Chen Chong began refining pills in huge quantities. True Martial Pills poured into the storeroom as though they cost nothing.
He made five or six batches a day at minimum, seven or eight at most. Each batch yielded three to five pills, adding up to twenty or thirty True Martial Pills a day.
The storeroom steward went from astonishment to numb acceptance. He cleared an entire tier of shelves just for the True Martial Pills Chen Chong refined.
Large sums of silver flowed into Chen Chong's room. The accounts office settled up daily, leaving small cloth bags of silver fragments and copper coins sitting heavily on his desk.
Chen Chong made no attempt to hide it. He locked the money in an iron chest, traded it for silver ingots when the chest filled, then traded the ingots for gold leaves. He did it all in plain sight.
That openness sent ripples through World-Aiding Hall.
People talked about it over tea and after meals.
For one thing, the money was enough to make anyone stare. For another, the sheer number of True Martial Pills he refined set people wondering about his Alchemy. How had someone so young become so skilled?
Among alchemists, Chen Chong had become thoroughly famous.
But for the alchemists of World-Aiding Hall, that was no good thing.
True Martial Pills were a high-end product at World-Aiding Hall, and the profits they brought in were substantial.
The ingredients for one batch cost around two taels of silver. It yielded three to five pills, each of which sold for two to three taels. The profit on a batch was several times the cost.
Previously, those profits had been shared among World-Aiding Hall's alchemists. Each refined a few batches a month and had his own source of income.
But when Chen Chong arrived, he took on the entire True Martial Pill quota by himself, with production to spare.
What was more, his True Martial Pills were of excellent quality: dark gold in color, with shimmering patterns and medicinal potency a good three-tenths stronger than ordinary True Martial Pills.
As a result, the hall's alchemists saw their incomes shrink considerably.
At first, they could accept it. Chen Chong was the new deputy manager, after all. They figured he needed to make an impression and would ease off once his initial enthusiasm passed.
But more than ten days had gone by, and Chen Chong showed no sign of stopping. The stock of True Martial Pills in the storeroom kept growing, even with buyers coming in after hearing that World-Aiding Hall's pills were better. Otherwise, the storeroom would have held even more.
Before Chen Chong arrived, Li Lang had been World-Aiding Hall's chief alchemist.
He was in his forties and had reached the Skin Tempering Realm. Somewhat proud, he held no small standing among alchemists. In past years, he had taken the largest share of World-Aiding Hall's True Martial Pill quota and lived comfortably.
After Chen Chong arrived, many who should have brought gifts to Li Lang took them to Chen Chong instead. The deputy manager was an alchemist too, and a better one at that.
Li Lang already had plenty of grievances against Chen Chong. Now, in Manager Wang Zheng's room, he said angrily:
"Chen Chong hasn't even thought to leave me a mouthful of soup. Manager, shouldn't you have a word with him?"
Manager Wang took a sip of tea. His kindly face still wore its genial smile as he replied to Li Lang:
"Manager Chen's Alchemy is superb, and he's working tirelessly for World-Aiding Hall. What is there to question?"
Li Lang stared at Wang Zheng's face. Seeing that he seemed unmoved, Li Lang's lips shifted, but in the end he said nothing more. He turned and left.
Only when he was some distance away did Li Lang mutter a curse at Wang Zheng. "Whoever makes the most pills is your father. Greedy dog. Bah, as if no one knows you sell pills behind the hall's back."
Meanwhile, in Chen Chong's room.
He swallowed a True Martial Pill. As it reached his stomach, heat burst through him.
This time was different. His flesh seemed to come alive, pulsing. Every strand beneath his skin quivered, contracted, and stretched, as though countless invisible threads were tugging through his body.
His tendons pulled with each pulse of his flesh. From fingers to toes, from neck to lower back, they tightened and loosened, then loosened and tightened again, making faint sounds like bowstrings being plucked.
His fascia grew, thickened, and became more elastic.
Chen Chong closed his eyes and felt the surging power inside him.
The Tendon-Tremor Realm—fascia like bowstrings, springing and trembling to release force. Power traveled from the soles of the feet to the fists with almost nothing lost along the way. Releasing force was like loosing an arrow; drawing it back was like a bowstring returning to rest. This was Tendon Vibration.
He opened his eyes and brought up the panel.
[Name: Chen Chong] [Techniques: True Tiger-Subduing Art (Perfection), Mountain-Splitting Saber Technique (Perfection)] [Realm: Tendon-Tremor Realm (1/10000)]
The Tendon-Tremor Realm required ten thousand experience points, just like the Skin Tempering Realm. It was preparation for the final hurdle, the Bone Tempering Realm.
At the Bone-Forging Stage, bones were like iron and blood like mercury. Reaching that realm would give him some power to protect himself. In a place like Dingshan County, someone in the Bone Tempering Realm already counted as an expert.
During this time, he had fused in every technique he had. Four Directions Fist, Clear Spirit Sword, Falling Cloud Art, Azure Sun Breathing Art... The entire chest of techniques had been merged into Tiger Roars Through the Mountains and Forests and Five Tigers Severing the Mountain Blade, which had ultimately transformed into True Tiger-Subduing Art and Mountain-Splitting Saber Technique.
Both techniques had reached Perfection. Their fusion had reached its limit.
To go further, he needed to develop the two incomplete manuals—Tyrant Blade and the nameless technique. Techniques of that level should be able to undergo further fusion.
He could no longer fuse in those common, lower-level techniques.
And True Tiger-Subduing Art seemed to have undergone a transformation in quality. Chen Chong clenched his fist, feeling the power inside him, so abundant it was almost overflowing.
With every breath, his blood and qi circulated on their own. Skin, flesh, and fascia worked together layer by layer, like a finely tuned machine.
Before, a punch had to carry power from his feet to his fist through several points, losing some at each one. Now his fascia was like a bowstring, transmitting force with almost no loss. When he punched, the strength of his entire body gathered into one force: heavy, fierce, and unified.
He tried throwing a punch inside the room. It was only a casual blow, nowhere near full strength. Yet the wind of his fist whistled out, jolting the teacup on the table and spilling its tea.
Chen Chong nodded. True Tiger-Subduing Art lived up to its name.
The scene shifted to the Dark Market.
Wrapped in a dark gray cloak, Li Lang threaded through the crowd. The Dark Market's lamps burned brighter than usual. Vendors' cries mingled with buyers' haggling, the din like a pot of boiling water. He walked to an inconspicuous corner in the deepest part of the market.
A man stood in the corner.
A scar ran diagonally across his face, from his left brow to his right cheek.
Lean and wiry, he wore faded black clothes and carried a short blade at his waist, its sheath wrapped in hemp rope. He leaned against the wall with a stalk of dry grass between his teeth and cast Li Lang a languid glance.
"Alchemist Li." The scar-faced man recognized him. His mouth twitched, twisting the scar with it. "A rare visitor."
Li Lang lowered his voice. "I need you to kill someone."
The scar-faced man spat out the grass and straightened, sizing Li Lang up. "Who?"
"World-Aiding Hall's deputy manager, Chen Chong."
The scar-faced man fell silent for a moment, as though weighing the name. Then he asked, "An alchemist?"
The scar-faced man raised an eyebrow.
"What's the price?"
Li Lang pulled a cloth pouch from his sleeve and tossed it over. The scar-faced man caught it, weighed it in his hand, then opened it for a look. Gleaming gold leaves—ten taels' worth.
"A deposit," Li Lang said. "Another ten taels when it's done."
The scar-faced man tucked the pouch into his clothes and nodded. "Within three days."
Li Lang said nothing more. He turned and vanished into the Dark Market crowd.
The scar-faced man leaned back against the wall, took another stalk of dry grass between his teeth, and closed his eyes.
The Dark Market's lamplight flickered across his face, casting shifting shadows. In the darkness, his scar looked especially vicious.