Yang Fan now understood the true meaning of "handle with extreme care."
He dared not even breathe too deeply.
Inside that cauldron lay a 5,000-year head soul bone!
If his grandfather knew he was practicing alchemy with soul bones, he'd probably cry so hard he'd squeeze out tears like urine.
Time blurred…
When a faint herbal fragrance drifted from the cauldron, Yang Fan's spirit surged—but he didn't dare move an inch.
The game isn't over yet—I'm still just a beast of burden!
Yao Lao's teachings echoed in his mind:
The final step was pill formation.
Like reducing a sauce over high heat while cooking—flame must intensify, but never too much.
Overheat a meal? It'll be at most some wasted ingredients.
Overheat a pill? A catastrophic explosion.
As Yang Fan raised the flame, he wrapped the cauldron in Dou Qi, using his soul perception to monitor every internal shift.
Half an hour later, rich pill aroma filled the room.
"It's done!"
"Master, I succeeded!"
His first feeling wasn't joy—it was relief.
If this Spirit-Awakening Pill failed and the soul bone was destroyed, he'd have smashed his head against the wall.
With a casual wave, Yao Lao removed the cauldron lid. Gentle soul power cradled the ink-green pill into his palm.
"You actually pulled it off, you little brat."
"Master… what do you mean?" Yang Fan asked, puzzled by Yao Lao's conflicted expression—as if he hadn't wanted Yang Fan to succeed.
And truthfully—he hadn't.
Yang Fan's path had been too smooth.
This was both a blessing and a curse.
On the Dou Qi Continent, countless genius alchemists had emerged—talents so brilliant others couldn't even see their backs. Yet history erased them. Why?
Often, it was because they ruined precious herbs during refinement. The next attempt would be haunted by fear of failure, crippling their focus.
Again and again… until even prodigies faded into obscurity.
Yao Lao had hoped Yang Fan would experience that heart-wrenching pain before climbing higher.
But fate had other plans—this brat kept delivering unimaginable surprises.
"Eat it," Yao Lao said. "This Spirit-Awakening Pill will accelerate your absorption of both Dou Qi and soul power, boosting your cultivation speed."
Normally, breaking through to Dou Shi would take Yang Fan three months. Now? It'd come sooner.
"Thank you, Master." Yang Fan popped the pill into his mouth.
A cool energy flooded his body instantly.
The name "Spirit-Awakening" wasn't just for show—this Tier-3 pill sharpened his mind and noticeably enhanced his soul perception.
"Noticing the Dou Qi absorption isn't obvious yet?" Yao Lao grinned wickedly, pulling out the infamous vial of Blood Incineration Paste.
"Stop gawking—get on your stomach."
Weekly essential oil back rub time!
This schedule was meticulously tailored to Yang Fan's physical limits.
"Bring it on!" Yang Fan gritted his teeth before the pain even began.
The moment Blood Incineration touched his back, searing agony exploded through his nerves. When Yao Lao applied gentle soul power and blew a hot gust over the area…
Yang Fan nearly cracked his skull against the floor—but he also felt the pill's effect.
His Dou Qi absorption was accelerating.
Amidst the cycle of destruction and regeneration, his Dou Qi core itself was transforming.
Though the 5,000-year head soul bone granted no flashy skill or rank boost, its true gift was something soul bones couldn't provide:
Faster cultivation speed!
In Douluo—a realm hostile to Dou Qi—this was priceless.
Given the choice between a soul bone skill and accelerated growth, Yang Fan would always pick the latter.
"Master… another… another drop…" he gasped.
"Not a single drop left!"
Yao Lao limited this to once a week because it was already near Yang Fan's physical limit.
One more drop? Explosion guaranteed.
"Now calm your mind. Focus on your Dou Qi's circulation speed," Yao Lao instructed, his voice laced with soothing Dou Qi to stabilize Yang Fan's trembling body.
The old man feared such rapid Dou Qi flow might overwhelm the boy.
He wanted Yang Fan to become a true powerhouse—but not a hollow showpiece propped up by artificial gains.
Time lost meaning…
When Yang Fan opened his eyes again, it was still night. He couldn't even gauge how long he'd meditated.
"Master, are we returning to the soul beast forest?"
"Mm."
Yao Lao had decided: no more pills for six months.
(Well… except Blood Incineration.)
His pills were undeniably beneficial—but true strength wasn't just about stats. It required combat experience, strategic wisdom, and mental fortitude.
Just look at Yang Fan—so terrified during pill refinement he nearly wet himself.
This kid still had a long road ahead.
"Good," Yang Fan agreed. The forest offered far better training than the arena—and occasional unexpected treasures. How could he not love it?
After confirming their next move, Yang Fan pulled out a pen and wrote a letter to his grandfather in Yunluo City.
Every three months since leaving home, he sent one—just to prove he was alive.
If Grandfather didn't hear from him, the old man would surely go mad with worry.
It had been a year and a half. Seeing Blood-Clotting Powder in outer-town shops suggested the Breaking Clan was safe.
If Grandfather knew he'd become a Soul Grandmaster—no, a Soul Elder!—he might faint from joy.
Yang Fan's face twisted into a grotesque grin just imagining it.
Letter sealed, he tucked it away carefully. Tomorrow, he'd find a courier in town to send it.
In Douluo, messages were commonly delivered by Swift Wind Pigeons—specialized messenger birds bred by organizations spanning cities and towns for hefty fees.
Fast and convenient—but notoriously unreliable for secrecy.
So Yang Fan's letter mentioned only his well-being—no clan details, no cultivation progress.
"But before that," Yao Lao added, "your master has something else to teach you."
Yang Fan sighed.
Dear Master, must you always dangle things like this?
Yet despite the dramatics, he felt no irritation—only anticipation.
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