Chapter Sixty-Nine: A Modest Achievement

The morning in the mountains is far more humid than elsewhere. Wisps of mist, as delicate as gauze, drape over the peaks, lending an air of serene beauty to the rugged, majestic ranges. As the mountain breeze stirs, the clouds and fog swirl and roll, evoking a sense of purity untouched by the dust of the mortal world; it is as if one stands in a celestial realm.

The old healer stood on the precipice, hands clasped behind his back, silently watching Lu Zhe, who was wholly absorbed in refining his elixir.

“It’s done,” the old healer said slowly.

Lu Zhe opened his eyes and slapped the cauldron. Instantly, the lid flew open and a round pill shot out. Fixing his gaze, Lu Zhe pushed off the ground and leapt into the air, catching the pill in his hand.

He studied the pill with grave eyes, sniffed it, then sighed and shook his head, tossing it over the cliff.

“Another failure,” Lu Zhe murmured bitterly. This was the seventh time he had attempted to craft the antidote pill, and each effort had ended in failure.

He looked up at the old healer, who stood at the cliff’s edge, gazing out over the mountains.

Why? Why couldn’t he, like the old healer, wield the furnace at will and craft pills as he pleased?

Lu Zhe brooded over his frustration.

“Refining elixirs not only requires intense heat but also a wealth of experience,” the old healer said, still standing with his hands behind his back, eyes fixed on the endless mountains. He seemed to know Lu Zhe’s thoughts. “I can craft pills at will because my experience far surpasses yours.”

After a moment, he continued, “To attain mastery of control, the experience accumulated during pill refinement is inseparable. Do not be too eager for success, or you will lose your composure and squander everything.”

Lu Zhe nodded thoughtfully, then glanced at the dwindling pile of medicinal herbs. He took a deep breath, tossed another herb into the cauldron, and resumed refining.

Time slipped by, swift as a galloping horse; before one realized it, it had already fled.

Lu Zhe started afresh, and though he failed several more times, persistence bore fruit. On his tenth attempt, he finally succeeded in crafting a silver-grade antidote pill.

He gazed at the round, ruby-red pill nestled in the bottle, wiped the sweat from his brow, and smiled in relief.

“Congratulations,” the old healer said with a smile.

“It’s all thanks to your guidance, Master,” Lu Zhe said, bowing respectfully.

“Don’t flatter me with such empty words. You’re the one who did the work. I didn’t do anything. How could it be my merit?” the old healer retorted coldly.

Lu Zhe was momentarily stunned, then laughed awkwardly to ease his embarrassment.

---

“You’ve now managed to craft a silver-grade pill. Rest for a while; tomorrow you will begin refining two cauldrons at once,” the old healer said, flicking his robes.

Lu Zhe raised his eyebrows in surprise, staring at the old healer in disbelief. “Master, you’re not joking, are you? I…”

The old healer raised his hand to cut him off. “If I say you can, then you can.”

With that, he ignored Lu Zhe’s speechlessness, flicked his sleeves, and resumed his stance, gazing at the mountains.

Lu Zhe arched his brow, glanced at his crimson cauldron, and forced a bitter smile. He sat cross-legged on the ground to restore the spiritual energy spent during the pill refinement.

It had been about three days since Lu Zhe began refining pills. In these days, he had practiced relentlessly, and as his spiritual energy was depleted and restored, he noticed an unexpected increase.

Night crept in quietly as Lu Zhe cultivated and the old healer stood motionless, gazing into the distance. Cultivating cross-legged was nothing remarkable for those who practiced spiritual arts, but the healer’s unwavering focus from noon until now was worthy of praise—his composure rivaled that of a meditating monk.

At night, the mountains lost some of their morning serenity and gained a sense of towering peril. Under the dark curtain, ridges rose and fell, crisscrossing, and from afar exuded a chilling, forbidding aura.

This night was deep and quiet; the moon hung high, and a few faint stars twinkled at the edge of the sky. Under their cold light, distant mountain valleys were shrouded in mist, floating like a veil—mysterious and hauntingly beautiful.

Lu Zhe emerged from his cultivation, casually kindled a fire, and skewered a cleaned wild rabbit on a stick.

As the flames danced, the rabbit, turned evenly by Lu Zhe, began to drip oil into the fire, releasing a tantalizing aroma.

Lu Zhe was indeed skilled at roasting; where he had learned it was a mystery, but anyone who tasted his cooking was full of praise, their thumbs raised in admiration.

“You handle the heat well,” the old healer’s voice came quietly.

Startled, Lu Zhe looked at the healer sitting opposite him and complained, “You walk without making a sound—trying to be a ghost?”

The healer glanced at him and chuckled. “It’s not that I’m silent, but you’re too absorbed.”

He eyed the roasting rabbit, swallowed, and asked, “When can we eat?”

Lu Zhe glanced at the rabbit. “Soon, but…”

Hearing Lu Zhe trail off, the old healer asked, “But what?”

Lu Zhe sighed, a hint of regret in his voice. “But there’s no salt or seasoning; the taste may not be great.”

---

“Hmph, I thought it was something serious,” the old healer snorted.

He rummaged through his storage ring, and with a flash of light, several jars appeared on the ground before Lu Zhe.

Lu Zhe stared in astonishment. “What’s this?”

“The seasonings you mentioned,” the old healer replied matter-of-factly.

Lu Zhe uttered a sound of surprise, opened the jars, and sniffed—they were indeed salt and spices.

He chuckled wryly and muttered, “Even an elixir master has these things. Is it for flavoring pills?”

He opened all the jars and quickly sprinkled the seasonings over the rabbit. With the addition of spices, the aroma grew even richer, making one’s mouth water.

Lu Zhe brought the rabbit to his nose, inhaled, then tore off a leg and handed it to the old healer. “It’s ready.”

The old healer’s eyes lit up; he grabbed the leg and devoured it ravenously, as if he wished to swallow it whole.

Lu Zhe smiled at the healer’s antics, tore off a piece of meat, blew on it, and ate.

The old healer finished the leg quickly, gnawed the bone to bits, and praised, “Excellent! Crisp and golden outside, tender and juicy within—truly exquisite.”

Lu Zhe smiled faintly. “I used to grill for others often, learned it by accident.”

“For whom?” the old healer asked, grabbing the stick and munching the rabbit, speaking between bites.

Lu Zhe’s expression darkened, his head bowed in silence, and he said bitterly, “Someone I didn’t know.”

“Hmm?” The old healer looked at him in puzzlement, but kept eating.

Lu Zhe stood with hands behind his back, strolling to the edge of the cliff. Like the healer, he gazed at the mountain’s forbidding silhouette, murmuring with a touch of sorrow, “Little Grey…”