The Immortal of Plague begins by establishing the root of lung fire.

The outer disciples were busy with their tasks and none of them looked up to give them a second glance.

An older disciple emerged from a side room, his coarse Taoist robe faded from washing, a black wooden plaque hanging from his waist. He went straight to Song You and looked him up and down, his gaze scrutinizing him.

"Is this newcomer?" he asked.

"My name is Song You," Song You replied. "Excuse me, senior brother, is my master here?"

"The elder has had to leave temporarily." The older disciple crossed his arms. "My name is Jiang Yangge, and I'm the managing disciple of the pharmacy. The elder instructed me to teach you the rules of this courtyard from now on."

Song You noticed the connection in the name.

"Who is Jiang Yangjiao to you?" Song You asked.

Jiang Yangge's pupils dilated, his breathing became erratic, and he took a half-step forward, his voice lowered: "You know her?"

Song You recounted his journey with his companions, along with the results of planting the stove in the Hall of Transmission, without embellishment or exaggeration, presenting the whole story.

Jiang Yangge's face tightened. He turned his head, looked at the withered vines on the courtyard wall, and let out a long sigh. "She's my stepsister. Our family is poor, with only my grandfather left. We depended on each other for survival, hoping..."

The conversation was abruptly cut off. Jiang Yangge turned his head away, knowing that it was a big taboo to speak too intimately with someone he didn't know well, so he stopped talking.

"Did she leave a message before she left?" Jiang Yangge asked.

"No." Song You reached into his robes, pulled out the faded cloth bag, and handed it over. "But I got her belongings."

Jiang Yangge took the cloth bag with both hands, rubbed his fingers on the rough fabric a couple of times, and solemnly stuffed it into his wide sleeve pocket.

He looked at Song You again. The other party probably took it after seeing that Jiang Yangjiao was dead, but there are no good people in the temple. Good people don't live long.

The scrutiny in his eyes faded considerably, and his attitude softened somewhat.

"Come on, I'll show you around." Brother Jiang turned around and led the way.

After taking only a couple of steps, Jiang Yangge's gaze passed over Song You and landed on Shen Lu behind him, his cold, businesslike demeanor returning to his face.

"You should stay in the outer courtyard," Jiang Yangge said, pointing to a pile of firewood in the corner of the courtyard. "You'll be chopping wood, carrying water, cleaning the furnace ash—learn to do odd jobs. You're not allowed in the inner courtyard."

Shen Lu lowered her head, twisting the hem of her clothes with both hands, and responded with a sound.

Jiang Yangge turned to Song You and explained in a low voice, "The job of brewing medicine involves dealing with poisons all day long. I only brought you in because I saw that your lung fire was stable and your cultivation was solid. She wouldn't last half a day inside; her lungs would be burned through. Staying outside to do manual labor is actually a better way to survive."

Song You nodded in agreement. If it weren't for what had just happened, Brother Jiang Yang wouldn't have reminded him: "Go on, and do your job well."

Shen Lu turned and walked towards the woodpile, her back view desolate.

Jiang Yangge led Song You through the courtyard and into the inner hall: "Yesterday, Elder Jia took you out. I saw you through the crack in the door. You were so strong back then, yet you could still walk. You're really tough."

Song You remembered those half-open doors; it seemed he was one of the spying people.

"It was just luck," Song You replied.

"You made the right choice in selecting the pharmacy." Jiang Yangge walked up the steps and pushed open the heavy wooden door to the inner hall. "Elder Jia has a bad temper, but he's known for protecting his own within the temple. His disciples won't be wasted on nothing. It's just that you've come at the wrong time; things haven't been peaceful at the pharmacy lately."

Jiang Yangge stopped at the threshold and turned to look at Song You: "The elders from other rooms have reached in and planted a few troublemakers in the pharmacy. Let me make this clear: if anything goes wrong, I won't help you. You need to figure things out as soon as possible and establish a foothold so they won't dare to go all out."

"Thank you for your guidance, senior brother." Song You clasped his hands in a fist salute.

Stepping into the inner room, the light was dim.

A whole wall of mahogany medicine cabinets reached the roof beams, with hundreds of small drawers covered with yellowed labels. The smell of medicine was ten times stronger than in the outer courtyard, mixed with the stench of rotting animal carcasses.

Several gazes were cast from behind the medicine cabinet and beside the long table, landing on Song You's back.

Song You lowered his eyes and kept his steps steady, following Jiang Yangge to a row of bookshelves.

Jiang Yangge pulled four thick, thread-bound books from the bookshelf, slammed them onto the table, and kicked up a cloud of dust.

"The Illustrated Compendium of Herbs," "The Compendium of Toxicology," "Medicinal Herbs and Their Combinations," "Medicinal Herbs in Wrapped in Bags." Jiang Yangge tapped the book cover with his knuckles. "Memorize them all. If you don't, you'll die as soon as you step onto the stove. If you pick out even a single qian (a unit of weight) of the wrong herbs, the toxic fumes from the exploding stove will turn you into blood."

"And you also need to do work here; you have to go whenever someone asks for your help."

After giving his instructions, Jiang Yangge turned and left, joining his busy disciples.

Song You stood in front of the desk and opened the top book, "Medicine Wrapped in Wrapped Bags." The paper was rough, filled with tiny characters, and accompanied by simple line drawings.

An inexplicable silence fell over the surroundings, broken only by the sounds of pestles pounding herbs and cleavers cutting them. No one stepped forward to provoke them; everyone was observing.

Song You turned the pages of the book.

Unheard-of methods such as leather processing for pouches and quenching medicinal stones appeared before our eyes.

It contains the unique pathology and pharmacology of the Po Zang Guan, and is permeated with evil.

These claims are all illogical. Memorizing these four books would definitely take a long time, and during that time, some people would inevitably take the opportunity to cause trouble.

Song You closed the book and mentally devised a way to break the deadlock.

The significant difference in the flow rate of time between the two realms makes this an excellent method.

If I were to take the book to the world of enlightenment, the quiet environment would be far more suitable for reading than this dark pharmacy.

Incidentally, it also allows us to investigate the aftermath of Zhang Lihong's coughing up blood, verify the upper limit of the destructive power of the Lung Fire Root in the Spiritless World, and prepare for what we need to do later.

Having made up his mind, Song You stacked the four books together, hugged them to his chest, and found a secluded corner to sit down.

He did not rush to induce a near-death experience by drawing qi into his body. There were many people and eyes in the pharmacy, and the abnormal changes in his body could not be kept secret.

I have to wait until I get back to my room at night and close the door to do it.

All day long, Song You sat upright in the corner reading a book. Several troublesome disciples who had been squeezed into another room passed by and deliberately knocked over the medicine basket next to him, raising dust.

Song You ignored him, brushed the dust off the pages, and continued reading silently. Before he could figure out the truth, forbearance was the best disguise.

As the sun sets, my shift at the pharmacy ends.

The outer disciples left the courtyard in twos and threes. Song You, carrying books, walked at the back. The time was inappropriate, and he didn't ask about the coins.

Returning to the outer courtyard bungalow via the same route, the night wind began to rise, rustling the withered bamboo grove.

Song Youxing stopped in front of his house.

Shen Lu stood in the shadows outside the door, covered in dust and dirt, her coarse clothes stained with black ash, her knuckles red and covered with tiny cracks, indicating that she had done a lot of work during the day.

Song You, with his hand on the door latch, asked, "How are you today?"

Shen Lu didn't answer, but took a half step closer, her chapped lips moving as she uttered four words.

"Be careful."

Song You turned his head to look at her.

"Today I was cleaning the furnace ash in the outer courtyard," Shen Lu said quickly, her voice low and menacing, "when I overheard two disciples adding firewood chatting. They said someone is watching you."

"They bet you won't live more than five days."