The Myriad Drug Pond lay quiet under the open sky.
Mist curled above the water, carrying a heavy scent of herbs—sweet at first, then bitter on the tongue. Spirit lotuses floated on the surface, glowing faintly, while gentle ripples made their petals sway. Around the pond, rare plants grew in wild beauty—old ginseng with twisted roots, red ganoderma, silver-leaf grass that sang softly in the wind.This happened in a short time after Bai Xuan's clear and purified the pond.
On a flat stone by the shore, the Medicine King knelt.
His robe was torn, his hair messy, but his back stayed straight. He had suffered pain, yet his eyes still held stubborn pride.
Bai Xuan stood a few steps away. The pond's soft light reflected in his eyes, but his gaze was cold.
"Old man," Bai Xuan said, voice calm but sharp, "I've been too kind to you. That's why you still resist. Don't blame me for being rude. I know how to take the truth from you."
Before the Medicine King could answer, Bai Xuan's hand moved.
His fingers gripped the old man's throat—not to crush, but to remind him how close death was. The old man's breath caught, but he did not look away.
Bai Xuan let go, then shook his sleeve. Spirit stones dropped to the ground with a clear, ringing sound. They rolled across the grass, forming a loose circle. Light shimmered in their cores like tiny captive stars.
Then Bai Xuan's hands began to move.
His fingers traced patterns in the air. Lines of light stretched from stone to stone, shaping symbols that glowed faintly. First came a defensive formation, steady as a wall of iron. Then, woven into its heart, an attack array, quiet but dangerous—like a blade hidden in silk.
The Medicine King's eyes narrowed.
Low-grade formations… but this speed…
The patterns appeared one after another, without pause, as if Bai Xuan had been born knowing them. Even the mist around the pond seemed to obey, drifting to the edges of the circle.
Who is he? the Medicine King thought. Even the greatest formation master of the Great Hang Dynasty couldn't work like this.
He didn't want to admire his enemy, but he knew the weight of such skill. To master one great path was already a lifetime's work—yet this stranger walked another peak with ease.
Bai Xuan finished the last seal. The air tightened. The space within the formation felt heavy; even the grass stood still. A heron on the far shore spread its wings and flew away, refusing to cross the invisible boundary.
"Now," Bai Xuan said softly, "let's talk."
The Medicine King stayed silent. His will did not waver.
Bai Xuan only nodded. With one precise touch to the back of the old man's neck, he cut off his consciousness. The Medicine King's body slumped, breathing steady but mind empty.
Bai Xuan sat cross-legged on the stone. A breeze passed over the pond, lifting his cloak, but he did not move. His spiritual energy flowed like a deep river. In the next breath, a divine sense attack shot into the Medicine King's soul—silent, unseen, and sharp.
Inside the old man's mind, defenses rose like walls. Bai Xuan's will pressed against them, slow but unstoppable. Cracks formed, spreading until the last barrier gave way.
A faint smile touched his lips.
Beside him, a second figure appeared—a soul clone, formed from pure spirit. Its eyes were the same as his own.
The clone stepped forward and sank into the Medicine King's brow like moonlight slipping into still water, entering the vast Sea of Knowledge.
The pond remained quiet. Mist drifted. A dragonfly skimmed the surface and vanished into the reeds. The formations whispered softly, drinking qi from the air and binding it to the earth.
Bai Xuan stayed still.
Somewhere deep inside the old man's mind, secrets waited—hidden in the tide, buried like pearls.
The fight for them had already begun.
The Sea of Knowledge opened before Bai Xuan's soul clone.
It was vast—an endless ocean under a sky of shifting light. The waves here were not water, but strands of thought and memory, each glimmering faintly like threads of silver. The air tasted of old herbs and bitter pills, carrying the weight of a lifetime's work.
In the distance, great reefs of knowledge jutted from the sea—scrolls of glowing text, countless recipes, diagrams of pill furnaces and herbs, each one drifting in slow circles. Deeper still, islands floated in the mist, guarded by storm clouds that rumbled without sound.
Here, the Medicine King ruled.
Here, every grain of sand was a secret, every wave a memory.
And Bai Xuan had come to take them.
A sudden wind rose across the mind-ocean. The calm waters rippled, and from the mist, the spiritual form of the Medicine King appeared—tall, robed in flowing white, eyes as deep as old wells. In his hand, a staff of golden wood flared with light. His voice rolled like distant thunder.
"Leave, intruder. This is my sea. No one takes from it without drowning."
Bai Xuan's clone only smiled, stepping forward until his foot touched the waves. The water did not wet him—it bent away, as if bowing.
"You built your walls too high," Bai Xuan said, his voice carrying easily through the endless space. "Now I'm inside them. It's too late."
The old man raised his staff, and the sea responded.
The waters swelled into walls of memory, each one filled with sharp fragments—pain, joy, loss, triumph—all sharpened into weapons. Images of pill fires roared to life, surging toward Bai Xuan, their heat carrying the essence of hundreds of rare herbs.
Bai Xuan's eyes narrowed. He raised a hand, and a barrier of soul light unfolded around him, clear as crystal yet stronger than steel. The flames broke against it, scattering into motes that dissolved into the sea.
Then he moved.
One step—he crossed a hundred waves.
Two steps—he passed through a curtain of stormlight.
Before him now lay a towering gate of jade, its surface carved with runes of sealing. This, he knew, was where the deepest secrets of the Myriad Drug Pond were kept—the map of its hidden channels, the locations of rare herbs within, and perhaps, the method to draw from it without harm.
The Medicine King's spirit appeared before the gate, breathing hard. He planted his staff into the sea and the jade flared brighter, runes locking tight.
"You'll find no way past," the old man said.
Bai Xuan's soul clone tilted its head.
"Perhaps," he murmured, "but I am very good at opening doors."
He stepped forward, and the waters of the Sea of Knowledge shook.
Far away, by the pond in the real world, Bai Xuan's physical body sat perfectly still. The mist drifted lazily around him, the formations hummed softly, and the sunlight danced on the surface of the water.
But inside the mind-ocean, a storm was coming.
---