A month passed in quiet intensity.
Han Yu’s days were now a strict regimen of theory, herbal preparation, mental simulations, and controlled practice sessions under Li Mei’s stern yet surprisingly structured guidance.
He had become something of a fixture in her personal pill hut, a shadow that moved from one herb rack to another, always holding a compendium in one hand and a measuring spoon or jade pestle in the other.
The first week, he had focused solely on the Compendium of 108 Common Healing Herbs.
The second week, he had absorbed the Compendium of Stabilizing and Neutralizing Agents—a more specialized book used to understand how to manage volatile or rare ingredients.
By the third week, he was diving into the Basic Theory of Multistep Pill Crafting, a book notoriously hard to grasp even for Inner Court disciples. And now, by the end of the month, Han Yu had done something few outer disciples could even dream of:
He had memorized all three.
Not just the terms. Not just the structure. But every diagram, every cross-reference, every practical caution. He could even tell you which page discussed the counter-reaction between Ironroot Resin and powdered Redflower Leaf without flipping through it.
Most outer disciples could barely memorize thirty entries. Inner Court disciples might grasp one full compendium within a year—might.
Han Yu had devoured three in a month.
And he wasn’t just parroting them. He understood them.
That, more than anything else, was what kept Li Mei’s interest hooked.
Each day, she gave him written tests. Pages of questions detailing obscure combinations, trick clauses meant to trap overconfident students, case scenarios where one had to diagnose failures from a half-refined pill’s ash.
Han Yu didn’t always ace them. In fact, he rarely scored above 70%.
But he never dipped below 60%.
That might sound unimpressive to the uninitiated. But Li Mei knew the truth.
The long-form test she gave Han Yu at the end of each week wasn’t just her own design—it was modeled directly after the Alchemy Peak’s official entrance exam. She had copied the format, difficulty, and even time limits from her own experience taking it years ago.
And Han Yu was already passing it.
She didn’t tell him that, of course. Not yet. She wanted to see how far he could go without knowing.
She wanted to know whether it was pure intelligence or genuine passion that fueled him.
And every time he asked her a complex question about herb timing or heating sequences—even ones she hadn’t anticipated he’d learn yet—she got her answer.
One evening, after a particularly difficult weekly test, Li Mei was staring at Han Yu’s score sheet. He had scored 66%.
"Not bad," she muttered.
Han Yu, sitting nearby and sipping tea, raised a brow. "You say that every time."
"Because it is not bad," she replied.
"You also never tell me what the average is," Han Yu said, suspicious.
Li Mei turned her back to hide a rare smile. "That’s because if I did, you’d get cocky."
Han Yu chuckled. "A little confidence wouldn’t kill me."
Li Mei muttered under her breath, "With how much dumb luck you survive on, I wouldn’t bet on that."
But inwardly, she was growing excited.
Even though Han Yu still lacked flame control, which kept his pill refinement success rate from growing beyond average, his grasp of herbology and theory had reached an Inner Court disciple’s level. In some areas—especially memorization and synergy mechanics—he was on par with the better candidates of the Alchemy Peak’s formal disciples.
If he kept this up for another month or two, she was confident he could qualify for more than just entry.
"The next Alchemy Peak examination is in three weeks," she told him one morning as she handed him a pouch of test herbs. "You could take it, if you’re ready."
Han Yu accepted the pouch, a neutral expression on his face, but his eyes gleamed faintly.
"Any reason to wait?" he asked.
Li Mei paused, then looked at him seriously. "Plenty."
Han Yu tilted his head.
"You’re not going to have me by your side during the exam. No help. No correction. And more importantly..." she placed a hand on his shoulder, "...if you do too well, you’ll attract attention."
Han Yu raised a brow. "Isn’t that the point?"
"Not always," she said softly. "There are many kinds of Elders on the Alchemy Peak. Some are benevolent teachers. Others are... jealous craftsmen. They don’t like upstarts."
Han Yu smirked. "So I should do too well, or just well enough?"
Li Mei sighed. "I don’t know what’s worse—your arrogance or your precision."
But truth be told, she didn’t know what result would be better for him either. Getting noticed by an elder was a boon—but getting noticed too early could also mean being dragged into intra-peak politics, forced to become a tool, or worse, a scapegoat.
Still, the opportunity was too good to ignore.
The monthly examinations were a chance to not just enter the peak but to earn Merit Points, which were handed out based on exam scores. A high score meant several thousand merit points—enough to buy starter kits, additional lessons, or even rent time in the Refining Rooms, which came equipped with flame-controlled arrays and stabilized cauldrons.
But more than that... if Han Yu did very well, he could gain the attention of a junior elder.
And that was worth more than merit.
A teacher. A true alchemist mentor.
Even Li Mei, with all her skill, knew her limits. She was brilliant, certainly. But even she admitted that she had never been fully accepted by the peak’s top tier.
They had their own standards. Their own way.
And if Han Yu wanted to learn true alchemy—the kind where you refine not just pills but concepts and philosophies—then the Alchemy Peak was the only path.
That night, Han Yu sat alone in his courtyard, flipping through the compendium again. He didn’t need to. He had memorized it by now.
Instead, he was just letting his thoughts drift.