The disciples of Autumn Maple Retreat gathered in the courtyard, their faces aglow with the flush of victory. Laughter and excited chatter dominated the space as they celebrated their triumph in the written examination. At the center of their joyous circle stood Joo-won, his eyes bright with barely contained elation. His fellow apprentices showered him with praise, marveling at his flawless performance.

Yet their revelry was destined to be short-lived. Like a storm cloud blotting out the sun, the silhouette of Alchemist Jeong loomed at the courtyard's edge. His lips curled into a sneer as he strode towards the group, robes billowing ominously.

"Savor your fleeting moment of glory, little ones," Jeong's voice dripped with disdain, his piercing gaze fixed upon Joo-won. "For it shall wither like autumn leaves in the wind. The Lunar Cauldron's mastery shall shine in the practical trial to come. Our vast libraries and rare ingredients render your meager skills insignificant."

Master Geonwoo, venerable teacher of the Autumn Maple Retreat, stepped forward. His weathered face remained calm, a stark contrast to Jeong's arrogance. "The wheel of fate has yet to complete its turn," he spoke, his tone measured but firm. "It is folly to claim victory before the battle has truly begun."

The air in the courtyard grew thick with tension as Master Geonwoo and Alchemist Jeong faced each other, their words as sharp as unsheathed blades.

"Your confidence is misplaced, Geonwoo," he spat. "The Lunar Cauldron has nurtured generations of peerless alchemists. What is your Autumn Maple Retreat but a trifling backwater, hidden away in the forgotten corners of the realm?"

Master Geonwoo stood unflinching, his weathered face a mask of serenity that belied the fire in his eyes. "Insignificant, you say? We may lack your gilded halls and ancient tomes, Jeong, but our disciples possess something far more precious – raw talent honed by unyielding dedication."

As the two masters traded barbs, Joo-won stepped forward. His voice, though soft, carried the weight of mountains. "If the esteemed Alchemist Jeong truly believes our humble school to be of no consequence," he said, a hint of challenge gleaming in his eyes, "then surely he has no cause for concern. Or does doubt gnaw at his heart, whispering that his vaunted disciples may falter before our supposed insignificance?"

Alchemist Jeong's face contorted, his fury as evident as gathering storm clouds. His eyes, narrow slits of barely contained rage, bore into Joo-won. "Such insolence from an untried stripling!" he hissed. "Your clever tongue will not save you when the true test begins. The Lunar Cauldron's legacy shall not be tarnished by mere novices fumbling with herb and flame."

A soft chuckle escaped Master Geonwoo's lips, his weathered features betraying a hint of amusement. "Fate's wheel turns in mysterious ways, Jeong. Let us not count the fish before the net is drawn. When the competition's gong sounds, may the most skilled alchemist prevail."

Yet Alchemist Jeong, his pride wounded, continued to rain scorn upon the Autumn Maple Retreat and its disciples. Master Geonwoo stood unmoved when he spoke.

"Your jade halls and tomes of forgotten lore are impressive indeed, Alchemist Jeong," he said, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his eyes. "But grand pavilions do not make an alchemist. The true measure of our schools shall be revealed in the crucible of competition."

Alchemist Jeong's face flushed crimson, his qi roiling like a tempest. "You dare question the prowess of Lunar Cauldron's disciples?" he snarled. "Your paltry school is but a flickering candle before our radiant sun. You've stumbled into waters far too deep, old fool."

Master Geonwoo's laughter rang out, clear as a mountain stream. "Question? Nay, I acknowledge their talents freely. But consider this, Jeong – is the mightiest sword not forged in the hottest flames? True mastery of the alchemical arts demands more than mere knowledge and gleaming apparatus. It requires the burning passion of a blazing heart, the unwavering dedication of a mountain, and the perseverance of the eternal river. These qualities, I assure you, flow abundantly in the veins of our disciples."

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Jeong's lips curled in disdain. "Pretty words, but empty as dawn mist. When the next trial commences, you shall witness true greatness. My niece, Sohee, bearer of the Azure Phoenix legacy, will crush your upstart pupils beneath her jade-like feet. The supremacy of Lunar Cauldron shall be etched in the annals of this competition!"

With a final snort of contempt, Alchemist Jeong whirled away, his robes snapping like angry pennants in his wake. As his retreating form vanished into the shadows, the disciples of Autumn Maple Retreat exhaled collectively, their earlier elation at their written exam triumph returning like the sun emerging from behind storm clouds.

From the shadows of a distant pavilion, four figures observed the unfolding drama with keen eyes. Alchemist Joo, his weathered face a mask of concentration, stood beside the youthful trio of Do Joon-soo, Hyeol-Ran, and Yi Ji-won. Their qi carefully suppressed, they remained as still as statues, aware that the slightest misstep could unravel their carefully laid plans.

"Joo-won's triumph in the written trials brings us one step closer to our goal," Alchemist Joo murmured, his voice barely a whisper on the wind.

As the sun climbed higher in the azure sky, a great gong reverberated through the air. The successful disciples of the first trial filed into the vast Celestial Pill Refinery, a chamber so vast it seemed to touch the very heavens. Ornate furnaces lined the walls, their intricate designs hinting at profound alchemical mysteries.

The assembled young alchemists settled into their positions, but a ripple of unease passed through their ranks. Sharp eyes noted that the stern-faced proctor from the written exam was nowhere to be seen. In her place stood a figure draped in robes of midnight blue, face obscured by a veil of shimmering silk.

Whispers, soft as rustling leaves, began to circulate among the gathered disciples. "Have you heard?" one murmured to his neighbor. "It's said that Alchemist Jeong's has something to do with the changes. Some claim he manipulated the selection of this round's overseer to favor his niece's chances."

The proctor's voice rang out, clear as a temple bell, silencing the murmurs of the gathered disciples. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, swept across the assembly.

"Young alchemists, heed my words. You stand at the threshold of the Hundred Poisons Assembly's second trial. The scrolls and ink brushes of yesterday are but a distant memory. Now, the true test of your craft begins."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle upon the eager minds before him. "This challenge shall diverge from the well-worn paths of tradition. Your task is not to follow a single recipe, but to create a myriad of elixirs from the ingredients bestowed upon you."

A collective intake of breath rippled through the chamber. The proctor's lips quirked in a faint smile. "Time shall be both your ally and your foe. Three turns of the incense stick are all that stand between you and glory... or bitter defeat. Remember, a single misstep can birth catastrophe."

The proctor raised his hand, fingers tracing an arcane symbol in the air. As if summoned by celestial decree, fourteen maidens glided into the chamber, each bearing a lacquered box of profound mystery. The air grew thick with anticipation as the lids were lifted, revealing ingredients that whispered of realms beyond mortal ken.

"Behold," the proctor's voice resonated, "the fourteen ingredients that shall test your mettle!"

Eyes widened as the contents were revealed:

Selkie Oil, shimmering with the secrets of the deep sea.

Wolpertinger Tears, each drop a crystalline fragment of moonlight.

White Stag Antler, pulsing with the vitality of sacred forests.

Rotten Bush, its twisted form reeking of decay and rebirth.

Necron Bone, darker than the void between stars.

Perfumed Bane, its sweet scent masking deadly potency.

Noxious Burberry, wisps of venomous mist curling from its leaves.

Liquidized Bamboo, flowing like the essence of flexibility itself.

Arachne's Venomous Web, gossamer strands glinting with malice.

Cyclops Tooth, a jagged remnant of mythical might.

Drifting Bitterweed, its petals whispering of forgotten sorrows.

Ghost Ichor, pulsing with the energies of the spirit realm.

Minotaur Heart-Blood, still warm with primal fury.

Grave Boxwood, its gnarled form echoing with deathly silence.

"Tread carefully, young alchemists," the proctor warned, his voice low and grave. "For in these vessels lie both salvation and ruin. A single misstep could unleash forces beyond your control."

With trembling hands and racing minds, the disciples approached their workstations. As they began to select and combine the mystical substances, the air crackled with possibility. Each knew that within their grasp lay the power to ascend to glory... or to fall into the annals of infamous failure.