CHAPTER 7:ALCHEMY TRIAL-CAULDRONS AND CHAOS (PART-2)

The elder, his emerald robes shimmering under the arena's brilliant array of spiritual lights, raised a gnarled hand. His voice, now devoid of humor, resonated with solemn authority. "Let the trial… begin!"

The words hung in the air, a command echoing across the vast expanse. Then, a collective roar, not of voices, but of raw, unleashed power.

*WHOOSH!*

Thousands of cultivators, poised and ready, ignited their cauldrons at once. A blinding mosaic of flames erupted across the arena floor, a vibrant tapestry of crimson, azure, emerald, and gold. Spiritual energy, thick and tangible, surged through the air, pressing down on the observers, making the very stone beneath their seats hum. The arena vibrated with a deep, resonant thrum, a living beast awakened by the sheer force of a thousand alchemical fires. Heat, intense and sudden, rolled off the platforms in waves, a furnace breath that scorched the air.

Lin Feng, seated among the inner sect observers, watched with impassive eyes. The torrent of spiritual energy, the overwhelming heat, barely registered. His gaze was fixed, unwavering, on a single figure amidst the fiery chaos.

Meixiu stood before her cauldron, a simple, unadorned vessel, as if she were merely contemplating a particularly stubborn stain on her kitchen counter. She hummed, a soft, lilting tune that seemed utterly out of place amidst the thunderous roar of ignited cauldrons and the crackle of spiritual flames. It was a melody without words, just a gentle rise and fall, like a lullaby or a forgotten folk song. Her twilight robes, a whisper of deep blues and purples, swirled softly around her as she moved, a fluid dance of fabric and grace.

She reached for a handful of dragonleaf, its emerald veins pulsing faintly. No scales, no precise measurements. Her fingers, slender and nimble, simply plucked a few leaves, brought them close to her nose, and inhaled, a faint smile playing on her lips. Then, with a casual flick of her wrist, she dropped them into the cauldron. *Plink. Plink. Plink.* The sound was almost lost in the din, yet it carried an odd clarity, like raindrops on a quiet pond. Mr. Bunbun, clutched firmly in her left arm, stared at the cauldron with an intensity that belied his plush form, his button eyes wide and unblinking, as if he, too, were assessing the alchemical process with profound wisdom.

Around her, the scene was a kaleidoscope of frantic effort and varied expertise.

An elder alchemist, his face a roadmap of wrinkles, his hands trembling slightly, meticulously weighed each herb on a delicate spiritual scale, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. He muttered to himself, a low, constant stream of alchemical formulae, his movements slow and deliberate, as if each action carried the weight of centuries of tradition.

Across the platform, a young prodigy, no older than fifteen, moved with a dazzling speed. Rare, shimmering ingredients, plucked from ethereal realms, danced between his fingers. His cauldron pulsed with an unnatural, vibrant glow, a testament to the raw power he wielded. He sneered, a flicker of disdain in his bright eyes, as he glanced at the struggling novices nearby.

"Hmph," he scoffed, loud enough for a few to hear. "Amateurs. This is a display of mastery, not a kindergarten class."

Indeed, many novices were already sweating, their faces pale with panic. One young man, his hair already singed at the temples, stared at his cauldron, which glowed a furious, dangerous red. *HISS!* A wisp of acrid smoke curled from the rim, carrying the scent of burnt herbs and dashed hopes. He fumbled with a spiritual fan, trying to cool the inferno. Another, a girl with wide, terrified eyes, had somehow managed to place her cauldron backwards, its primary opening facing away from her. She stared at it, bewildered, then at the instructions scroll in her shaking hand, then back at the misaligned cauldron. Her lower lip trembled.

"Oh, no, no, no," she whimpered, her voice barely audible. "Master said… the spiritual intake valve… must face the rising sun… but where is the sun?!"

A few rows over, a cultivator with a pompous flourish tossed a handful of glittering dust into his cauldron, striking a dramatic pose for the crowd. He winked at a group of admiring young women in the stands, then winced as a faint *POP!* emanated from his cauldron, followed by a faint smell of burnt sugar. His confident grin faltered for a moment, then snapped back into place.

"Just… adjusting the spiritual resonance!" he declared, a little too loudly.

But amidst the chaos, a peculiar phenomenon was unfolding. Eyes, drawn by an invisible thread, kept drifting towards Li Meixiu. Her serene demeanor, her utterly casual approach, was a disruptive force.

"Is she… humming?" a burly alchemist, his face already streaked with soot, whispered, his jaw slack. He had just over-measured his fire-lotus root, a crucial mistake.

"Wait—did she just smell the jade ginseng before adding it?" another exclaimed, his voice laced with bewildered frustration. "Why is that elegant?! I just choked on my own spiritual smoke trying to get a whiff!"

"Dammit—I scorched my dragonleaf again!" a third cried out, slamming his fist on his workstation. He had been so mesmerized by Meixiu's seemingly effortless movements, the way her robes seemed to flow like water, that he had completely forgotten his own delicate process.

*CRACK!* A small, crystalline vial slipped from the trembling fingers of a young woman, shattering on the stone floor. She stared at the iridescent liquid pooling around her feet, then at Meixiu, her face a mask of utter despair. "She's like… cooking breakfast! How can she be so calm?"

Meixiu, oblivious to the havoc she was wreaking on her fellow competitors' concentration, continued her gentle hum. She reached for a vibrant, violet-hued herb, its leaves shimmering like captured starlight. She didn't measure. She didn't even smell this one. She simply pinched a single leaf, examined it for a moment with a thoughtful expression, then popped it into her mouth. She chewed slowly, her eyes closing in apparent enjoyment.

"Mmm," she hummed, a soft, satisfied sound. "Tastes like… sunshine and berries."

Then, with a casual shrug, she tossed the rest of the herb into her cauldron. *Plop.*

A collective shudder went through the already distracted alchemists.

"She… she ate it?!"

"That's a spiritual herb! For refinement, not… snacking!"

"My God, she's either a genius or completely insane!"

The whispers grew louder, a wave of incredulity and fascination. Several cultivators actually ceased their own trials entirely, their hands hovering over their ingredients, their eyes glued to Meixiu, unable to look away. Their cauldrons sputtered, their fires dimmed, their chances of success evaporating with each passing second they spent staring at her.

Amidst the swirling chaos of fire, panic, and widespread distraction, a figure stumbled onto one of the outermost platforms, almost tripping over her own feet. It was Mu Xiaohua. Her alchemy robe, several sizes too large, dragged on the ground, the left sleeve singed black. Her pale honey-blonde hair, tied into two messy pigtails with fraying red ribbons, was half-burnt, a dark, sooty streak running through one of them. She stared at her cauldron, which was, predictably, backwards. Her large, round peach-colored eyes, already wide with visible panic swirls, darted around, taking in the roaring flames and the frantic alchemists.

"Oh, dear, oh, dear," she whimpered, clutching a small, charred plush tiger spirit named Master Huahua to her chest. Master Huahua was missing an ear, and one of his button eyes dangled precariously. "The instructions! Where are the instructions? I think… I think I ate them. Or maybe they flew away."

She fumbled with a crooked jade badge, which she wore upside-down, then nearly dropped Master Huahua into her cauldron. *BONK!* Her forehead hit the rim of the cauldron with a soft thud.

"Ow! Master Huahua, did you see that? It bit me!"

A gruff alchemist, exasperated by the overall incompetence he witnessed, muttered under his breath a few paces away. "First, ignite the spiritual flame, then add the purified earth essence…"

Mu Xiaohua's head snapped up. Her peach-colored eyes, usually swimming with confusion, suddenly cleared. "Spiritual flame! Right!" she exclaimed, her voice surprisingly loud. She clumsily fumbled with a flint stone, sparks flying, and with a small *POOF*, a vibrant, if slightly lopsided, flame erupted in her cauldron.

The gruff alchemist sighed, then continued his muttered instructions. "Next, the essence of the Azure Sky Flower, three measures, gently, to stabilize the core…"

"Azure Sky Flower! Three measures! Gently!" Mu Xiaohua echoed, her movements suddenly precise, almost graceful, as if guided by an invisible hand. She plucked three perfect Azure Sky Flowers from her ingredient pouch, her hands steady, and dropped them into the cauldron with a soft *plip, plip, plip*. The flame inside her cauldron, which had been wavering wildly, steadied, its light turning a soft, calming blue.

The gruff alchemist, busy with his own concoction, didn't notice. He just kept muttering, a running commentary on the Foundation Pill process. "Now, the dragon's breath crystal, crushed to a fine powder, infused with a whisper of wind spirit…"

Mu Xiaohua, following every whispered word, crushed the crystal with astonishing speed and infused it with a delicate spiritual breeze that seemed to materialize from nowhere. Her messy pigtails bounced with each precise movement. She was a walking miracle, a clumsy conduit for alchemical perfection.

Lin Feng, from his vantage point, observed the unfolding spectacle. His gaze, usually so focused on Meixiu, flickered to Mu Xiaohua. He saw her sway, her balance precarious, as she leaned over her cauldron, almost toppling headfirst into the swirling blue flame.

Without a visible movement, Lin Feng's dark eyes narrowed slightly. A faint, almost imperceptible ripple of spiritual force, like an invisible hand, reached out from the observer stands, a silent current of energy. It brushed against Mu Xiaohua's back, a gentle, corrective nudge. She righted herself, a surprised gasp escaping her lips.

"Woah!" she squeaked, her peach-colored eyes blinking rapidly. She looked around, bewildered, then her gaze landed on Lin Feng. He sat there, utterly still, his black robes a stark silhouette against the bustling arena, his flawless face impassive. But for a fleeting moment, she thought she saw a faint, almost imperceptible nod from him.

A blush, fiery and immediate, spread across Mu Xiaohua's cheeks, reaching the tips of her singed ears. Her heart gave a sudden, frantic *thump-thump*. "Oh," she whispered, clutching Master Huahua tighter. "That handsome senior… is he taken?" She pondered this, her eyes still fixed on Lin Feng, a dreamy expression replacing her usual panic.

Meanwhile, Jian Nian, the mute heir of the Rustless Blade Clan, remained a silent, unmoving presence, leaning against a grand, intricately carved pillar that supported the observation deck. His battle-scarred palms rested on the cool stone, his stoic face revealing nothing. He watched the trial, his gaze sweeping over the thousands of cultivators, the erupting flames, the rising tension. His eyes, dark and sharp, flickered once to Meixiu, lingering for a fraction of a second on her serene, almost playful movements. Then, his gaze shifted, settling on Lin Feng.

No words were spoken. Jian Nian merely gave a soft, almost imperceptible nod towards Lin Feng. It was a gesture that could be interpreted in many ways: respect for his quiet power, acknowledgment of their shared purpose, or perhaps even a silent warning, a recognition of the dangerous path they both walked. Lin Feng, ever perceptive, caught the subtle movement, his own expression unchanging.

The trial continued, a symphony of crackling flames, bubbling cauldrons, and muttered incantations. Hours stretched into a long, arduous test of skill, patience, and luck. The air grew thick with the scent of refined herbs, mingled with the occasional acrid whiff of failure.

Finally, the elder raised his hand once more. "Time!" he boomed, his voice cutting through the remaining hum of activity. "Cease all refinement!"

A collective sigh, part relief, part despair, swept through the arena. Flames dwindled, cauldrons cooled, and thousands of hands, some trembling, some steady, reached for their results.

The process of evaluating the pills was meticulous, conducted by a panel of stern-faced elders who moved through the platforms, their expressions unreadable. From the thousands of competitors who had started:

Approximately nine hundred cultivators had failed entirely, their cauldrons either empty, filled with worthless sludge, or still smoking from an unfortunate explosion. The ground was littered with shattered vials, burnt herbs, and the occasional disgruntled alchemist.

Only about one hundred managed to produce a pill of any kind. Of those:

Roughly seventy were low-tier first-grade Foundation Pills, dull in color, their spiritual energy faint, barely enough to provide a foundational boost.

Twenty-five were mid-tier, their surfaces smoother, their glow more consistent, offering a decent, if not exceptional, boost.

And a mere four or five, produced by the young prodigy and a few seasoned masters, were high-tier, shimmering with vibrant spiritual light, promising a significant enhancement to a cultivator's base.

The elders announced the results methodically, their voices devoid of emotion. Cheers erupted for the successful, groans for the failures. The crowd in the observation stands buzzed with commentary, assessing each pill, each alchemist.

Then, the elders approached Li Meixiu's platform. A hush fell over her immediate vicinity. Many had been snickering, preparing to witness a spectacular failure after her audacious performance. Even Lin Feng, despite his unwavering faith, felt a flicker of something akin to amusement. He subtly shifted in his seat, a tiny smile playing on his lips, hidden from view.

Meixiu, however, remained serene. Her cauldron, which had been humming with a peculiar, soft glow throughout the trial, now simply *shuddered*. A faint *POP!* echoed, not violent, but rather like a champagne cork leaving a bottle. A wisp of dark, almost comical smoke curled from the rim, briefly engulfing her face. She blinked, a faint smudge of soot appearing on her cheek, and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible *harrumph*. She had that look, a slightly angry and ridiculous look with straight face, as she narrow her eyes, and has a look of.."if you laugh, Lin Feng, I'll beat you."

But from the depths of the cauldron, not a single drop of liquid, not a speck of residue, but a perfectly formed pill, golden as a sun-kissed apricot, with a core of vibrant, pulsating violet, *PINGED* upwards.

Meixiu's hand, swift and graceful, shot out. *SWISH!* She caught it with practiced ease, her fingers closing around the glowing orb. She held it up, a faint smirk gracing her lips. The pill pulsed with an undeniable spiritual power, a warmth emanating from its very core.

The laughter and sneers that had been building on the lips of her fellow alchemists and the observers died a sudden, choked death. A collective gasp swept through the arena, followed by an unnerving silence.

The elders, usually stoic and unshakeable, nearly rose from their seats in disbelief. Their eyes, sharp with centuries of experience, widened. One, a venerable master with a long, white beard that touched his knees, leaned forward, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"That was only a... first-tier recipe…" he breathed, his eyes fixed on the golden, violet-cored pill. "How… how did it ascend to second-tier? And mid-grade at that! It's… impossible!"

The arena erupted. The initial silence shattered into a cacophony of shouts, gasps, and bewildered exclamations.

"A second-tier pill?!"

"From a Foundation Pill recipe?! How?!"

"She… she just ate some of the ingredients! And hummed!"

"She's a witch! A celestial being!"

The crowd broke into utter chaos. Some admired her, their eyes wide with awe and reverence, their whispers filled with veneration. Others refused to believe it, their faces contorted with suspicion and jealousy.

Mu Xiaohua, who had just managed to produce a mid-grade first-tier pill (to her own utter shock and delight, and the bewilderment of the elders who had expected her cauldron to explode), stared at Meixiu, her peach-colored eyes gleaming. She clutched Master Huahua to her chest, her jaw slack.

"She's a true Pill Empress!" Mu Xiaohua squealed, her voice piercing through the din. "A Goddess of Culinary Alchemy! Oh, Master Huahua, did you see that?! She's even more amazing than I thought!" She bounced on her heels, a giddy smile on her face, completely forgetting her own unexpected success.

Whispers, both admiring and smitten, spread through the observation stands.

"Her aura… so mysterious, so powerful…"

"And that casualness! It's… captivating!"

"Did you see that smirk? She knew all along!"

Men and women alike, from seasoned cultivators to wide-eyed novices, found themselves utterly smitten by Meixiu's enigmatic charm and undeniable power. Feng Yan, from her seat, let out a low, appreciative whistle, her eyes sparkling with amusement and admiration.

"Well, now," Feng Yan purred, nudging Lin Feng with her elbow. "Your… companion… certainly knows how to make an entrance. And an exit, apparently. A second-tier pill! Who would have thought?" She grinned, a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. "She truly is a force of nature."

Yan Lihua, her pupil-less white eyes fixed on Meixiu, remained silent. But a faint sheen of frost appeared on the stone floor beneath her feet, and within it, a single, delicate haiku formed, then melted away.

Meixiu, however, ignored the commotion, the gasps, the whispers, the awe, and the disbelief. She didn't wait for results to be formally announced, or for applause to die down. She didn't even glance at the flabbergasted elders. Her focus, as always, was singularly on Lin Feng.

With the golden, violet-cored pill cradled in one hand, Mr. Bunbun still clutched in the other, she walked calmly, her silver-threaded slippers making no sound on the polished stone, directly towards the observer stands. Her twilight robes swirled softly around her, a serene, unbothered presence amidst the roiling chaos.

She stopped directly in front of Lin Feng, her black eyes twinkling with mischief. She held the glowing pill out to him, its warmth radiating against her palm. A faint smirk played on her lips, a challenge in her gaze.

"Well?" she teased, her voice a low, playful murmur, meant only for his ears. "Aren't you going to praise me?"

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