“Speaking of which, the reason I brought Junior Brother Jiang along today is…” Wang Ze began, his tone polite.

Chu Xiu cut him off with a dismissive wave. “I get it. Your Junior Brother needs a [Foundation Pill] to break through. Look, I’m swamped. He’ll have to wait until after the Sect Competition. And I’ll need a prepayment of one hundred [Mid-grade Spirit Stones].”

Jiang Chen’s eyes narrowed slightly. Exploiting an acquaintance and demanding a prepayment? His impression of the alchemist plummeted instantly.

Chu Xiu leaned back, eyeing them with the confidence of someone holding all the leverage. He seemed certain they would fold.

However, Wang Ze simply shook his head. “Fellow Daoist Chu, you misunderstand. My Junior Brother Jiang has already reached Foundation Establishment. He doesn’t need the pill.”

Chu Xiu froze. He stared at Wang Ze, then at Jiang Chen, his arrogance momentarily punctured. “He’s… already established his foundation?”

Jiang Chen smiled faintly. Without a word, he unclamped his suppression technique, releasing a ripple of spiritual pressure. The aura was distinct—crisp, vibrant, and teeming with life. The signature of a Wood Spirit Root.

Sensing the genuine Foundation Establishment pressure, Chu Xiu’s expression turned sour. “You keep calling him ‘Junior Brother’ so casually… I assumed he was still stuck in Qi Condensation.”

“I brought Junior Brother Jiang here to introduce you,” Wang Ze explained, smoothing over the awkwardness. “But we also wanted to discuss a potential partnership.”

“Partnership?” Chu Xiu raised a brow.

Wang Ze nodded. “You know the rules. Once a Spirit Farmer reaches Foundation Establishment, the Sect grants them an additional mu of [Second-Grade Spirit Farm].”

Realization dawned on Chu Xiu, but his guard went back up. He frowned. “I already have you providing my herbs, Old Wang. I don’t need a second supplier.”

“I have no intention of stealing Senior Brother’s business,” Jiang Chen interjected, his tone calm and pragmatic.

Wang Ze didn’t want to lose face after bringing Jiang Chen all this way. He pressed on. “Fellow Daoist Chu, you know half the Alchemy Hall. Could you at least introduce my Junior Brother to a few other alchemists?”

Chu Xiu rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed. “You have ten mu of land and plant a dozen different herbs. It’s not like you only work with me.”

Wang Ze spread his hands, his expression sincere. “Most of my contacts are Fire Spirit Root apprentices. Sure, I know some primary alchemists, but none of them compare to your skill.”

Jiang Chen watched the exchange silently, feeling a twinge of gratitude.

Most newly ascended Spirit Farmers played it safe with their new [Second-Grade Spirit Farm], planting [Spirit Rice] to ensure a steady, risk-free profit. But steady meant slow. To truly accumulate wealth, one had to grow rare spirit plants. Finding a dedicated alchemist partner was the fastest way to secure both a buyer for the raw materials and a source of pills.

It was a strategy that killed two birds with one stone.

Chu Xiu hesitated. He hadn’t expected Wang Ze to call in a favor for a junior. However, Wang Ze was his primary supplier of high-quality herbs, and the Wang Clan’s reputation among Spirit Farmers was solid. Refusing might sour a lucrative relationship.

“Fine,” Chu Xiu finally grunted. “I can introduce him to a few colleagues. But whether they agree to work with him is their business.”

“Understood,” Jiang Chen and Wang Ze said in unison.

“I just finished a batch and need to clean up,” Chu Xiu said, standing up. “Wait here.”

He disappeared into the adjacent room. When he emerged a short while later, he had bathed and changed into a set of eccentric, light red robes.

“Let’s go.”

The trio walked down the bustling streets of the alchemy district. The deeper they went, the more the architecture shifted—residences merged with alchemy workshops, creating a dense, smoky atmosphere.

Most of the people bustling about were Fire Spirit Root apprentices. True alchemists were a rare breed; the profession required not just talent, but years of grueling, resource-draining practice. Consequently, the older the alchemist, the more respect they commanded.

Before long, they stood in front of a three-story pagoda.

A signboard hung above the entrance: [Danxin Tower].

Dozens of apprentices and junior alchemists moved in and out, the sound of lively debate spilling onto the street.

“This is where we gather privately to exchange insights,” Chu Xiu said, pointing at the building.

Wang Ze nodded, familiar with the place. Jiang Chen, however, observed the structure with keen interest. Despite the high concentration of Fire Spirit Root cultivators, the building didn’t radiate heat. Instead, a refreshing coolness drifted from the entrance, likely the work of a high-grade temperature control array.

Comfortable, Jiang Chen thought.

They stepped inside. The first floor was spacious, filled with tables and benches like a typical tavern in the loose cultivator market. Apprentices drank wine and picked at side dishes, their conversations revolving around flame control and herb ratios. The atmosphere was surprisingly congenial.

“Fellow Daoist Chu! Finished your batch?” “How was the yield this time?” “Got any openings for new commissions?”

Chu Xiu was evidently a local celebrity. As soon as he appeared, heads turned, and greetings flew his way.

“Fellow Daoist Chu once successfully refined a [Foundation Pill],” Wang Ze whispered to Jiang Chen. “Even though it was just one pill, and the quality was… barely passable, it made him famous.”

Jiang Chen nodded slowly. So, the ability to refine a Foundation Pill is the Great Filter of their profession.

It didn’t matter if the pill was low quality or if he only succeeded once. The fact that Chu Xiu had crossed that threshold placed him in a different tier than the failures around him. In the outside world, combat power dictated status. Here, status was determined by success rates and pill grades.

Chu Xiu, however, ignored the adoration. He maintained a cold, aloof expression, not deigning to glance at the apprentices as he led Jiang Chen and Wang Ze up the wooden stairs.

The second floor was quieter and more refined. Most tables were empty, with small groups clustered near the windows and railings.

“The real alchemists usually drink tea up here,” Chu Xiu explained, dropping his voice slightly so as not to spook his guests. “I know a few regulars.”

They approached a table near the window where three people sat—two men and one woman, all wearing the distinct robes of alchemists.

“Old Chang,” Chu Xiu greeted the eldest of the group.

The old man smiled, his face wrinkling warmly. “Little Chu! Done with your seclusion?”

Chu Xiu nodded and gestured to the two men behind him. “These are Spirit Farmers. The one on the left is Wang Ze. The one on the right is Jiang Chen.”

“Jiang Chen?”

The female alchemist, who had been gazing out the window, whipped her head around.

Jiang Chen’s eyes widened as he saw her face. “Lin Yan?”

Lin Yu’s older sister?

What a small world, Jiang Chen thought, fighting the urge to grimace. I try to avoid trouble, and it sits at the next table.

“You know each other?” Chu Xiu asked, surprised.

Lin Yan’s lips curled into a playful, dangerous smile. She looked Jiang Chen up and down, her eyes gleaming.

“Know him? Oh, I’ve had my eye on him for a long time.”