Chapter Sixty-One: Kindness

Among the peaks, there were those who watched Green Mountain with covetous eyes, but naturally, there were also those unwilling to see such a thing happen.

The reason was simple enough.

Crane Forest exchanged glances with the other elders. Their own sects had inherited at least several centuries, some even a thousand years. It was only in recent times that fortune had waned, leaving them in decline, only marginally better off than Little Green Mountain. Now, the larger sects sought to seize Green Mountain under the pretext of the outer gate competition—a dangerous signal if ever there was one.

Sects imposed no limit on the disciples each peak could take in, resulting in some with hundreds, even thousands of disciples, while others were neglected, seldom recruiting gifted youths and forced to choose the best among mediocrity. Thus, the strong grew ever stronger, the weak weaker.

Their only hope was that the dominant peaks could not accommodate more disciples, leaving a little for themselves to taste.

But now, they realized with a jolt that those people not only wanted talented seedlings, but also coveted their sacred mountain grounds. If this precedent were set, today it would be Little Green Mountain, tomorrow perhaps Cloud Dwelling Peak, Mystic Dharma Mountain, or even their own Little Pill Peak.

These were traditions passed down through generations; how could they be severed at a whim, simply because of current strength or weakness?

The wolf’s ambition must not be underestimated!

Crane Forest pondered long, finally deciding to summon the elders to visit Little Green Mountain together. If opportunity arose, they would lend a hand.

But upon arrival, their hearts chilled. The entire mountain boasted only three disciples; two were in the early stage of Qi cultivation. Even the slightly better female disciple looked pale, her qi-sea clearly damaged.

“Well, a dead horse is better treated as a live one; it’s better than watching helplessly,” Crane Forest patted his belly lightly, his expression unchanged, still smiling as he looked across.

Lin Ze raised his eyes: “I’m new here and don’t understand much of this. Elder Crane, perhaps you could explain.”

He wasn’t truly interested in the Pill Symposium, but wanted to discern their real intentions.

“The so-called Pill Symposium isn’t just talk; pills must be swallowed to judge their merit,” Crane Forest squinted, looking at the female disciple pouring him tea.

“The subtle differences can only be experienced by the one taking the pill. No matter which sect’s disciple is chosen, it’s bound to be unfair. So today, I’d like to borrow Elder Lin’s Little Green Mountain for our pill trial.”

“For instance, this disciple seems to suffer a hidden ailment. Why not use her for the first round?”

The elders nodded in agreement.

Lin Ze didn’t answer, but turned to Su Bailu.

“I have no objection,” she put down the teapot, nodding gently.

“In that case, I’d like to try as well,” Lin Ze looked again at Crane Forest.

“Oh? Elder Lin has some experience in the pill arts?” The portly old man was a little surprised. It was only decades ago, after becoming acquainted with these elders, that he’d developed an interest in alchemy himself. Most cultivators preferred to spend their time cultivating.

“No,” Lin Ze shook his head.

The group fell silent.

“But learning wouldn’t hurt,” he smiled.

This could easily be misconstrued as Lin Ze belittling the pill arts.

But Crane Forest kept smiling, producing a jade slip from his pouch and handing it over: “Since Elder Lin is interested, I can’t be stingy.”

Such generosity was why he could gather so many elders around him, subtly taking the lead.

Lin Ze picked up the jade slip. To make room, he deleted a skill card for washing hair from his panel.

[Low-grade Skill Card: Longevity Pill Compendium]

He wasn’t truly intent on mastering alchemy, but some basic knowledge was necessary.

After all, these people’s concoctions would be fed to his disciples; he needed to know how to judge quality.

The Longevity Pill Compendium wasn’t a single pill recipe, but a collection of countless formulas, all for healing and prolonging life, not for boosting power—hence the name.

To others, Elder Lin merely reached out and took the jade slip.

But for Lin Ze, he had already spent three years inside his simulator.

...

...

Bang! Bang!

A muffled sound echoed.

Two large cauldrons, half as tall as a man, thudded onto the ground. One was a blue-violet metal, gleaming; the other was pitch-black, as if forged from some rare mineral.

“Heh, why are you still using that old relic from ten years ago? My Shadowstone Cauldron cost sixty spirit stones. Today, I’ll make you admit defeat!” Elder Yang from Mystic Dharma Mountain boasted, patting his cauldron.

By contrast, Elder Qin from Fortune Jade Mountain looked sour. He dug through his pouch for spirit stones, then turned away coldly to gaze at the sky.

Crane Forest chuckled, patting his belly.

Standing beside him, Lin Ze understood the sentiment.

It was like those amateur anglers from his previous life—regardless of skill, their fishing rods had to be fancier and costlier than everyone else’s, to save face.

“Since the problem is with the qi-sea, let the two of you each refine a batch of Essence Restoration Pills,” Crane Forest nodded.

Essence Restoration was a basic tier-one pill. These elders treated alchemy as a hobby, but their skills weren’t bad; nothing would go wrong, though the quality might vary.

“No problem,” Elder Yang patted his chest confidently. A rootless flame flared beneath the stone cauldron. Elder Qin, unwilling to lose, slapped his pouch several times, producing an array of herbs in his hands.

Not far away, Elder Pan Yang from Cloud Dwelling Peak watched, itching to try.

Alchemy, once learned, was addictive; every time the cauldron opened, excitement surged.

Though the pills weren’t particularly valuable, they had a mysterious allure.

But he hadn’t forgotten today’s purpose.

He turned to the youth practicing swordsmanship in the distance, smiling.

Cloud Dwelling Peak specialized in sword arts.

He walked over, sitting quietly to observe. When the youth paused to rest, Pan Yang slowly approached: “Why are you still using a bamboo sword?”

Yang Mu looked up, puzzled.

“A sword cultivator values the three-foot blade in his hand—both weight and material affect its feel,” Pan Yang shook his head, pulling out a quality longsword from his pouch and handing it over.

“Take it.”

Their intention was simple: outright defiance against the major sects would be unwise, but quietly giving a little help was permissible.

If Little Green Mountain’s disciples encountered their own sect’s pupils, they’d let them pass with some show, so long as it wasn’t too obvious.

The Pill Symposium would last at least ten days to half a month. Cloud Dwelling Peak excelled at swordsmanship, Mystic Dharma Mountain at talismans, Fortune Jade Mountain at palm techniques, Little Pill Peak needed no introduction—the tournament was meant for these disciples.

With so many elders gathered atop the peak, even last-minute cramming would bolster these children’s confidence.

No need for great progress, so long as they didn’t finish last in the outer gate competition, denying those others any excuse to pick a fight.

“These days I’m quite idle. If you have any questions, just ask,” he said warmly.

“Oh,” Yang Mu nodded.

The old man seemed kindly enough. He could always ask his master, but didn’t want to refuse the elder’s goodwill.

Thinking it over, he grinned: “I happen to have a move I don’t understand. May I ask for your guidance?”