Chen Gensheng watched him in silence. A wave of irritation washed over him. He had seen this exact performance—the weeping, the tragic backstory—countless times in the memories of the laborers he had devoured.

  Pitiful? Perhaps. But in this world, who isn't?

  "Senior Brother... let go first," Gensheng finally spoke, his voice carrying a hint of feigned cowardice.

  Wu Yong scrambled to release his grip, his face instantly shifting back to that honest, expectant mask. Gensheng let out a long sigh, as if making a monumental, agonizing decision.

  "Since Senior Brother has put it that way, it would be cold-hearted of me to refuse. But let’s be clear—my cultivation is low. I will stay far behind you and observe; I won’t dare step forward."

  Wu Yong’s face lit up with joy. "Good brother!" He slapped Gensheng’s shoulder heartily. "Don't you worry! With me here, your safety is guaranteed! Now, let’s move before someone else beats us to it."

  Wu Yong was in a hurry, leading him out of the courtyard. The two of them bypassed the main thoroughfares of the Outer Sect, sticking to the secluded forest paths. Wu Yong led the way, his mouth never stopping.

  "You don't know this, but I’ve scouted it out. That monster is cunning—it hides near the mass graves outside the sect during the day. We’ll go while it’s light and set a trap. Once night falls, it’ll show itself."

  He spoke with such conviction it was as if he truly had everything under control. Gensheng followed silently, watching Wu Yong’s back as he was led further away from the sect and into a desolate mountain gully. The maple trees here were sparse, replaced by twisted, dead wood and a thick carpet of rotting leaves.

  Wu Yong finally stopped. He turned around, and the smile was gone. In its place was an undisguised coldness and contempt.

  "Nice place, isn't it, kid? Good Feng Shui, no one to bother us. A perfect spot for your grave."

  He pulled a rusted short sword from his storage bag and weighed it in his hand. "Hand over that token Elder Wan gave you, and everything else of value. I’m in a good mood today, so I might give you a quick death."

  Gensheng looked at him. His expression didn't change; his eyes didn't even flicker. "All this for an Outer Sect token?"

  Wu Yong froze for a second, then broke into a sneer. "What the hell do you know? I’ve rotted in the Outer Sect for five years to barely reach the sixth level of Qi Condensation! Why should a 'Five-Element Waste' like you touch the sky just because of a pretty face? Today, I’m going to tear that face off, take your identity token, and claim the three-hundred-stone reward from the Deacon Hall!"

  Gensheng finally moved. He simply opened his mouth.

  Bzzzt.

  A faint sound of vibrating wings echoed. Wu Yong’s sneer froze. He watched a small, black blur fly out of that handsome mouth. Then a dozen pitch-black, rotting-scented wasps hovered above Gensheng’s head.

  The color drained from Wu Yong’s face. The short sword clattered to the ground. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees.

  "The Insect Demon... You! You are the Insect Demon!"

  "Mercy! Senior, mercy!" He began to kowtow, tears and snot flowing a hundred times more sincerely than when he was acting.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Gensheng ignored the pleas. The swarm erupted, pouncing forward. Shrill screams echoed through the gully, only to be quickly drowned out by the sound of frantic gnawing. Within breaths, nothing remained on the ground but a clean skeletal frame and a dusty storage bag.

  Gensheng stepped forward and leaned down. A Corpse-Barrier Wasp flew up, dutifully offering the storage bag to his hand. He tucked the bag away, then crouched, tearing a small piece of residual flesh from the warm bone. He put it in his mouth and chewed slowly.

  The wasps needed food. He was hungry, too.

  Silence returned to the gully. Wu Yong’s bones were dragged into a deep rock crevice by the swarm. Gensheng emptied the bag: a dozen low-grade spirit stones, two bottles of the cheapest fasting pills, and some dirty clothes.

  A pauper.

  He took the stones and burned the rest to ash. Then, he leisurely strolled back to his small courtyard, Unit A-19.

  One day later. The Hall of Propagation.

  Thirty new Outer Disciples sat in the hall. Gensheng found a corner and sat down. On the high platform, an old man with white hair and a white beard yawned with boredom. This was the Outer Sect’s Alchemy Deacon, surnamed Gu. It was said he was once an alchemy genius but had failed to reach the Foundation Establishment realm. Now, he was relegated to teaching the basics.

  "Today, we speak of Alchemy," Deacon Gu said, his voice flat and weary. "I know you all dream of swallowing a divine pill and ascending to heaven tomorrow."

  He surveyed the youthful faces below. "I only ask you one thing: What is required for alchemy?"

  A brave disciple stood up. "Reporting to Deacon: a recipe, spirit herbs, and a furnace."

  "All of those can be bought with spirit stones," Gu countered. "I am asking what you paupers have to offer for the craft."

  He held up one finger. "First: Fire. Not the fire you use to cook a meal, but Spiritual Fire. It must be driven by your own Qi—condensed but not scattered, warm but not scorching. You Qi Condensation brats have as much Qi in you as cat piss. You can squeeze for half a day and barely get enough to heat a kettle."

  A wave of suppressed laughter rippled through the hall. Gu held up a second finger.

  "Second: Spirit. Or rather, Divine Sense. An alchemical batch can have dozens or even hundreds of herbs. Their properties conflict or harmonize. One second too long and the pill is scorched; one second too short and it’s raw. Without a strong enough Divine Sense to feel every microscopic change inside the furnace, you aren't refining herbs—you're just burning firewood."

  "And third, the most important..." His gaze drifted, as if remembering something. "Money."

  "The lowest-grade furnace costs three thousand taels of silver. A furnace capable of refining Foundation Establishment Pills costs two thousand spirit stones. If you sold yourselves, could you even afford the tip?"

  His words were like three buckets of ice water, dousing the disciples' enthusiasm. The glory of an Alchemist was built on a foundation of wealth that ordinary cultivators couldn't even imagine.

  "However, there are always exceptions," Gu’s tone changed, carrying a hint of envy and awe. "Like our Saintess. At ten years old, she opened her first furnace. She required no physical vessel; she used Heaven and Earth as her furnace, Divine Sense as her charcoal, and her hands as the tools of creation."

  "The first batch she ever refined was a high-grade Spirit-Concentration Pill. None of the Foundation Establishment Elders in this sect could have matched that batch."

  The disciples gasped in wonder. Gensheng listened, expressionless.

  In his mind, a girl named Lu Zhaozhao was pouting, kicking aside a heap of blackened medicinal dross. "Husband, these Spirit-Concentration Pills are too hard to make! My fingers are going to snap. I have to use thirty-two different hand seals to draw out seventy-nine medicinal properties. It’s so annoying!"

  Beneath his broad sleeves, the four hands hidden within his body were silently, flawlessly mimicking those thirty-two complex hand seals from his memory. They moved like flowing water, without a single hiccup.

  Deacon Gu smirked at the crowd’s reaction. "What? Jealous? Do you feel that the gap between people is wider than the gap between a man and a dog? Focus your minds!"

  "I didn't call you here today to learn alchemy. I called you here to learn how to serve the furnace."

  He pulled a sack from his storage bag and dumped it. A pile of blackened, scorched charcoal rolled out.

  "This is Green Oak Charcoal. The Saintess used it to pre-heat her furnaces. Her Highness values cleanliness; this charcoal must be replaced daily, and the old stuff becomes waste."

  "Your task for today: take this old charcoal back to your quarters. Use your Qi to purify the 'Dross Qi' from within it. At this time tomorrow, whoever produces the cleanest charcoal will earn a position in the Alchemy Fire Room."