This time, there was no sting. Instead, a gentle, vast, all-encompassing yet orderly and profound presence spread from the mark on his wrist—mild but undeniable—through his entire being. No golden light appeared before his eyes, but his consciousness felt as though it had been drawn into an invisible, mysterious space filled with a cyan-hued ethereal vapor. At the same time, a thread of faint, cool, yet vibrant and dynamic energy—a sliver of spiritual essence—flowed spontaneously through several specific, subtle pathways within him, like the purest mountain stream completing a quiet circuit. The sensation was ineffably soothing and clarifying, as if his very soul had been rinsed clean.
Mason, moved by a sudden intuition, snapped his fingers a third time, almost reverently.
*Snap.* The sound was soft, yet it seemed to trigger some hidden mechanism.
[Preliminary conditions verified… Core inheritance guidance sequence initiated…]
[Final scripture extraction in progress… Dao resonance infusing…]
[Scripture generated: *The Nine Revolutions Alchemical Codex*]
[Status: Permanently mastered (Basic Volume)]
[Contents: Includes fundamental principles of alchemy, basic herbology and elemental interactions, a detailed illustrated compendium of thousands of common and rare medicinal ingredients (covering morphology, habitat, properties), twelve foundational flame-control techniques, conventional cauldron identification and maintenance methods, and a complete collection of three hundred and sixty foundational elixir formulas.]
[Sample Formulas:]
- *Rejuvenating Elixir* (Superior Basic): Warms and nourishes internal organs, compensates for foundational deficiencies, and with prolonged use significantly slows aging. Theoretical limit: extends lifespan by ten years. Main ingredients: century-old wild purple Ganoderma (grown in mineral-rich rock fissures), Jade Marrow Fluid (milky-white stalactite essence condensed over millennia in deep caves, extremely difficult to collect), Tri-Sun Grass (blooms only during three specific daylight hours on sun-facing cliffs, its stamen golden). During refinement, one must gently guide one's spiritual energy to harmonize the three ingredients' pure yang essence into the elixir embryo.
- *Regenerative Vitality Elixir* (Specialty Basic): Reshapes vitality, stimulates deep cellular regeneration, reverses chronic injuries and organ degradation. Restores white hair to black, revitalizes skin, and returns physical capacity to prime condition for approximately three to seven days, depending on elixir quality and the user's constitution. Main ingredients: Ember Lotus Seed (grown near active volcanic craters in high-sulfur soil, matures once a decade), Heartspring of Immortality (the aqueous essence at the source of a legendary living spring; requires a special vessel, else it dissipates instantly), Phoenix Mantle (not from a true phoenix, but the intact inner membrane shed by certain rare fire-attribute birds during nirvanic molting). The key lies in simulating "nirvana fire" with pure spiritual energy, carefully fusing the ingredients—any mistake at this stage renders the elixir worthless.
- *Body-Tempering Essence* (Medium Basic): Cleanses physical impurities, slightly expands meridians, laying the foundation for subsequent cultivation. Main ingredients: Bone-Wash Blossom (an eerie white flower found in ancient battlefields or places steeped in lingering malevolence), Meridian-Vine (a pale-gold creeper entwined around thousand-year-old trees), Rootless Water (rainwater collected in a bronze vessel during a specific thunderstorm night). Spiritual energy must stir the solution, guiding it deep into the body's tissues.
- *Clarity Mind Calm Pill* (Superior Basic): Stabilizes the spirit, resists ordinary demonic disturbances, faintly nourishes the soul. Main ingredients: Soul-Soothing Wood shavings (from the heartwood of at least five-hundred-year-old thunder-struck peach or sandalwood), Tranquility Blossom (a silvery flower that glows faintly under moonlight), Serenity Spring Water (the first meltwater above alpine snowlines). Spiritual energy must be gentle and sustained, guiding the medicinal properties upward to the sea of consciousness.
- *Yang-Returning Elixir* (Specialty Basic): Rapidly restores bodily function and vitality, banishes deep fatigue, provides immediate relief from physical exhaustion and mental lethargy. Main ingredients only: aged ginseng (thirty years or more, with dense stem scars), wild Astragalus (supple and fibrous), authentic Angelica sinensis (complete head and body, richly aromatic). Additionally, a single thread of the alchemist's own refined spiritual essence must be injected precisely at the moment of condensation, catalyzing vitality and balancing properties—neither too much nor too little.
Ecstasy overwhelmed Mason. *This* was the true treasure! Not only a complete theoretical framework and exhaustive formulas, but also that tangible experience of spiritual energy and the circulating pathway. It meant that within this world, perhaps there truly existed powers beyond the ordinary. Those ingredients—though they sounded mythical and nearly impossible to acquire—at least provided a clear direction. The "decade of extended life" from the Rejuvenating Elixir and the "reversal of vitality" from the Regenerative Elixir made his pulse quicken. Of course, he also noted the critical requirement: "spiritual energy must be applied."
In the days that followed, Mason endured the absurd cultivation regimen of squeezing into crates and riding emotional roller coasters (he dared not stop, terrified of the side effects), while plunging himself into a manic search for ingredients and preparations.
This time, the transmission of knowledge was no brutal infusion. It was as if the gates of a vast library had been opened, allowing Mason's spiritual perception to wander, memorize, and comprehend. The immense, orderly body of knowledge—meticulously detailed—contained the complete three hundred and sixty elixir formulas, accessible without any unlock conditions. Among those at the forefront, the "Yang-Returning Elixir," with its relatively simple ingredients and clear effects (restoring bodily function and vitality), particularly caught his attention. *This* was the key to prying open reality, the lever to change his fate. Elation, like a tsunami, instantly washed away all his earlier disappointment over the two previous bizarre scriptures!
Back in his apartment, Mason found no trace of sleep. The three hundred and sixty formulas from *The Nine Revolutions Alchemical Codex* spun like incantations in his mind. *Verification. I must verify.* But the ingredients… "Jade Marrow Fluid," "Tri-Sun Grass," "Ember Lotus Seed"—they sounded like myths, legends. He needed a channel, a way to reach what ordinary people could not.
Several days later, following whispers from obscure online forums and cryptic hints gathered from elderly voices in Chinatown, Mason found his way to a shop deep within the antique district—a place with no signboard at all: "Gu Ya Zhai." The storefront was worn, its cluttered windows filled with dubious Oriental antiques and odd specimens. But those in the know understood that the owner, "Old Weasel," was a legendary broker in the West Coast's underground market. It was said he could procure the purest powdered rhino horn, snow leopard bone, even roots of certain hallucinogenic plants known only to remote tribes. As long as you could pay—and didn't ask where it came from—Old Weasel could get his hands on just about anything… interesting. He was, like his namesake, shrewd, cautious, slinking through the intricate tunnels of the gray market, serving wealthy collectors, esoteric researchers, and even celebrities seeking unusual experiences.
When Mason first stepped into Gu Ya Zhai, it wasn't his clothes or demeanor that caught Old Weasel's attention. It was the look in his eyes—a volatile mix of urgency, bewilderment, and a faint gleam of barely restrained ambition. Old Weasel was a wiry Chinese man with perpetually squinting eyes, always measuring the worth of each object and each person. Mason didn't directly ask about those otherworldly ingredients. Instead, he first paid top dollar for a few obviously faked ritual implements and a tattered, pseudo-Daoist health manual, playing the part of a rich but clueless young man obsessed with Eastern esoterica. Only after several transactions did he "casually" express interest in "authentic ancient alchemy," hinting that he was willing to pay an astonishing price for "genuine old pieces" and "rare botanicals."
"Alchemy?" Old Weasel had picked his teeth with a long fingernail, squinting at Mason with a barely suppressed smirk. "Kid, you're playing deep. That's not burning incense and chanting, and it's not brewing Chinese medicine. You need a furnace—a real alchemical furnace—one that can take the fire, hold the *qi*. And the ingredients… well, you won't find them at the corner pharmacy next to the licorice root."
"Money's not an issue," Mason replied, his voice low, sliding a stack of cash across the counter. "I want to see the furnace first. Then we talk ingredients."
Old Weasel weighed the cash, a flicker of calculation crossing his murky eyes. "Interesting. Three days. Bring enough. Maybe… I'll have something."
Three days later, in the back room of Old Weasel's shop, Mason beheld the alchemical cauldron. It was neither metal nor ceramic, resembling an alloy of bronze and clay—tripodal, two-eared, archaic and weighty. Its surface was thick with verdigris and grime, yet faint cloud-and-thunder motifs and indecipherable glyphs remained visible. A fine crack ran along its body, but it was intact overall, cool and heavy in the hand. As Mason drew near, the sliver of spiritual energy within him stirred involuntarily.
"Late Qing piece," Old Weasel fabricated glibly, tapping the side. "Came from some run-down temple; the priests cleared out long ago. Just gathering dust here. If you want it, this much." He held up a palm.
Mason didn't haggle, paying immediately. This cemented Old Weasel's reassessment of his "financial depth" and "mark potential."
Next, Mason produced the ingredient list for the Yang-Returning Elixir from the Codex (omitting the crucial "spiritual essence catalyst"): "Wild ginseng, thirty years or older, dense stem scars. Wild Astragalus, fibrous and pliable. Authentic Angelica sinensis, whole head and body, strong aroma. And… ah, a piece of natural magnetite, palm-sized, strongly magnetic." He added the last item to misdirect.
Old Weasel glanced at the list, asked no questions, simply nodded. "Ginseng and Astragalus are doable—pricey, but doable. Top-grade Angelica takes some hunting. Magnetite? Easy." He paused, his narrow eyes fixed on Mason. "But, kid, with these ingredients and that furnace… you're not really thinking of shutting yourself in and brewing immortality pills like the ancients, are you? That stuff—not exactly in fashion these days. Mess around, and… things could happen." His tone carried both probing and warning.
Mason was ready. He let his face show a mixture of fervor and naïveté. "I'm researching some… ancient theories of bioenergy restoration. Eastern alchemy has fascinating records about synergistic energies between minerals and plants. The furnace and ingredients are references, experimental materials. Some traditional extraction methods might contain principles modern science hasn't yet understood. It's for a dissertation." He even flashed a fake student ID from a so-called university program in East Asian esoteric studies (a prop he'd prepared for infiltrating certain circles).
Old Weasel clearly didn't buy it, but for the money, he just chuckled, showing tobacco-stained teeth. "A dissertation? Spending real gold on a dissertation? Fine, be happy. But fair warning: I get you the stuff, you do what you want with it. Anything happens… it's got nothing to do with Gu Ya Zhai."
Days later, Mason paid many times the market rate for the ginseng, Astragalus, Angelica, and a hunk of strong magnetite. Eagerly, he returned to his apartment, set the ancient cauldron in the center of his living room, and cleaned it carefully.
Following the Codex, he processed the herbs, placed them in the cauldron, and employed the basic flame-control techniques, carefully modulating his kitchen gas burner to simulate the required fire. Everything proceeded orderly. As the essence within condensed and released a rich, mellow herbal fragrance, approaching the final critical stage of pellet formation, Mason sat cross-legged, focused, and stilled his mind.
Now came the pivotal step: injecting a thread of his own spiritual energy as the catalyst. The formula stated: *inject at the moment of condensation, catalyzing vitality and balancing properties*. But how much was "a thread"? How long should it last? The Codex gave no quantification, only emphasized "soul perception, neither excess nor deficiency."
Mason attempted to guide that faint wisp of spiritual energy within him along the imprinted pathway, extending it gently toward the cauldron. He could *sense* his energy—a thin, warm stream. When that thread touched the condensed essence inside the cauldron, his heart leaped—*it works*! But then came the problem: he kept the flow going, trying to sustain the "connection" and "catalysis." Fearful of insufficient infusion leading to failure, his mind tensed, and that "single thread" of energy, under his anxious control, became a steady, persistent trickle…
He interpreted the intensified roiling of the elixir inside as a "normal reaction." So he continued feeding the flame…
Within the cauldron, the originally mild and restorative essence, under the sustained infusion of yang-aligned spiritual energy, underwent a violent transmutation! All properties meant for harmony, nourishment, and functional recovery were forcibly twisted, overstimulated, and directed solely toward that singular, primal, instinctual aspect of life!
A soft *puff*—the flame died. Lifting the lid, he found three pills, each the size of a longan, dark red verging on black, surfaces irregularly lumpy, exuding a strange, sweetish, pungent, aridly hot odor.
Apprehension filled Mason, but the urge for validation overrode all else. He chose the smallest, closed his eyes, and swallowed.
At first, a wave of heat rose from his abdomen, rapidly spreading through his limbs and trunk, indeed bringing a fleeting surge of vigor—almost *too* vigorous. "It's working?" The thought barely formed before his expression twisted.
The effect was instantaneous. The heat did not gently nourish his body as a proper Yang-Returning Elixir would; instead, it raced like a runaway stallion, converging torrentially toward a single region below his navel! Within breaths, his lower body swelled with an unbelievable, excruciating engorgement. It was not painful, but a sensation of fullness, hardness, overwhelming presence… and irrepressible urgency.
Mason's ears caught the faint creak of strained fabric. He looked down and inhaled sharply. His groin had tented his trousers to an absurd, almost grotesque degree, the fabric stretched taut. Worse still: with an instinctive, startled shift of his stance, the cloth brushed against that swollen mass—
*Buzz—!*
An intense, near-electrical jolt of sublime pleasure shot up his spine and detonated in his brain! It was not ordinary arousal, but an overwhelming, almost primal release of stimulation that nearly buckled his knees and wrung an involuntary moan from his throat.
"Damn it! This… this is no Yang-Returning Elixir!" In that instant, Mason understood. That persistent flow of spiritual energy had transformed a perfectly good restorative elixir into some brutally potent, hyper-specialized stimulant—and grossly overdosed at that!
He froze, immobilized. The slightest movement—the faintest friction of fabric—unleashed another wave of intense, almost delirious pleasure that flushed his face, quickened his breath, and threatened to shatter his self-control. He tried to breathe deeply, calm himself, but each breath caused minute shifts in his posture, each a fresh torment. He thought of shuffling to the bathroom for cold water—another surge, another dizzying jolt of ecstasy up his spine. Gripping the wall, cold sweat beading on his forehead, he suddenly collapsed to his knees with a soft thud. The room echoed with stifled groans as he crawled, inch by agonizing inch, toward the bathroom.
*Don't move. Whatever you do, do NOT move.* Mason gritted his teeth, trying to will away the relentless, absurd, overwhelming physiological response. But the drug was fierce; the engorgement and the friction it induced crashed over him like waves, each one eroding his sanity. He felt like a balloon pumped past bursting, trembling on the edge of explosion.
Time crawled. The effect showed no sign of fading. Mason's face was crimson, every muscle locked, maintaining a painfully contorted, stationary posture in the middle of his living room, a living statue of torment. The contrast between his usual composed, cautious demeanor and his current state—flushed, teeth-gritted, grotesquely prominent lower half—was starkly absurd.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Mason realized he could not endure indefinitely. He needed external intervention (a hospital, perhaps). Clenching his jaw, he began an agonizingly slow, ultra-cautious shuffling sidestep toward the door, his legs kept as far apart as possible to minimize friction. Each infinitesimal movement risked another jolt, making him suck air through his teeth and contort even more grotesquely.
At long last, he made it to the door, panting. He grabbed his long trench coat, wrapped it tightly around himself to conceal the situation, and began the slow, stilted, zombie-like shuffle out of his apartment building and toward a community clinic several blocks away. In the night, his posture rigid, gait strange, face a rictus of pain, embarrassment, and forced composure, he was a comical figure.
As he crept through a dimly lit intersection, painstakingly extracting his phone from his coat's inner pocket, his arm tugged the coat open slightly. The barely adequate front flap, stressed by the movement, *swished* open.
In that instant, under the jaundiced glow of the streetlamp, the impossible bulge in his trousers was fully exposed to the night air!
Simultaneously, a pack of stray dogs scavenging at the mouth of a nearby alley raised their heads, sharp eyes locking onto the peculiar, conspicuous, faintly quivering protrusion on the man's lower body. In canine cognition, this strange, protruding, "anomalous" object triggered immediate alert and keen interest.
*Woof! Woof-wuh-wuh-woof!!*
The lead yellow dog, hackles raised, barked furiously, staring fixedly at Mason's crotch. The other dogs quickly clustered, snarling, lips curled, eyes fixed, closing in.
Mason's soul fled his body! Frantically, he tried to pull the coat shut, but the dogs' advance panicked him. A black dog lunged forward, snapping—aiming directly for that protruding target! Mason recoiled violently, his already awkward footing betrayed him; he stumbled, and his coat slipped from his grasp with a *thump*.
Target fully exposed! The dogs, as if intensely provoked, escalated their barking to frenzied, aggressive pitches, tightening the circle.
*I'm doomed—hnngh!* Mason's mind wailed. Forget embarrassment, forget suppressing stimulation—none of it mattered now! Being targeted in his most vulnerable region by a pack of ravenous strays was the most absurd, nightmarish scenario imaginable!
The primal instinct for survival (or, more precisely, the protection of his vital organs) instantly overwhelmed everything else. He no longer cared about maintaining his slow, stiff shuffle or the agonizing friction it caused. With a strangled yelp, he instinctively shielded his groin with both hands and—in a bizarre, wide-legged, desperate, penguin-like sprint—broke into a run toward the clinic! Every step brought savage friction and overwhelming stimulation that nearly made him black out, harmonizing with the ever-louder, ever-closer baying of the dogs behind him…
On the silent street, an absurd chase unfolded: a man with an impossibly prominent lower half, his gait twisted, face tortured and terrified, fleeing a pack of hysterical strays. His stride, for reasons unspeakable, was particularly halting and bizarre—each footfall seemed to land on a live wire, sending convulsive shudders through his entire frame…