The kitchen in Wang Yan's home had now become his pill-refining... or rather, "pill-frying" room.
His expression was solemn, as though he were performing a sacred ritual.
On the stove, the large iron wok his family had used for years, gleaming with oil, had been scrubbed until it reflected light, almost clearly enough to show his nervous face.
He recalled the [Four Essentials of Pill Frying] that his master, Si Chen, had taught him, muttering under his breath.
"The wok is the foundation of the Dao!"
On the chopping board, several portions of the lowest-grade ingredients, bought with almost all his savings, had already been neatly laid out.
Next, his knife rose and fell as he julienned, blanched, and passed the ingredients through oil. His movements actually looked the part.
"Fire is the soul of the pill!"
Then he circulated his Foundation Establishment spiritual power, controlling a faint but steady wisp of spirit flame to carefully heat the bottom of the wok, not daring to be the slightest bit careless.
"Tossing is the rhythm of the art!"
He took a deep breath and put the ingredients into the wok. Recalling the wok-tossing movements he had seen in the restaurant kitchen, he flicked his wrist and began stir-frying, trying to heat the ingredients evenly.
Ideally, this should have helped fuse their medicinal potency and complete the purification.
But ideals were plump, while reality was all skin and bones.
"Sssizzle-"
The spiritual herbs in the wok quickly curled up, blackened, and released a wisp of bluish smoke carrying a burnt smell. In mere moments, the once emerald-green leaves had become a wokful of black charcoal stuck to the bottom.
His first attempt ended in failure.
Wang Yan froze, staring at the charcoal in the wok, a little dazed.
"It's all right. Master