Chapter 5: Refinement, this tough and grueling journey II
After his meeting with Feng Shan, Ling Yun returned to the manor that had been assigned to him. The conversation had gone well—well enough to leave a favorable impression on the leader of the Feng Clan. Feng Shan, though a formidable cultivator in the Foundation Establishment realm, was unable to see through Ling Yun's cultivation. That, in itself, was a valuable card to hold.
Back in his quarters, Ling Yun sat cross-legged on a small mat, slipping into meditation.
Creating a breathing technique attuned to the element of fire was no longer optional—it was essential. He couldn't hide away in this manor forever. His ambitions demanded progress, and progress demanded power.
Yet the path forward was agonizingly slow.
"This Dao Curse… its side effects run deep," he thought grimly. "The clearest path to crafting a technique is to receive insight from the heavens. But since I was cursed, I can no longer draw from celestial revelations."
"Without divine insight, connecting the dots between various cultivation principles is like groping through fog. Now I must rely solely on will and knowledge... even for me, the Heavenly Demon who has lived for millennia, this is a daunting task. Especially while trapped in such a feeble mortal form."
Six hours passed.
A faint ember of progress flickered in his consciousness, barely enough to kindle hope. Still, it was something.
He stood, stretched his stiff limbs, and made his way toward the bath. The tiny spark of achievement gave him a sliver of encouragement—but he knew it wouldn't be enough.
"At this rate, forget reaching Heaven... I won't even break through to Foundation Establishment. And without a solid foundation, the higher realms will devour me."
"Cultivation is like building a house," he muttered. "If your Qi Refining stage is unstable, every level after that will be weaker… shakier… and eventually collapse."
"I refuse to build a house on sand. I must find a way to circumvent this curse."
Disrobing, he slid into the steaming hot spring.
"The Forbidden Art of Reincarnation… I managed to use it, but the technique is incomplete. I still have a long way to go before I can truly master it."
"Cultivation is of the soul… but my soul bears no cultivation of its own. This so-called second layer of Qi Refining—it's not mine. It's merely a leftover imprint from the soul that once owned this body."
"So that's the price of using the Forbidden Art of Reincarnation… the loss of my cultivation."
"I sacrificed my power, hijacked another's body, and traveled through time with my memories intact."
"If that's possible… then maybe I can do it again. Sacrifice my cultivation to travel back, reincarnate into another body, or even erase these curses."
But it was never that simple.
Heaven's laws were absolute, rigid—merciless. Ling Yun knew that better than anyone. To dispel one curse might mean inviting another, far more sinister one in its place.
"Even if it is possible, the karmic weight might be unbearable… it could push me straight into the Demonic Dao."
"And if that happens, it might spell doom for the Ling Clan… my body's instincts would rebel. That's not a risk I can take lightly."
Too many variables. Too many unknowns. Each one had to be weighed carefully. This was only the beginning of his journey.
Ascension—it held a beauty that words could not capture. Like scaling a sacred mountain: brutal, cold, perilous... but at the summit, the world bent beneath your feet.
Only those willing to gamble with fate could seize the heavens.
Ling Yun exhaled slowly, letting the swirl of uncertain futures fill his thoughts.
---
Feng Clan Grand Estate – Hall of Honor
Within a grand chamber lined with relics of the past, Feng Shan stood silently before the ancestral blade of the clan's founder. His gaze, sharp and steady, slowly turned toward his daughter.
Feng Lan.
Their relationship was distant at best. They rarely spoke, and she knew today wasn't about her. There was something else—there had to be.
Still, she bowed politely.
Feng Shan didn't waste time.
"Lan," he asked without turning, "how far have you come in your cultivation?"
Feng Lan kept her head lowered, hiding the flicker of anxiety in her eyes.
"Second layer of Qi Refining, Father."
Feng Shan's gaze drifted back to the blade.
A silence settled between them—heavy, thick.
Feng Lan felt the weight of her father's disappointment, though he said nothing.
"Tell me," he said finally. "Where do you believe your limit lies, Lan?"
Cultivation, like the Dao itself, had no end—no final summit. Though mortals divided its path into realms and stages, true seekers knew: there was always another step, another height, another mystery.
Feng Shan's question hadn't been to test his daughter's soul. It was to measure the reach of her mind. Feng Lan sensed that—barely—but failed to grasp the full depth of it.
"Until I can no longer cultivate, Father," she replied softly. "That's where my limit lies."
Feng Shan burst into laughter.
"Hahaha! A clever answer, Lan."
But his laughter faded, and his expression turned grave.
"It's wrong, though. The true limit of a Feng cultivator… is death."
"Prepare yourself. Your grandfather is emerging from seclusion soon. You'll receive a gift that has long been prepared. Be worthy of it."
Feng Lan bowed deeply, saying nothing more.
---
Feng Clan Library and Alchemy Hall
Ling Yun returned to the library briefly, then stepped into the clan's grand Alchemy Hall.
To the world, he had once been the Devil of the Heavens… but to the wise, he was also the God of Alchemy.
There was no herb he didn't recognize. No property he hadn't studied. Even now—stripped of cultivation, trapped in the second layer of Qi Refining—he could still refine basic pills with ease.
Pill refinement was an art born of control.
A proper alchemist needed flawless focus through every phase—merging, separating, refining, and condensing the essence of medicinal ingredients.
And fire... fire was the soul of it all.
Most used the common Qi Flame—a fire born of internal energy. The strength of this flame depended entirely on one's cultivation. The higher the realm, the purer and hotter the flame.
At present, Ling Yun was in the second layer of Qi Refining.
To a warrior, that was laughable. But among local alchemists, it was surprisingly common.
Progressing beyond that level required vast resources, time, and stability. Alchemists burned their Qi constantly—feeding it to flames, exhausting their foundations. Few ever built enough of a base to break through to Foundation Establishment.
In truth, alchemy without backing was little more than suicide on the Daoist path.
Ling Yun stood beside a massive silver furnace. Nearby, rows of mid-grade copper and iron cauldrons lined the room.
Along the far wall, bundles of spiritual herbs were carefully arranged—dried, categorized by elemental affinity and harvest timing. A separate section held formula scrolls and pill recipes, arranged by difficulty and purpose.
Ling Yun stroked his chin as he examined the setup before him.
"Most mortal-grade pills have low purity," he thought, eyes glinting with calculation.
"Even the best pills on this continent rarely exceed forty percent."
"Mid-grade pills range from forty to fifty percent. High-grade ones sit between fifty and sixty.
Legendary pills... they reach seventy.
And heavenly-grade? Eighty, if you're lucky."
His gaze swept over the furnace room.
"So many variables determine a pill's purity... the alchemist's flame power, the flame type itself, the cauldron's material, refinement technique, herb quality, condensation method, even storage conditions… experience, timing... everything matters."
He flipped through a book borrowed from the public library—an illustrated compendium listing dozens of spiritual herbs used in common refining recipes.
The images were precise. Descriptions detailed the ideal harvest times, energy signatures, and reactions under heat. It wasn't much—but to Ling Yun, even scraps were gold.
Each herb on the table had been cross-referenced. He had studied them in depth. Annotated the margins. Simulated their reactions a hundred times in his mind.
But every imaginary session had ended in failure.
"The Curse of Misfortune again," he muttered bitterly.
Slumping back in the wooden chair, he watched as alchemy disciples from the Feng Clan entered the hall one by one.
They ignored him entirely.
Focused on their flames, their recipes, their little alchemical worlds.
Ling Yun's lips curled into a devilish grin.
"Perfect. Now I get to watch them. Study their flames. Their timing. Their errors."
"If I can't access heaven's insight, I'll take someone else's."
Eyes narrowing, he leaned forward.
The flickering of spiritual fire, the sizzling of melting herbs, the pulsing of refined Qi—each sound and flicker became data in his mind.
Ling Yun was no ordinary cultivator.
He was a demon.
A fallen god.
And demons had their own ways of learning.