In the alchemy room, the only sound was the subtle churning of medicinal liquid inside the pill furnace.
Zong Ao kept himself hidden in the darkness, afraid that even the slightest disturbance might affect Yang Kai. He suppressed his breathing, stilled his heartbeat, and held himself motionless—like a dead man.
His gaze was fixed intently on the pill furnace, watching the figure working tirelessly before it.
The pill was only halfway through refinement. Under the combined effects of the fire of divine sense and the various spirit arrays, the medicinal liquids were merging together, undergoing fundamental changes.
For no apparent reason, a feeling suddenly welled up inside Zong Ao.
He sensed that the pill Yang Kai was refining this time would, at the very least, produce a pill pattern.
It was a feeling he had never experienced before. Zong Ao had been observing Yang Kai's alchemy for quite some time—more than half a year in total. Though the rate at which Yang Kai's pills developed patterns was terrifyingly high, there had been failures too, resulting in nothing more than ordinary Li Fire Pills.
Never before had there been a case like this—while the refinement was still underway, he was one hundred percent certain that a pill pattern would emerge!
What kind of logic was that? Zong Ao was secretly horrified, and he watched with even greater care, unwilling to miss a single detail.
Yet no matter how closely he looked, Yang Kai's movements were exactly the same as before—nothing added, nothing removed. Even the spirit arrays he inscribed were ones Zong Ao had seen hundreds or thousands of times. He could close his eyes and know what Yang Kai would do next, which spirit array he would carve.
The only difference was that aura—the aura of absolute confidence.
It was that aura that had influenced his judgment, making him certain the pill would produce a pattern before it had even left the furnace.
Whether a pill cloud could truly form—there was only one chance, and Zong Ao burned with eagerness to learn the outcome.
He found himself filled with a measure of admiration for Yang Kai. If he were in Yang Kai's position, he would surely have been a mess of nerves—the pressure would have been like a mountain bearing down on him. The moment such anxiety took root, one could no longer devote oneself wholeheartedly to the refinement, and failure would be inevitable.
Yang Kai was not like that. He was calm and unruffled, his expression neither joyful nor mournful, as though he were refining some trivial pill. His movements were steady and meticulous. He had done everything that could be done, pushing it to the absolute limit.
Time slipped away. Zong Ao was anxious enough to feel his heart burning.
A faint pill fragrance gradually began to drift through the alchemy room—the sign that the pill was about to emerge.
Yang Kai's expression seemed to grow a shade more solemn. Every time a pill neared completion, he treated the process with a hundredfold—no, a thousandfold—more caution.
The fire of divine sense surged and ebbed. Threads of consciousness inscribed spirit arrays inside the furnace, every subtle nuance pushed to its utmost.
In his eyes, in his mind, everything was clear as a mirror, without a single stray thought. And by this point, he had even forgotten the furnace before him and the pill taking shape within.
Suddenly, his mind recalled that pill bearing a pill cloud.
It was the first and only pill cloud-bearing pill he had ever obtained—the one he had found in undersea ruins together with An Ling'er, the Saintess of the Holy Land. He had ultimately consumed it, and its vast medicinal potency had transformed his Five-Colored Warm Spirit Lotus into a six-colored one. But before swallowing it, he had spent considerable time studying the pill cloud, hoping to glean some insight.
Now, all those memories came flooding back, and he caught a fleeting glimpse of the crucial piece.
What had previously been hazy and unclear suddenly became crystal clear. His eyes widened, shimmering with a light of their own.
The final composite spirit array was inscribed, branded into the pill furnace. Yang Kai's fire of divine sense erupted in full force, driving the entire composite array into the not-yet-fully-formed pill.
His body suddenly felt as though a gaping wound had been torn open within. Sacred Origin and the power of his divine sense drained away simultaneously—like a mountain collapsing, like a tidal wave, like a river bursting through its dams. His once-full sea of consciousness dried up in an instant, its level plummeting to the lowest point. His vast reserves of Sacred Origin hemorrhaged just as quickly.
Yang Kai's vision went black, and he nearly passed out.
He felt as though his very life was being siphoned away, as though the next instant would be his last.
Rich pill fragrance billowed from the furnace—far more concentrated than that of the eighteen hundred Li Fire Pills he had refined before.
A crisp, clear sound rang out from the pill furnace, so pleasant to the ear.
Yang Kai broke into a grin, then froze.
Zong Ao's heart nearly burst from his chest. How could he fail to notice Yang Kai's condition in the moment before the pill took shape? That abnormality had him so excited he was nearly driven mad.
He thought Yang Kai had succeeded.
But after waiting for what felt like an eternity, Yang Kai showed no movement.
Zong Ao called out softly several times and received no response. Only then did he cautiously step forward, carefully extending his divine sense to probe. One look, and he froze.
Yang Kai's face was ghastly white, as if he had just fought a desperate battle against some powerful foe. His aura flickered wildly, and his blood vitality had weakened to the extreme...
He had already closed his eyes and lost consciousness. But he was not dying—a few days of rest would restore him.
Paying Yang Kai no further mind, Zong Ao reached out with trembling hands and slapped the front of the pill furnace. A single pill flew out, caught perfectly in the jade bottle he held.