The third furnace. The fourth. The fifth…

The results were identical.

Each attempt brought him agonizingly closer to the finish line. He held the reaction stable for longer, pushed the fusion further, but the end result remained the same.

By the fifth furnace, he had even managed to imprint two of the three stabilization seals. The pill embryo had shrunk to the size of a pigeon egg, its volatile light turning inward, seemingly on the verge of solidifying.

But just as he focused his entire being on the third and final seal…

His Divine Sense, pushed beyond its limits for hours on end, lashed out with a spike of blinding pain. His temples throbbed violently, and the finger controlling the Qi flow trembled.

Just a fraction of a millimeter.

That single tremor was enough to unravel everything.

Crack.

The internal structure of the pill embryo collapsed. The energy dissipated into nothingness.

Five consecutive failures.

Even with Chen Ping’s iron will, a wave of exhaustion washed over him. His head felt like it was splitting open, the throbbing in his temples syncing with his racing heart. His Divine Sense was dangerously overdrawn.

He decisively cut the Qi flow to the furnace.

Stop. Any more is just waste.

He sat cross-legged, closing his eyes to regulate his breathing. He cycled his cultivation technique, drawing in ambient Qi to replenish his dried-up reserves while allowing his strained mind to uncoil.

This was the brutal reality of Alchemy.

There were no shortcuts. There was only the endless grind of trial and error, of locating one’s own inadequacies in the ashes of failure and correcting them, inch by painful inch.

For an ordinary cultivator, the cost of these five failures—the rare herbs turned to ash, the mental toll—would be enough to bankrupt a clan and crush a man’s spirit.

It was no wonder Alchemists were so scarce in the Cultivation world, and high-level Masters were as rare as phoenix feathers.

Chen Ping once again realized the terrifying value of his cheat. Without the Jade Pendant Space providing a near-infinite supply of resources, he never could have reached this point. He wouldn’t even have dared to dream of refining a Foundation Establishment Pill.

Two days later.

Chen Ping opened his eyes. His fatigue was gone, replaced by a sharp, predatory focus. His condition had returned to its peak.

He looked at the sorting table. It was time to stop holding back.

He reached for the hundred-year-old mature main ingredients.

In theory, older herbs were harder to refine, but they offered a critical advantage: stability. The stronger the medicinal properties, the vaster and purer the Qi they contained. During fusion, high-quality Qi had a higher tolerance for conflict—a higher margin for error.

This was his ace in the hole.

The Sixth Furnace.

Chen Ping began the purification process. As expected, the hundred-year-old ingredients behaved differently. The medicinal power was robust, thick, and contained fewer impurities than the younger crops.

After three rounds of purification, the resulting medicinal liquid was viscous and concentrated, emitting a blinding spiritual radiance.

Now, the true test: Spirit Fusion.

Chen Ping banished all distracting thoughts. His consciousness submerged completely into the Alchemy Furnace.

The flames danced at his command, obedient as his own fingers. The temperature locked into a perfect constant.

His Divine Sense spread out like a fine-mesh net, meticulously combing through every strand of medicinal power.

Perhaps the agony of the previous five failures had forged his instincts. Perhaps the hundred-year-old energy was indeed more stable.

This time, the tripartite balance held.

The scorching heat of the Sunfire Grass, the biting yin-cold of the Amethyst Flower, and the mellow harmony of the True Essence Fruit. Under his guidance, they ceased their violent struggle. Instead, they merged like mountain streams converging into a mighty river—distinct, yet unified.

The conflicts were suppressed to their absolute minimum.

Now.

Chen Ping’s hands moved in a blur.

The first seal. The second. The third.

The auxiliary hand seals struck the liquid core with precision. With each impact, the fused spiritual liquid contracted violently, its glow intensifying, its structure hardening.

When the final seal landed, a fist-sized pill embryo, radiating a soft, stable white light, floated silently in the center of the inferno.

Chen Ping’s heart steadied, but he did not celebrate. He began the grueling process of Qi Injection.

He fed his own pure spiritual Qi into the embryo, compressing it, forcing the structure to densify.

Visibly, the embryo began to shrink. The light it emitted became less blinding, more solid—more real.

Time lost its meaning.

When the embryo had compressed to the size of a thumbnail, Chen Ping’s eyes snapped open.

Condensation!

He twisted his hand, shifting the flame. He ramped up the pressure of his spiritual Qi, squeezing the embryo like an invisible vice.

The pill trembled. A final wisp of grey smoke—the last trace of impurity—was forcibly expelled and incinerated.

The surface of the pill smoothed out, turning round and flawless, gleaming with a warm, pearly luster.

There, suspended in the heart of the furnace, were three white pellets the size of longan fruits.

Chen Ping’s eyes blazed with triumph.

Six attempts. One success.

He didn’t know if it was luck or latent talent, and he didn’t care.

Sweat slicked his forehead, his Qi reserves draining rapidly, but his hands remained steady as rock. He slowly dialed down the flames, allowing the internal temperature to glide down to a safe range.

Only when the furnace was calm did he dare to breathe.

He lifted the lid.

Whoosh.

An invigorating, refreshing fragrance exploded out of the furnace, instantly filling the entire cave abode.

At the bottom lay three pristine, white Foundation Establishment Pills.

They lacked the pill veins of a higher grade, but the energy fluctuation within them was pure and stable.

Low-grade Foundation Establishment Pills.

Yield: Three.

Chen Ping exhaled a breath he felt he had been holding for days. A weary but genuine smile broke across his face.

Although he was far from a “Full Furnace” yield of six, this proved one undeniable fact: He had mastered the methodology.

These three pills were his battering ram to break open the gates of the Foundation Establishment realm.

“I still have materials for three more attempts,” he muttered, his confidence surging. “Let’s see if I can replicate it.”

However, the Dao of Alchemy was fickle.

Perhaps he relaxed too much after the first success. Perhaps his Divine Sense hadn’t fully recovered from the high-intensity focus. Or perhaps the delicate balance was simply that difficult to capture twice in a row.

The next three furnaces were total failures.

The seventh furnace failed late in the Spirit Fusion stage. The eighth furnace collapsed during Pill Condensation—a heartbreaking near-miss. The ninth furnace didn’t even make it that far; a slight imbalance in Qi fluctuation caused a violent Furnace Explosion minutes after starting.

Final Tally: Nine sets of precious main ingredients. Three Low-grade pills.

If any other cultivator saw this result, they would be weeping blood.

Nine sets of Foundation Establishment materials! That was enough wealth to buy a small sect or bankrupt a merchant clan. To burn through all of that for a measly three Low-grade pills was the height of prodigality.

But Chen Ping only frowned slightly.

He had lost time, yes. But he had not lost his future.

Inside the Jade Pendant Space, the second batch of crops was already thriving. Twenty-one Amethyst Flowers and thirty-one Sunfire Grass stalks were drinking the Tier 3 Spirit Spring water. Under the fifty-fold time acceleration, their medicinal potency was climbing by the hour.

The True Essence Fruit tree, having done its duty, was already budding again. In time, nine new fruits would hang from its branches.

Give him ten years, and he would have so many materials he could use Foundation Establishment Pills as snacks.

Besides… three pills were enough.

He stored the jade bottle safely in his robes, his heart settling into a state of profound calm.

He walked out of the cave abode. His parents and his retainer, Yuan Jingtian, were waiting.

“I am entering closed-door seclusion,” Chen Ping announced simply. “I will be attempting the breakthrough to Foundation Establishment. Do not disturb me.”

His parents gasped, a mix of shock and joy on their faces, before flooding him with warnings to be careful.

Yuan Jingtian straightened his back, thumping his chest in a salute. “Master, rest assured. I will guard the perimeter with my life. Not even a fly will enter.”

Chen Ping nodded, turned back to the darkness of his cave, and sealed the entrance.

The time had come.