Upon ascending the steps, Ishin pushed open the doors to the central pavilion of the Alchemic Hall. As the doors creaked open, he was pleasantly surprised by the building’s interior. He’d expected the usual red and black that proliferated the sect’s architectural design, but that was certainly not the case.

  The immediate foyer was painted an elegant citrine and teal. Across the tall ceiling floated three dozen glass lanterns, each the size of a small boulder. They were filled with different colors of alchemic flame, adding vibrancy to the hall’s interior and creating a cascade of rainbow colors. The layout contrasted sharply with the Administrative Hall as well. A wide circular counter manned by three attendants sat in the center of the foyer, while various doors lined the far walls, leading deeper into the hall.

  Looking around, Ishin saw signs above some of the passageways. Two opposite doors read East Wing and West Wing, making their purpose clear. Other doors bore signs such as Crucible, Depository, Bursar’s Office, and more.

  They even denote what’s on each floor, Ishin realized as he noticed a steel sign mounted on the far wall. It listed the primary function of each level of the central pavilion.

  First Floor: Administrative Stations

  Second Floor: Examination Stations

  Third Floor: Junior Lecture Halls

  Fourth Floor: Senior Lecture Halls

  Fifth Floor: Focus Rooms

  Sixth Floor: Staff Quarters and Offices

  Seventh Floor: Restricted Storage Chambers

  “This is quite different than what I expected,” Rhee confessed as they stood at the doorway, taking in the building’s interior. “I like it.”

  “Me too,” Ishin agreed. It definitely feels more lively than the Administrative Hall.

  Much like at the Administrative Hall, various disciples and servants moved through the foyer, focused on their own tasks. Several passed from one wing into the other, reinforcing that this was the hall’s central hub. The attendants at the counter assisted disciples quickly and efficiently—accepting pill boxes, handing over documents, or dismissing them with short instructions.

  “Guess that’s where we need to go,” Ishin said. “Shall we?”

  Rhee smiled. “Let’s.”

  They approached the circular counter and spoke with the first attendant available. The wrinkled older man greeted them with the respectful tone Ishin had grown accustomed to.

  “Greetings, disciples. How may this one be of service?”

  “We accepted a mission to clean alchemic beakers,” Ishin answered, not entirely sure if that explanation was sufficient.

  Evidently, it was. “Wonderful.” The elderly attendant gestured toward the doorway beneath the Depository sign. “Please enter through there. The Depository Supervisor will provide further instructions.”

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  “Thank you,” Ishin said before he and Rhee made their way inside.

  The Depository turned out to be where all used and dirty equipment was deposited for cleaning. Trays of grimy beakers, stacks of soaked cauldrons, racks of stained ladles, and piles of truly disgusting canisters filled an inner courtyard that stretched farther back than Ishin could see. Washing and sanitation stations lined the courtyard’s outer edges, and those on duty retrieved the filthy equipment stored in the center. At least fifty other disciples were hard at work.

  Walking among them was a tall female disciple with hair tied into a neat bun. She looked no older than twenty-five.

  “Make sure you clean the creases beneath the rim of the cauldron too,” she instructed a young disciple scrubbing a grime-covered cauldron.

  “Yes, Disciple Rye,” he replied, adjusting his efforts immediately.

  Disciple Rye moved to the next wash station, which focused on ladles. “If you see any holes, place the ladle in the discard bin. Don’t waste your time on it. Chips are fine. If you see a crack, flick it with your finger—if it breaks, discard it. If not, clean it like the rest. Yes, that’s a chip, not a hole,” she added, answering an unspoken question from a disciple holding up a ladle missing a thumb-sized piece from its edge.

  Her head snapped toward Ishin and Rhee. “Are you two here to work?”

  “We are,” Rhee answered. “We accepted sect missions to clean three hundred beakers and were told to come here.”

  Disciple Rye nodded. “Good.” She pointed at a station where seven disciples were already scrubbing beakers. “You’ll work over there. Take a bin from the stack”—she pointed at a neat pile of wooden bins—“and place the cleaned beakers inside. When you’re done, I’ll count them and inspect the quality.” She crossed her arms. “The priority is quality, not speed. Understood?”

  “Perfectly,” Rhee replied nervously. “I’m Disciple Zhu Rhee,” she began with a bow. “This is—”

  “I don’t care,” Disciple Rye interrupted. “Don’t mess up and maybe I’ll learn your names after you finish your mission.” She jabbed a thumb at her chest. “I’m Disciple Rye Cha, but call me Disciple Rye. Do your work well and come find me if you make a mistake. Ask your peers first before bothering me.”

  “Understood,” Rhee managed, caught off guard by Rye’s sharp tone.

  Disciple Rye gestured toward the beaker station. “Go on, then.”

  Ishin and Rhee proceeded to the station, their enthusiasm dampened. None of the other disciples greeted them as they set their bins beside the worktable.

  Sighing, Ishin retrieved three beakers and sat down. One was partially covered in a gelatinous orange goo, another encased in a layer of red powder, and the last looked mostly clean but smelled like a rotting Vampire Monkey.

  Cleaning three hundred of these is going to take much longer than I thought.

  Ishin grabbed a yellow sponge, lathered it with soap and water, and began scrubbing the beaker covered in orange goo. The moment his bare finger touched the substance, his skin burned.

  “Ah!”

  He dropped the beaker, which shattered across the floor. Several disciples glanced his way.

  “Are you okay?” Rhee asked.

  “It burned me,” Ishin said, examining his index finger. The skin had turned milky white—the outer layer seared by a second-degree burn.

  “You destroyed a beaker already,” Disciple Rye said venomously from behind him.

  Ishin turned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. The orange goo burned my finger.”

  “So you dropped it.” Her tone held no sympathy.

  “I… yes. My apologies, Disciple Rye.”

  She glanced at the shattered mess. “Two choices. Clean an extra fifty beakers to receive full credit, or only receive three contribution points instead of six. Choose.”

  Ishin stared at her. What type of choice is that?

  Cleaning an extra fifty beakers would take at least another hour. But losing half the payment for a mission that would take all day was an even greater loss. The painful math made the decision for him.

  “I’ll clean the extra fifty beakers.”

  Disciple Rye nodded. “Fine. Clean this mess first—and be more careful.” She pointed at a box near his station Ishin hadn’t noticed. “Gloves are in there.”

  Of course they are.

  Once she walked away, Ishin pulled on a pair of gloves and began collecting the shattered pieces.