PCJ – Chapter 552 Market Square

“How do you use this thing again?” Back at his place in Guluba Alley, Zhang Jiaohua picked up the alchemy furnace—which looked suspiciously like a chamber pot—and began examining it. “It really does look like a chamber pot!”

Unfortunately, Zhang Jiaohua didn’t have any secret techniques or manuals related to alchemy. No matter how much he looked it over, he could only give up for the moment. He set the alchemy furnace on the table, and it gave a crisp clang.

Staring at the wobbly furnace, he thought he might as well bring it into his Daoist visualization realm to have a better look. With a thought, he was instantly inside the internal cultivation space.

Over a patch of ground fire where water and flame met, Zhang visualized a simple brick stove structure, leaving a space on top just right for placing the alchemy furnace.

This fire was no ordinary flame. Most things placed on it would vanish instantly. The furnace, however, should be heat-resistant. Placing it there shouldn’t be a problem, right?

Thinking this, Zhang Jiaohua placed the alchemy furnace directly on the flame. The fire didn’t look intense—no dazzling flames or harsh light—but he could sense its terrifying power, capable of incinerating anything.

“Right, what if I use the furnace to roast tea leaves? Wonder how that would turn out.” Glancing at a nearby tea tree, an idea struck him. He quickly plucked about two pounds of fresh tea leaves. Inside this spiritual realm, the tea leaves were completely clean, so Zhang placed them straight into the furnace without washing.

Surprisingly, under the heat of the ground fire, the inside of the furnace didn’t become scalding. Instead, it reached a unique temperature. The tea leaves seemed to dissolve, turning into a sticky mass. The two pounds shrank in size, releasing an aroma that instantly filled the space—a fragrance even purer and richer than the renowned Biyu Immortal Brew.

“How do I control this? Should I take the tea out now?” With a single thought, the sticky tea mass floated out of the furnace, its shape shifting with his intention.

Zhang fetched a bamboo tube and placed the completely melted and fused tea mass inside. From nearly two pounds of leaves, less than two taels remained. Yet he knew this was far superior—even a hundred times better—than Biyu Immortal Brew.

“This really is an alchemy furnace. It’s big enough to handle ten to twenty pounds of leaves at once. And it works with pure thought! Just one mental command and you can refine things!” Zhang was thrilled by this first experiment and the newfound control.

But he knew real alchemy wouldn’t be so easy. Alchemy involved combining the medicinal properties of various herbs in precise ratios—far from simple. Plus, compatibility between herbs had to be managed carefully, ensuring they didn’t conflict. Even if all that worked, could the ingredients be refined into proper pills?

Zhang spent several days experimenting but didn’t make much progress. He returned to Panjiayuan a few more times, hoping to find some alchemy books—but had no luck. Perhaps they were too valuable to end up at a casual street stall.

When the new week arrived, Zhang Jiaohua, backpack slung over his shoulder, headed to school. As soon as he entered the classroom, Xu Xiaoting came over.

“My parents said if you regret buying that alchemy furnace, you can return it anytime and get your money back,” she said, clearly worried that it might hurt their friendship.

“Don’t worry, that furnace is really useful. I won’t be returning it.”

Even if it couldn’t make pills, just being able to process tea made it worthwhile. Zhang didn’t feel shortchanged at all—if anything, he thought he’d scored a great deal.

“You really won’t return it?” Xu asked anxiously.

“Really. If anything strange turns up at your family’s auction house, let me know. It might be useful to me,” Zhang said.

Xu nodded. “Okay.”

Since their falling out, Zheng Wendong had completely ignored Zhang Jiaohua. Now seeing Zhang chatting with Xu, he continued to coldly observe from the side.

“Zhang Jiaohua… Just wait. Once I master qigong, we’ll settle this!” Zheng harbored a deep grudge, despite Zhang having no obligation to teach him. He kept absently touching the book in his backpack, feeling its chilling energy even without taking it out. He had acquired it from someone who thought it was just an old text, but Zheng realized its hidden value at a glance—and began cultivating from it in secret.

Zhang, meanwhile, hadn’t paid any attention to Zheng since that incident. In his view, there was no real enmity between them—just a brief disagreement.

After school, Zhang returned to Guluba Alley. At the alley entrance, he ran into an acquaintance—Hua Shaobo, whom he had met during the trip to Xiyun Reservoir.

“Jiaohua! You’re finally back! I’ve been trying to call you, but no answer. I’ve been waiting here half the day!” Hua Shaobo said, complaining immediately.

“You need something?” Zhang asked, puzzled. They weren’t close, so it was odd for Hua Shaobo to come find him.

“Yeah, a little something. Our Xiyun Secret Realm is holding a fangshi (cultivation market) tomorrow. Are you interested in attending?”

“Fangshi? What’s that?” Zhang had never heard of it. Even in his dreamlike apprenticeship with the old Taoist master, the term had never come up. Back then, communication and transportation were poor. Cultivators wandered constantly, and unless they belonged to major sects that held regular markets, lone cultivators like his master wouldn’t know about them. As such, Zhang’s inherited memory had no concept of a fangshi.

Hua Shaobo was surprised. Someone with Zhang’s cultivation level didn’t know about fangshi? Wasn’t he supposed to be from a major sect?

Still, Hua Shaobo patiently explained.

“Do they sell alchemy books at the fangshi?” Zhang asked eagerly.

“You’re looking for alchemy texts?” Hua Shaobo was puzzled—alchemy wasn’t exactly glamorous these days. In an era where spiritual energy and herbs were scarce, being an alchemist wasn’t practical. Even in the Xiyun Secret Realm, medicinal herbs were nearly depleted. Alchemy manuals and pill recipes were considered the most useless items at the market.

“I got an alchemy furnace a few days ago and wanted to try my hand at it,” Zhang admitted a little sheepishly—the chamber pot-like furnace wasn’t exactly dignified.

“That’s no problem. Alchemy texts aren’t rare. I’ll get you a photocopied set later,” Hua Shaobo said casually.

“They have photocopied alchemy texts?” Zhang blinked in surprise.

“Kids these days can’t read traditional characters. Some folks took the time to transcribe and organize them for easier sharing. I’ll have someone send you a copy.”

“What currency do people use at the fangshi?” Zhang asked.

“Used to be spirit herbs and spirit stones. Now it’s mostly cash. Spirit herbs are rare, and spirit stones have never really existed. Lots of cultivators are giving up and becoming wealthy laymen. So yeah, we use RMB now—but prices are high.”

“When is the fangshi?” Zhang asked.

“The 15th of this month… which is tomorrow,” Hua Shaobo replied.

“Tomorrow, huh…” Zhang frowned.

“What, you got class?” Hua Shaobo asked.

“Yeah… I have to go to school tomorrow.” Zhang scratched his head awkwardly.

Hua Shaobo burst out laughing. A powerful Daoist still carrying a school backpack—what a strange image. Would cultivators one day need academic degrees? Cultivation Bachelor’s, Master’s, PhD?

Still, Zhang wanted to attend. “I’ll ask for leave.”

Wei Yunlong, his teacher, was initially annoyed when Zhang called in, but quickly agreed when he heard it was Zhang. You can’t expect geniuses to always follow the rules—Wei believed in looking at things with a “developmental perspective.”

“Got your leave approved?” Hua Shaobo asked.

Zhang nodded.

Hua Shaobo had come by car—an imported, stylish, comfortable ride. He didn’t look like a cultivator at all. More like a rich playboy.

Zhang still wasn’t sure what a “proper” cultivator looked like—maybe like his old Taoist master: ethereal and sage-like. But he had no intention of dressing like that—nowadays, looking like that made you either a lunatic or a con artist.

Zhang emptied his schoolbag of books and stuffed it full of cash from the bank. He’d use it to carry any goods he bought at the market.

“Honestly, we should hold fangshi in hotels. Then people could just use credit cards instead of carrying money,” Hua Shaobo said.

“Agreed,” Zhang nodded. “Carrying a backpack full of cash is a hassle.”