Blossoming Path-249. Distilled Mayhem

The Refinement Simulation came to life with barely a thought. Threads of translucent light began weaving themselves across my vision. My thoughts stilled. My hands moved.

I activated the Alchemical Nexus, its four interlocked rings rising into place around the pill furnace like a blooming flower. Symbols pulsed, aligning. The simulation synced to the Nexus, and everything came together.

Temperature. Humidity. The condition each herb was in. It was all there, laid bare in radiant arcs of knowledge. But not overwhelming. Even without splitting my focus, I could handle just this with ease. My hands blurred as I prepared the ingredients, listening to their voice as I maximized their potential.

My breath synced with each motion.

Inhale, rotate the mixture. Exhale, pulse the flame.

My qi followed the same rhythm, cycling in time with my breath. And because of that, I barely needed to feed the flame.

It was a strange realization. That the blaze beneath my cauldron, which once took conscious effort and a steady stream of essence to maintain, now responded to me like an extension of my will. My breath didn’t stoke it. My intent did. The flame flickered, adjusted, danced—without me having to force it. Both in part due to my understanding of the fire element, and my precise qi control.

This used to be exhausting. Every step. Every stir. I’d burn through my reserves just to balance the heat properly.

I remembered the early days in the Verdant Lotus, sitting beside my failed attempt at using the pill furnace with black smoke in my eyes and soot in my hair. Back then, alchemy had felt like cooking. Elaborate cooking, yes, but grounded. Mundane. Just technique and timing.

I used to complain to Ren Zhi about it, too. Said things like, “Liang Feng’s stories made it sound mystical! Like tapping into the pulse of the world! Not just boiling weeds in a pot!”

And yet… here I was. Infusing my qi into the brew with a flick of my fingers, watching herbs unravel like silken scrolls, their essence folding into the mixture with such clarity that it almost felt like listening. How each hybrid plant cooperated in tandem to make my brew even stronger.

Alchemy wasn’t just cooking.

It was listening to what couldn’t be said, to the voice of the plant, the pain of the earth, the warmth of flame and the sorrow of roots cut too early. It was feeling the moment essence reached harmony, not calculating it. It was knowing when a brew was wrong before it ever boiled over.

And I’d only just begun to glimpse it.

The Interface had opened the gate; given me the blueprint, the simulation, the lens through which I could perceive these interactions. But the mountain of alchemy had no summit. The higher I climbed, the more I realized how vast the sky above me was.

And I want it.

My heart thrummed with something dangerously close to joy.

I want to climb it. I want to see everything.

The solution in the Nexus swirled, beginning to glow.

Even the non-plant ingredients like shaved deer antler, ground cinnabar, and shavings of copper responded better than they had any right to. They weren’t part of my natural affinity, but it didn’t matter. The stability I drew from my mastery of plants carried over, forming a kind of foundational harmony that dulled volatility and bridged incompatibilities. It was like taming beasts by calming the forest around them first.

Batch after batch flowed seamlessly from my hands.

With the two-layer design of my pill furnace, I could work two recipes simultaneously. My thoughts split, layered like flowing script in my mind’s eye. One side focused on extraction and separation. The other monitored pressure, stirred essences, adjusted flame. My hands worked independtly of each other, and my mind had practiced this rhythm so many times it had become as easy as breathing.

Golden Drop pills, each one brilliant with body-enhancing potency were completed. Then came qi-replenishing pills that would be a great boon to anybody in the Qi Initiation realm and below. Dense, smooth in texture, no impurities. The kinds of pills that, just a year ago, I would’ve struggled to make without higher-end ingredients.

Now, I refined them with the same ease someone might boil tea.

But when I came to the final batch, I paused.

This one was different.

I turned toward Windy, who had been coiled lazily nearby, watching the entire process like a bored scholar watching paint dry.

"Hey," I said softly. “Need a favor.”

Windy’s tongue flicked once. Then again, slower. He slithered over without complaint, though I could feel his reluctance through the bond.

“I need your venom.”

His eyes narrowed. But he relented, lowering his head as I held out a small vial. Gently, I coaxed the venom from his fangs, letting it drip, drop by drop, into the glass until I had enough.

“Thanks,” I said, corking the vial. “This young master shall feed you a worthy meal in exchange."

I set the venom aside and laid out the rest of the ingredients.

Dried plum. Bittersweet peach bark. Hybrid ginseng. A trace of ice orchid root for tempering. Most important of all, Master Qiang’s homemade rice wine.

I reviewed my notes as I worked. Alcohol wasn't simple in the way people assumed. Yes, its base effect was drunkenness. But that was just the symptom of fermentation and qi interaction. With the right ingredients, the alcohol could carry properties, not just mask them.

Tianyi’s unique body reacted to alcohol in strange ways. I’d seen it firsthand during our spar last night; her footwork becoming erratic but effective, her motions unreadable even to my refined senses. No matter what kind she drank, the effect was the same: unpredictable agility, increased burst speed, and erratic movement. But I didn’t want random. I wanted deliberate unpredictability.

This batch would be a test. A medicinal alcohol designed to harmonize with her body, heighten the strengths of her drunken style while stabilizing her qi channels just enough to keep her from hurting herself.

Windy’s venom was key, not just for its potency, but for its speed. Wind Serpent venom was sharp and fast, slicing through the bloodstream like fire racing across dry grass. If I could tame that within the mixture, I could sharpen Tianyi’s bursts without blinding her judgment.

But it was the ginseng that changed everything.

The moment I began the heated infusion, the hybrid root responded. My qi pulsed gently into the base, and the ginseng welcomed it with no resistance or delay. Its essence uncoiled in the mixture, mediating the conversation between the plum and the venom, between heat and cool, between chaos and order.

The brew foamed, plum essence clashing with the venom’s edge, the orchid root trying and failing to smooth the tension. But the ginseng intervened with finesse.

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I adjusted the temperature two degrees downward, then stirred thrice counter-clockwise. As predicted by the simulation, the froth calmed.

Good.

Just as I was settling in for the slow distillation, I noticed something.

Tianyi.

She was looming just behind me, utterly silent, antennae swaying like stalks in wind. Her eyes locked on the cauldron with an intensity I hadn’t seen since we fought the Envoy.

“It’s alcohol,” I said dryly, not even looking up.

Her expression didn’t change, but her antennae twitched.

“I’m still working on it. Give me space and I’ll let you try it after I stabilize the—Tianyi, stop inching closer. I can see you moving.”

“I am still,” she replied tonelessly.

“Your antenna is going into the brew!”

“It's not.”

I sighed. She didn’t move.

The final vapors condensed with a quiet hiss, trailing wisps of warmth that spiraled upward like lazy spirits escaping the cauldron. I poured the liquid into a small gourd-shaped flask, sealing it with a flick of my finger. The alcohol inside shimmered faintly.

“There,” I said, capping it. “It’s done.”

Tianyi inched forward the moment I took my hand off the flask.

“Later,” I warned, holding the bottle aloft. “Not until I test it.”

Her antennae drooped.

I allowed myself a small, smug grin—only for the sound of a knock at the door to cut through the moment.

Two knocks. Then three more. Then silence.

I didn’t even need to check. My senses had already picked up on them before they knocked.

I opened the door.

Elder Ming stood there, swaying faintly, supported on one side by Ren Zhi. The old man’s face was lined with more than age; the Amethyst Plague had drained him deeply. His robes hung looser than they should have. But his eyes still held that quiet ember of stubborn vitality.

“Decades younger and still fragile,” Ren Zhi grumbled as he helped guide Elder Ming into the shop. Tianyi quietly helped to grab the tea set reserved for guests and visitors/

Elder Ming chuckled, breathy but amused. “Being as healthy as yourself at that age is hardly the norm, is it?”

“Bah,” Ren Zhi said, tapping his cane against the floor as he lowered himself into a seat with surprising grace. “Excuses.”

I hurried to bring out cushions, guiding Elder Ming into the more stable chair, and reached into my pouch. From the earlier batches, I pulled a pill designed specifically for those still suffering the after-effects of the Amethyst Plague.

“Here,” I said, offering it with both hands. “It’s not instant, but it should ease things for now. Taken regularly, it’ll help restore circulation without straining your system. Your systems are more delicate considering your... prior injury.”

Ming took the pill, his fingers brushing mine. They trembled faintly.

“Thank you,” he said. “This is good work.”

I nodded once, throat tight. He’d given so much. For the village. For me. It was the least I could do, even if he turned down the Phoenix Tears.

Beside us, Ren Zhi raised a brow. “Nothing for me, then? I'm still recovering from the plague too, you know.”

I shrugged. “You did turn down the Phoenix Tears. Besides, look how nimble you are! it's better to save the medicine for those who need it.”

Thunk.

His cane whacked me on the head with pinpoint precision.

“You brat.”

I rubbed the spot, grinning despite myself. “I’m joking. Sort of. Here.”

I handed him a small porcelain cup, and poured out the contents of the gourd I just filled up, still warm to the touch. The alcohol glinted within like polished crystal, reflecting Tianyi's large, unblinking eyes.

“What’s this?” Ren Zhi sniffed it, squinting. “Smells like fire and flowers.”

“It’s a test spirit,” I said. “Infused with Windy’s venom and a few other things. Meant to interact with Tianyi’s drunken constitution, but I think it'll also be a delicious drink. Probably.”

Ren Zhi’s eyes twinkled. “Hohoho, I certainly won't turn that down.”

He downed it in a single motion.

Then coughed.

Twice.

And smacked his lips.

“…Spicy,” Ren Zhi finally muttered, voice hoarse. “But smooth. Warms the belly like a campfire wrapped in silk.”

I poured myself a small measure and sipped.

The flavor was mellow on the tongue—fruity, herbal, with a trailing sharpness that hummed at the edges. But beneath that, I could feel it: the rising heat in my chest, the flicker of something potent blooming along my channels. It would resonate with flame-aligned techniques. Stir the fire. Accelerate circulation. This would be worth a fortune if I sold it to the Azure Silk Trading Company. An alcohol with the ability to enhance yang-based martial arts while being delicious at the same time.

Which is why I nearly choked when I saw, from the corner of my eye—

Tianyi had already poured herself a full cup.

Her antennae trembled with joy as she tilted the cup to her lips and took a dainty sip.

I opened my mouth to stop her—

Too late.

Her wings fluttered once. A visible pulse of qi rolled off her body in a shimmering wave. Her pale cheeks flushed pink almost instantly, and the corner of her mouth curled upward into an expression that could only be described as—

“Goooood,” she murmured, swaying slightly on her feet. Her antennae bobbed like excited reeds. “It makes everything feel warm.”

She spun on her heel with unexpected grace, humming some strange melody that I’d never heard her vocalize before. Her steps were light, airy, as if her feet barely touched the floor. She pirouetted toward the back of the room, twirling through the rising steam like a girl in spring.

I'd never seen her like this before after drinking.

She was a happy drunk.

Elder Ming blinked. “Is… is she dancing?”

"Yes." I took a half-step in her direction, watching her movements carefully.

"Huh. She seems calmer." Ren Zhi mused. "Better than when she usually drinks, no?"

Which was exactly when she lunged.

Her twirl cut off into a snap-kick aimed directly at my ribs. I barely brought my arm up in time. The impact thundered through my guard, sending me skidding two steps back. My eyes widened. Her strength was incomparable to before. It was as though I got hit by a pill furnace.

“Whoa—Tianyi!”

She beamed at me. “You blocked!”

“Yes. I did,” I said, teeth clenched. “Let's just... settle down, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“No!” she giggled, swaying in place. “You used to crumple like steamed cabbage. But now—now you're strong! You can take my hits!”

She raised her arms overhead, staggering in a slow circle. “Strong enough that I can go all out.”

Oh no.

“Tianyi—”

“We should trade pointers!” she announced brightly. “Right now!”

“No,” I said immediately. “Not in the shop. Too many flammables. Too many things. Too many elders who will die if you accidentally hit them.”

"I—hic I won’t—hic—I won’t hit anyone... except you! Trust me!"

I didn't trust her at all.

I eyed Elder Ming, who had enough sense to slow edge his seat away from the rambunctious spirit beast. Ren Zhi sipped his cup, savoring the flavour of my infused alcohol and pouring himself another.

She was already swaying into a loose fighting stance, her arms spread like butterfly wings, her posture boneless and flowing.

Windy slithered in between us with a weary flick of his tail, forming a low barrier with his body, tongue flicking rapidly. He gave her a warning hiss, clearly trying to buy time. But she simply spun around him in a wide, graceful loop, her body twisting midair as she swept a leg toward my head with unsettling precision.

I ducked, barely dodging. Before my mind could branch out to figure ways of resolving the situation with as little collateral, Ren Zhi rose from his seat.

He didn’t attack. He simply walked into the range of her attack with the nonchalance one would have walking along an empty, beaten path.

Tianyi struck first, a flurry of punches and low kicks with no rhythm, no repeatable pattern; just wild, fluid chaos.

Ren Zhi didn’t meet the blows head-on.

He redirected them.

A brush of the wrist, a nudge at the elbow, a subtle pivot that turned force aside. He moved like a reed in water.

I recognized the theory. It was similar to the Verdant Lotus Sect’s Lotus Palm, but there was something else. A pressure in the way he moved, not external, but internal. As though each deflection disrupted Tianyi’s flow, subtly throwing her balance off mid-technique. In a real battle, I knew he would've capitalized on those brief openings to deliver a critical strike.

Her motions grew sharper. Wilder. She spun into a rising kick—but overextended. She twisted for a mid-air punch, but the force shifted at the wrong moment. She swayed, laughing, adjusting mid-fall with unnatural flexibility.

Still fighting. Still drunk.

She was a force of chaos in motion, unshakable in joy, undeterred by imbalance.

Until—

Ren Zhi ducked beneath a looping strike and, with the lightest touch, placed both palms on her back and spun her in place, his hands glowing with the tell-tale sign of qi infusing his limbs.

Her wings flared wide in surprise as her momentum betrayed her.

She whirled like a spinning top, making a dozen rotations within a single moment.

“Waaaaghhh—” Tianyi stumbled sideways, collapsed in a heap onto the floor, arms splayed wide, antennae twitching.

“My everything is spinning,” she groaned.

“You’ll live,” Ren Zhi said, dusting his sleeves.

I rushed over and pulled out a length of cord meant for tying bundles together, tying her arms gently behind her back. She didn’t resist, mostly because she couldn’t. I finished securing her arms and legs, then wrapped a wide sash around her wings to pin them gently to her back. I left room to breathe, but not to flutter. I was not taking any chances.

“Thanks,” I said to Ren Zhi, straightening with a sigh. “That could’ve gotten worse.”

He subjugated her without a single scratch. It made me realize how despite reaching Essence Awakening stage, I still couldn't catch a glimpse of his true power. Perhaps he was in the Spirit Ascenscion realm, as I thought?

“A drunken constitution is a gift, but also a curse,” Ren Zhi added. “There was a character in the Storm Sage Chronicles—Jian of the Hollow Gourd Sect. Had a similar constitution. He could stagger through any formation and weave past any opponent.”

My eyes lit up with recognition. “Right! He almost beat the protagonist. That whole arc was insane.”

Ren Zhi smirked. “Until he was undone by a single floor tile coated in plum syrup. Such is the weakness of those with the drunken body constitutiion.”

I blinked. “Wait, you read that? How? When you're... you know.”

I gestured listlessly toward his scarred eyes, even if he couldn't see it.

He tilted his head. “Of course I know it. I wrote it.”

I froze.

“…what?”

Ren Zhi took another sip from his cup, unfazed. “What? Did you think Liang Feng was my real name?”

I stood there, dumbfounded.

“That was you?”

He gave a lazy shrug. “Pen name. I needed a hobby after I lost my sight.” 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

I turned toward Elder Ming, gaping. “Did you know?”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

My jaw worked uselessly for a moment. “So you—you’re him? The Liang Feng? The one who wrote Mist of Reeds? The Ashen Pill Trials? The guy who killed off Elder Hu in the final book?”

“I didn’t kill Elder Hu,” Ren Zhi said. “He died of karmic retribution. That’s different.”

“What?! You wrote the book!”

I whirled, clutching my head.

Ren Zhi grinned, leaning back in his seat like a man who’d just dropped a life-altering truth bomb and knew exactly what he’d done.

I sank onto the floor beside Tianyi, who was now muttering something about phoenixes and dragons.

The chaos had passed. The pills were done. And now, apparently, I had to reevaluate my entire understanding of one of the most important figures in my life.

Ren Zhi. A blind man who traversed the mainland and hid a bottomless well of power... was also Liang Feng. Author of the tales that defined my childhood. A man I’d idolized long before I ever knew how to cultivate.

And he'd been here the whole time. Quiet. Observing. Mocking me, occasionally.

How could someone like him, burdened with strength and past mistakes, choose a quiet life of anonymity?

So naturally, I asked the most pressing question on my mind

“…Wait. If you wrote Storm Sage Chronicles, does that mean you also wrote Blossoms and Steel?”

Ren Zhi grimaced. “Unfortunately. Don’t remind me.”

I burst out laughing.

Because of course he did. Of course the man who’d written philosophical duels and daoist poetry also wrote Blossoms and Steel, a story so melodramatic it made sect dramas look subtle.

“That scene where the protagonist falls in love with a sword spirit disguised as a widow? I can't believe you wrote that."

“It was satire,” Ren Zhi said defensively.

“It was not satire.”

He grunted and looked away.

I looked at him for a long moment, then said nothing more about it. I wouldn’t pry into his past. Not more than he was willing to share. He had his reasons. And if the world had pushed him into seclusion, I wouldn't drag him out of it.

But I was glad. Glad that he was still here, still writing, still teaching; even if he pretended otherwise.

And maybe, just maybe, opening his heart to us.

I smiled to myself.

I hoped he'd stay a while.

A long while.