Chapter 205 — Seven Baskets

CHAPTER 205

Seven Baskets

By the fourth evening, Zhu Liu had brought his own broom.

“It’s still hot, Senior Brother,” Zhu Liu said, kneeling with his dustpan. “I thought residue cooled faster than this. Or perhaps I’m just too tired to remember properly.”

“Sweep it into the bowl,” Shi Feng said.

“I'm sweeping it. I'm also writing the receipt.” Zhu Liu balanced the receipt book on one knee. “'Fourth basket, from the chief disciple. Contents: seven herbs, name unknown, price unknown, in the chief disciple's name, to be paid by nobody.' I don't like how that sounds.”

“Neither do I,” Shi Feng said.

On the tray lay a black crust the size of a palm. It had been a Nascent Soul-grade Dew Pill a quarter of an hour ago. Now it smelled like a burnt tent.

Shi Feng broke off a piece and ate it.

[Devoured: scorched residue | Gain: herbs' worth, exactly | Note: smoky]

“How is it?” Zhu Liu whispered.

“Smoky,” Shi Feng said.

“Is that bad?” Zhu Liu said.

“It's the Ledger's word, not mine,” Shi Feng said.

Zhu Liu wrote that down too.

The next evening, the door crashed open.

“Junior Brother!” Lin Langtian sailed in with the fifth basket. He had a potato in his mouth, and he talked around it. “Tonight, the Soul-Calming Pill! It's so gentle, it practically cooks itself!”

“You said that about the Dew Pill,” Shi Feng said.

“And the Dew Pill was gentle! It only blew up a little,” Lin Langtian said.

“It singed my eyebrow,” Shi Feng said.

“The eyebrow grew back,” Lin Langtian said. “That's growth.”

Shi Feng set up the cauldron.

On the first night, Shi Feng had forced the herbs through with stronger fire. Four failures taught him why that didn’t work. Higher-realm ingredients needed finer control; raising the heat whenever they resisted only spoiled them sooner.

On the fifth night he kept the flame thin and steady beneath the cauldron. Instead of driving it higher, he fed the heat in tiny measures. Each change was small enough that he could stop it before the paste boiled.

The paste warmed. It did not boil.

“Ooh,” Lin Langtian said quietly.

Shi Feng ignored the praise. Sweat ran down his temple as he held the flame level for ten breaths, then twelve. On the fourteenth, the herbs finally blended. A thin silver thread rose from the paste, and he grew excited without letting his hands move.

That's it, he thought. That's the feeling.

The thread shivered. Then, on the fifteenth breath, his wrist twitched.

The pill collapsed into soot.

“Almost!” Lin Langtian shouted, springing to his feet and throwing his arms into the air. “Almost, Junior Brother! Did you see that thread? I haven't seen a thread like that from a 1 Mark in thirty years!”

“Thirty years?” Shi Feng asked.

“A manner of speaking!” Lin Langtian said quickly, and sat down again. “Eat.”

Shi Feng ate. Zhu Liu swept up the leftover soot, tipped it into the bowl and offered it to him with both hands. It tasted like a campfire.

Outside the hut, voices drifted through the thin wall.

“Five baskets! The chief disciple has carried five baskets of herbs into that hut!”

“In five nights! It's drawing water with a bamboo basket!”

“Why is he doing it? Is he punishing the champion?”

“I heard he's squeezing him. For pills.”

“I heard he's fattening him up. Like a pig.”

“The champion eats the pills afterwards! I saw the errand disciple carrying the plate!”

“…”

“…He eats the failures?”

“That's the most pitiful thing I've ever heard.”

Shi Feng ignored them. Lin Langtian pretended to wipe a tear.

By the seventh night, smoke had stained the roof brown. Zhu Liu had replaced his receipt book’s cover, and the cracked cauldron had gained a second fracture. Shi Feng checked it carefully before starting. It would still hold the heat.

He knelt before the fire with the seventh basket on the floor beside him. The herbs inside were rarer than any of the earlier ones. They belonged to a recipe he had only heard of in whispers.

The flame in the furnace was a needle now. It was so fine that Zhu Liu, watching from the corner, forgot to breathe.

“It's not shaking,” Zhu Liu whispered.

“Quiet,” Shi Feng said.

“He said quiet. That's good. That means it's working,” Zhu Liu said.

“Quiet!” Lin Langtian hissed. He leaned forward, no longer amused. If Shi Feng could hold that flame steady, this attempt might last longer than any of the others.

Twenty breaths.

Twenty-five.

At thirty, Shi Feng finally let the heat rise. The paste folded into a small, round shape, and for one full, glorious breath it held. It was a real pill. Pale gold. Perfectly round. Warm to the eye.

Then a hairline crack ran across it, and the pill split open like an egg.

Nobody spoke.

“Almost,” Lin Langtian said at last, and this time he said it softly.

Shi Feng picked up the halves and ate them.

[Devoured: failed pill | Gain: herbs' worth, exactly | Note: nearly]

The Ledger had never used that word before. He looked at it for a while.

“Tomorrow, no herbs,” Lin Langtian said.

Shi Feng frowned. “You're stopping?”

“I'm changing the lesson.” Lin Langtian got up, dusted off his robe and stopped beside him. He reached out and prodded Shi Feng's upper arm with one finger.

His expression changed. It was small, but it was there.

“Hm,” Lin Langtian said.

“What?” Shi Feng asked.

“Nothing yet.” Lin Langtian pulled his hand back, and the grin returned. “Tomorrow, Junior Brother. Eat your breakfast.”

He left the door open again.