Han Yu held the key in both hands like a holy relic. "Thanks, Master."
"I’m not your master," she snapped, walking away.
"You scold like one."
"I will throw you into nettle fields."
He laughed, still holding the token and the scroll. The plan was clear now:
If they wanted to make him kneel, he’d make them bow first.
So ti later...
The sky above Alchemy Peak was a blazing silver-blue, clear and unclouded—the kind of day where everything seed to shimr with potential.
The banners of the peak fluttered along the walkways, and incense burners released streams of fragrant smoke that curled through the air like winding dragons. Disciples from all ranks, not just of the Alchemy Peak but from across the sect, had gathered in droves for the Optional Alchemy Excellence Test.
It was one of the few tis when even inner court disciples and core alchemists made public appearances, many eager to watch, bet, or simply gauge the competition. More than just an event—it was a battleground of reputation and ambition.
But Han Yu, despite being at the center of attention soon, wasn’t rushing to the grand test hall.
Instead, he turned toward a modest path near the supply pavilions, one that sloped downward behind a cluster of trees. There, nestled in the shade of the peak’s base, stood what could generously be called a shed—a squat little cabin with faded wood, moss growing along its sides, and the faint scent of old ink and spirit ash hanging in the air.
He opened the door.
Inside, the air was dry and slled faintly of smoke and dried herbs. A single skinny disciple sat behind a low desk, his eyes half-lidded and posture lazy.
A thick leather-bound ledger sat open in front of him, and scattered on the table were rit tokens, each marked and bound to soone’s na, glowing softly with lingering spirit sense.
The disciple looked up slowly and blinked. "You here for predictions?"
Han Yu nodded.
The man gestured lazily to the side. "Current bets are open for top five pill refiners, best pill in each category, and overall failure rates. Want to bet on soone to faint mid-refinent? That’s the most popular."
Han Yu let out a light laugh. "Tempting, but no. I’ll just go for best pill overall."
"Alright," the man said, preparing to write. "Na of participant?"
Han Yu grinned. "."
The brush paused.
"...Excuse ?"
"I’m betting on myself."
The betting disciple squinted, clearly not recognizing him. "Na?"
"Han Yu."
There was a long pause.
The man looked down at the register again, flipped a few pages, muttered under his breath—and then shrugged.
"Whatever you say. How much?"
"Hundred and fifty thousand."
The brush snapped in half.
The disciple stared at Han Yu, completely dumbfounded. "Did—did you just say one hundred and fifty thousand rit points?"
"Yup," Han Yu said casually, already pulling out a secondary rit token. "I’ll stake it all. Mark it for best pill, no hedges."
Even as he spoke, he channeled his spirit sense into the secondary token, which glowed faintly before locking in his identity and ownership. He handed it over, and the disciple just stared for a mont before snatching it up like it might vanish.
"...Alright," the man finally said, regaining so professionalism. "It’s your funeral."
Han Yu smirked. "Then make sure the pyre’s made of rit coins."
He turned on his heel and exited the little betting shed with a soft hum in his throat. Behind him, the disciple clutched the new token and laughed to himself.
"Another sucker with too much confidence and not enough brains... this year’s gonna be fun. There’s always one or two like this that lose big then cry for months."
The Grand Alchemy Testing Hall was buzzing with tension when Han Yu finally arrived.
Rows upon rows of alchemy stations filled the arena-sized chamber, each separated by thick curtains of qi-inscribed bamboo, allowing privacy for each contestant and to avoid distractions.
There were no cheap fla talismans or makeshift cauldrons here—each station had a proper fla array, adjustable with spirit sense, and high-quality cauldrons made of spirit bronze and brass alloy.
At the center of the hall sat several towering jade statues of ancient alchemists, all staring down with ethereal pressure, as though judging the disciples themselves.
Hundreds of disciples had gathered in the audience sections, sitting in stone bleachers or standing along the balconies that wound around the upper levels. Laughter, whispers, and quiet discussions filled the air as instructors and elders watched from elevated observation chambers.
Han Yu stepped into the contestant area, flashing his identity token. One of the overseeing elders at the registration node glanced at the token, then did a double take.
"You’re... Han Yu?"
Han Yu smiled, hands behind his back. "In the flesh."
"You’re the one who submitted Mind-nder Spirit Pill as your category pill?"
Han Yu nodded.
The elder raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more—just handed him his participation scroll and pointed toward the refining station assigned to him. Han Yu walked through the crowd of contestants, so already preparing their materials, others nervously adjusting their cauldrons or mumbling formulas to themselves.
He reached his station—Number 39—and sat down cross-legged in front of the fla array.
With practiced ease, he pulled out his herbs and neatly laid them out. Five ingredients—none too rare, but temperantal in how they reacted to heat. Most importantly, the third and fourth herbs, when mixed, created a dense vapor that clouded the mind and triggered hallucinations. That was the hurdle that tripped up 90% of alchemists attempting the pill.
But not Han Yu.
In the past week, he’d practiced it over and over. Ten failures at first, his mory fractured and his thoughts spiraling with visions of bleeding sky serpents and whispering walls. But with each attempt, he refined his technique—adjusted the mont he activated his mory Echo Soul Skill. Now, the visions couldn’t touch him.
Four consecutive successful refinents. And now... the fifth would be here.
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