The Alchemy Hall occupied its own terrace on the eastern side of the Burning Sun Sect, far from the clang of weapons and shouts of sparring disciples. Here, the air was thick with the mingled scents of medicinal herbs, charred minerals, and the faint metallic tang of refined qi. Rows of narrow buildings lined the main path, each marked with the alchemist's seal — but one in particular stood out.
At the far end of the terrace, half-hidden behind a tangle of creeping vine and stacks of firewood, squatted a squat, wide-roofed workshop. Smoke curled lazily from a chimney in the back, carrying with it a scent that was equal parts fragrant and alarming — sweet lotus and burnt iron.
Haotian approached the heavy wooden door and knocked once.
No answer.
He knocked again.
Something inside clattered violently, followed by a voice like gravel in a wine cup."Who's banging at my door?! If it's another useless helper, I'll—"
The door swung open mid-threat, revealing a man in a stained alchemist's robe several sizes too big, his hair a wild nest streaked with silver. One eye squinted at Haotian, the other hidden under an untidy fall of hair.
"You're new," the man said flatly, looking him up and down. "You here to fail me too?"
"I'm here to complete your pill," Haotian replied without hesitation.
The alchemist snorted so hard it ruffled his own hair. "That's what they all say. Come in, then. Let's see how long before I throw you out."
The workshop's interior was a chaos of organized madness. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the rafters. Clay jars of powdered minerals lined every wall, each with labels scrawled in three different handwriting styles. In the center sat an enormous bronze cauldron, its surface etched with old burn marks and faint runes that pulsed in irregular rhythms.
Elder Yao jabbed a thumb toward it. "That's the problem. She's temperamental. Needs the perfect balance of heat, qi infusion, and timing. Everyone else either scorched the batch, froze it, or blew it sky-high."
Haotian stepped closer, resting his hand lightly on the cauldron's rim. The metal was warm, humming faintly beneath his palm.
"What's the pill?" he asked.
The old man squinted at him. "Three-Root Heaven Tempering Pill. Not for outer disciples. Not for most inner disciples, either. But if I can get it stable, it'll change the way our body-tempering methods work."
Haotian's gaze didn't leave the cauldron. "Then let's stabilize it."
The alchemist laughed, a sound somewhere between a bark and a cough. "You've got nerve, boy. I'll give you that. But nerve won't keep you from getting burned alive when she spits fire."
Haotian simply rolled his sleeves up. "Then we won't let her spit."
Elder Yao stared at him for a long moment, then grinned like a man about to watch a disaster. "Fine. Let's begin."
Elder Yao bustled about the cluttered workshop, pulling ingredients from shelves and workbenches — dried lotus root as long as a forearm, bundles of crimson vine still glistening with sap, shards of deep green mineral that seemed to hum faintly when touched. Each was set down in quick, almost careless motions on the long preparation table.
"Three stages," the old alchemist said briskly. "Root infusion for stability, mineral fusion for strength, vine tempering for… well, for keeping the whole thing from killing you. Fail any stage, and the cauldron kicks back."
Haotian only nodded, rolling up his sleeves further and stepping to the cauldron. Its bronze surface was warm, its runes pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. The scent rising from it was sharp and bitter, with an undercurrent of sweetness that clung to the back of the throat.
Elder Yao lit the main fire with a twist of his fingers. Flames roared to life beneath the cauldron, turning the etched runes into glowing veins of molten gold. "You'll stir on my count, infuse when I tell you, and—hey—are you even listening?"
Haotian's right eye shifted, the iris deepening into a field of stars. The Eyes of the Universe awoke.
In an instant, the world of smoke and heat peeled back. The bronze walls of the cauldron became transparent in his vision, revealing layers of swirling qi currents, heat pockets, and unstable nodes where the energy threatened to collapse in on itself. He traced them in his mind — the weak points where previous attempts had failed, the subtle fluctuations that no ordinary sense could catch.
"Root infusion!" Elder Yao barked, tossing the dried lotus toward him.
Haotian caught it one-handed, snapping it cleanly into pieces before dropping them in. They struck the simmering liquid with a hiss, sinking into the golden mixture. Immediately, one of the qi nodes spiked violently.
He moved without hesitation, channeling his own qi through the long stirring rod, guiding the heat away from the unstable point while pulling in cooler currents from the cauldron's far side. The spike smoothed into a steady pulse.
Elder Yao, halfway through reaching for a protective ward, froze. "…Huh."
Next came the mineral shards. They hit the mixture like falling meteors, each one threatening to overload the heat balance. Haotian twisted his wrist, swirling the brew in a precise figure-eight pattern that split the molten current into two distinct streams. His qi guided them until the minerals dissolved evenly, their power absorbed without a single violent surge.
The old alchemist was staring now, brows high, muttering something about "seeing the qi like it's ink on paper."
"Vine tempering," Elder Yao said at last, sliding the bundle of crimson vine toward him.
Haotian sliced the vines into thin strips, each one placed into the brew exactly where the qi flow demanded. His movements were too fast for an untrained eye, but every placement was perfect — the final currents aligning into a spiral that drew in the heat rather than fighting it.
The cauldron's runes flared bright, then steadied into a deep, rhythmic glow. The mixture within condensed into a shimmering golden sphere, its surface pulsing with life.
Elder Yao leaned in, eyes wide. "By the Heavens… it's stable."
Haotian exhaled slowly, withdrawing his qi. The pill rose from the liquid in a coil of steam, settling into his palm warm and perfect.
He handed it to Elder Yao without ceremony. "Your Three-Root Heaven Tempering Pill."
The old man's fingers closed around it as if holding a newborn. For a long moment, he said nothing — then threw back his head and laughed, the sound booming through the workshop.
"No one's done it! Not in years!" His gaze snapped back to Haotian, sharp with something between awe and suspicion. "Boy… just who in the blazes are you?"
Haotian only turned toward the door. "A man who completes his missions."
Elder Yao was still laughing when he turned the pill over in his hands, studying it from every angle as if afraid it would vanish. Then his gaze flicked back to Haotian, running over him in a quick, appraising sweep.
"You're wasted on whatever you're doing now," he said abruptly. "Stay here. We'll work on the next set of pills. I've got a half-dozen recipes no one's been able to finish — you and I could change the sect's stores in a month."
Haotian's expression didn't shift. "I'll take my reward for this mission in contribution points. My friends and I will use it to train."
Elder Yao waved a hand dismissively. "Points? Hah! Boy, I'm an elder — I can do better than that. Work for me and I'll put you on a monthly stipend. One thousand contribution points, every month, guaranteed. That's more than some inner disciples get for their branch work."
Haotian shook his head. "No."
The old man blinked. "No?"
"I don't want a monthly wage," Haotian said evenly. "If I stay here, I'll be paid for results. For each new pill I create, or each recipe I improve. The payment will reflect the pill's value to the sect — and any pill made from my work can be sold directly to the sect treasury at that price."
Elder Yao tilted his head, the faintest grin tugging at his mouth. "Hmph. You're confident."
"I don't make things that aren't worth paying for," Haotian replied.
The alchemist stared at him for a long moment, then let out a bark of laughter. "You've got more spine than I thought. Fine! We'll do it your way. Bring me something new, I'll value it myself, and you'll get your share. If it's good enough, I'll make sure the sect pays a premium."
Haotian gave a single nod, already turning toward the door. "Then I'll see you when I have something worth your time."
As he stepped out into the sunlight, Elder Yao called after him, still holding the Heaven Tempering Pill aloft like a trophy. "Boy! Don't take too long — I might actually start missing you!"
The Mission Hall was bustling when Haotian stepped back through its tall doors. The female attendant from before noticed him immediately, her pen freezing mid-mark.
"You're back already?" she asked, disbelief lacing her voice. "Don't tell me—"
He set the stamped completion slip from Elder Yao on the desk. The ink was still fresh.
For a moment, she just stared at it, then at him, as if expecting some kind of explanation that never came. Slowly, she reached for the mission ledger, flipping to the correct page. Her brows drew together. "The Heaven Tempering Pill… completed."
By now, the nearest few disciples had turned to listen. One of them whispered, "That mission's been posted for years…"
The attendant stamped the ledger with a sharp thunk, then counted out the reward on the contribution slip — 10,000 points, written in bold crimson ink. She slid it toward him with a look that was equal parts shock and reluctant admiration.
"No one's ever done it," she said under her breath. "They'll be talking about this for days."
Haotian only gave a short nod, pocketing the slip before turning and walking out. The murmurs swelled in his wake.
Outside, he found Lianhua and the guards waiting at the base of the hall's wide steps. They had clearly been training — sweat darkened the edges of their robes, and the guards were mid-discussion until they saw him.
Lianhua's eyes narrowed faintly. "You were gone for hours. Did you even—" She stopped when she saw the crimson slip in his hand.
Fengrui blinked. "That's… a big one."
"Ten thousand," Haotian said simply, holding it out so they could see the inked number.
For a moment, there was silence. Then one of the guards let out a low whistle. "That's… the alchemist mission, isn't it? The impossible one?"
Lianhua stared at him, clearly trying to read his expression. "You actually finished it?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"By not failing," he replied, tone as flat as if discussing the weather.
The guards broke into laughter, shaking their heads. Lianhua, however, only sighed and gave him a long, knowing look. "You're impossible." But there was no mistaking the faint curve at the corner of her lips.
"Let's eat," one of the guards said. "With that kind of reward, you're paying."
Haotian didn't argue.
The Mission Hall was as loud as ever when Haotian stepped inside, the scent of ink and parchment mixing with the hum of voices. The female attendant from before caught sight of him almost instantly, her pen stilling mid-mark.
"You're back already?" she asked slowly, her voice betraying disbelief. "Don't tell me—"
He set the stamped completion slip from Elder Yao on the desk. The seal gleamed red under the lamplight.
Her eyes widened as she read it. "The Heaven Tempering Pill… completed?" For a moment, she simply stared, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something more believable. Then she cleared her throat. "This… this is a high-value mission. I don't have the authority to issue the full reward here."
Turning toward the side door, she called sharply, "Elder Sun! Elder Sun, I need your authorization at the desk."
The hall quieted a little as an older man in deep crimson robes emerged from the side office, his steps measured but his gaze sharp. His hair was streaked with white, his beard neatly trimmed. "What is it?" he asked, his eyes moving to Haotian.
The attendant handed him the completion slip. "He claims this mission has been completed."
Elder Sun read it once, twice, then lifted his eyes to Haotian with open astonishment. "No one has finished this task in years. How did you manage it?"
"By stabilizing the process," Haotian replied simply.
The elder tilted his head slightly. "Explain."
Haotian's tone remained even. "Balanced the root infusion, split the mineral current, tempered the vines in the correct sequence. Nothing more than that. Elder, if there's nothing else, I have other matters to attend to."
A faint spark of amusement flickered in the older man's gaze. "Very well. Hold out your emblem."
Haotian produced his bronze sect emblem. The elder touched his own to it, and a faint golden light passed between them — the transfer of 10,000 contribution points, recorded instantly within the emblem's array.
"Done," Elder Sun said. "If you change your mind about sharing the full method, the Alchemy Hall would be very interested."
Haotian gave a short bow. "Understood." Then he turned and walked out without a backward glance.
The moment he stepped into the sunlight outside, the noise of the Mission Hall resumed behind him. He scanned the terrace until he found Lianhua and the guards gathered near the steps, their conversation breaking as he approached.
Lianhua spotted him first as he descended the mission hall steps. "You were gone longer than I expected," she said, scanning his face for clues.
Haotian held up his sect emblem, the faint golden light still lingering from the transfer. "Mission complete. Reward secured."
One of the guards frowned. "Wait… the alchemist one? The one no one's—"
"Yes," Haotian interrupted calmly.
Fengrui let out a short laugh. "You're serious."
Lianhua folded her arms, her expression caught between disbelief and resignation. "Of course he is. It's you." Then, with a faint tilt of her head: "So? What's next?"
"We train," Haotian replied simply. "The points will support all of us."
The guards exchanged grins, clearly pleased, though Lianhua just shook her head with the ghost of a smile. "You never do anything halfway."
While they turned toward the dining hall, behind them, Elder Sun had already left the mission hall by a side path. His stride was quick, his mind turning over the implications.
He found Elder Yao in his workshop, the heavy scent of herbs clinging to the air.
"Elder Yao," Sun began without preamble, "you had an outer disciple complete your Heaven Tempering Pill mission?"
The alchemist looked up from the steaming cauldron with a grin that seemed to split his face. "Not just complete — perfect. Flawless heat control, qi balance like I've never seen, and the sense to read a cauldron as if he could see through it."
Sun's brows rose. "Explain."
Elder Yao launched into the account, hands waving for emphasis as he described Haotian's steady composure, the surgical precision with which he'd split the mineral current, and the impossible timing of the vine tempering. "The boy didn't just follow my instructions — he corrected the cauldron's mood before I even told him what was wrong. I'm telling you, Sun, we may have found a genuine alchemy genius."
"And the reward?"
Elder Yao smirked. "He refused a monthly stipend. Said he'd only take payment per new pill or revised recipe, based on value. Any pill from his work goes to the sect treasury for purchase."
Elder Sun's eyes narrowed in thought. "A negotiator, too. His talent's wasted in the combat division. We should pull him into the Alchemy Hall immediately."
Elder Yao leaned back, stroking his beard. "Perhaps. But let's not scare him off. For now, we assess him. See just how far this talent goes before we make our move."
Sun gave a slow nod. "Agreed. If he's as good as you say… the sect will hear of him soon enough."
The morning sun broke over the sect's western terrace, casting long shadows across the private training yard. Lianhua and the guards were already in motion — steel ringing against steel, footwork kicking up bursts of dust, qi flaring in measured bursts as they drilled the foundations of their tailored techniques.
Haotian stood at the edge of the yard, arms folded, his gaze following each of them in turn. Every strike, every shift of weight was cataloged with the same quiet precision that had guided their progress since the first day.
Then, midway through a bout between Fengrui and the dagger wielder, his eyes narrowed slightly… then lit with a thought.
Weapons… and armor.
The corner of his mouth tugged into a grin. Without a word, he stepped back from the edge of the yard. No one noticed. It was a habit ingrained since childhood — disappearing when it suited him, leaving no trace but the empty space where he had been.
By the time the next sparring rotation began, Haotian was already crossing the central terrace toward the Mission Hall. The noise inside washed over him, familiar now. He walked straight past the crowd and toward the long wall of parchment postings.
His eyes scanned quickly. Hunting missions. Escort work. Resource gathering. Then — there — a cluster marked with the black-and-silver seal of the Forging Division. Eleven in total. Each one a request for assistance in crafting, repairing, or refining specialized equipment.
Without hesitation, he plucked every one of them from the board.
When he reached the desk, the same female attendant from before looked up — and immediately froze. "...All of these?"
"I want to register all of these missions," Haotian said, placing the stack neatly before her.
Her eyes went wide, her fingers hovering over the ledger. "All of them? Are you sure?"
"Yes," he replied, his voice carrying the same steady confidence as when he'd claimed the alchemist's impossible mission.
She sighed, already reaching for the stamps. "First the Alchemy Division… now the forging division's turn." Her pen scratched across the paper, stamping each mission in sequence before binding them together into a single scroll.
She slid it across the desk to him. "Here. All eleven missions, registered. Try not to burn the forge down."
Haotian took the mission scroll without comment and turned for the door.
By the time he stepped into the sunlight, the words forging hall were already on his mind — and the path toward it lay open.
The forging Hall sat on a lower terrace near the western cliffs, where the roar of wind was swallowed by the steady, pounding rhythm of hammers on steel. The air grew hotter as Haotian descended the stone steps — heat radiating from open forges and smelters, carrying with it the scent of coal smoke, hot iron, and oil.
The Forging Hall itself dominated the terrace: a massive structure of black stone and reinforced beams, its wide gates thrown open to reveal rows of anvils, quenching troughs, and workbenches stacked with half-finished weapons and armor. Sparks danced in the air like fireflies, and the clang of metal on metal was a constant heartbeat.
Dozens of smiths worked in perfect rhythm — bellows hissing, molten metal pouring from crucibles into carefully prepared molds. Apprentices hurried back and forth with tongs and hammers, while senior forgemasters oversaw the larger projects, their arms bare and muscles slick with sweat.
Haotian stepped inside, drawing more than a few glances. Outsiders rarely walked in carrying a full mission scroll, let alone from the main hall.
A man with a heavy leather apron and arms like coiled rope strode up to him, wiping soot from his hands. His eyes fell to the scroll in Haotian's hand, then narrowed. "What've you got there, boy?"
Haotian unrolled the parchment without ceremony. The forgemaster's brow furrowed as he read the list — one repair, three custom weapon requests, four armor refits, two tool-crafting jobs, and a single experimental forging trial.
"You took all eleven?" the man asked, incredulous.
"Yes," Haotian replied, his tone steady. "Where do I begin?"
The forgemaster let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You must think you're a god's gift to the forge. Most people here would struggle with two of these in a week."
"I'll finish them all," Haotian said simply.
Something in his voice — calm, unflinching — made the forgemaster pause. Then he gestured toward a cleared workstation near the center of the hall. "Fine. Let's see if you can back that up. Tools are there, materials will be brought to you. And if you ruin them…" His grin turned sharp. "You'll be hammering nails for the rest of your life."
Haotian moved to the station without another word, rolling up his sleeves. The forge's heat wrapped around him like an old, familiar cloak.
As the first crate of materials arrived — raw ore, smelted ingots, leather, and treated wood — he flexed his fingers once, letting the rhythm of hammer strikes in the hall sink into him. The Eyes of the Universe shimmered faintly in his right eye, mapping the crystalline structure of the metals, the tensile limits of the leather, the stress points in the existing weapon frames.
The first hammer strike rang out like a clear bell.
The forging Hall had just met its new problem — and perhaps its next legend.