Chapter Eight: The Holy Maiden

According to alchemy, a pill embodies the essence of spiritual resonance.

If only spiritual herbs are used, then after harmonizing the five elements, the refining can begin directly. Such pills are of the highest purity, nearly free of impurities, and yield the best effects. However, spiritual herbs are rare, and using them to make low-grade pills would be a waste. Therefore, there is an alternative method: supplementing the deficiency of herbs with the spiritual essence of other living creatures.

The beetles and ladybugs Chen Xuan casually grabbed were meant to provide this spiritual supplement.

Refining pills requires a furnace that can withstand high heat; the shop had a pressure cooker.

It also requires a flame with adjustable temperature control; the shop used a gas stove with twelve precise settings.

“Since the equipment meets all requirements, it’s time to proceed with practice.”

He rolled up his sleeves and, following the method of harmonizing the five elements in alchemy, divided eight herbs into two batches. After soaking and washing them, he placed them into the two pressure cookers. Then he added the live insects before sealing the lids and igniting the fire. When the flames grew strong, he activated the Clear Mind Technique, guiding the spiritual energy within the furnace to converge.

This process was quite wondrous... if one ignored the last step, it would be no different from a bizarre culinary experiment, likely producing a stew of wild herbs and bugs. But with the guidance of spiritual energy, subtle transformations occurred. Chen Xuan found it difficult to describe in words what was happening inside the pot; he could sense the various herbs mutually moistening and merging, ultimately becoming a harmonious whole.

Though it was his first time refining pills, it felt as if he had done it countless times before.

Everything unfolded so naturally.

Through the blue flames, he seemed to see the silhouette of a young girl, sitting cross-legged before the alchemical furnace, repeating the pill-making process over and over. Around her were piles of failed pills. Above the furnace, the sky shifted—from misty dawn to golden dusk, from verdant green to snowy white.

“Whistle! Whistle!”

The pressure valve screamed.

The pill was ready!

Chen Xuan calmly stood, released the pressure, and swiftly opened the lid. As the lid lifted, a spicy medicinal aroma burst forth with the steam. When the smoke cleared, only a few remnants and seven or eight small, marble-sized brown pills remained at the bottom.

The pot on the left contained “Sweet Jade Clear Pill,” which dispels cold and clears the lungs—in modern terms, it treats respiratory illnesses.

The right pot held “Blood Orange,” sharing a name with the fruit. It dissipates blood stasis and stops bleeding, proving quite effective for external injuries.

Both were entry-level pills, requiring minimal materials and simple refining techniques. Every cultivator would carry a few of these in their pouch. Even so, since they must be refined by cultivators, their availability remained limited, allowing them to fetch a good price among the common folk.

This was true in Liu Shuyue’s world, and equally so here.

Chen Xuan took the pills out, inspecting them carefully—they were moist throughout, smooth in contour, as if polished by the passage of time. Logically, he should have tested their effects next, but he felt a quiet confidence that these pills were of excellent quality and would perform as described in his alchemy studies.

At that moment, a flurry of footsteps interrupted his observation.

Customers had arrived.

“Welcome to...”

He lifted his head, but before his smile could fully form, it froze.

Not one, but four people entered the shop!

That wasn’t even the worst part.

The trouble was that each of them was clad in full-coverage metal armor, resembling ancient knights stepping out of a museum. Their breastplates and cloaks were dust-covered, faint traces of dark red blood still visible. As for their long spears and short swords, the blood grooves were filled with fresh blood, dripping from the blades onto the floor.

I just mopped this floor yesterday!

These visitors were clearly no good.

If Liu Shuyue’s killing intent was restrained, these four strangers made no effort to hide theirs. Through the helmet slits, Chen Xuan sensed a murderous gleam in their eyes, as if any disagreement would prompt them to slash him down.

There was no doubt—they had come for something other than buying tobacco.

Chen Xuan wasn’t overly worried about his safety; since they weren’t here for shopping, it meant they were special clients.

The four looked around suspiciously, as though amazed by the uniqueness of this shop.

After a few seconds of tense silence, Chen Xuan decided to break the deadlock and take control of the situation—after all, the shopkeeper’s code insisted on warmly welcoming every guest.

“Hello, what can I help you with?”

This greeting represented over twenty years of his English learning.

Why English? Because fully enclosed plate armor had never been popular in this country; asking in Chinese would likely be pointless. They had shown no reaction to the welcome in Chinese earlier.

A shopkeeper must adapt on the spot.

“Damn, it’s the Brits!”

“Beware of ambush!”

Unexpectedly, they immediately went on high alert, raising their weapons in unison and aiming at Chen Xuan from multiple angles!

What was more baffling was that they spoke fluent Chinese, with a Sichuan accent!

Are your eyes blind? I’m a proud descendant of Yan and Huang, not some foreigner!

Besides, since you’re wearing Western armor, you should be speaking a foreign language! So by this logic, am I the foreigner now?

“Hold!” The shortest of the four suddenly raised his right hand.

His voice was soft but authoritative. The other three armored warriors immediately halted, refraining from advancing toward the counter.

Chen Xuan then noticed the leader was the shortest of the group.

“He hasn’t yet explained himself. I want to hear his explanation before deciding,” the leader said. “Are you a spy for the British?”

Though tempted to retort sharply, Chen Xuan restrained himself—after all, they were customers. “You must be joking. Of course not.”

This time, he switched comfortably to his native tongue.

“Hmm... then this must be a misunderstanding. Put away your weapons,” the leader gestured, then apologized, “Sorry to startle you. We are being pursued by enemies and must act cautiously.”

That was too easy to believe.

Your actions hardly seem cautious.

What surprised him even more was that the others did not object and accepted the leader’s judgment.

“Aren’t you afraid I’m lying?” Chen Xuan asked curiously.

“God tells me you are truthful,” the leader replied, removing her helmet to reveal her true appearance.

She was a young woman with radiant short blonde hair and emerald eyes, like uncut gemstones with a restrained brilliance. But heavy exhaustion dimmed that light with a veil of weariness. Her voice was hoarse and slightly masculine, which explained why it was hard to discern her gender under the helmet.

She spoke with firm confidence, clearly convinced by her own reasoning. The others seemed equally accustomed to this explanation.

“Where are you from?” Chen Xuan wanted to ask why they spoke Chinese, but quickly realized the truth: their lip movements didn’t match the sounds he heard, as if watching a dubbed film. Their ability to communicate was not due to a shared language but some power altering their auditory and speech perception.

On reflection, this must be a legendary ability—how else could a shopkeeper communicate with diverse clients without a common language?

“We are, of course, French,” the woman answered promptly, pride unmistakable in her tone.

French... no wonder they got twitchy at hearing English—born rivals, indeed.

“I see. My name is Chen Xuan, the shopkeeper here. May I ask your name...?”

“Jeanne d’Arc,” the young woman said calmly.

Hmm? That name sounded familiar.

Chen Xuan casually searched on his computer and found another, far more renowned translation.

A name hundreds of times more famous—

“...Joan of Arc?”

“Yes. Is there something strange about that name?” she asked, puzzled.

To her, it was just a repetition of her own name.

But to Chen Xuan, the name Joan of Arc carried immense significance! Though his knowledge was influenced by a wide reading of past and present, he only knew she was a legendary heroine who saved France in times of peril. The details had faded, but that was no problem—he could look her up later and understand fully.

Joan paid no mind to his unusual reaction and earnestly requested, “Though I don’t understand why you have a shop in such a place, we urgently need help. Hot water, soft cloths, bandages, strong liquor... If you can provide these, I swear by the name of the Maid that you will receive due reward.”

“Is someone among you injured?”

She nodded.

“Let me see.”

“You... you know medicine?”

“Indeed,” Chen Xuan answered without hesitation, “especially external injuries, which I am quite skilled at.”

Of course, he didn’t really know medicine, but what did that matter? He had just refined several pills. Joan’s active period was spent leading troops against the English, so her men likely suffered sword and spear wounds—perfect for testing the “Blood Orange” pill’s efficacy.

“Excellent!” Joan exchanged pleased glances with her companions before turning to say, “Please follow me.”

Stepping outside the shop, Chen Xuan was taken aback.

Outside were countless moving torches, and the blurred figures of people and horses hurried through the night, numbering at least a hundred nearby.

Had this ridiculous shop somehow teleported directly onto the Anglo-French battlefield?

Even for attracting customers, this was absurd!

He noticed most of the soldiers were grimy and exhausted, their anxious and uneasy gazes fixed on Joan.

This surprised Chen Xuan.

He vaguely recalled Joan’s fame stemmed from being invincible on the battlefield, sweeping through opponents without a single defeat.

Yet this army's spirit gave no impression of an undefeated force.