?"
Zheng Xie cupped his hands and offered a deep bow. "I am. Though I take more after my mother. My father speaks highly of you, Patriarch. Before I came to the sect, he told me to treat you with the utmost respect."
Qi Fan smiled faintly at the mention of his old friend and descended slowly to the ground, his feet touching down with no sound at all. With a casual wave of his hand, a simple table appeared to the side, two chairs sliding into place.
"Come," Qi Fan said, gesturing to the seat across from him. "Let's speak."
Zheng Xie moved forward and took his place. The moment he sat down, the table shimmered—and a spread of exquisite spiritual snacks and a teapot with two steaming cups appeared.
Qi Fan lifted one of the cups and took a measured sip. Then he gestured to Zheng Xie.
He followed suit, his gaze momentarily drawn to the tea. The aroma alone made his skin tingle. The qi within the liquid swirled like a miniaturized galaxy, and the first whiff sent a soothing pulse through his meridians.
Unable to resist, he asked, "Patriarch, if it's not presumptuous… might I ask what tea this is? I've never encountered something quite like it."
Qi Fan placed his cup down and regarded him for a second before answering. "It's called Scarlet Moon Tea. A Heaven-Grade treasure. One of my own recipes, cultivated using red moonlight essence and snow-fed leaf orchids. You won't find it anywhere else."
Zheng Xie raised his brows slightly, though his expression didn't shift too far from polite awe.
'Heaven Grade… second only to Ethereal. Even something as casual as his tea is a treasure most sects couldn't hope to afford. Clearly, he's laying out his power. Trying to make a point.'
'I possess everything. So, what can you offer me?'
But that was fine.
Zheng Xie straightened slightly and smiled. "I see. Truly worthy of its rarity. Then allow me to move directly to the reason I requested this meeting."
Qi Fan didn't interrupt. He simply sipped his tea and watched.
Zheng Xie's tone didn't waver. "Patriarch, I've discovered that many of the Pavilion's elders have been corrupting the pills sold to the public. I'm sure this isn't news to you, nor do I believe you're unaware of the reason. So if I may be bold—why haven't you acted against them?"
For a moment, silence filled the chamber like thick smoke.
Qi Fan's expression didn't shift. Not a muscle moved. His face was a sculpture, utterly unmoved by the accusation.
Eventually, he spoke. "I know what they've done. The pills sold as Celestial Grade are, in truth, no more than Spirit Grade. But I've already placed a restriction. They're forbidden from selling higher grade pills."
"But," Zheng Xie pressed, "you haven't done anything to correct the imbalance itself. Even now, the demand for high-grade pills continues to grow—and the Pavilion, instead of rising to meet it, retreats behind this compromise. Why?"
Qi Fan placed his cup down with the gentlest clink and leaned back slightly in his chair.
"Because cultivation is a road paved with resources, Zheng Xie. Alchemy even more so. The elders who dilute the pills do so not out of greed—but necessity. They require the high-quality materials reserved for commercial products to fuel their private research. This dilemma… was caused by me."
Zheng Xie tilted his head slightly.
Qi Fan continued, his voice calm. "I lowered the prices of pills. To make them more accessible. But that move weakened the elders. They no longer had the materials they once did. So they cut corners. Was it right? No. But it wasn't wholly wrong either. It's the path I chose. And now they walk it too."
Then, his eyes grew colder.
"Because they are weak."
Zheng Xie completed the sentence, voice low.
Qi Fan blinked, but did not deny it.
Instead, he simply exhaled a soft breath and leaned back in his chair.
"It wasn't a weakness, It was their own mistake," he said, his voice like the calm murmur of a river—placid, yet absolute. "They chose the wrong path. One that wasn't meant for them. Everyone knows what kind of man I am… what kind of Pavilion this is. And still, they chose me."
His fingers stroked his beard, his tone tinged with something between pity and disdain.
"It's not just a weakness. But a poor decision made in desperation… albeit that too falls under weakness."
Zheng Xie, sitting across from him, chuckled softly.
"You're right," he said. "Many people walk the wrong path thinking the world wronged them—when in truth, they never tried. But what about the ones who did try, Patriarch? What about those who gave everything? Their blood, their sweat, their tears… all for just an ounce of strength?"
He leaned forward now, eyes sharpening like tempered steel. "And then they watch all that effort… torn apart in a moment by the Chosen, born with gifts they'll never reach."
The silence between them stretched.
Qi Fan's fingers paused mid-stroke across his beard. His smile returned, subtle and unreadable, a ripple across a pond of still wisdom.
"Hmm… So what are you saying, Zheng Xie?" he said. "That, this is my fault?"
Zheng Xie tilted his head slightly, a smile curving his lips. "I won't say I'm blaming you. But… I won't say you're blameless either."
His voice lowered. "They chose you because they believed in your kindness. In your reputation for fairness. In the hope that under your leadership, they'd find opportunity. That you'd guide them… nurture them. But you didn't help them. You helped the world. Not your own people."
Qi Fan's gaze narrowed, not in anger—but in curiosity. His voice was slow, deliberate. "You can't please everyone, boy. No matter how pure your intentions. There will always be someone you fail… someone who despises you, no matter how righteous your path."
He sipped his tea again, savoring it slowly.
"That is the nature of people. You'll understand it once you've lived a little longer."
Zheng Xie sighed, not out of frustration—but weariness.
"I'm not someone who seeks people's approval. I don't care what they think about me. Whether I'm right or wrong in their eyes… it's never mattered."
Qi Fan stroked his beard again, a trace of amusement curling at the edge of his mouth. "Be careful with that, child. That belief can lead you astray. Sometimes, it is the voice of the people that draws the line between what is Righteous… and what is not."
Zheng Xie couldn't help it. He laughed. A quiet, short laugh—but not one born of arrogance or mockery.
Qi Fan tilted his head, clearly intrigued. "What's so amusing?"
Zheng Xie shook his head, the smile lingering on his face. "Nothing important. Just something from the past."
Then his voice dropped an octave, eyes sharpening again.
"But I've wasted enough of your time, Patriarch. Let's not dance around the real reason I'm here."
He reached into his spatial ring and retrieved a small black pouch. He placed it gently on the table between them.
The moment it landed, a faint pulse of spiritual energy leaked from its mouth.
Qi Fan narrowed his eyes.
With a flick of his fingers, his spiritual sense wrapped around the pouch and drew it toward him. He untied the cord with meticulous grace, and slowly opened it.
For the first time since Zheng Xie had entered the room, a flicker of genuine surprise—brief and sharp—flashed in Qi Fan's eyes.
It was gone the next second, buried under layers of indifference. But it had been there.
Zheng Xie saw it. And internally, he smiled.
Qi Fan stared at the contents in silence. Then he looked up.
His gaze had hardened.
His voice was still calm, but there was steel beneath the words. "Zheng Xie… what is the meaning of this?"
The pouch lay open between them—inside were three pills. They looked like a normal pill at first glance, they even had a petal-like symbol, something used specifically in Calm Pill Pavillion's product but they couldn't hide from the experienced gaze of Qi Fan.
They were Spirit Seizing Pills.
A forbidden alchemic creation.
"Why do you have these?" Qi Fan asked, his voice cold. "Do you understand what these are? These pills are banned across every major sect in the continent. Possession alone could warrant execution. Even if you're Tianren's son, I won't let you walk away lightly if you're involved in this."
Zheng Xie blinked, then furrowed his brows in mock confusion.
"Forgive me, Patriarch, but I'm a little confused myself. How could such pills be forbidden… if they bear the seal of the Calm Pill Pavilion?"
Qi Fan's composure cracked ever so slightly.
The faint twitch of his eye was almost imperceptible.
Zheng Xie pushed gently. "These pills are clearly marked. They carry the unique brand—etched right into the surface. The same one your Pavilion uses for official products."
Qi Fan slowly tied the pouch closed. His expression had grown solemn.
"You're making a dangerous accusation, Zheng Xie."
Zheng Xie met his gaze without wavering.
"I'm not accusing anyone. I'm simply asking you to look. Are these or are these not your Pavilion's pills?"