Mo Han stood quietly until most of the disciples had left the hall. Only a few remained, gathering courage to attempt the cauldron challenge. His gaze swept toward the front where a faint warmth radiated from the bronze vessel, its body etched with ancient inscriptions that pulsed like veins of fire.
He rose without hurry, smoothing his black robe, and walked forward with unhurried steps. No arrogance showed in his eyes, only calm determination. When he reached the cauldron, he clasped his fists and bowed toward Elder Bogi.
"Elder, this disciple wishes to attempt the fusion," Mo Han said, his tone respectful.
The old man raised a brow. "You? Hm. You entered my division only yesterday."
"Yes," Mo Han admitted without hesitation. "I am inexperienced, but I wish to learn through practice. If I fail, I am ready to accept the punishment."
A faint smile tugged at Bogi’s lips. He stroked his beard and gestured toward the cauldron. "Very well. Show me what you can do." ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ NoveI★Fire.net
Mo Han closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly as his fingers brushed over the herbs on the preparation table. Three stalks of crimson flamegrass, one dried blue lotus petal, and powdered silverroot. He selected them with delicate precision, almost as if he were plucking strings from a zither.
The watching disciples whispered among themselves.
"He’s not even using measuring tools..."
"Careless. Elder Bogi will throw him out."
"Just wait for the explosion."
Mo Han ignored their voices. He placed the herbs inside the cauldron and, instead of using the fire array carved into the floor, lifted his hand. A small flame bloomed at his fingertips, dancing steadily. With a flick of his wrist, the fire spread beneath the cauldron in a perfect circle.
Gasps filled the hall.
"He’s using bare-handed fire control!"
"Impossible at his cultivation level!"
Bogi’s eyes gleamed. His experienced senses could feel the layered rhythm of the flame—gentle at the edges, fierce at the center, like tides of the sea. This wasn’t recklessness. It was mastery.
Mo Han’s expression remained calm as he moved his fingers in subtle patterns. The flame shifted from scarlet to azure, then back to crimson, each transition seamless. The herbs inside the cauldron melted into shimmering liquid, swirling together but never clashing.
"Three Flame Rotation..." Bogi muttered under his breath. "No... not quite. He’s altered it."
As the fusion reached its critical stage, Mo Han leaned slightly, his palm hovering over the cauldron. The fire responded instantly, compressing into a spiral.
The liquid inside solidified into a glowing pill, smooth and without cracks.
Silence fell. Then, one of the watching disciples blurted, "He succeeded... on the first try?"
Mo Han carefully picked up the pill, bowed again, and said humbly, "It is thanks to Elder’s lecture that I managed not to fail. This disciple still has much to learn."
Bogi’s beard twitched with amusement. "Humble words, but your flame control speaks otherwise. Tell me, who taught you this?"
Mo Han lowered his gaze. "I studied fragments from old memories... nothing complete."
The old man chuckled, eyes shining with rare approval. "Fragments, is it? Hah. Even fragments in your hands become treasures." He stepped closer, examining Mo Han with newfound seriousness. "Your path in alchemy is unusual, but your talent... undeniable."
He placed a heavy hand on Mo Han’s shoulder. "Come to the Alchemy Forging Grounds tomorrow, after noon. I wish to see how far your skills can go when pushed to the limit."
Mo Han bowed deeply. "Yes, Elder. I will be there."
The disciples who had mocked him earlier hung their heads, unable to speak.
Mo Han left the hall as the evening light painted the courtyard in shades of crimson. His mind replayed every word Elder Bogi had spoken. Recognition from such a figure wasn’t just praise—it was a door opening to endless possibilities.
As he stepped outside, a familiar voice called, "Mo Han!"
He turned to see the Senior Servant Lady of the Healing Tower hurrying toward him, her robes slightly disheveled from rushing. Her face was tight with urgency.
"I’ve been searching for you everywhere," she said, catching her breath.
Mo Han inclined his head politely. "What matter brings you here in such haste?"
"There is a patient," she said quickly. "A woman. She is seriously injured, her condition worsening by the hour. None of the healers could help her. She begged for your name specifically. Some whisper that only your hands might give her relief."
Mo Han frowned slightly. "My hands? Strange rumors spread quickly..."
The Senior Servant Lady lowered her voice. "Rumor or not, she may not last through the night without intervention. Will you come?"
Mo Han paused. His cultivation had advanced rapidly in recent days, and his new insights into healing arts were far from complete. Still, this was precisely the kind of test he needed—to see if his knowledge could stand against dire reality.
"I will go," he said firmly.
Relief washed over her features. "Good. Please, follow me. The carriage is waiting."
As they moved down the lantern-lit path, the Senior Servant Lady stole a glance at him. "You should know, this woman is no ordinary patient. She belongs to one of the city’s wealthy merchant clans. If you succeed, your reputation will soar even higher. But if you fail..."
Mo Han’s eyes glinted in the torchlight. "Then I will learn from the failure. Either way, I will not retreat."
She nodded, both nervous and hopeful, and quickened her pace.
Behind them, the shadows of the Eternal Night Mansion stretched long, as if the night itself was leaning in to listen.
Elder Park stood at the upper balcony of the Healing Division, her slender fingers clutching the wooden rail as her sharp eyes followed the carriage rolling away under the dim lantern light. The night breeze tugged at her robes, but she didn’t even blink.
"So... off to play the savior again, are you?" she muttered, lips curling into a venomous smile. "Mo Han... Mo Han... you think your little tricks and your so-called ’divine touch’ will make you invincible in my Eternal Night Mansion? Hah!"
Her laughter broke the stillness of the courtyard—low, cruel, echoing like a whisper from the abyss.
"This might be your end," she sneered. "Even the heavens won’t protect you if you step into the wrong household. If you fail, you’ll be trampled as a charlatan. If you succeed, even more eyes will turn toward you, and the higher the branch you climb, the easier it is to break you with one strike."