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Chapter 18: The Whispering Flame
The alchemy courtyard was quiet in the early morning, its incense-tinged air laced with the scent of herbs and spirit smoke. Clinton crouched over a worn manual, eyebrows furrowed.
"Are you seriously trying alchemy now?" Suyin asked, leaning against a tree. She twirled a vine-wrapped bracelet on her wrist, amused.
"I'm not trying to be a master or anything," Clinton muttered. "But if I can make my own recovery pills, I won't need to beg from the supply depot."
> "Reasonable," Narvek agreed. "You are entering a phase of independence. Having access to basic cultivation resources will reduce your reliance on others."
Suyin narrowed her eyes. "You're getting a little too serious lately. I liked you better when you were falling over your own feet."
Clinton grinned. "Give me a week. I'll trip into success."
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Later That Day...
The alchemy flame flickered in front of Clinton, unstable and messy. The herbs in his cauldron bubbled violently before exploding with a loud pop. Black smoke whooshed out, and Clinton's eyebrows singed slightly.
"Ow!"
> "Do you enjoy combustion? Because this is your fifth failed attempt," Narvek stated flatly.
"I'm learning!"
> "The fire technique is too advanced for your current control. You need to start with a whispering flame, not a roaring one."
Clinton adjusted his breathing, channeling his Qi into his fingers, letting the energy trickle down slowly.
He struck the cauldron again.
This time, the flame rose—small, gentle, and blue.
> "That's it. Maintain that rhythm."
The herbs didn't scream this time. They melted in sequence, infused with spiritual Qi.
Thirty minutes passed. Beads of sweat rolled down Clinton's face, but he didn't falter.
A low thrum echoed from the cauldron.
When the smoke cleared, a single dull-blue pill rolled into the collection dish.
"YES!" Clinton pumped a fist, and then nearly passed out from fatigue.
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The Next Morning
Suyin handed him a bowl of porridge. "So… alchemist now?"
"Mini-alchemist," he said through a mouthful. "Enough to make low-grade healing pills. It's all I need right now."
> "A good call," Narvek noted. "This will improve your endurance in duels."
Just then, a few other outer sect disciples passed by. One of them—a girl named Mei Lin—paused.
"You're the guy who made the Blue Pill yesterday, right?"
Clinton blinked. "Uh… yeah?"
"That thing worked better than the sect's own!" she grinned. "You selling?"
Clinton looked surprised. "You used it?"
"My roommate gave it to me. I healed up in half the time. If you're making more, I know people who'd pay."
> "Do not attract too much attention," Narvek warned. "But minor interactions like this are acceptable."
Clinton nodded slowly. "I'll think about it."
As Mei Lin skipped off, Suyin leaned closer. "See? You're getting good. Just don't become a merchant and forget your cultivation path."
"Don't worry. Pills are just part of the grind."
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That Night
Under the moonlight, Clinton stood near the spirit well, breathing slowly.
He felt different now.
Not stronger in a flashy way—but his recovery was faster, his techniques tighter, and his confidence more stable.
> "Progress. Subtle, but solid," Narvek said. "And no one suspects you yet."
"Good," Clinton whispered.
He sat cross-legged under the starlight.
Alone.
Focused.
Quietly rising in a world that didn't yet see him coming.
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