Arthur followed Elder Yan through the winding corridors of the Lotus Hall; the faint scent of herbs still clung to the elder's robes. The man was laughing. Not the stiff, formal chuckle of an instructor, but the deep, unrestrained laugh of someone whose heart had just been unshackled.
"Hah… hahahaha! Boy, you have no idea what you've done to me today." Elder Yan's voice was rich with emotions of envy, joy, disbelief — each woven together like threads in a silk tapestry. "I've taught for decades, yet… here I am, feeling like a mere apprentice again. Do you know what that is? Euphoria. Madness."
He paused for a moment.
"I desperately wish to take you as my disciple, but I know I'm not worthy."
Arthur blinked at him. He'd heard praise before, but those were mostly flattery laced with intent. Never like this, never so raw.
The elder's tone softened. "Tell me, Qing Tian… that Qi infusion method — will you share it? If not, I won't hold it against you. As long as the Duan Sect rises, I will be content. No… more than content. I will die a happy man knowing I saw the spark of our glory lit."
Arthur tilted his head. Elder Yan spoke as though Arthur had already lifted the sect to the heavens. The words "triple crown" still lingered in his mind. He knew what the term meant, but was it truly so serious? Lianhua, in his memories, had told stories of creating pills beyond this one many times — and she had never boasted.
"Was it truly… that great, Elder Yan?" Arthur asked.
Elder Yan stopped walking. Slowly, he turned, his gaze sharp enough to cut jade.
"That great? Boy, in the Nine Provinces of Tianyu, what you achieved today has been done only three times in recorded history. Three."
Arthur's brows knit.
"You don't know, of course you don't, you lost your memory." Elder Yan exhaled as if calming his excitement, then began walking again, speaking as they went. "Once, by Immortal Yao Qing, in the future, he went on to refine a Nine-Tenths Purity Rebirth Pill that increased the life span by one hundredth of a life span in the realm in which it was consumed. Once, by Saintess Mei Hua, who later refined the Ten-Year Flame Pill for Fire Arts practitioners. It brought her clan into the Imperial Court's favor. And once… by Grand Alchemist Feng Qiu himself, and in the future, he went on to create a pill that was so perfect that it caused a Heavenly Phenomenon."
He looked Arthur straight in the eyes. "And now… by you."
Arthur said nothing. The sincerity in Elder Yan's voice left no room for modest dismissal.
Finally, Arthur broke the silence. "Elder… where are we going?"
"To help you," Elder Yan replied without hesitation. Then, with a grin more suited to a conspirator than a dignified elder, he added, "Just don't forget about me when you rule over the Alchemists' Guild."
Arthur chuckled. "And if I do?"
"Then so be it. The sect's rise is worth more than my pride. But make no mistake — our sect will rise. I am foreseeing it now."
Arthur was surprised. From what he knew, the people of the Boundless Immortal Firmament showed emotions to their extremes — unlike earth, where feelings were blended and muted. Elder Yan's devotion to the sect was not born of brainwashing, but genuine conviction.
They stopped before a tall set of lacquered doors. Above them, engraved in flowing calligraphy, were the words — Master of Verdant Pavilion.
At the center, behind a long cedar desk, sat a middle-aged man with a calm, clear gaze and an aura that seemed to still the air around him.
Elder Yan cupped his hands. "Greetings, Hall Master, I've brought someone to meet you."
The man's eyes flickered toward Arthur, then to the Elder Yan. "Oh? QingTian… is he the son of Zheng'er?"
"Yes, Master," Elder Yan answered quickly.
The Hall Master's nameplate rested upon the desk: Duan Wei Canghe — Master of the Verdant Pavilion.
He nodded, though a shadow crossed his face. "I remember when you were tested recently… a Spirit Root so poor the elders sighed for days. Given how focused you were in your youth, we thought you might break records. But we were crushed to know you would instead be bound to mediocrity." His tone carried pity, but also the weight of finality.
Wei Canghe's gaze shifted back to Elder Yan. "What brings the boy here? He looks half-worn already. Show some mercy, Elder Yan — he's clearly been through much today."
Elder Yan's lips twitched upward. "Oh, he's been through something, all right."
The Hall Master's brows arched. Elder Yan folded his hands behind his back and presented the jade box engraved with preservation runes.
Wei Canghe's calm expression began to crack when he opened the box, sensing the energy from the pill. "What does this mean?"
"You know who refined it?" Elder Yan asked.
Wei Canghe froze. "…Don't tell me."
"Triple crown. Nine-tenths purity. In that recipe. Was refined by this young man." Elder Yan's words were like hammer blows.
Wei Canghe's voice rose, then dropped into a deadly whisper. "How many students were present?"
"Unfortunately…" Elder Yan sighed, "Today was full attendance."
Wei Canghe's palm slammed onto the desk with a crack that echoed through the chamber. Arthur flinched, startled by the sudden outburst.
The Hall Master stood abruptly, his robes swirling. "Request the Sect Master to increase vigilance. Now. This cannot remain in the open — yet it will. Once such a thing is seen, no mere order will seal every mouth. The wind will carry the words to their parents, and somehow to every so-called 'ally' of our sect." His tone turned bitter. "And every leech in the Nine Provinces will come sniffing."
"I wish we were not an orthodox sect sometimes, we could have sealed the mouths."
Arthur's stomach sank. Now he understood the stir he had caused wasn't just pride for the sect. It was a beacon. And beacons attracted more than admiration.
Wei Canghe finally turned his full attention to Arthur. His voice, though calm, was heavy with caution.
"Young man, I wish to see you grow. You are now the hope of our Duan Sect. But remember this — talent is like a rare seed. If it is planted too openly, too soon, the storms tear it from the soil. It needs deep earth, careful tending… years of quiet to take root. Many seeds wither before they can blossom, not from lack of potential, but from being trampled before their first bloom."
Arthur bowed silently, feeling the truth in the words.