The night had passed quietly.
Wan Long sat cross-legged until the first rays of dawn crept through the cracks in the wall.
His breath flowed steady and even, his mind calm.
Inside his body, the newly awakened qi pulsed faintly—sluggish, but alive.
Then, all at once, a sharp, sour stench filled the small hut.
He frowned. Looking down, he saw a thin layer of black, greasy filth covering his skin—impurities.
The impurities that his mortal body had accumulated for years were being expelled after his first breakthrough.
It was the sign of true Body Tempering—cleansing the flesh, rebuilding from within.
He wrinkled his nose. "Smells worse than a sewer…"
Grimacing, he stepped outside and walked toward the communal washing stream behind the southern quarters.
The icy water stung as it touched his skin, but the filth washed away quickly, swirling down the stream in dark trails.
When he finished, the reflection staring back at him from the water looked… different.
His skin was cleaner, his posture straighter. His eyes, once dull and tired, now carried a faint sharpness.
He almost smiled. "So this is what cultivation feels like."
After dressing, he sat back on his bed and summoned the system.
The familiar panel appeared before him, glowing faintly in the morning light.
He focused his thoughts. "System… details."
Lines of light shifted, revealing new information.
Recycling Function:
The host may recycle any material, living or non-living, containing spiritual essence or energy traces.
Conversion rate depends on material quality and purity.
Wan Long's brows rose slightly. "Anything?"
He looked around and picked up a random tuft of grass near the doorway.
It was ordinary, damp with dew, nothing special.
"Recycle."
[Recycling…]
[Gained: 0.001 Days of Spiritual Energy.]
A faint trickle of warmth brushed against his fingers, then vanished.
Wan Long blinked. "So it really works… but the yield's useless."
He sighed, rubbing his chin. "Looks like quality matters more than quantity."
Still, the discovery made his heart race.
If even worthless grass could give something, then what about spirit herbs, failed pills, or discarded ores?
There were countless "wastes" in a sect like the Moon Pavilion.
He just needed to survive long enough to gather them.
He stepped outside again, stretching his arms as the sun climbed higher.
But just as he took another step, his stomach growled loudly.
"…"
The sound echoed embarrassingly through the quiet courtyard.
A sudden, hollow hunger gnawed at him, deep and relentless.
He frowned. "I shouldn't be hungry. I took a fasting pill two days ago."
Then it hit him.
Breaking through to the First Layer of Body Tempering meant his body was strengthening at the cellular level.
The process burned through energy—food, essence, everything.
Fasting pills were useless now; what he needed was real nourishment.
He checked the small pouch tucked beneath his inner robe.
Inside was a single, dull spiritual stone — low-grade, faintly glowing.
"That's… all I have left?" he muttered.
It had taken him four months of labor to earn this single piece.
He sighed. "Looks like I'll have to spend it."
The southern quarters were near the edge of the sect's outer ring.
Beyond them, a winding stone path led downhill to the Outer Sect Market, a lively area where servant and outer disciples traded basic goods, food, and low-grade materials.
By the time Wan Long arrived, the market was already bustling.
The smell of fried spirit beast meat and steamed rice drifted through the air. Disciples haggled over talismans, medicinal herbs, and cheap artifacts.
He found a small roadside stall selling simple meals—rice, vegetables, and a thin slice of spirit beast jerky.
"One meal," he said quietly, handing over his single spirit stone.
The vendor, an old outer disciple with lazy eyes, took it with a bored grunt and handed him a wooden tray.
Wan Long sat on a nearby bench and began to eat.
The food was plain, but the warmth that spread through his limbs felt almost divine. His body drank in the nutrients greedily, converting them into faint traces of energy.
He ate slowly, savoring each bite.
After everything—the pain, the fear, the death—this simple act of eating felt… grounding.
...
The warmth of food still lingered in Wan Long's stomach as he made his way back toward the southern quarters. The sun hung high now, its light spilling across the sect's tiled roofs and tall pavilions.
For the first time since his rebirth, he felt almost… calm.
He had survived the Alchemy Hall. He had awakened a system that could turn waste into power.
If he played it carefully, maybe—just maybe—he could live long enough to rise from the mud.
He had only taken a few steps past the old willow tree near his quarters when a voice called out.
"Wan Long!"
He stopped.
Ahead, two gray-robed attendants stood waiting. Their expressions were as cold and unreadable as ever.
His heart sank slightly.
They didn't need to explain.
He already knew why they were here.
Without a word, he nodded and followed them back toward the towering white stone gates of the Alchemy Hall.
The scent of herbs and ash grew thicker as they walked. Inside, the hall was quieter than before. Only a few inner disciples and attendants moved about, tending to bubbling cauldrons and sorting piles of herbs.
Wan Long braced himself. He had thought this day might come sooner or later — the second round of Spirit Tempering Pill testing.
He forced a calm expression. "I'm ready," he said quietly.
But to his surprise, one of the attendants only waved dismissively.
"You? You're not being tested today," he said flatly. "You'll assist the cleaners."
Wan Long blinked. "Cleaners…?"
The attendant gestured toward a group of servant disciples across the hall. They were carrying buckets, brooms, and rags, moving between rows of shattered cauldrons and discarded pill dust.
For a moment, Wan Long just stood there, stunned.
He had imagined something else entirely.
If he'd continued as a test subject, the pain and risk would've been unbearable—but every failure would've produced waste.
And waste meant spiritual energy.
A mountain of it.
Now, they were sending him to clean the floors.
His heart twisted bitterly. So much for that dream.
Still, he quickly forced himself to calm down.
There was no point in protesting—it would only draw attention.
And besides…
He glanced toward the far corner of the hall, where several stone containers held piles of discarded pills, cracked vials, and ash-coated herbs.
His lips twitched faintly.
Cleaning duty, huh? Maybe this isn't so bad after all.
He lowered his head and followed the other cleaners in silence.
The group was led by a senior servant disciple named Liu Bao, a thickset man with calloused hands and a perpetually sour expression.
"You, new one," Liu Bao grunted, tossing him a wooden bucket and a rag. "Start with the waste corner. Don't touch the cauldrons unless you're told."
"Yes, senior."
Wan Long bowed lightly and carried the bucket toward the back of the hall.
The waste corner was filled with the byproducts of alchemy—
ash piles, melted glass, and failed pills that had turned black from impurities.
Even from a distance, the smell was harsh enough to sting his nose.
The other cleaners avoided it whenever they could.
But Wan Long… smiled faintly.
Perfect.
He knelt by the pile, pretending to scoop the refuse into his bucket.
Then, silently, he whispered in his mind:
"System—recycle."
[Recycling failed pill residue…]
[Obtained: 0.8 Days of Spiritual Energy.]
His heart skipped a beat.
It worked.
He glanced around quickly—no one was paying attention. The other cleaners were gagging from the stench, covering their noses and muttering curses. None dared come near the far corner.
But to Wan Long, that reeking heap was heaven itself.
The waste corner contained nearly fifteen buckets full of failed pills, burnt dregs, and half-melted concoctions that reeked of poison and ash. Even the most desperate servants avoided it. To them, the stench was unbearable; to him, it was the fragrance of opportunity.
He gritted his teeth and lifted the first bucket. It was heavier than it looked—each filled with sticky black residue that clung to the wood like tar.
Most servant disciples, still mortals without a shred of spiritual strength, could barely carry one bucket down the mountain. But Wan Long…
He had stepped into the first layer of Body Tempering. His muscles were still thin, but strength pulsed faintly within them.
Step by step, he carried the buckets down the stone path that wound toward the lower disposal grounds outside the Alchemy Hall. The journey was long and steep, but with every trip, his excitement grew.
Fifteen trips later, sweat soaked his robe, and his hands trembled from exhaustion. Yet when he looked at the small mountain of pill waste before him, his heart pounded with barely restrained joy.
No one was nearby. The disposal area was quiet, surrounded by sparse pine trees and low stone walls.
He looked left, then right.
Now's the time.
Taking a deep breath, he focused his mind.
"System, recycle everything."
The response came instantly—sharp, mechanical, and filled with divine authority.
[Recycling large amount of failed pill residue…]
[Obtained: 800 Days of Spiritual Energy.]
[Obtained: 10 × High Grade Tier 1 Body Tempering Pills.]
[Obtained: 20 × High Grade Tier 1 Qi Nourishment Pills.]
[Qi Nourishment Pill – Complete Formula acquired.]
[You have obtained 1000 RP (Recycle Points).]
For a heartbeat, Wan Long forgot to breathe.
The echo of those words rang through his mind like thunder.
He had expected a few more days of spiritual energy, maybe a bit of scrap material.
But this—this was beyond imagination.
It doesn't just give energy… it gives pills, formulas, even points?
He nearly laughed aloud, but quickly covered his mouth, heart racing.
This wasn't just a "system." It was a treasure vault of the heavens.
Wan Long's thoughts churned as he stared at the shining image of the rewards in his mind's eye.
He understood enough from the inherited memories to grasp their worth.
Pills were ranked from Tier 1 to Tier 9, each divided further into low, mid, high, and perfect grades.
Most alchemists in the alchemy Peak could only refine unranked or low-grade pills.
Even the talented ones like Senior Sister Shen Murong could barely produce mid-grade Tier 1 pills with a fifty percent success rate.
But what the system had just given him—
High Grade Tier 1 pills—were treasures that outer disciples fought over.
A single bottle of high grade Qi Nourishment Pills (four pills) sold for two hundred low-grade spirit stones, while high Body Tempering Pills(Four per bottle) were worth at least a hundred.
And he had thirty pills in total.
To a poor servant disciple like him—
this was a fortune enough to buy a courtyard, servants, and freedom from menial labor for years.
His hands trembled slightly.
All this… from garbage?
He closed his eyes, taking slow breaths to calm himself. His excitement had to be hidden. If anyone discovered this, even Shen Murong herself would dissect him to uncover the secret.
After a long moment, he composed himself.
He stored the pills in his robe, feeling their faint warmth even through the fabric. The knowledge of the Qi Nourishment Pill formula appeared clearly in his mind—ingredients, ratios, flame temperature, refinement stages.
He could now make the very pills that had been killing others.
A faint, knowing smile appeared on his lips.
Heaven's trash is now my treasure.
He picked up the empty buckets and began walking back toward the hall, his steps light despite his exhaustion.
No one looked twice at the quiet servant boy carrying waste buckets.
And that was just how he liked it.