PCJ – Chapter 451 The Art of Alchemy

Liu Zhaodong glanced at Zhang Jiaohua, feeling that the boy looked familiar. When he noticed the wildcat, black cat, and chubby monkey around him, Liu Zhaodong immediately recalled a scene from a few months ago. This boy was the same child he had seen being carried off in a tiger’s mouth! And he was still alive!

“Dr. Liu, what’s the matter?” Zhang Guanyu asked.

“I’ve seen this child before. He’s the one I told you about—the boy carried off by the tiger,” Liu Zhaodong said.

“How’s that possible? Are you sure you didn’t mistake him for someone else?” Zhang Guanyu thought Liu Zhaodong must have been mistaken. With Zhang Jiaohua’s abilities, how could a tiger pose any threat? Even if he couldn’t subdue the tiger, scaring it away wouldn’t have been an issue.

“I’m absolutely sure. That day, this monkey interfered, or I would have followed them all the way. I thought the boy was a goner, but it turns out he’s been living fine in Mount Mei,” Liu Zhaodong replied confidently.

After some thought, Zhang Guanyu said, “Even if you’re right, what you saw may not have been what you imagined. This boy is no ordinary person.”

Liu Zhaodong thought to himself, Even if he’s not ordinary, could he really handle five tigers? Even you, Daoist Zhang, wouldn’t stand a chance against five tigers without learning a lesson from them. Of course, he didn’t dare say this aloud.

Zhang Guanyu, seeing Liu Zhaodong’s skepticism, didn’t bother explaining further. “Even if I tell you, you ordinary folks wouldn’t understand. Just focus on taking care of the task I assigned you.”

Liu Zhaodong thought, Like I care to understand your mystical nonsense, you old fraud. Still, he wasn’t genuinely upset with Zhang Guanyu. The two had known each other for decades, and their relationship went beyond simple transactions. What annoyed Liu Zhaodong was that Zhang Guanyu had referred to him as “Dr. Liu” earlier.

Liu Zhaodong was a barefoot doctor in the village of Muyun, renowned far and wide. His fame stemmed from a pill he dispensed for emergencies. Villagers would come to him for these pills, which could help them pull through common ailments like colds or minor inflammations. Of course, for severe illnesses, the pills were ineffective.

Liu Zhaodong often ventured into the mountains to gather herbs. Villagers believed he made the pills himself, but in reality, he bartered supplies with Zhang Guanyu to obtain them. Zhang Guanyu, a notoriously lazy Daoist priest, relied on Liu Zhaodong to gather herbs and preprocess them before exchanging them for pills.

If Liu Zhaodong could make the pills himself, he would have produced more. Despite their limited efficacy, the pills were more effective than Western medicine for the villagers and were sold at an affordable price. But Zhang Guanyu stubbornly refused to make more, citing the complexity of the process.

Whenever Liu Zhaodong asked for more pills, Zhang Guanyu would say, “A cultivator must live a life of simplicity and detachment to seek the Dao.” Hearing this, Liu Zhaodong would feel the urge to pin the old man to the ground and pummel him. You want detachment? Fine, but I don’t! Why don’t you ask for fewer supplies if you’re so detached? And what about drinking wine and eating meat? Yet, every time Liu Zhaodong managed to hold back, not out of pity, but because he couldn’t win in a fight. Once, emboldened by alcohol, he tried to attack Zhang Guanyu, only to be beaten thoroughly and tossed into a shallow creek. From that day on, Liu Zhaodong understood that these so-called cultivators were ruthless to both themselves and others.

“Master, the pills are running low. Can you make another batch? You know my situation—just an old man raising a grandson. Tuition is getting more expensive, and I’m short on funds…” Liu Zhaodong poured out a string of complaints, hoping the Daoist would relent.

“Fine, fine. All you ever think about is money. Look at you—under sixty but looking older than me. People shouldn’t be so attached to material things. In the end, when you die, you can’t take even a shell with you. Ah, why am I wasting my breath on a layman like you?” Zhang Guanyu gave Liu Zhaodong a disdainful look, as if he were an ant. If not for his martial prowess, Zhang Guanyu might have been beaten to death long ago.

Zhang Jiaohua stood silently nearby, watching the exchange with a vacant gaze, lost in thought.

Zhang Guanyu, however, was planning ahead. Soon, he might have two extra mouths to feed—no, five. If he didn’t prepare more pills for Liu Zhaodong, the man might rebel and stop delivering food to the temple. Though cultivators supposedly looked down on material wealth, they weren’t fools. Anyone capable of cultivation was by nature extraordinary. How could such a simple principle escape them? Despite Liu Zhaodong’s attempts to conceal his thoughts, they were obvious to Zhang Guanyu.

What Zhang Guanyu gave Liu Zhaodong was a diluted version of the Peiyuan Pill. The most precious ingredient had been swapped out, reducing its efficacy by 60-70%. Zhang Guanyu’s alchemy skills were mediocre to begin with, halving the remaining effectiveness. By the end, the pills retained barely 10% of the original Peiyuan Pill’s potency. While these pills were nearly useless for cultivators, their side effects were minimal for ordinary people, making them effective enough for treating common illnesses.

Zhang Guanyu began his work, tossing herbs into the cauldron one by one while forming seals and directing energy into it. Soon, a faint medicinal fragrance wafted out. When he opened the cauldron, only a liquid essence remained, far from the sparkling pills seen in movies.

He poured the essence into a clay bowl, added some flour, and began mixing. The amount of flour had to be precise—not too much, or the mixture wouldn’t form a dough, and not too little, or it would be too sticky. After kneading the dough into thumb-sized balls, the batch of low-grade Peiyuan Pills was complete.

Zhang Jiaohua stared intently at the process, his eyes glued to Zhang Guanyu’s actions. Deep within the sliver of divine consciousness controlling his body lay knowledge of true alchemy, derived from his master and a mystical artifact’s inheritance. Compared to that, Zhang Guanyu’s methods barely qualified as alchemy.

Suddenly, Zhang Jiaohua’s consciousness trembled, almost reconnecting with his body, but it was quickly overwhelmed by an influx of information. For a brief moment, his eyes shone brightly before returning to their vacant state.