The scent of crushed vervain and dried dragonbreath moss hung heavy in the Ashencloud Sect’s herb hall, mingling with the dust motes dancing in the faint light filtering through grimy windows. Shelves crammed with labelled jars and bundles of desiccated plants lined the walls, recording decades of slow decay. Xun Jianli stood before a chipped ceramic pot holding a single, slender stalk of Shadowbloom, its dark petals barely unfurling. His pale fingers, once capable of stitching torn meridians with divine precision, traced the delicate stem. He needed this. Not for advancing through the ranks in the conventional sense, but for the intricate medicinal brew he was devising, a precursor to unlocking the true essence of his past life’s foundation.
“Look at this dog, still pretending to understand herbs.” A sneer, thick with contempt, sliced through the quiet. Lu Feng, a disciple whose robust build was matched only by his inflated ego, swaggered forward, a pouch of rare Gloomberry Powder swinging from his belt. His eyes, the color of stagnant pond water, raked over Jianli. “The untalented Xun. Still hovering around the Shadowbloom, dreaming it’ll make you less useless?”
Jianli did not flinch. His gaze remained on the plant, a cool, calculating assessment. Lu Feng, surrounded by a small retinue of sycophantic junior disciples, puffed out his chest. “I just acquired a complete set of Crimson Orchid roots. My breakthrough into the Spirit Foundation realm is imminent. Meanwhile, you still flounder in the early stages of Body Tempering.”
“Crimson Orchid roots,” Jianli murmured, his voice a low, even tone that held no discernible emotion. He finally turned, his eyes, dark as polished obsidian, resting on Lu Feng. “Potent, certainly. You intend to use them with the Spirit-Sealing Scripture, don’t you?”
Lu Feng’s smirk widened. “Sharp ears for a dull mind. What of it? A perfect synergy for swift advancement.”
“Indeed,” Jianli said, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. “A perfect synergy. To destroy your meridians.”
The herb hall fell silent. The sycophants exchanged uneasy glances. Lu Feng’s face flushed a mottled red. “What drivel is this? My master, Elder Jin, personally approved this method!”
“Elder Jin’s knowledge is respectable, for a mortal,” Jianli replied, his voice devoid of sarcasm, merely stating a fact. “But he understands only the surface properties. The Crimson Orchid, when combined with the Spirit-Sealing Scripture, creates an unstable Qi confluence. It will manifest as a dull ache in your lower dantian at first. Then, a sharp, burning sensation during your next major meditation cycle. And on the third night of the coming full moon, at the hour of the boar, your Qi will deviate. Your meridians will rupture, and you will die.”
The silence this time was absolute under Jianli’s unnerving certainty. His words weren't a threat, but a clinical diagnosis, delivered with the calm precision of a seasoned executioner detailing a sentence. Lu Feng’s face drained of color, then flared scarlet with sudden fury. “You… you curse me! I’ll report this slander!”
Jianli merely watched him, an almost imperceptible tilt of his head. “The path is yours to choose. Ignore a physician’s warning, or prepare your funeral.”
Lu Feng sputtered, his earlier bravado shattered. He glared at Jianli, then at his wide-eyed companions, before spinning on his heel and storming out, the pouch of Gloomberry Powder bouncing forgotten at his side. The junior disciples scattered, whispering, leaving Jianli alone once more with the Shadowbloom, his expression unreadable.
Hours later, a different scent filled the air, acrid and medicinal, as Jianli pushed open the creaking door to Elder Bai’s private alchemy chambers. The room was a chaotic sanctuary of glass beakers, bubbling cauldrons, and towering stacks of ancient scrolls. Elder Bai, a man whose sparse white hair and stooped shoulders spoke of countless nights bent over simmering elixirs, sat hunched before a sputtering furnace, his brow furrowed in frustration. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through his hand as he adjusted a dial, the air thick with the smell of scorched herbs.
“Still struggling with the Dewdrop Pill, Elder Bai?” Jianli asked, his voice cutting through the hiss of the furnace.
Elder Bai started, nearly dropping a vial of shimmering liquid. He turned, his usually keen eyes clouded with weariness. “Xun Jianli? What are you doing here? And yes,” he sighed, gesturing to a tray of misshapen, crumbly pills, “this wretched panacea. I’ve followed every annotation, every ancient recipe. It should restore fractured Qi pathways, yet all I produce are these worthless duds.”
Jianli stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over the intricate setup. He picked up one of the failed pills, crushing it lightly between his fingers. “Your formulation of the Moonpetal Dust is perfect, as is the ratio of Star-Moss. Your furnace temperature is precise. But your refinement duration is incorrect for the activation of the Azure Serpent Scale within the Lotus core.”
Elder Bai blinked. “The Azure Serpent Scale… in the Lotus core? That’s… that’s a lost technique! From the Divine Alchemist’s Compendium, section three, chapter nine. The only surviving copies are said to be locked away in the Empyrean Throne’s deepest archives! How do you know of this?”
Jianli met the old alchemist’s astonished gaze. “The principles remain, even if the texts are lost. Your current method exposes the Lotus core to the Moonpetal Dust for too long, degrading the internal viper scale's Qi-binding properties. You must introduce the Moonpetal Dust only after the Azure scale has been partially activated by the Star-Moss, for precisely seventeen breaths, before raising the heat by a single degree for the final infusion.”
Elder Bai stared, his mouth slightly agape. He looked from Jianli to the failed pills, then back to Jianli, a profound understanding dawning in his ancient eyes. “Seventeen breaths… a single degree… this is… this is divine insight! My master, and his master before him, spent decades trying to unravel this very secret. You… you just spoke it as if it were common knowledge.” He stumbled back a step, a profound reverence entering his expression. “Veridian Sage… no, forgive me, Xun Jianli. What is it you seek? Anything within my power, within the Xun Clan’s meager resources, is yours.”
Jianli’s cold eyes held a spark that was not warmth, but a deep, unyielding purpose. “I appreciate your loyalty, Elder Bai. But I don’t want herbs to meditate over.” He paused, his gaze hardening further. “I want access to the clan’s forbidden archives. I’m not trying to cultivate. I’m hunting for ghosts.”