Chapter 445 — The Youngest by Eighty Years

CHAPTER 445

The Youngest by Eighty Years

“Look at him!” someone shouted from the square. “That's a child!”

“That's the second name on the Register!”

“He's twenty! I'm older than that and I can't even boil an egg!”

Six furnaces stood in a half circle on the roof terrace of the Qingyun City tower, with the whole city laid out below them. The terrace was white stone, open to the sky, and ringed with a low rail. Beyond the rail, the square was packed from wall to wall, and every rooftop around it held a row of spectators sitting with their knees drawn up. The Grand Alchemy Assembly had been going for five days. This was the day everyone had waited for.

The 2 Mark masters' showcase.

Five of the six masters had come up the stairs with attendants, cushions and teapots. The sixth had come up with Sima Lan, who carried his herb case, his towel and his bill.

The Pavilion's herald asked each master to state their name and age.

“Qi Zhengming,” said the first, an old man with a beard to his belt. “One hundred and sixty-three.”

“Xiang Yuzhi,” said a small, sharp woman in green. “One hundred and nineteen.”

“Lian Fu. One hundred and thirty-one,” Lian Fu announced, wiping his hands again. His furnace stood closest to Shi Feng's.

Two more masters gave their names, which were Bi Cheng and Tang Hu, and their ages, which were one hundred and four and one hundred and eleven. Then the herald turned to the end of the line.

“Shi Feng,” Shi Feng said. “Twenty.”

The terrace was very quiet.

The herald repeated his age, then faltered while working out the gap.

“Eighty years,” Master Qi Zhengming said, stroking his beard. He did not say it unkindly. He was stating the gap in their experience. “The next youngest is Master Bi at one hundred and four. The Pavilion must be hard up.”

The herald stiffly defended the five clouds witnessed in the tower hall.

“Five clouds under rigged conditions, I heard,” Master Lian Fu said, wiping his hands. “A boy with no hair on his lip doesn't do things steadily. I also heard that he blew up a furnace yesterday in the Refiner's hall.”

“Two ingots' worth,” Shi Feng said. “Only one of them blew up.”

Master Lian Fu stared at him. He seemed to be looking for the joke.

“Child,” Master Qi Zhengming said, more gently, “the terrace is hot. The fire is long. Old ginger is spicier, as they say. If you retire at the first bell, nobody here will think less of you.”

“Thank you,” Shi Feng said. “I'll manage.”

The herald struck the gong.

The pill was the Dawnlight Soul Pill, Nascent Soul-grade, eleven herbs. Shi Feng had chosen it because Li Changyuan had refused to buy any other. Li Changyuan had spent a whole afternoon in the Assembly's herb hall, pinching leaves and telling the sellers they were dead. In the end he paid twice what he had planned and called it highway robbery to the seller's face.

He laid the herbs in order on the stone. First the frost-gold root, then the dawn-lily bulb, then the sun-grass.

Master Qi did not touch his herbs until his attendants had lit seven lamps and arranged them in the shape of a star. Madam Xiang whispered to her furnace. Master Bi poured a cup of wine on the floor, for luck. Master Lian Fu squeezed his hands together, muttered a prayer, and cast his first herb into the fire with a flourish that made the crowd cheer.

Shi Feng lit his furnace and fed in the frost-gold root.

“Wait,” said a voice in the crowd. “Look at his fire.”

It was an ordinary fire, a pale blue flame around the belly of the furnace, no larger than a candle. There was no sound. It did not flicker.

He had spent the whole night learning how to make it that small. His core could feed it far more qi. Shi Feng held that flow back and watched the flame carefully. He hadn't practised all night just to wreck another furnace in public.

Minute by minute, the terrace warmed. Sweat ran down the back of Master Bi's neck. Sima Lan stood behind Shi Feng's stool, holding a towel in both hands and not looking at anyone. Master Lian Fu's furnace began to whine.

The high, thin sound made nearby attendants look up anxiously.

“He's pushing the fire too fast,” someone said. “Look at the furnace wall.”

“It'll hold,” someone else said.

“Not for long.”

Shi Feng laid in the sun-grass. The pale blue flame drank it. Then, in the middle of the sixth herb, the pressure in his chest turned over.

For the last month, the Thousand Forge Flame Art had stayed at Minor Success. Every attempt to advance it made the fire resist his control. Now the flame obeyed. Shi Feng adjusted its shape without disturbing the heat, and realised that he'd finally reached Major Success.

[Thousand Forge Flame Art: Major Success | Note: the fire has stopped arguing]

The candle-sized flame did not change colour. It did not grow. But the furnace under it, which had been humming, went silent.

At his right hand, Master Lian Fu's furnace let out a final squeal and cracked down the seam. Smoke belched out of it. Master Lian Fu leapt backwards, knocking over his stool.

“Lid! The lid!” Lian Fu shrieked.

His attendants dived in with wet cloths and smothered the cracked furnace like a campfire. The gallery winced. Master Lian Fu stood in the smoke with his sleeves scorched, glaring at Shi Feng as if the boy had blown on his fire. Shi Feng had not looked at him once.

“That's one down,” Sima Lan murmured.

“Don't count them,” Shi Feng said.

“Someone has to. His furnace is right beside yours,” Sima Lan replied, watching the attendants smother the smoke.

Master Bi finished first. His furnace opened with a soft hiss, and a single glowing pill rolled onto the tray. From above it a pale cloud unfolded and drifted over the terrace.

“One!” the crowd shouted. Everyone in the square was counting aloud now, and the sound rolled up the tower like a drum. “Two! Three!”

“Four!” the crowd roared as the fourth cloud, a thin silver one, rose into the sky.

The herald announced four clouds for Bi Cheng.

Master Qi finished a quarter of an hour later. His attendants bowed, and the old man lifted the lid with both hands. The crowd was already counting.

“Five!” the crowd cried, a long while after. “Five clouds!”

The terrace burst into applause. Master Qi bowed, plainly delighted. Madam Xiang and Master Tang followed with four apiece. The old master looked sideways at the boy at the end of the line, who had not yet lifted his lid.

Shi Feng's furnace still hummed. The last herb was waiting on the stone, a single white petal, thin as paper.

He picked it up.

“Everyone is watching,” Sima Lan said very quietly, behind him.

“I know,” Shi Feng replied, keeping his attention on the last herb.

“Don't make this one ugly,” Sima Lan said. “One blade was enough.”

He put the petal into the fire.