The elder had not planned to bring him — but at Yao Qing’s quiet request, he allowed it.
Soon, they entered a vast and resplendent hall.
The ceiling arched high above, painted with constellations that seemed to shimmer faintly when stared at too long. Rows of carved pillars lined the chamber, each engraved with symbols representing pill cauldrons, spirit hammers, formation disks, and celestial charts — the Four Arts of the sect.
The air smelled faintly of incense and old wood.
At the center of the hall stood several stern-looking figures in deep blue robes. Their sleeves were embroidered with silver threads forming intricate diagrams that seemed more like formations than decorations.
Their gazes were heavy.
Weighing.
Judging.
One of them stepped forward.
“I am Elder Xiao,” the man said, his voice calm but carrying easily through the hall. “I oversee internal affairs of the Four Arts Sect.”
He scanned the gathered children, pausing slightly when his gaze passed over Yao Qing — then flicking briefly toward Ao Tian.
“Now, form three groups.”
He lifted a sleeve and pointed toward the left side of the hall.
“Those holding coal tokens, gather before Elder Pu.”
In the shadowed corner stood an old man in faded grey robes, his back slightly hunched, hair disheveled, expression indifferent. Compared to the dignified elders in blue, he looked more like a caretaker than a cultivator.
“He is responsible for the menial disciples.”
A ripple passed through the hall.
Some children stiffened.
Some lowered their heads.
Most of the crowd began moving toward Elder Pu, their footsteps soft but heavy with disappointment.
Within moments, the luxurious hall seemed strangely empty — the majority now clustered before the ragged old man in the corner.
The divide had been drawn.
“Take care, Qing’er… I’ll be promoted soon. Wait for me.”
Ao Tian gave Yao Qing one last look — something unreadable flickering in his eyes — before turning and walking toward Elder Pu’s group with reluctant steps.
“Wooden tokens report to Elder Su,” Elder Xiao announced.
“Gold and above, remain.”
The sorting took time.
A few clever children tried to blend into the higher groups, clutching their tokens a little too confidently.
Elder Xiao merely watched, faint amusement in his eyes.
Ambition is natural. Reality is crueler.
Eventually, Elder Su and Elder Pu departed with their disciples. The vast hall emptied quickly.
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Now only two elders and three children remained.
Jiu Xian was still lost in thought — Mei’ren’s transformation, the different world, the Supreme Root — his mind racing through possibilities.
So when a girl with short brown hair and green eyes suddenly rushed toward him—
He didn’t react in time.
She collided into him, arms wrapping tightly around him.
“Jiu Xian~! I thought I was alone here!” Yao Qing cried, relief flooding her voice.
The scent of lotuses.
The warmth.
The familiarity.
His mind snapped back.
“YAO QING!”
He hugged her back, almost desperately.
For a moment, the world stabilized.
A point of reality.
“I was so confu—”
“Ahem.”
Elder Xiao’s cough cut through the moment like a blade.
They separated instantly, faces flushed.
Jiu Xian glanced sideways—
And met Bing Mei’ren’s gaze.
She stood a short distance away, arms crossed.
Her expression was strange.
Her eyes sharp.
Yet beneath it… something else flickered.
She felt…
Jealous?
No — more like she believed she should be jealous.
Like she was acting out a role.
“This,” Elder Xiao said, gesturing to the second elder beside him, “is Elder Dugu. He oversees the Inner Disciples.”
Elder Dugu’s presence was different.
Quieter.
Heavier.
His gaze swept over the three children, lingering a fraction longer on each of them.
“You three will undergo an additional assessment,” he said.
“To determine which of the Four Arts you are most suited for.”
“You know, originally the Sect Leader was supposed to oversee this batch,” Elder Xiao rambled as he walked.
“But he was injured recently — coalition attack, political mess, long story…”
Without pause—
“And that reminds me of the time I seduced the She-Devil of Black Marsh—”
Switch.
“HAHA! Elder Pu didn’t speak to me for three days after I slipped a laxative pill into his porridge. Man should’ve shared his food.”
Jiu Xian, Yao Qing, and Bing Mei’ren walked in silence.
Their expressions were identical.
Headache.
The elder’s words came like arrows fired in every direction — useless lore, scandal, half-truths, bragging, gossip.
Finally, they reached a structure separate from the main halls.
A tall, multi-storey building made from faintly golden stone. Its surface shimmered as if spiritual energy flowed beneath the walls like veins.
Even standing outside, they could feel—
Pressure.
Age.
“This is the Auxiliary Arts Trial Hall,” Elder Xiao said, suddenly more serious.
“Enter through that door. You will feel dizzy. Disoriented. Do not resist the sensation. The formation will reject those who struggle.”
He pointed toward a dark doorway that seemed deeper than the building itself.
“I’ll be here when you return,” he added — and then immediately resumed:
“Did I tell you I was once recognized as a once-in-a-million-years genius?”
Yao Qing didn’t wait.
She grabbed Jiu Xian’s hand.
Then Bing Mei’ren’s.
And pulled them forward.
The moment they crossed the threshold—
~BUZZ~
The world twisted.
Their vision fractured into spirals of light.
Their stomachs lurched as if falling through air.
Sound vanished.
Time stretched—
Then snapped back.
…
They stood inside a vast hall.
Rows upon rows of ancient cauldrons lined the chamber, each carved with glowing inscriptions. Some were small, delicate. Others towered like bronze beasts.
The air was thick with the scent of medicinal herbs.
Not just pleasant—
Potent.
Spiritual.
Heat rolled through the hall in waves. Sweat beaded on their skin almost instantly.
The dizziness faded.
But something else replaced it.
A pressure on the soul.
As if the room itself was…
Watching them.
A voice echoed through the hall — not loud, not soft, but absolute.
“Welcome to the Pill Inheritance Hall.”
The air trembled slightly.
“I am the remnant will of Pill King Yao. Follow my teachings, and you may walk the path toward the title of Pill King.”
Jiu Xian and Yao Qing exchanged a glance.
A few months ago, this would have shaken them to the core.
But after everything Granny had shown them… death, secret realms, and betrayal…
This felt… smaller.
Almost staged.
Still — they listened.
The hall shifted.
The stone floor dissolved into fertile soil. Spirit herbs sprouted in rows, glowing faintly with different colors.
“Herbology is the foundation of pill-making.”
They were not handed cauldrons.
Not taught flames.
They were made to kneel in the soil.
To water.
To trim.
To harvest.
Every motion had rules:
- The soil must be loosened without disturbing spirit veins
- Leaves must be cut along growth meridians
- Flowers harvested at precise petal tension
- Roots extracted without breaking Qi threads
It was less farming — more surgery.
Yao Qing moved naturally.
Her hands were quick. Precise. Gentle.
A quiet joy lit her face.
She belonged here.
Jiu Xian did not.
His fingers felt too rough. His movements too forceful.
He sighed internally.
Months ago I would have gone crazy seeing immortal herbs…
Now they were just plants.
Plants in a test.
Plants in a dream.
He glanced sideways.
Bing Mei’ren worked flawlessly.
Every cut clean. Every motion efficient.
Too efficient.
Too practiced.
Too unlike her.
The real Mei’ren was clumsy.
He remembered her tripping over buckets.
Spilling tea.
Dropping bowls.
This one moved like a trained disciple.
A chill passed through him.
He quietly shifted next to Yao Qing, who was sorting blue spirit flowers by grade.
“There’s something wrong with this place,” he whispered.
She gasped softly.
“How did I not notice you?”
“You were smiling,” he said. “Like this is where you belong.”
Her cheeks flushed.
“…What’s wrong?”
“Everything feels… artificial.”
She hesitated, then nodded.
“Ao Tian feels like that too. Same person… but hollow. Like something is wearing him.”
Before he could respond—
poke poke
They both froze.
Bing Mei’ren crouched beside them, poking them with a twig.
“What are you whispering about?”
They jumped.
Neither had sensed her approach.
“Nothing!”
“YES!”
She puffed her cheeks.
The Pill King’s voice echoed sharply:
“Focus. Harvesting errors lead to pill deviation.”
The temperature in the hall rose.
Not warm.
Hot.
Like being observed.
That night, they entered the resting chamber beside the hall.
Three beds.
Side by side.
No windows.
No doors visible from inside.
Jiu Xian lay awake longer than the others.