Bia Yuzhen didn't mention the second pill to anyone. Or the third. By the fifth day, he'd figured out something crucial about alchemy: just succeeding once wasn't enough. Anyone can get lucky. The real skill was in whether the next batch turned out the same as the first, if the third was just as steady, and if his hands, the fire, the timing, and his focus could all be repeated. That's where true mastery began.
So, he kept it quiet. By day, he stayed in his courtyard, reading jade slips and sorting herbs, leaving his alchemy furnace out in the open for anyone to see. By night, he retreated to his pendant space and practiced until his head throbbed. His success rate slowly started to improve, not dramatically, but enough. Out of three attempts, one was a complete failure, one was barely okay, and one yielded one or two usable pills. They were still low quality, and Xiaoren never missed a chance to criticize them, but at least they were actual pills now. That alone made Yuzhen look at his furnace differently each morning.
On the sixth day, just before dawn, he emerged from his pendant space to find someone already in his courtyard. Bia Zhenyuan. Yuzhen stopped in his tracks. His grandfather sat by the stone table under the osmanthus tree, a cup of tea in hand, completely alone – no guards, no attendants. He looked like he'd been there for a while. Yuzhen composed himself and walked over. "Grandfather."
Bia Zhenyuan glanced up. "You're up early."
Yuzhen sat opposite him. "You came earlier."
"That's because I'm old. Old folks sleep less." Yuzhen almost smiled. "You don't seem bothered by it."
"I'm bothered by plenty of things. Not sleeping enough isn't one of them." The morning air was cool, with mist still clinging to the corners of the walls. Somewhere beyond the courtyard, servants were just starting their day.
Bia Zhenyuan set down his teacup. "I heard you've been staying in your courtyard lately."
Yuzhen nodded. "I've been trying to settle my cultivation."
"And alchemy?"
There it was. Yuzhen didn't hesitate. "That too."
His grandfather's gaze drifted past him toward the room, the door slightly ajar, revealing the furnace by the wall. "You've been using it?"
"Yes."
"Exploded it yet?"
"Not completely." A tiny smirk touched the corner of the old man's lips. Good. This wouldn't be a dangerous conversation. Not yet.
Bia Zhenyuan poured another cup of tea and pushed it across the table. "Drink." Yuzhen took it with both hands. The tea was warm, initially bitter, then sweet at the end. His grandfather watched him finish half the cup before speaking again. "Your spiritual energy is steadier." Yuzhen's fingers tightened slightly on the cup. Not enough for others to notice, but probably enough for Bia Zhenyuan. "The recovery pill worked well," Yuzhen said.
"It must have." Yuzhen lowered the cup. They sat in comfortable silence, the soft sounds of the morning around them. Bia Zhenyuan often asked his most probing questions calmly, in a way that could make an unwary person reveal too much.
"You don't have to tell me everything," the family head finally said. Yuzhen looked up. "But if you're heading down a path that could hurt you again, I need to know." The words were simple, which made them harder to bear. Yuzhen knew what his grandfather meant. This wasn't really about the furnace, or even his faster recovery. It was about whether Yuzhen had resorted to some desperate, risky method and was quietly destroying himself again while pretending to get better. Given what the family had already seen him go through, that fear was understandable.
Yuzhen carefully set down his teacup. "I won't act recklessly," he said. Bia Zhenyuan didn't respond, so Yuzhen added, softer this time, "I know that promise might mean less now than it used to. But I mean it." The old man studied him, then nodded once. "I'll believe what I can see." Yuzhen let out a slow breath. "That's fair."
Another silence fell. Then Bia Zhenyuan reached into his sleeve and placed three herbs on the table. Yuzhen's eyes immediately dropped. A moonleaf sprig. A red-thread bulb. And a strip of cloud bark. Not rare, not expensive, but not random either. They were ingredients for a basic Spirit-Replenishing Pill. Yuzhen looked back up. His grandfather was watching him over the rim of his teacup, his face showing no challenge, no sharpness, just quiet observation. "You want to test me," Yuzhen said.
Bia Zhenyuan didn't deny it. "You said you were studying alchemy." Yuzhen glanced at the herbs again. The old man continued, "I'm not asking you to impress me. I'm asking if this path you've chosen is real." That hit harder than praise ever could. *Show me it's real, not impress me.* Yuzhen looked towards his room, then back at the herbs. "When?"
"Now." That made him laugh softly. "You're ruthless."
"I raised your father. I raised you. Don't act surprised." Yuzhen stood and gathered the herbs into his sleeve. "Then Grandfather will have to wait a little. I still need two more ingredients." Bia Zhenyuan raised an eyebrow. Yuzhen met his gaze. "If I use only what you've given me, I'll ruin the proportions." For the first time that morning, a genuine reaction flickered across the old man's face – not quite pride, but definitely interest. He reached into his sleeve again and placed two more herbs on the table. Yuzhen stared. Bia Zhenyuan said, "I know enough to tell if you're bluffing." Yuzhen took the herbs without another word.
Inside, the furnace was already clean, which helped. He laid out the ingredients in order and took one slow breath before touching the metal. No pendant space. No Xiaoren. No second chances. Just him, the furnace, and the family head sitting ten steps away in the courtyard. His spiritual energy flowed into the furnace, activating the inner workings. Outside, he could feel his grandfather's presence like a silent, unmoving mountain. Yuzhen refused to dwell on it.
He added the first herb, then the second. The red-thread bulb released heat quickly, so he adjusted at once, lowering the fire before it got too hot. The moonleaf was slower to soften than expected, and the cloud bark needed a sharper turn. His hands remained steady. Not perfect, but steady. He could almost hear Xiaoren mocking his stiffness. The thought almost made him smile, but he crushed it immediately. The essence began to gather. One breath. Two. Three. He felt the shape forming – not clean enough, still rough, but forming.
The furnace gave a low pulse. Yuzhen's gaze sharpened. He guided the flow tighter, pressing down on the scattered threads of medicinal essence, forcing them together before they could separate. When he opened the lid, one pill lay inside. A little uneven, a little dull on one side, but stable. Usable. Real. Yuzhen stared at it for half a heartbeat, then took it out and carried it back to the courtyard, placing it on the table between them.
Bia Zhenyuan looked down at the pill, then at him, then back at the pill. "It's ugly," the family head said. Yuzhen closed his eyes for a moment. "I'm starting to think everyone in this house rehearsed that line." His grandfather's mouth twitched. He picked up the pill, turned it over in his fingers, and examined it in silence. Yuzhen didn't speak. This was the real test: not whether he could make it, but whether his grandfather would believe him.
Finally, Bia Zhenyuan set the pill down. "Lower quality," he said. "But formed properly. No obvious instability." Yuzhen nodded. "You've made these before." It wasn't a question. Yuzhen chose his words carefully. "A few." "How many?" "Not enough to be proud." That earned him a dry look. "At least you're not stupid."
The old man rose slowly from his chair. Then, to Yuzhen's surprise, he pushed the five remaining herbs from his sleeve back towards him. "Keep practicing," Bia Zhenyuan said. Yuzhen blinked. "That's all?" His grandfather looked at him as if the question itself was immature. "What else do you want? Applause?" "No." "Good. Then listen carefully." Bia Zhenyuan's voice lowered. "You don't need to tell me where your opportunities came from. Everyone has their own destiny. I won't ask as long as it doesn't lead you into danger you can't survive."
Yuzhen froze. The old man's eyes rested on him, clear, heavy, and far too knowing. "But if you're truly moving forward again," Bia Zhenyuan said, "then do it properly. Don't hide weakness behind pride. Don't chase speed over stability. And don't make me bury you before your father comes home." The words hit harder than they should have, perhaps because they were so plain, so real. Yuzhen bowed his head. "I understand."
Bia Zhenyuan stood there for another breath, then turned to leave. At the courtyard gate, he paused, not looking back. "The family storehouse will release another monthly herb allotment to you." Yuzhen looked up. "And if you waste it all," the family head added, "at least waste it while improving." Then he walked out.
Yuzhen stayed put, one hand resting beside the still-warm pill on the table. The morning sun had finally crested the courtyard wall, its light falling across the herbs, the teacups, and the spot where his grandfather had just been sitting. A quiet test. No praise. No grand pronouncements. No public approval. Just this: permission, trust, and a warning to do better. Yuzhen looked at the pill again and let out a breath. Then he gathered the remaining herbs, stood up, and carried everything back inside. He had work to do.