A week passed quietly in Songyang City.
For Luo Feng, the rhythm of life had begun to settle.
Mornings at the academy. Evenings at the apothecary.
Simple.
Inside the shop, the faint scent of herbs had already become familiar.
"Sort these," the old man said one afternoon, tossing a small bundle onto the counter.
Luo Feng caught it and unwrapped the cloth.
A mix of herbs—some dried, some fresh.
At a glance, they looked similar.
At a trained glance, they were not.
"Three are Mistroot variants," Luo Feng said calmly, separating them. "But this one—" he picked out a thinner stem, "—is false. It causes dizziness if used incorrectly."
The old man grunted.
"Continue."
Over the past week, Luo Feng had improved rapidly.
Sorting herbs.
Identifying qualities.
Even beginning to concoct simple medicinal pastes under supervision.
His hands were steady.
His judgment precise.
He made mistakes—but fewer with each passing day.
By now, he could prepare basic recovery medicine without guidance.
That evening, as the light dimmed and the shop grew quiet, Luo Feng worked at the back table, grinding herbs into a fine powder.
The old man sat nearby, watching.
As always.
Silent.
Then suddenly—
"What is your martial soul?"
The question came casually.
Too casually.
Luo Feng didn't look up.
"A dagger," he replied just as casually.
A pause.
Then—
"Really?"
The single word landed heavier than expected.
Luo Feng's hand stopped.
Just for a fraction of a second.
But that was enough.
He slowly lifted his head, eyes narrowing slightly.
"What do you mean by that?"
The old man smiled faintly, his gaze calm… yet piercing.
"I may be old," he said, "but I'm not blind. And my eyes are still sharp."
Luo Feng felt a subtle tension rise in his chest.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
The old man leaned back slightly.
"You have two martial souls, don't you?"
Silence.
Heavy.
Still.
Luo Feng's grip tightened unconsciously.
"How… do you know that?" he asked quietly.
Though his voice remained controlled, the tension beneath it was undeniable.
As if hearing his thoughts, the old man chuckled softly.
"I've been observing you for the past month, boy."
His tone remained light—but his words were not.
"I've learned quite a bit about you."
Luo Feng's eyes sharpened.
"…Observed?"
"Yes."
The old man nodded lazily.
"You train every morning. Same remote places. Careful. Cautious."
He paused.
"But not careful enough."
A faint smile appeared.
"You use both your martial souls while training."
That was the moment Luo Feng's composure truly cracked.
"How is that possible?" he said, unable to hide the disbelief. "I always make sure no one is nearby."
The old man burst into laughter.
A genuine, amused laugh.
"If I want to hide," he said, shaking his head, "there's no one in this city who can find me."
Luo Feng fell silent.
A realization slowly settled in.
This man…
…was far from ordinary.
The laughter faded.
And the old man's expression changed.
Subtly.
But noticeably.
More serious.
More focused.
"Listen, boy."
His voice carried a weight it hadn't before.
"I retired long ago. Came to this place to live out what little time I have left."
He looked at Luo Feng directly.
"But after watching you…"
A faint, almost nostalgic glint appeared in his eyes.
"…something lit up."
"A fire I didn't even know still existed."
Luo Feng didn't speak.
He simply listened.
"I want to take you as my disciple."
The words were calm.
But decisive.
"I want to pass on everything I know about medicine to you."
A brief pause.
"Will you learn?"