Chapter Eleven: The Young Daoist in the Pharmacy

Within the Daoist temple, Lu Qian sat cross-legged on his bed, two lifelike paper figurines placed at the headboard.

His bedroom was simple, furnished only with a table and a bed, and not very spacious, but it offered the advantage of privacy. Upon entering the courtyard, one would find four rooms and a shared open space. Lu Qian and his three roommates lived together in this courtyard. None of those from the small group he had joined on his first day resided with him now. The others had largely dispersed; Wang Ming had disappeared the moment he entered, likely placed elsewhere by his relatives. Yu Ci, with his superior aptitude, had been assigned better work and spared the company of those ranked C or D.

Yet, one of his roommates surprised Lu Qian greatly: it was Xie Te, the one who had proactively attached himself to Li Lin that day. This person’s unusual name had left a vivid impression on Lu Qian.

Currently, Lu Qian had been assigned to work under the Hall of Spiritual Treasures. Beneath this hall were three departments: the Alchemy Room, the Herbal Room, and the Equipment Room. Though alchemy and medicine are often spoken of together, they are in fact distinct. The alchemy room dealt with the refining of mystical substances—dragon and tiger, lead and mercury—even if herbs were involved, they served only as supplementary materials, their essence selectively extracted. The herbal room, on the other hand, dealt with the ordinary medicinal herbs as people commonly imagined. These materials required processing, and most of the herbs in the immortal sect were rare, imbued with mysterious powers, making the refining process dangerous and often harmful. Of the three departments, the herbal room was the worst.

Knock, knock, knock!

“Brother Zhi Qian, Steward Zhang is here,” came Xie Te’s voice from outside. Those of Lu Qian’s batch bore the “Zhi” naming generation.

Opening the door, Lu Qian found a scrawny, shifty-looking man standing there. Seeing the man’s obsequious manner, Lu Qian could not help but feel a wave of distaste. Cultivation was far from the desireless existence portrayed in myths; it was still a world rife with human intrigue. Since Xie Te had done him no harm, Lu Qian maintained a polite, if distant, demeanor.

Besides Xie Te, there were two other roommates in the courtyard, whose names Lu Qian could barely recall. He had spent these days in meditation and cultivation, with no time for socializing.

The main gate of the courtyard opened, and a short, stout Daoist entered, dressed in a wide yellow robe and wearing a jet-black Daoist cap, with two wispy moustaches adorning his face. At once, everyone bowed in salute. In the sect, all Daoists were addressed as “Daoist Master,” with those of higher cultivation sometimes called “Elder Practitioner” or “True Person.” Judging by his cap, this short, stout Daoist was likely at the Qi Refining stage.

“I am Wei Cheng, styled Zhu Cheng, steward dispatched by the Hall of Spiritual Treasures. I’m here to assign duties. When your name is called, answer,” Wei Cheng said, stroking his moustache, his shrewd eyes surveying them.

“Xie Te, Alchemy Room.”

“Ma San, Zhao Bao, Equipment Room.”

“Lu Qian, Herbal Room.”

Wei Cheng spoke carelessly, “Pack your things and get ready to report for duty.”

Lu Qian frowned upon hearing this. Why was he assigned to the herbal room? Of the four in the courtyard, two were without cultivation, while he and Xie Te were both at the Embryonic Breath stage. Lu Qian had inquired beforehand; because the herbal room was dangerous, with frequent cases of poisoning leading to lifelong disability or even death, only those at the Embryonic Breath stage or higher were assigned there. All things being equal, those with greater talent were spared such assignments, as Daoist acolytes were meant to focus on cultivation.

He and Xie Te were both at the Embryonic Breath stage, but Lu Qian was younger, possessed more robust vital energy, and had much greater talent. By all rights, Xie Te should have been sent to the herbal room instead.

“Thank you, Daoist Master!” Xie Te beamed, bowing, and instinctively glanced at Lu Qian. “Better you than me; what can you do without someone backing you?” Cultivation was a contest against both man and heaven. Xie Te paid Lu Qian no heed—a mere ordinary acolyte. Those assigned to the herbal room were often crippled for life or died, reduced to servitude or worse. Xie Te did not fear retaliation from a cripple or a corpse.

Only now did Lu Qian understand. Wei Cheng and Xie Te had reached an arrangement beforehand; no wonder. Having figured it out, Lu Qian’s face betrayed nothing. He merely smiled and acknowledged the assignment.

After packing, Lu Qian dismantled his paper figurines, shouldered his three bundles, and, before leaving, met Xie Te’s gaze. Xie Te smiled faintly, a trace of mockery in his eyes. Lu Qian’s eyes turned steely, a flash of murderous intent flickering and vanishing. Once he reached the Qi Refining stage, he would cut this villain down!

Wei Cheng led the group to their respective posts. The herbal room was some distance away, situated partway up a mountain. The place was tranquil; a stream wound its way down from the heights, its waters carrying bits of debris and the faint aroma of medicinal herbs.

“Alright, this is as far as I take you. May you reach Qi Refining soon,” Wei Cheng said indifferently. Having already pocketed Li Lin’s money and sold out Lu Qian, he felt no guilt.

At Tongyou Temple, strength was everything; even if someone killed Lu Qian outright, any excuse would suffice to cover it up.

At the mountain summit stood a row of wooden huts and a stone house in the center, black smoke billowing from its chimney. Lu Qian knocked at the door, which was opened by a pale-faced man. Upon seeing the token, he smiled, “You must be the new junior brother, Lu Qian. Come in. Daoist Master Xuan Du, the newcomer is here.”

Inside, shelves lined the walls, each bearing herbs of every shape and form: crimson peaches with human faces, cassava in the shape of infants, nine-leaf ghostfire grass…

A dozen bare-chested men with covered faces worked busily, frying and boiling herbs. At the center, a Daoist with a cap turned at the mention. He appeared forty or fifty years old, his skin dry and bark-like, a black eyepatch over his right eye—a one-eyed man.

“I am Li Du, steward of pharmaceutical affairs. This is Zhu Yulong and Lin Qing,” Li Du said, introducing the pale-faced man and a woman of delicate beauty, with snowy skin and a slender white neck.

Li Du then showed Lu Qian around the pharmacy. There were five woks, three sealed bronze cauldrons, and three water boilers. Twelve servants, three acolytes including Lu Qian, and one Daoist Master made up the staff.

“Zhi Qing, bring over the monkey-head mushrooms.”

“Yes!” Lin Qing brought out a small box containing a dozen green, translucent mushrooms. Closer inspection revealed the mushrooms grew from a red brain!

Servants were ordered to pluck the mushrooms, wash them in the water boiler, and Zhu Long, using his vital energy, ignited the wok’s flames and began frying the herbs to extract their properties. Presently, a wisp of green smoke wafted out.

“Stay clear! This smoke is born of the resentment and venom of living beings,” Li Du warned.

Everyone quickly stepped back. When the mushrooms were done, their moisture pressed out, a strange medicinal fragrance filled the air. The fried herbs were placed in a bronze cauldron; Li Du activated it with his vital energy, causing runes to glow on its surface. Before long, steam spouted from above, and from the dragon’s mouth carved on the cauldron, a stream of snow-white powder poured forth.

Thus was the process of preparing medicinal herbs: they could not be used fresh, but had to be refined first, discarding the useless and harmful, leaving only the essence.

After the demonstration, Li Du pointed at the bronze cauldron. “The last cauldron boy died the other day, so you’ll take over. You can order the servants about as you please, but you must handle the key steps yourself.” He tossed Lu Qian a few booklets. “These are the Fire Art and the Breath Concealment Technique. You have three days to learn them; after that, you’re on duty.”

Li Du patted Lu Qian on the shoulder, encouraging him, “Work hard—the herbal room is a real test, but if you master its skills, your vital energy will be pure and abundant. At your level, none will be your equal.”