Chapter Thirty-Two: Jiang Yiyi

As Zhou Qi emerged from the third trial, he hadn’t had a chance to read the information on his token before the scene before him left him stunned.

He found himself in a vast and empty hall, filled with numerous alchemy platforms. Nine individuals were stationed at the platforms, busying themselves with various herbs—clearly refining pills. Could this trial be a test of alchemy? Were these nine the examinees?

He quickly checked his token and, as expected, this round was indeed an alchemy test: only those who could refine a second-grade Spirit Pill would pass, with scores determined by the quality of the result.

The nine cultivators, absorbed in their work, soon noticed Zhou Qi’s sudden arrival. Spotting his meager cultivation—only seventh level of Qi Refining—one sneered, “So, even someone at the seventh level dares vie for the Immortal Mansion’s legacy? You really have no fear of death.”

Another added, “We’re all about the same level here. Fighting among ourselves would be pointless. Let’s just eliminate this kid first so he doesn’t get in the way.”

His words sparked some interest. Zhou Qi was alarmed—how could they so easily resort to murder? He was about to protest when a melodious female voice rang out, “Fellow Daoists, are you not afraid the Immortal of Medicine will eject you for drawing swords in the Sacred Mansion? For this friend to have passed the first three trials, he must have his own strengths. Let’s compete for the legacy by skill, not force, lest we anger the Immortal of Medicine and are all cast out—then none of us would gain.”

The speaker was a woman in a flowing white gown, skin as fair as snow, eyes limpid as a clear spring. Her every glance radiated an innate, elegant dignity that compelled respect and awe. Her words were like strings of pearls, her voice gentle yet crisp, delightfully pleasant.

Instantly, the others suppressed their murderous intent. She was right—killing him would be easy, but if they triggered a restriction in this place, the price would be too great.

One of them mocked, “Kid, who knows what luck got you through the first three rounds, but this one is no easy feat. You’d better give up now and go home.”

Zhou Qi paid him no heed; his gaze was already fixed on the young woman. Such beauty belonged in heaven—rarely glimpsed in the mortal world.

“Fellow Daoist? You’d best begin. If others finish before you, your chances will be slim,” the woman prompted kindly, noticing his dazed stare.

Only then did Zhou Qi snap out of his reverie, hurriedly bowing in thanks. “Thank you for your timely help. My name is Zhou Qi, I’m fourteen, and have yet to take a Dao companion. May I ask your name? How old are you? Are you betrothed?”

His flurry of questions sent the room into uproarious laughter. One man snickered, “A toad lusting after a swan—look at yourself, you little brat, dreaming of marrying Fairy Jiang! That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

The others joined in, laughing at Zhou Qi’s tactless boldness—who ever asks such things on a first meeting? Realizing his slip, Zhou Qi could only offer an awkward smile.

“My name is Jiang Yiyi. You’d best choose your herbs quickly,” the woman replied, unoffended and unsurprised, still patiently advising him. It was understandable—no kindergarten teacher would be angry at a preschooler’s innocent confession, but rather find it amusing.

Jiang Yiyi—even her name was lovely. Zhou Qi felt utterly enchanted, already wondering which great sect she belonged to, whether her parents were open-minded, and even considering names for their future children.

Steeling himself, Zhou Qi suppressed the rush of adolescent feelings and approached a pill furnace, carefully reviewing the trial’s requirements: to refine a second-grade Essence Replenishing Pill. His studies from the first trial were useful now: the main ingredient was Essence Returning Grass, with Spirit-Gathering Grass as a supplement, along with some morning dew to bind the pill.

On his platform lay ten stalks each of Essence Returning Grass, Spirit-Gathering Grass, Star Spirit Grass, and Poison Demon Vine, a bowl of morning dew, and a small cauldron at the center. Star Spirit Grass closely resembled Essence Returning Grass, making confusion likely. Five ingredients were provided, but only three were needed—clearly a test of one’s memory for the basics. The ten of each herb meant each examinee had only ten attempts; if he failed all ten times, the Sacred Mansion of the Medicine Immortal would be beyond his reach.

Zhou Qi silently recalled the key points of refining the pill. With limited chances, he didn’t rush, instead observing the others. A fierce-looking cultivator had just thrown herbs into his cauldron when a burned scent rose up—the herbs turned to ashes, the flames too fierce. The man cursed his luck and, noticing Zhou Qi’s gaze, barked, “What are you looking at, kid? It’s your fault I overdid the flames. Keep staring and I’ll gouge out your eyes!”

How was that my fault? Zhou Qi quickly nodded an apology, unwilling to argue with someone so irritable. The outburst even caused another cultivator, who was at a critical moment, to falter—his pill failed to form. He only sighed silently, clearly used to such sabotage.

Being disrupted during alchemy was, evidently, part of the test. Otherwise, why gather so many cultivators to refine pills together? As competitors, they would naturally try to disturb one another, reducing each other’s chances and affecting the final scores—that was all part of success.

Zhou Qi watched Jiang Yiyi move with unhurried grace, adding herbs to her cauldron. Her every gesture was elegant; a blue flame danced from her palm. At this moment, her expression was grave, lips gently bitten in concentration—a sight both alluring and dangerous to his composure. Zhou Qi dared not look further, lest his heart be thrown into turmoil.

No longer waiting, Zhou Qi selected a stalk of Essence Returning Grass and placed it in his cauldron, igniting it with his own unique flame. The moment his white fire appeared, the others’ flames flickered, as though cowed by a divine sunfire.

Seeing Zhou Qi’s white flame, the others couldn’t help but show envy. Clearly, they had seen such a legendary fire before but failed to subdue it themselves. Now, watching it wielded by a mere Qi Refining novice, their hearts twisted with bitterness—even Jiang Yiyi glanced over a few times.

“Hmph, what absurd luck—how did that flame choose him? I wonder if killing him would let me claim it,” one muttered darkly.

“Perhaps. Who knows how the flame picked that brat?”

The hall filled with whispered plotting about slaying Zhou Qi for his flame.

So many eyes fixed on him, discussing his murder for a chance at the fire—Zhou Qi’s nerves wavered, his hand trembled, and his flames surged too hot, burning the herb to ashes.

“What a waste! To fail with such a flame—might as well end yourself,” one jeered at his misstep.

Zhou Qi wished he could sew their mouths shut. These people were truly insufferable; for all their noble airs, their tongues were nothing but venom.