Yuzhen messed up twelve times before he finally got something right. By the thirteenth attempt, he was so frustrated he wanted to chuck the furnace into the spring just to see if Xiaoren would lose its cool for once. But no, Xiaoren just sat on a nearby stone, arms crossed, watching him like some stern old ancestor.
"Again," it said.
Yuzhen didn't even look up. "If you say that one more time, I swear I'll bury you in the spiritual field."
"You'd plant me wrong," Xiaoren retorted.
That just annoyed Yuzhen more. He was down to the last portion of herbs for the day, his fingers smelling of crushed leaves and burnt essence. The inside of the furnace still reeked of failed extractions. Some batches had dried out too fast, others had turned into a black goo. One even exploded so suddenly he'd nearly singed his own face off. Xiaoren had actually *laughed* at that one. He still hadn't forgiven it.
"It's not your fire control that's unstable," Xiaoren stated. "It's your mind."
Yuzhen wiped sweat from his jaw. "Sounds like the same thing to me."
"It isn't."
Xiaoren hopped off the stone and walked over to the furnace, tapping its side. "When you control fire, you focus on heat. But controlling a furnace is about timing, flow, pressure, the order of the herbs, and yourself. The second you get impatient, everything inside feels it."
Yuzhen leaned back, staring at the furnace's dull bronze surface. "I'm not impatient."
Xiaoren just looked at him.
Yuzhen let out a slow breath. "Okay, fine. I am."
"You want results too fast."
"I've already lost too much time." The words slipped out before he could stop them.
For once, Xiaoren didn't jump in with an answer. The silence settled around them, broken only by the gentle murmur of the spring and the soft mist of light over the spiritual fields.
Then Xiaoren spoke, "Rushing will only cost you more."
Yuzhen didn't argue. Because that was the core of it, wasn't it? He'd spent too long being the one everyone pitied in private and defended in public. Too long smiling as if he hadn't noticed the shift in people's eyes after his foundation was ruined. Now that he finally had a path forward, every fiber of his being wanted to sprint. But alchemy, it seemed, had no love for runners.
He straightened up and looked at the last set of herbs. "Again," he said.
Xiaoren gave a short nod. This time, Yuzhen didn't rush to light the furnace. He placed both hands on its outer shell, slowly sending spiritual energy into it. Not forcing it, not trying to conquer it, just enough to stir the lines within and let the metal respond. The furnace gave a low hum.
"Good," Xiaoren commented.
Yuzhen stayed silent, letting the heat build gradually. Then, the first herb went in – a thin, pale stem that curled the moment it hit the heat, releasing a faint green scent. The second and third followed. His spiritual sense remained locked on the center of the furnace. Every tiny shift in temperature felt like a scrape against his awareness. Twice he almost adjusted too quickly, twice he forced himself to wait. Patience. It sounded so simple when spoken, but in practice, it felt like torture.
"Turn it now," Xiaoren instructed.
Yuzhen shifted his spiritual energy, and the fire changed – not hotter, but sharper. The essence from the herbs began to separate from the waste. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck, but he ignored it. The first wisps of gray smoke rose from the vent. Not black. Not failure.
His eyes sharpened. "Don't get excited," Xiaoren warned immediately. Yuzhen nearly lost his rhythm right then. He steadied himself, gritting his teeth. "You really do enjoy making this harder."
"I enjoy stopping you from messing it up."
The final herb was added. Then came the slowest part: refining, purifying, coaxing the essence together without letting it collapse. Yuzhen felt his soul power straining, not enough to cause harm, but enough to remind him this was still just the beginning. The formula was simple, the herbs common, the furnace basic, yet every step was still ripe with potential failure. No wonder true alchemists were so respected. No wonder the good ones got rich faster than fighters – most people simply wouldn't have the patience for this.
"Now," Xiaoren said quietly. Yuzhen tightened his spiritual sense, guiding the gathered essence into shape. One breath. Two breaths. Three— The smell shifted. Clean. Sharp. Spiritual. His fingers twitched. Inside the furnace, one round pill slowly formed. It wasn't beautiful, not smooth, but it was round. A second shape tried to gather, wavered, and then collapsed back into useless residue. Yuzhen kept the first one steady until the heat settled. Finally, he lifted the lid.
A single, pale green pill sat at the bottom. For a moment, he just stared at it. After twelve failures, one lonely pill shouldn't have seemed so precious, but it did.
Xiaoren leaned over the rim, glanced inside, and deadpanned, "Ugly."
Yuzhen chuckled before he could stop himself. "It's still a pill."
"It is." Xiaoren looked up at him. "A lower-quality one. Barely clean enough. But yes. It counts."
Yuzhen picked it up carefully. The pill was warm from the furnace, its surface slightly rough, one side smoother than the other. It wasn't a perfect Spirit-Replenishing Pill, not even close. But it was his. His first successful one. Something in his chest loosened, not because the pill itself was amazing, but because it proved this path was real. He could learn this. He could do this. He could make one, then ten, then a hundred.
Xiaoren must have seen something on his face, because it snorted lightly. "Don't look so moved. It's one pill."
"I know."
"You only succeeded because the formula was kind."
"I know."
"You almost ruined it three times."
Yuzhen looked at the little spirit and smiled faintly. "I know."
Xiaoren clicked its tongue and looked away first. Yuzhen gently rolled the pill between his fingers. "Can I use this one?"
"You can. It won't poison you."
"That sounds reassuring."
"It's more than I expected an hour ago."
Yuzhen chose to let that remark slide. He placed the pill into a small jade bottle and set it aside. Then he looked at the remaining waste in the furnace. "What about this?"
"Throw it out."
"So cold."
"It's trash."
Yuzhen cleaned the furnace in silence. By the time he finished, his shoulders ached and his head felt heavy. His spiritual energy wasn't completely drained, but his focus had been. Alchemy was peculiar like that; it didn't leave him physically tired like sword practice, but it frayed him around the edges, as if too much of his mind had been rubbed raw.
He washed his hands in the spring and sat on the grass. Xiaoren joined him a moment later, tossing something small at him. Yuzhen caught it instinctively – a fruit, pale gold and no bigger than a plum. "What's this?"
"Eat it," Xiaoren said.
Yuzhen eyed it suspiciously. "You say that awfully casually."
"If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't waste spirit fruits."
It was a terrible answer, but Yuzhen ate it anyway. The flesh melted on his tongue, a cool sweetness spreading through him and easing the ache behind his eyes. He looked at the fruit pit in his palm. "There's more?"
"Not for you today."
Yuzhen leaned back on one hand. "You're pretty stingy for a spirit who lives in a treasure space."
"And you're pretty greedy for someone who just made one ugly pill."
That was fair. After a short rest, Yuzhen took out the jade slip Xiaoren had given him the previous night and reviewed the basic Spirit-Replenishing Pill formula again. He read more slowly this time. Now that he'd actually gone through the process, the words made more sense: the order of the herbs, the heat range, the timing of condensation, the points where slight variations could still be corrected versus when failure was already sealed.
When he looked up, Xiaoren was watching him. "What?"
"You read better after failure."
Yuzhen lowered the slip. "That sounds like another insult."
"It's not." Xiaoren tilted its head. "Some people only truly understand rules after losing to them."
Yuzhen thought of his ruined foundation, the cold stares from the Chen family, the careful silence from others, and how his grandfather had never stopped searching for a solution even when everyone else had given up. Then he looked at the small jade bottle holding his first pill. "Maybe," he said.
Xiaoren didn't press the issue. When Yuzhen finally left the pendant space, the late afternoon sun was still hanging above his courtyard's western wall. Not much time had passed outside; that was still the strangest part. He walked to his table and placed the jade bottle down, then took out one of the family's common recovery pills and set it beside his own. The difference was stark. The family pill was smoother, cleaner, more uniform in color. His looked like it had been through a battle. Yuzhen stared at both for a moment, then let out a breath through his nose. "Ugly," he muttered, but without any disappointment.
A knock sounded at the door. Yuzhen closed the bottle at once. "Come in."
Bia Anhe stepped inside, carrying a tray. They wore light blue today, sleeves neatly tied back, their expression as open as ever. "I brought dinner," Anhe said. "Also, Grandfather asked if you were still alive."
Yuzhen blinked. "That doesn't sound like him."
"He said it more kindly than that."
"That sounds more believable."
Anhe set the tray down and glanced around the room, their eyes landing almost immediately on the furnace by the wall. For a second, they just stared. Then they looked back at Yuzhen, wide-eyed. "You're serious?"
Yuzhen sat down at the table. "About what?"
"About alchemy."
"I did bring a furnace back from the storehouse in broad daylight."
Anhe pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down. "I thought you were just trying it out."
"I am trying it."
"No, this looks like the dangerous kind of trying."
Yuzhen actually smiled. "What does that mean?"
"It means the kind where three months from now, everyone finds out you've secretly become good at something annoying."
That made him laugh, a short, genuine sound. Anhe looked visibly pleased with themselves for getting it out of him. Then their gaze drifted to the jade bottle near his hand. "What's that?"
Yuzhen rested two fingers over it. "Nothing much."
Anhe narrowed their eyes. "That answer means it's definitely something."
Yuzhen considered for a moment. Then he opened the bottle and tipped the single pill into his palm. Anhe leaned in, then blinked. "It's... a pill."
"A sharp observation."
"It's not a very pretty one."
Yuzhen looked at them flatly. "You too?"
Anhe grinned. "So you really made it?"
He nodded once. For once, Anhe didn't joke. Their eyes dropped back to the pill, and something warm settled onto their face – not just surprise, but pride, relief perhaps. The kind family members try to hide so it doesn't become pressure. "That's good," they said softly. Just that. Not amazing. Not unbelievable. Not 'you're a genius.' Just good.
Yuzhen looked down at the pill in his hand. And for some reason, that simple reaction hit him harder than any praise would have. He closed his fingers around it and said, "It's only the first."
Anhe smiled. "Then make the second."
Yuzhen looked up. Outside, the last light of evening touched the windows. Inside, the furnace waited by the wall, quiet, plain, and real. He thought of the spring swallowing spirit stones whole, of Xiaoren's insults, of the twelve failures before the one success, and of the long road still ahead. Then he nodded. "I will."