Seven days passed in a blur of ash and exhaustion.

  Mingzhi’s routine was brutal. Every morning before dawn, he dragged his body to the Slag Pit to fulfill his mandatory quota. He moved with the efficiency of a machine, ignoring the toxic fumes, filling his cart and his Eye Space simultaneously.

  Every afternoon, he collapsed onto his wooden bed, not to sleep, but to dive back into the mental grinder of the Simulation.

  It was a torment that would have broken a lesser mind. But as the week ground on, something changed. The headache that usually blinded him began to recede. His Divine Sense, forged in the fires of constant overuse, was growing denser, sharper. His "Trash" body was adapting to the strain.

  On the seventh evening, Mingzhi sat before the crude clay pot in his hut.

  "The simulation phase is concluded," the Spirit announced, its voice respectful but grave. "Your success rate in the void is acceptable. However, we face a new variable."

  Mingzhi looked at the wooden box Qingyu had dropped off days ago. Inside lay the Fire-Scale Root. It wasn't the withered scrap he had used in practice. It was thick, pulsing with heat, and covered in deep red veins.

  "The Young Sect Master did not bring a fifty-year-old root," the Spirit observed. "She brought a hundred-year-old specimen. The energy density is double what you practiced with. If you lose control of the containment field for even a microsecond, the backlash will not just ruin the pill—it will destroy your hut."

  Mingzhi took a deep breath, steadying his shaking hands. "Double the energy means double the potency. It’s a risk we have to take."

  "Begin."

  Mingzhi didn't use an external fire. He initiated the Passthrough.

  He drew ambient Fire Qi. It roared through his meridians, hotter and wilder than before due to the high-grade herb. He gritted his teeth, sweat instantly soaking his robes. He melted the root.

  Switch.

  He pulled Water Qi. The Spirit filtered the stream, straining against the increased volatility. Mingzhi wrapped the Ice-Heart Essence.

  Switch.

  Earth Qi. This was the hardest part. The Fire-Scale energy was fighting the containment like a trapped beast. Mingzhi poured every ounce of his expanded Divine Sense into the bind, forcing the elements to submit.

  "Hold it," Mingzhi gasped, veins bulging on his forehead. "Just... a little... more."

  Clink.

  The energy spike vanished.

  Four pills sat at the bottom of the clay pot. They were perfect spheres, glowing with a deep, restrained crimson light.

  "Success," the Spirit exhaled, sounding genuinely relieved. "Supreme Grade. Purity is 91%. The extra potency of the herb lowered the purity slightly from perfection, but the medicinal strength is far higher."

  Mingzhi didn't celebrate. He slumped against the wall, too tired to move. He barely had time to pour a cup of cold tea when a light knock sounded on the ironwood-reinforced door.

  He unbarred it.

  Lin Qingyu stood there. She took one look at him—his pale face, the dark circles under his eyes, the tremors in his hands—and her mask of composure cracked.

  "Mingzhi," she whispered, stepping inside quickly. "You look half-dead. Did the refining go wrong?"

  "It could have gone better," Mingzhi admitted, his voice raspy. "But I succeeded."

  He handed her the four pills.

  Qingyu took them. She brought one to her nose and sniffed. She frowned.

  "There is no scent," she said, sounding disappointed. "Usually, High-Grade pills fill the room with fragrance. These smell like... nothing."

  "Smell is leaking energy," Mingzhi corrected gently. "If you can smell the medicine, it means it's evaporating into the air. These have a perfect seal. All the power is locked inside."

  Qingyu looked at the pills with new respect. "I see."

  "Sit," Mingzhi gestured to the wooden plank. "Before you take it... how is the situation above?"

  "Stable," Qingyu said, sitting down elegantly despite the rough surroundings. "Phase One worked. Elder Zhang was furious, but he couldn't argue with the 'Death Seclusion' decree. He left yesterday with his core faction to patrol the western border. He won't be back for at least a month."

  "And the Neutrals?"

  "I assigned them to the Treasury and the Internal Affairs Hall," she said, a small, vindictive smile touching her lips. "They are so busy counting their new benefits they haven't had time to question my authority. We have a month of breathing room."

  "Good," Mingzhi nodded. "Then we focus on strength. Once your meridians are clear, you will hit Level 5 easily. I'll need to take on some missions to finish my monthly quota, but after that, I can supply you with cultivation pills."

  "I can help with the quota," Qingyu offered immediately. "I can just assign you points."

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  "No," Mingzhi shook his head. "Elder Zhang left spies. If a Waste Disciple suddenly gets points from the Sect Master, it paints a target on my back. I'll handle it myself."

  He pointed to the pill in her hand. "Take it. But be warned—this isn't a normal pill. I should probably help you dissolve it."

  He stepped forward to place a hand on her back to guide the Qi.

  Qingyu shifted away slightly, lifting her chin. "I am the Sect Master, Mingzhi. If I cannot even refine a pill on my own, I am unworthy of the title."

  She popped the pill into her mouth and swallowed.

  She waited.

  One minute passed. Two.

  Qingyu blinked. She looked at Mingzhi, confused. "I don't feel anything. No heat. No rush of Qi. Are you sure it work—"

  CRACK.

  Her eyes went wide.

  Inside her stomach, the Fire Shell dissolved. The compressed core of Ice-Heart Essence detonated.

  It wasn't an explosion of heat; it was a flash-flood of freezing, scrubbing power. It rushed into her meridians, bypassing her natural defenses completely. It didn't burn; it scoured.

  "Oh!" Qingyu gasped, her back arching. She slammed her eyes shut, entering a deep meditative trance instantly.

  For the next hour, silence reigned in the hut. Then, a foul smell began to fill the small room.

  Black, sticky sludge began to ooze from Qingyu’s pores. It was the accumulated toxins of years of bad alchemy, finally being purged from her system. It smelled of sulfur and rot.

  When she finally opened her eyes, her skin was glowing with a new, healthy luster beneath the grime. Her aura spiked, cleaner and sharper than before.

  "I feel... light," she whispered in awe. "My Qi... it's flowing twice as fast."

  Then, she sniffed the air.

  She looked down at her hands, covered in black goo. She looked at Mingzhi, who was politely holding a cloth over his nose.

  Her face turned bright red, visible even through the grime.

  "I... I have to go!" she squeaked.

  She didn't wait for a reply. She scrambled up, pulled her cloak tight around her ruined robes, and bolted out the door, vanishing into the night as if demons were chasing her.

  "Why did she leave so fast?" the Spirit asked, his voice genuinely puzzled. "We just cured her. Was the service unsatisfactory?"

  Mingzhi chuckled, shaking his head as he picked up his token.

  "No, Spirit. She just remembered she's a girl before she's a Sect Master."

  He walked to the door, looking out at the Mission Hall in the distance.

  "She is safe for now. Time to pay my own debts."

  Mingzhi didn't linger on the smell of expelled toxins filling his hut. He grabbed his token and headed straight for the Mission Hall.

  The night air was cool, clearing his head. His body was still tired, but his mind was calculating furiously.

  I have a deficit of 20 points to pay the monthly tax, he thought, climbing the stone steps to the hall. But that is merely survival. To build the Array Flags for breaking the array, I need Star-Silver, Spirit-Mercury and others. I haven't found those in the trash. I need purchasing power.

  The Mission Hall was quieter at night, though still active with disciples looking for last-minute work. Mingzhi went straight to the massive central board.

  He scanned the "High Reward" section, ignoring the stares of the other disciples.

  Hunt the Iron-Hide Bear King: Reward 80 Points. Risk: Death. Too slow.

  Escort Caravan to Azure City: Reward 60 Points. Duration: 1 Week. Too long.

  Gather 100-Year Ghost Ginseng: Reward 100 Points. Location: Deep Wilderness. Pure luck.

  His eyes drifted to the bottom of the list, where a dusty, yellowed parchment hung slightly askew. It looked like it had been there for months.

  URGENT EXTERNAL REQUEST: The Liu Family

  Target: Cure the Young Master of the Liu Merchant Clan.

  Condition: Unknown. The patient is comatose, body freezing, high fever. Multiple physicians failed.

  Reward: 100 Contribution Points + 10 High-Grade Spirit Stones.

  Bonus: Access to the Liu Family Treasury for one item upon success.

  Note: Mission allows for one Assistant (Reward: 50 Points).

  Mingzhi stopped breathing for a second. 10 High-Grade Stones? That is a fortune. That is ten years of an Outer Disciple's salary.

  "Spirit," Mingzhi whispered mentally. "You claim to know everything. Can you diagnose and cure mortal illnesses?"

  "Do not insult me," the Spirit sniffed disdainfully in his mind. "I possess the 'Compendium of Ten Thousand Techniques'. The medical knowledge of this Lower Realm is barbaric compared to my knowledge. Unless the boy is already dead, I can cure him."

  "Then it's perfect," Mingzhi decided.

  He looked at the "Assistant" line. He hadn't seen Rou in a week. She needed points too, and having a Peak-Grade Water cultivator as backup would be useful if things went south.

  As he reached for the scroll, a heavy hand slammed onto the board next to his, blocking his view.

  "Look at this," a sneering voice drawled. "The Mud Rat is dreaming of soaring in the sky."

  Mingzhi didn't need to turn around. He knew the voice.

  Wang Hu stood there, flanked by two lackeys. He looked stronger than before—his skin had a faint, stony sheen, signs that he had been using the Earth cultivation rooms frequently.

  "Why are you looking at the High Risk board?" Wang Hu laughed, leaning in close so Mingzhi could smell the expensive wine on his breath. "You think you can cure people? You should stick to what you're good at. Go back to the Waste Sector and drill the dirt. It suits you."

  The lackeys snickered. "Careful, Boss. He might get mud on your robes."

  Mingzhi slowly turned his head. He looked Wang Hu in the eye, his expression bored.

  "In the village, you could at least throw a punch," Mingzhi said calmly. "But here? The Sect Rules forbid private fighting. If you touch me, the Enforcers will break your legs."

  He stepped sideways, reaching around Wang Hu’s arm to rip the yellow scroll off the board.

  "So unless you want to be expelled," Mingzhi said, brushing past him, "get out of the way."

  Wang Hu’s face flushed red. His fist clenched at his side, veins popping. He wanted to strike—Mingzhi could feel the killing intent radiating off him like heat—but he held back.

  "You're right," Wang Hu whispered to Mingzhi’s retreating back. "I can't touch you inside the Sect."

  A cruel, thoughtful smile spread across Wang Hu’s face. He watched Mingzhi walk toward the counter with the External Mission scroll in hand.

  "But External Missions..." Wang Hu murmured to his lackeys. "They happen outside the array. Accidents happen in the wild."

  "Hostility detected," the Spirit noted coolly. "Someone is projecting lethal intent from six o'clock."

  "Let him plan," Mingzhi thought, not looking back. "If he follows me, he becomes just another resource."

  He walked up to the mission counter. The Deacon on duty—a tired-looking older man with spectacles—looked at the yellow scroll, then at Mingzhi’s grey waste-robes.

  "You're taking the Liu Family Request?" the Deacon asked, adjusting his glasses skeptically. "Is this a mistake, kid? Or are you just desperate?"

  "Why is the reward so high?" Mingzhi asked, ignoring the jab.

  "Because it’s a graveyard for reputations," the Deacon sighed. "That mission has been up for six months. The Liu family is rich, desperate, and angry. They've hired famous doctors, alchemists, even a wood cultivator. All failed. The reward keeps going up, but no one wants to embarrass themselves anymore. If I were you, I wouldn't waste the travel time."

  "I'll try my luck," Mingzhi said, sliding his token forward. "And register an Assistant slot. Chen Rou, Outer Disciple."

  The Deacon shrugged. "Your funeral."

  He stamped the scroll and handed over a paper slip with the map coordinates.

  Mingzhi took it and walked out of the hall, the cool night air greeting him.

  "Spirit," he asked as he headed toward the female dormitories. "Are you absolutely sure you can do this? If we fail, we lose time we don't have."

  "If I were performing the procedure, I would be 100% sure of success," the Spirit replied, its voice dripping with dry wit. "However, there is the... human factor. The success depends entirely on how well your clumsy hands can follow my instructions."

  Mingzhi smirked. "My hands made a Supreme Grade pill today. I think I'll manage."

  "A fair point," the Spirit conceded.

  Mingzhi adjusted his pack and quickened his pace. He had a partner to recruit, and a fortune to earn.