The key to Robert Rockefeller's Malibu beach house had been lying quietly on the coffee table in his apartment for three days. Mason hadn't even gone to look at the multi-million dollar property once.
It wasn't that he wasn't tempted—a cliffside villa facing the Pacific was a dream for anyone in Los Angeles. But he understood better than anyone that the weight of this "gift" far exceeded the property itself. It was the first anchor thrown out by the Rockefeller family, the beginning of a tether binding him to that vast network of interests. Accepting the key was one thing; moving in immediately was another. That would send a signal that was far too clear: he was eager for, and had accepted, this dependent relationship.
Mason chose to maintain the status quo. He continued living in his apartment, continued refining pills late into the night, continued carefully balancing his life between two worlds.
During this time, he received two phone calls that were both unexpected yet entirely predictable.
The first was from Elena, her tone light but probing: "Mason? I heard... you've been getting close to the Rockefellers lately? At the charity gala the other night, I saw you leaving with Sofia Rockefeller." Her voice carried a complex emotion, like curiosity, or perhaps a sense of trespassed territory. "I didn't expect it. But... still, congratulations on finally getting on the right track."
Mason responded vaguely, thanked her for her concern, and emphasized it was just ordinary social interaction. Elena didn't seem entirely convinced, but she didn't press further. After chatting idly about recent gallery exhibitions, she hung up. That call made him realize his name was already being whispered in certain circles.
The second was from Lily, her approach much more direct, carrying her characteristic bluntness: "Mason! I heard! Oh my god, you saved Robert Rockefeller? Really? The whole Upper East Side old money circle is buzzing, saying there's this mysterious young guy who pulled old man Rockefeller back from death's door with a 'magic bean'! A friend of a friend of my mom's sister's husband is an investment advisor for the Rockefellers, and he said the medical report data read like science fiction!" Her voice brimmed with excitement. "You're a legendary figure now! Seriously, that pill... do you have any more? I can pay, any price!"
Mason declined, explaining it was a coincidence under special circumstances, and the herbs were extremely rare and irreplicable. Though disappointed, Lily didn't press, just joked, "Alright, but if you change your mind, or need any... um, 'PR' help, remember me. You're a hot commodity now, careful you don't get swallowed up."
Two calls, two attitudes, but they conveyed the same message: ripples were spreading, and undercurrents beneath the surface were beginning to stir.
During this period, Mason's life was almost ascetic. Apart from necessary errands and limited meetings with Sofia, he devoted all his time to delving into the *Nine Cycles of Creation Alchemy Canon* and refining pills.
His initial success with the "Life-Returning Pill" was like a key, unlocking the door to understanding the subtle power within him. With each subsequent refinement—focusing his entire being on guiding that wisp of spiritual energy, perceiving the slightest changes in the medicinal liquid within the furnace—he was astonished to discover that the originally faint, intermittent energy was imperceptibly growing stronger and smoother.
It was no longer a thin strand he had to struggle to capture and guide, but had gradually become a warm stream naturally flowing along specific pathways within his meridians. Each complete refining process, from handling the herbs to controlling the fire for condensation, especially the final moment of infusing spiritual energy as a catalyst, felt like widening and dredging the riverbed for this "stream."
Changes didn't stop there.
One morning, after another night of refining, Mason stood on the bathroom scale and found he had lost five pounds, yet his muscle definition had become clearer than ever before. It wasn't the bulging muscle from gym workouts, but a smooth, compact, elastic sense of power. He tried a few squats and push-ups; the ease surprised even him. Previous limits now felt weightless. Explosiveness, speed, endurance, even the acuity of his five senses—all were improving at an astonishing rate.
The most striking evidence came from an accident. He was at a supermarket stocking up on herbs when a top-heavy shelf stacked with cans suddenly tilted. Hundreds of pounds were about to crash down on him. Amidst the gasps of surrounding customers, Mason almost instinctively reached out, guided, and diverted. His body sidestepped with an unbelievable agility, and his other hand shot out like lightning, grabbing the edge of the shelf. The heavy shelf actually stabilized in his single hand, wobbling only slightly as a few cans tumbled to the floor.
Everyone was stunned, including Mason himself. He could feel that in that instant, the warm stream within him surged, power flowing from every limb and joint, coordinated as if practiced a thousand times. It wasn't just muscle strength, or rather, not entirely. It was the more fundamental leap in physical capability brought about by spiritual energy nourishing and strengthening his muscles, bones, and flesh.
"Sir, are... are you okay?" The store manager rushed over, pale-faced.
Mason released his hand, the shelf standing firmly. "I'm fine," he said calmly, bending to pick up the fallen cans. His heart rate hadn't even increased much. He knew he was different now. Among his peers, perhaps only top-tier professional athletes, after years of brutal training, could achieve the physical condition he had casually surpassed in just a few weeks through this strange "alchemical cultivation."
This realization didn't make him proud; it deepened his sense of urgency and underlying unease. Power brings opportunity, but it inevitably carries risks.
After several days of intense refining, he had successfully produced over forty perfect-quality "Life-Returning Pills." It was an astonishing number, and currently his most important capital reserve.
But Mason's consciousness was already drawn to the deeper, more breathtaking realms within the Canon—those descriptions of the "Evergreen Pill" and the "Genesis Pill" recorded deep in his mind, the esoteric chapters that bordered on legend.
He closed his eyes, sinking his mind into the depths of consciousness. There seemed to be an intangible library suspended there, filled with luminous texts. The conceptual projection of the *Nine Cycles of Creation Alchemy Canon* unfolded, no longer a physical scroll, but three-dimensional graphics and text presented directly within his thoughts.
His focus settled on the description of the "Genesis Pill." Beyond the known effects of reversing signs of aging, turning white hair dark, revitalizing skin, and temporarily restoring youthful vitality, a deeper annotation caught his attention, causing intense ripples in his thoughts:
"...When the pill is successfully formed, it contains a spark of Nirvana-born vitality, capable of repairing non-fatal muscular and skeletal damage, reshaping meridian pathways, with effects like reviving withered wood in spring..."
Muscular and skeletal damage!
Even in reality, Mason's breathing quickened slightly. Repairing muscles and bones... reshaping meridians...
What about paralysis? What about those with spinal cord injuries from accidents or disease, condemned to a lifetime by modern medicine? And... amputees?
Theoretically, if muscles and bones could be reshaped, then the bone, nerves, blood vessels at the severed site... might they also regrow and reconnect under the impetus of this "Nirvana vitality"?
This thought sent a shiver down his spine. This was no longer a "youth elixir"; this was... venturing into the forbidden territory of "life re-creation"! Its value and the impact on the world would dwarf even the "Life-Returning Pill" or the "Evergreen Pill"!
But precisely because of this, the primary ingredients were even more fantastical, the refining requirements extremely harsh: "Earth Core Fire Lotus Seed," "Eternal Spring Heart," "Phoenix Robe"... each sounded like something from mythology. It also specified the need for the alchemist to use pure, refined spiritual energy to simulate "Nirvana Fire" for calcination and fusion. The requirement for spiritual energy control reached an extreme of subtlety. The slightest mistake could lead not only to pill destruction but potentially to spiritual energy backlash.
As for the "Evergreen Pill," with its theoretical ability to extend life by a decade, it even seemed somewhat "ordinary" compared to the reverie inspired by the "Genesis Pill." Of course, Mason understood that for the ultra-wealthy, "life extension" would always be the core desire. If the effects of the "Evergreen Pill" could be proven, even half its theoretical value, he would instantly become the absolute focal point of desire and dread in that circle.
The center of attention? No, that was too mild. He would become the ultimate target of all desires, the center of the vortex itself, pulled, contested, and controlled by countless visible and invisible forces. The Rockefeller family might currently seem the friendliest contact, but they would certainly not be the last, nor the greediest.
Opportunity and destruction often lie on a razor's edge. And the Canon in his mind was pushing him ever further along that increasingly thin line.
Just as Mason was immersed in the world of pill formulas and real-world worries within his consciousness, a conversation about him was taking place at the highest levels within the Rockefeller family.
New York, the Rockefeller family estate, in a study lined with oak. Two elderly men sat facing each other. One was Sofia's father, William Rockefeller, one of the current family patriarchs, his demeanor cold and stern, his gaze sharp as an eagle's. The other was his own father, the family's anchor, John D. Rockefeller III, nearly ninety years old. Though aged, his presence radiated an unspoken authority.
William had just hung up an encrypted satellite call with his brother Robert, his expression unusually grave and tinged with disbelief.
"Father, Robert confirmed it personally." William's voice was kept low, as if afraid to disturb the heavy air in the study. "Every detail. That pill, dissolved on the tongue, reversed an acute myocardial infarction within three minutes. The subsequent check-up reports... read as if God himself had personally rewritten them. His private physician, a top expert from Hopkins, is practically living in the lab now, trying to find clues from the slightest anomaly in Robert's pre-dose blood samples, even the metabolites post-dose—but there's nothing. It's as if the effect appeared from nowhere, leaving no chemical trace modern science can comprehend."
Old John's finger tapped slowly on the arm of his mahogany chair, making a rhythmic *thump, thump* sound. His eyes were closed, as if digesting the information, or weighing countless possibilities.
"Sofia delivered it?" The old man's voice was aged but clear.
"Yes. She met with that young man, Mason, this afternoon. He gave her a similar pill, said it could refresh her. She took it, and not only did her fatigue vanish..." William paused, his tone growing even more strange. "...the scar on her shoulder, the one she'd had since childhood, completely disappeared within half an hour. The skin was smooth as new. Robert also took another pill Mason provided on the spot."
A long silence fell over the study. The night outside the window was thick, as if wanting to swallow this estate symbolizing wealth and power.
"What's your take, William?" Old John finally spoke.
"Dangerous," William said without hesitation. "But also... unparalleled." He stood and walked to the window, his back to his father. "If this is real, if this effect can be consistently replicated... Father, you know better than I what this means. The wealth, resources, influence we control—they all turn to dust in the face of time. But if time itself can be purchased, even in limited amounts..."
"Then power truly gains the possibility of eternity," Old John finished the thought. His opened eyes held a light that, even after a lifetime of vicissitudes, still burned fiercely. "But such power should not, and cannot, belong to one person, or one family alone. It will draw a storm."
"Robert proposed a formal dinner at his home next week, to introduce Mason to the inner circle." William turned around. "I stopped him."
Old John nodded slightly, signaling him to continue.
"A simple thank-you dinner is too light, and too false," William analyzed, his tone regaining the calm and calculation of a businessman. "Introducing him to the core circle so publicly right now would be like announcing to everyone that the Rockefellers 'own' this trump card. How would other families react? Morgan, DuPont, Mellon... and those old foxes in Europe, the princes in the Middle East. They would spare no expense to grab, steal, or destroy. We are not yet ready to handle that level of full-scale attention and potential conflict."
"Your suggestion?"
"Low-key, but close. Let Sofia handle it." A barely perceptible smile tugged at the corner of William's mouth. "I can see she has feelings for that young man, and he doesn't seem averse to her either. This is a natural bond, stronger than any contract of interest, and much less conspicuous. Let Sofia, on the pretext of personal thanks, first send him a check. Thirty million, as a 'reasonable' reward for Robert's life. The amount is significant enough to show value, yet not so exaggerated as to trigger excessive speculation. Then, let them interact naturally. Sofia is smart; she'll know what to do. We need time to observe this Mason, to assess the limits of his abilities, his ambitions, his weaknesses. Simultaneously, we need to discreetly mobilize resources to prepare for the coming storm—protecting him means protecting our future possibilities."
Old John closed his eyes again. The tapping of his finger became slow and steady.
"Proceed," he finally said. "Tell Robert to postpone the dinner. Let Sofia handle it. But, William, remember one thing: never try to completely control someone like this. You can guide, cooperate, offer him terms he cannot refuse, but don't delude yourself into thinking you can put him in a cage. A person who can create such miracles... he himself might be a form of existence we cannot understand. Maintain respect, maintain vigilance, maintain appropriate distance."
"Understood, Father."