Chapter 53: Standard Pill and Trap

Xiulan packed the ingredients with methodical precision. The Dawn Serpent Scales were carefully contained in cloth bags. The blood lotus petals remained in the qi-containing jars provided by Master Qingfeng. She arranged fifty thunder roots in their own wrappings, their energy crackling faintly against her qi-enhanced senses.

Two travel packs absorbed the precious cargo, reinforced with extra padding to prevent any unfortunate bumps. She added a matched pair of razor-sharp preparation knives and a compact spiritual cauldron—simple but effective for the task ahead.

Merchandiser Ming approached with silent steps across the storage room floor, extending a small metal tube toward Xiulan. The silver surface caught the light from nearby spirit stones.

Xiulan frowned. “What’s this?”

“If trouble finds you, launch it skyward.” Ming tapped the tube. “Long, Mo, and I will come extract you back to the Pavilion.”

“Master Qingfeng said that—”

Ming cut her off with a sharp headshake. “The Master can’t leave or intervene without risking tribulation. But we’re different—I’m only at Qi Refining, and Mo and Long are merely Qi Gathering cultivators. We won’t draw the same scrutiny.” She pressed the tube firmly into Xiulan’s palm. “He won’t stand idle while you and Fairy Feng risk death or capture.”

“Haa...” Xiulan stared at the signal tube. “I guess he knows what I’m doing even without being told.”

Ming smiled warmly. “The Master’s age hasn’t dulled his perception. If anything, his insight grows sharper.”

Footsteps echoed against stone as Feng Yu strode into the storage room. “The manor’s perimeter is clear. Two complete circuits and not a soul in sight.”

Xiulan’s stomach twisted. “Did you find any bodies?”

“A few scattered remains, but far fewer than expected. Most of the servants and soldiers must have fled in time.”

“I hope they made it.” Xiulan traced her fingers along the signal tube’s cool surface.

“Reports never mentioned mass casualties,” Ming said. “The survivors likely scattered to safety when the attack began.”

Xiulan secured the first pack across her shoulders, adjusting the straps until the weight settled evenly. Feng Yu hoisted the second pack.

The spiritual cauldron’s metallic surface gleamed as Xiulan lifted it. “Let’s go.”

She kept her steps measured as they blended into the sparse foot traffic outside the Treasure Pavilion. The weight of the ingredients pressed against her back, urging her to hurry.

“Are you certain about this?” Feng Yu matched her pace. “An attack could ruin the entire pill-making process.”

“I know.” Xiulan adjusted her pack strap. “Master Qingfeng will still help if we fail. We’d need to gather ingredients again, but he’ll wait.”

She scanned the nearly empty streets. “If we avoid trouble, we complete the pill. If not—we might catch one of these Chao family cultivators. I want answers about what they know.”

Feng Yu glanced at her. “Is that why Ming gave you this?”

“Yes. If things turn ugly, they’ll extract us.”

“I’ll do my best then.”

“With luck, we’ll succeed at both.” Xiulan gestured with the spiritual cauldron. “But if the process breaks, we focus on capture.”

Feng Yu nodded.

The city streets were hushed. Xiulan studied each alley and rooftop but spotted no observers. Residents hurried past with downcast eyes, their usual energy replaced by tense silence.

The manor’s main gate hung askew on broken hinges, its surface blackened and peeled from intense heat. She stepped through the ruined entrance, her boots crunching on scattered debris.

Charred timbers and collapsed stone walls created a maze of destruction across what had once been pristine grounds. The acrid stench of burnt wood mixed with darker undertones that made her stomach clench.

Half-buried shapes beneath the rubble drew her gaze before she forced herself to look away. The courtyard—where just a week ago she’d shared laughter and food with Feng Yu and Ren Chun—lay buried under a thick blanket of gray ash.

“We’ll set up in the back.” Xiulan swallowed hard against the tightness in her throat.

“That won’t deter them.” Feng Yu scanned the area. “They’ll just climb over if they want in.”

“True. But it should keep civilians and curious onlookers from wandering through.”

“I’ll find a good vantage point to watch without seeing the pill-making process.” Feng Yu adjusted her saber.

“Just focus on capturing anyone who shows up.”

“They might not come at all if they took a good beating at your family’s manor.” Feng Yu passed the second pack to Xiulan. “Here.”

“Then we make the pill and return to the Pavilion.” Xiulan accepted the pack, setting it beside hers on the ground.

Xiulan swept debris from a flat section of courtyard stone, creating a clean workspace beneath a partially intact wall. The spiritual cauldron settled onto its bronze legs with a solid thunk. She arranged her tools in precise rows—mortar, pestle, knives, and a set of hourglasses.

Perfect spot. Clear view of approaching threats while staying hidden from the street.

A quick scan of the perimeter showed Feng Yu perched on a section of intact roof, saber ready. Xiulan unpacked the ingredients with practiced efficiency, memory taking over from countless hours spent crafting pills in her previous life.

The familiar motions helped steady her nerves as she worked. Each step flowed into the next—processing scales, preparing roots, extracting essence from petals. The spirit stone pulsed with energy as she placed it.

Every few minutes she paused to survey the ruins, tracking shadows and listening for footsteps. The empty manor remained silent except for the crackle of flames beneath her cauldron. Even the city sounds seemed muted, as if holding its breath.

The mixture thickened right on schedule. Xiulan reduced the heat and began the final stirring phase. The liquid shimmered as she poured it into the waiting mold.

“Now we wait.” She wiped her brow and settled back to watch the pills solidify.

One hour stood between success and failure.

Xiulan studied the pill mold. A heavy impact would ruin everything now.

She knelt and plunged her fingers into the packed earth, channeling qi to loosen the soil. A neat plug of dirt came free. The pill mold nestled perfectly in the resulting hollow.

She gently tamped the earth back into place and drove her preparation knife deep beside it. The blade’s handle would mark the spot clearly against the ash-covered ground.

One by one, she packed away her tools. The spiritual cauldron required extra care—residual heat from the flames still radiated from its bronze surface. It would take hours to cool, so the safe bet would be to have Feng Yu carry it back.

“Xiulan!” her companion’s urgent shout cut through the air.

Xiulan twisted, following Feng Yu’s pointing finger. A figure in black scaled down the manor’s wall. Their outfit matched exactly what she imagined the Whispering Shadows Sect gear looked like—fitted dark cloth that resembled a ninja or something.

A metallic glint flashed. Xiulan stepped sideways as a dart whistled past her ear. She snatched up her spear, scanning the attacker’s movements. Their qi pulsed fiercely, much higher than the common bandits they had faced on the road, making their true strength difficult to gauge.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

She deflected another dart with her spear’s shaft. Feng Yu launched forward off the charred roof, saber drawn.

A second attacker emerged from the shadows. Their chain-sickle whirled through the air toward Feng Yu. She twisted away, but the weapon’s chain wrapped around her saber. She angled the blade, letting the chain slip free with a metallic shriek.

A dart streaked toward Feng Yu’s exposed side. Xiulan lunged forward, spear extended. The tip knocked the projectile from its path with surgical precision.

“Nice one!” Feng Yu called out.

“Remember—we need one alive!” Xiulan shifted her stance, keeping both attackers in view.

She tracked the hidden weapon expert’s movements as Feng Yu engaged the chain-sickle wielder. The black-clad cultivator darted through the rubble, launching a barrage of darts that forced her to constantly adjust her spear’s position.

A flash of metal caught her eye as he rushed toward her. She twisted sideways, deflecting three more darts with her spear shaft. The assassin slipped under her guard, closing the distance faster than she anticipated.

Steel glinted. Pain blazed across her side as she leaped backward. He pursued, pressing the advantage.

Xiulan planted her foot on a chunk of rubble, channeling qi through her meridians. “Water Stepping Foot!”

The ground exploded in a geyser of dirt and stone, catching the assassin full in the face. He staggered back, sputtering. Xiulan thrust her spear into the ground and gathered qi in her palms.

“Thunder God Claps for Arrogant Young Masters!”

The blast wave sent him spinning through the air. He twisted to land in a graceful roll and immediately launched another volley of darts. The projectiles ricocheted off each other, causing them to flash toward her from multiple angles. She struggled to jump into a twist to avoid them.

Sharp pain bloomed as several darts grazed her. Blood trickled down her arms. The earlier slash wound at her side continued bleeding steadily, the flow refusing to slow. Each cut burned with increasing intensity.

Poison. The bastard coated everything with some kind of anticoagulant.

Her opponent switched to maintaining his distance, well outside her technique range. More darts filled the air forcing her to keep moving. Xiulan’s qi surged as she deflected another volley with a Thunder Clap.

She grit her teeth. Her condition was deteriorating. She could feel some of her outer meridians clogging as her physical condition worsened.

She released another offensive qi blast, but he danced away from it, the air only breezing his black outfit.

My qi might be stronger, but what good is that if I can’t fucking hit him?

A burst of orange light drew Xiulan’s attention. Feng Yu’s fire-wreathed sword carved blazing arcs through the air, forcing the chain-sickle cultivator backward. Each slash ignited wooden debris and scattered ash. The assassin kept trying to retreat, but Feng Yu pursued relentlessly.

Sharp pain exploded across Xiulan’s cheek as a dart struck home. Blood trickled down her face, burning like acid where the poison touched. She spun back toward her own opponent.

Focus, dammit! Getting distracted will get you killed.

Her spear felt clumsy against such a nimble opponent. She needed something faster, more precise. The twin daggers were her only alternative—though her skills with them remained rudimentary at best. But combined with the new lightning technique she’d used in Dawn Valley...

If I can get airborne while he stays grounded, the electricity will take the path of least resistance. Through him, not me.

Xiulan switched her grip on the spear, advancing with quick steps. She spun the weapon to create a shield of motion that deflected the next barrage of darts. The assassin retreated, but she pressed forward, forcing him to give ground.

Just need to get close enough...

Her spear blurred faster as she drove toward the shadowy cultivator. Blood dripped steadily from her wounds, but she ignored the burning sensation spreading through her meridians.

She forced him between fallen beams and crumbling walls. He darted sideways toward an exit, but her spear whistled through the air, slamming into the stone wall inches from his face. Stone chips exploded outward as he stumbled back and reversed course.

She drew her twin daggers in a smooth motion. Qi surged through her meridians as she channeled yin energy into the left blade and yang into the right. The metal grew hot and cold against her palms.

One second is all I need.

She gathered qi at the precise meridian points she needed to execute Heavenly Two Step. The world blurred as she flashed to the assassin’s right, then instantly reappeared on his left. His momentum carried him straight toward her.

Steel rang against steel as he produced twin daggers, barely blocking her strike. The blades locked together with a metallic screech.

Xiulan pushed qi through her meridians, lifting her feet from the ground. The yin and yang energies discharged through their joined weapons. Blue-white electricity arced between the blades with a thunderous crack. Ozone filled the air as the assassin flew backward, slamming into the wall and crumpling to the ground.

The qi drain made her stumble. She hit the floor hard but scrambled up, charging after him.

He started to rise. Her foot connected between his legs with brutal force.

He screamed and slashed wildly with blackened, smoking hands. She kicked him again and again, desperate to end the fight. He rolled away after a fifth strike, but she pounced, landing on his back.

Her fist drove into his spine. A sickening crack echoed through the ruins. His legs went limp, but his arms still flailed. She grabbed his wrists, yanking them behind his neck and shoving down hard until his struggles became ineffective.

With the assassin pinned beneath her, Xiulan looked up to check on the other fight.

The chain-sickle cultivator and Feng Yu spun through the air, their weapons locked together. Their legs kicked frantically as they twisted and turned, neither able to break free. Neither of them was willing to let go of the other’s weapons and the chain had wrapped around their wrists in a macabre binding.

Brilliant orange light blazed across Feng Yu’s skin in a sheen before her qi surged outward and flames erupted from her body.

The chain-sickle cultivator struggled to escape, but their weapons remained fused together. His qi pressed outward in a last ditch defense—Xiulan sensed the distinct resonance of metal element energy attempting to counter the flames.

A fatal mistake.

Even if he had superior meridians and qi force, that meant nothing against the overwhelming heat.

Fire controlled metal.

“Fire Cremation Palm!” Feng Yu’s shout rang across the courtyard.

The flames intensified to a searing white-blue, like an acetylene torch cutting through steel. Xiulan turned away as the brilliant light became unbearable. The assassin beneath her thrashed and screamed. A consuming roar whooshed through the air for a second before going silent.

Closing her eyes made the mental visualization of her meridian network painful. Black spots pulsed around the periphery. Blood soaked her robes and dripped onto the pinned cultivator. Her limbs grew heavy as poison worked deeper into her system. She forced her qi to circulate faster, containing the spreading corruption but unable to eliminate it.

The blinding light faded, and she opened her eyes and looked up. Feng Yu dropped what remained of the chain-sickle—now just a misshapen lump of cooling metal that flowed off her saber. The other cultivator’s bones clattered to the ground, the rest of him dispersing as ash on the wind.

Well, it was a good thing she captured her opponent, because that one wasn’t going to be answering anything.

“Feng Yu!” Xiulan shouted.

Feng Yu strode over and pulled a shimmering golden rope from a hidden pocket. She bound the assassin’s hands and feet with practiced efficiency, allowing Xiulan to slump against a broken wall. Blood dripped steadily from her wounds onto the stone floor.

She couldn’t just let the exhaustion make her give up. She tore strips from her already ruined robe, trying to wrap the deepest cut on her side. The makeshift bandages soaked through almost instantly. Her fingers trembled as she pressed harder against the wound.

“You need help.” Feng Yu knelt beside her.

“No fucking shit I need help.” Xiulan gritted her teeth against another wave of burning pain.

Feng Yu grabbed her shoulders and turned her around, pushing her to sit. Warm fingers pressed against specific points along Xiulan’s spine. Sharp heat lanced through her meridians like molten metal.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Xiulan squawked and tried to pull away.

“There’s spiritual poison preventing your wounds from healing.” Feng Yu’s fingers continued their methodical path.

More burning sensations pierced through Xiulan’s meridians. Each cut required multiple treatments, fire racing through her body with every touch. “Fuck! Shit! Mother-loving son of a—” She bit down on another curse as particularly intense heat seared through her.

The burning gradually subsided. The constant drip of blood slowed to a trickle. Xiulan sagged forward, exhaustion hitting harder than after their journey back from the road.

“You’ll need hours to recover from the internal damage,” Feng Yu said. “Lucky your main meridians weren’t touched. With that much poison, you’d have passed out otherwise.”

Xiulan panted and nodded.

“Where did you learn to curse like that?” Feng Yu asked. “I can’t imagine it was your family’s soldiers they would end up throttled…”

Xiulan winced and let out a pained laugh. “Just… around.” She turned toward their captive, who lay bound nearby. “Got any experience with questioning?”

The assassin flopped like a fish, lower body dragging uselessly as he attempted to escape.

A dangerous smile spread across Feng Yu’s face. “I have some ideas.”

Xiulan glanced over to where she had made the pill.

The knife she had used for chopping the thunder root up was still standing.

So far so good…