A sharp, demanding knock rattled the door of the small hut.

“Junior Brother Chen Ping, are you in? Routine inspection from the Outer Sect Duty Hall.”

Chen Ping took a slow, grounding breath. He smoothed the folds of his coarse servant robes and adjusted his expression. In the blink of an eye, the cold calculator vanished, replaced by a mask of humble deference and nervous anxiety.

He pulled the door open.

Standing on the threshold was a middle-aged cultivator wearing the azure robes of an Outer Sect steward. The man’s face was a slab of indifference, his eyes dull with the boredom of bureaucracy. His cultivation hovered around the 6th Level of Qi Condensation.

“Disciple Chen Ping greets the Steward,” Chen Ping said, bowing low.

“Hmm.” The steward gave a curt, barely-there nod. “You’ve been in the sect for nearly a year. Has there been any progress? Release your aura.”

Chen Ping obeyed immediately. Internally, his mind linked with the Green Ghost Mask fused to his skin.

The mask was a perfect artifact. To the naked eye, Chen Ping looked exactly like his unremarkable self. But beneath the skin, the mask clamped down on his true power, twisting and suppressing his spiritual fluctuations.

He let a thin, wispy thread of aura leak out. It felt hollow and unstable, barely scraping the threshold of the 1st Level of Qi Condensation. It was the aura of a man with a crumbling foundation, a cultivator who might slide back into mortality with a single misstep.

The steward’s Divine Sense swept over him. It was a lazy probe, gliding over the surface of the Green Ghost Mask without scratching the illusion. It flicked toward the Servant Disciple token at Chen Ping’s waist before retracting.

A flicker of disappointment crossed the steward’s face. “The 1st Level of Qi Condensation. Your aura is thin and ethereal. You lack consolidation.”

His tone was flat. To him, Chen Ping was just another mediocrity in a sea of failures.

“However,” the steward droned on, reciting a prepared script, “to Draw Qi into the Body and break through within a year is the first step. The path of cultivation is long; persistence is the only virtue. Do not slack off.”

“Many thanks for the Steward’s guidance! I will strive with all my heart!” Chen Ping replied, bowing even deeper to hide the lack of emotion in his eyes.

The steward reached into his sleeve, producing a small cloth pouch and a jade vial. “Your annual stipend for reaching the 1st Level: five Low-grade Spirit Stones and one Marrow Cleansing Pill. Take care.”

Without another word, the steward turned on his heel, already moving to inspect the next hut.

Chen Ping closed the door and leaned his back against it. He weighed the pouch in his hand, feeling its faint warmth, and let out a long, silent exhale.

Even a mid-stage Qi Condensation steward couldn’t pierce the mask. Its value was proving to be immeasurable.

He gingerly stored the items into the Jade Pendant’s space.

At the summit of Servant Peak, Manager Li Yingyong sat in his heavy sandalwood chair, his face cast in shadow.

He gripped a jade slip so hard the vein on his forearm bulged. He had spent a significant sum of Spirit Stones and pulled every favor he owed to dig up Chen Ping’s history.

“Chen Ping… Stone Village… parents were common farmers… no background, no legacy. A complete and utter mud-legged peasant.”

Li Yingyong hissed the words, his brow furrowed.

A few days prior, he had summoned Fatty Wang. Under the guise of a friendly inquiry about work conditions, he had squeezed the fat man for every detail regarding Chen Ping.

Fatty Wang, desperate to please, had spilled everything like pouring beans from a bamboo tube.

He spoke of how Chen Ping started as a sickly, half-dead wretch who suddenly transformed. The boy had grown stronger, more driven. He had been sent to the Black Stone Mine to be broken, yet he emerged as a foreman. And now, he had landed a coveted spot in the Hundred Herb Garden.

“Suddenly enlightened? Surging strength? Thriving under pressure?”

Li Yingyong whispered the phrases, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light.

“A mortal brat with nothing survives the mines and rises to the top? Impossible.”

He stood up, pacing the room like a tiger smelling blood. He had just received the report: Chen Ping had broken through to the 1st Level.

For a Five Elements Waste Spirit Root to reach the 1st Level in a single year, without external resources, was a miracle. Or a secret.

“An Immortal Fate,” Li Yingyong growled. “He found a treasure. Something that can grant a mortal Rebirth.”

The conclusion hit him like a lightning bolt. His pulse raced, his breathing growing shallow and ragged with greed.

He walked to the window and stared toward the Hundred Herb Garden, his gaze venomous.

“Hiding it well, aren’t you, brat?”

A cruel smile curled his lips.

“An innocent man is guilty of nothing but possessing a jade ring. You are a mere servant with no background. You don’t deserve such a gift.”

The plan began to solidify in his mind. He would not let this slip through his fingers. He needed an accident—something clean, something final.

“In for a penny, in for a pound…”

He sat back down, pulling a piece of parchment toward him. He needed to design the perfect death for the boy who held his future fortune.

Inside his hut, Chen Ping was oblivious to the serpent coiling above him. His world had narrowed down to the Alchemy Furnace in front of him.

He was refining the Marrow Cleansing Pill. The heat was stifling, the fire glowing a fierce, angry orange.

Chen Ping gingerly manipulated the flames, adding the supplementary herbs one by one. When the medicinal liquid reached a rolling boil, he dropped in the essence of a ten-year-old Cold Star Grass.

This was the moment of truth.

Unlike the Spirit Nourishing Pill, the Marrow Cleansing Pill required a violent, instantaneous surge of Qi to coalesce.

Sweat dripped into Chen Ping’s eyes, stinging them. His fingers blurred through a series of Hand Seals. His internal Qi surged like a breaking dam, flooding the furnace to compress the liquid.

Pfft.

A muffled pop echoed, followed instantly by the acrid stench of burnt grass. Black smoke curled from the lid.

Failure.

Chen Ping didn’t flinch. He wordlessly cleaned the scorched residue from the furnace and sat in meditation to recover.

He tried again. And again.

Twenty batches of precious herbs were reduced to useless charcoal.

Finally, on the twenty-first attempt, when his Spirit was nearly exhausted, a clear, resonant hum rang out from the bronze walls of the furnace.

Three dark red, glass-smooth pills lay at the bottom.

Success.

The yield was pathetic, but it was a start.

Three months of grueling labor followed.

Inside the Jade Pendant space, the ingredients for the Qi Gathering Pill had finally matured. Chen Ping harvested them with surgical precision, planting new Division Propagation seedlings in their wake.

The Qi Gathering Pill was a different beast entirely. He worked for days without sleep, pushing his Divine Sense to the breaking point.

Failure. Recovery. Attempt.

When the final batch of ingredients was spent, he seized a fleeting opportunity in the turbulence of the furnace.

He pulled the lid.

Four jade-green pills sat in the tray, radiating a dense, forest-like aroma.

Qi Gathering Pills.

The spiritual power within them dwarfed the Spirit Nourishing Pills he had used before.

Chen Ping gathered his entire stockpile: his refined Marrow Cleansing Pills, the sect’s stipend, and his new Qi Gathering Pills.

The Qi Gathering Formation hummed around him, pulling every stray scrap of energy into the room. His mind was clear. His intent was cold.

He would wait no longer.

It was time to break through to the 3rd Level of Qi Condensation.