The air around the Myriad Drug Pond grew heavy, as if the mist itself had sensed danger.
Bai Xuan sat unmoving, his eyes closed, his breath steady—yet the stillness was deceptive,
for within him a silent battle raged in the depths of another's mind.
The disciples of Medicine King Valley stood in a loose circle, their gazes shifting between their unmoving master and the stranger beside him.
Whispers rippled like restless wind across water.
One young disciple clenched his fists, his voice low but urgent.
"We should not delay! Every breath we waste is another knife at Master's soul. Let us strike this man down!"
Another, older and more cautious, frowned deeply.
"But… his aura is strong. If he can break into Master's knowledge sea, he is no common cultivator. We may suffer heavy losses."
A third, hot-blooded and unwilling to show fear, stepped forward with a sneer.
"Losses? No! The Dong family patriarch is with us. With his strength, we will surely succeed!"
From the back, a younger disciple—his eyes bright with selfish hope—spoke with trembling excitement.
"If we save Master, perhaps… perhaps he will take us as his personal disciples! Imagine… the title of a direct heir!"
A ripple of agreement spread through the group, yet not all were convinced.
One woman bit her lip, glancing at Bai Xuan's calm, unshaken posture.
"You speak of glory, but what if this stranger's skills surpass even the patriarch?
What if our actions hasten Master's destruction instead of saving him?"
The hot-blooded disciple scoffed.
"Better to try and fail than to stand here like cowards! If Master's soul shatters while we watch, will you bear the guilt?"
The mist swirled around them as if urging them toward violence.
The patriarch's eyes narrowed, his voice like steel hidden in silk.
"Enough. You speak as if you understand the weight of the situation. You do not.
But if action must be taken… then it will be under my command."
The disciples straightened, their hesitation melting into grim resolve.
One by one, hands tightened around sword hilts and talismans.
The decision was made—whether wise or foolish, the pond would soon witness blood.
***
The moment Dong Qing Meng's voice fell, the disciples could no longer stand still.
Several stepped forward, pressing against the shimmering edge of the formation—
but the air there was solid as stone, heavy and unyielding, forcing them back.
One bold disciple swung his sword.
Steel met an unseen wall, scattering sparks into the mist.
The shock ran up his arm, numbing his fingers until the hilt nearly slipped from his grasp.
"It's sealed too tight," he muttered, his steps unsteady.
Dong Qing Meng's eyes swept the glowing circle, tracing its fine, living lines.
"This is no common array. Each layer shields the next—break one, another will rise.
And its heart…" his gaze darkened, "…is bound to his soul.
Strike blindly, and we might wound the Medicine King himself."
Fear flickered across their faces, tangled with frustration.
Yet their master lay only a few paces away, breath shallow,
while the intruder sat beside him like a shadow that refused to move.
Every heartbeat was a grain of sand falling too fast.
A thin crack flared along the array's edge.
Hope lit a disciple's eyes. "We can break it!"
But before their breath could finish,
light pulsed gently through the lines—
and the crack closed, whole once more,
as if mocking their effort.
Dong Qing Meng's brow furrowed.
"He's feeding the array with the pond's qi…
it will stand until that flow is broken."
"How?" a disciple asked.
His gaze drifted to the Myriad Drug Pond,
where mist curled lazily into streams of light,
slipping into the array's veins.
"Disrupt the pond's qi.
Even for a moment."
The disciples knew the risk.
To stir the pond's energy was to invite its backlash.
But seeing their master lying still,
they no longer hesitated.
---
But the array woke.
From its glowing veins, light flared—
and like a sudden summer storm, a rain of force and flame poured down.
The air screamed as it split apart; the ground cracked under their feet.
A dozen swords clanged to the earth as their wielders staggered back,
their robes torn, shoulders burned, blood beading along arms and brows.
A disciple cried out, clutching his chest.
> "It's striking from inside! The array has a core spirit!"
Another stumbled to his knees, coughing blood.
> "It's not just defense—it's attacking us directly!"
Dong Qing Meng's voice cut through the chaos, sharp but strained.
> "Everyone, fall back! This is not something you can handle!"
But even he swayed on his feet, the color draining from his face.
The strikes rattled against his protective qi, each one digging deeper.
One disciple's voice trembled.
> "Patriarch, your injuries—"
He shook his head, eyes never leaving the intruder.
> "My wounds mean nothing. Keep yourselves alive."
Another, clutching a bleeding arm, shouted over the roar of the attacks:
> "If we retreat, he'll kill the medicine king!"
A harsh, mocking hum came from within the array,
and a fresh volley of searing light lanced out, scattering them once more.
Dust and steam from the pond's mist mingled in the air,
turning the world into a blinding, choking haze.
Through it, they could barely see medicine king fallen body still form—
And still, the disciples clung to their blades,
their hearts torn between fear of death
and the unwillingness to turn their backs on him.
*****
In the vast stillness of his Knowledge Sea, Bai Xuan sat cross-legged, threads of golden light weaving around him like drifting strands of silk.
Before him, the boundless ocean of the Medicine King's wisdom spread out—countless glimmers of insight blooming and fading like stars reflected on dark water.
He delved deeper, letting each droplet of knowledge sink into his mind.
Questions that had long haunted him—tiny thorns in his path of alchemy—were now plucked out one by one.
He saw mistakes he once could not understand, the hidden principles behind failures, and the subtle balances between flame, herb, and will.
Coming from the Tong Xuan Realm, he had always believed his foundation stronger than anyone in this small world.
Yet time and again, his pills had failed, his flames had faltered.
It was not lack of talent, but gaps—chasms of understanding—left unfilled.
Now, piece by piece, the Medicine King's memories bridged those chasms, turning fog into clarity.
Just as he felt the joy of progress, a ripple of shadow stirred in the depths—
a fragment unlike the rest, wrapped in a darkness so deep it seemed to drink in all light.
It was a memory… one that should not have been here.
One never mentioned, never spoken of, as though the world itself wished to forget it.
Bai Xuan's eyes narrowed.
"What? So this… this is the reason why even a person from a lower world can hold such profound knowledge of pills?"
The memory unfolded.
An unknown room emerged from the dark—a place heavy with incense and silence.
From within the shadows, a woman's voice flowed out, soft yet filled with finality:
> "My disciple… this is the last time I will teach you.
I will give you all my experience through the transfer of the Knowledge Sea.
From this day forth, you must walk your path without me."
Her tone was neither sorrowful nor cold, but carried the weight of parting—
a quiet river that had reached the edge of a cliff, falling into the unknown.
-------
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