My Years as a Menace in the Sect

For three days in a row, Wei Ping'an felt like a pancake being tossed around on a stove, with his chest and back alternately feeling hot and cold.

One moment he felt like he was carrying a small heater, so warm he wanted to sweat; the next moment he felt like he had a piece of ice-cold material stuck to him, so cold he hunched his neck and rubbed his hands.

Over the course of three days, he looked at his reflection in the water tank eight times, feeling that his face was constantly shifting between plump and thin, like an inflating balloon.

"Wow, this fire toad pill is really potent." He squatted in the yard peeling angelica root, his fingertips tingling. He suddenly stopped peeling, and the calluses on his fingertips, which had been worn for more than ten years, quietly faded away.

It wasn't dry and cracked peeling; it was as if something underneath was slowly pushing away the dead skin, revealing a thin layer of tender skin that felt soft to the touch. Even the texture of the powder felt ten times better than before. His eyes lit up, and he secretly brought his hands close to his eyes, examining them over and over.

Good heavens, is this the power of immortal pills? It's like cleansing the marrow and transforming the body! He hummed a little tune as his fingers moved even faster, squatting in the corner until he had peeled the entire basket of angelica root before he could rest.

The next day, when we were carrying firewood, something even stranger happened.

He carried half a bundle of firewood from the backyard to the kitchen. The straw rope around his waist loosened and the firewood slipped outwards. Instinctively, he tilted his shoulder to push against it, and the black iron pot on his back slammed against the pile of firewood with a dull thud. The firewood didn't scatter at all, but instead made his shoulder blade hurt painfully.

He rubbed his shoulders, put down the firewood, and reached out to touch the edge of the pot. The moment his fingertips touched the metal, he felt a jolt. It wasn't a real shock, but a very subtle vibration coming from inside the pot, a tingling sensation, as if something tiny was slowly swimming under the metal, creeping up his fingertips and up his arm.

Startled, he quickly withdrew his hand and looked around, but no one was there. He tentatively touched it again, but this time it didn't tremble; it was a cold, lifeless piece of iron, no different from an ordinary iron pot. "That's strange," he muttered, "Could there be bugs inside? No way, what kind of bugs can grow in a lump of iron? Iron bugs?" He pondered for a long time but couldn't figure it out, so he didn't investigate further.

On the third night, his practice finally yielded some significant results. He sat cross-legged on the bed, following the breathing technique, and his qi circulated smoothly through his meridians twice. However, when it reached his left rib area, it suddenly got stuck. It was like a narrow path blocked by a stone; the qi was congested and felt sore, unable to go forward or backward.

His face turned red as he tried to pull back, but his breath wouldn't budge, and the forward thrusts only caused him excruciating pain. Just as he was panicking, the black iron pot on his back slowly cooled down, and a warm, cool sensation seeped out from the bottom of the pot, slowly sliding down his spine and precisely grazing the spot where he was stuck under his ribs.

The feeling was soft and yielding, like someone using a ball of cotton to slowly remove stones blocking the road. It was slow, but the tightly blocked meridians were actually loosening little by little.

He held his breath, afraid to move. After about the time it takes to eat a meal, with a soft buzzing sound, the blockage suddenly dissipated, and the energy surged forward through his meridians like water from a burst dam, so fast that he couldn't stop it. Just as the energy was about to disrupt his meridians, the pot on his back gently shook, and a gentle force pulled it back, instantly stopping the raging energy and calmly guiding it into his dantian, where it swirled and stabilized.

He leaned forward, nearly hitting his head on the wall, and gasped for breath, his back drenched in cold sweat. Yet, the energy in his dantian was noticeably stronger than before. He touched the rim of the pot; the grooves were slightly warm, but the temperature was gradually decreasing. "So, you can not only store medicine but also unblock meridians?"

He lowered his voice, "Not bad, you really are a hidden gem! I used to think you were too heavy and too ugly, I was so short-sighted, sorry, sorry." He bowed to the pot and chuckled. This deal was a sure thing.

The next day, when Old Zheng came over, he didn't mention a word. He just kept peeling herbs and carrying firewood as usual, as honest as a block of wood. Old Zheng didn't expose him either. He came on time every morning, sometimes bringing a bowl of fresh herbs, sometimes throwing a handful of dry grass for him to identify, and sometimes leaving without bringing anything, just walking around the yard with his hands behind his back.

He couldn't stay idle. When there was no work, he would find something to do. He wiped the row of earthenware jars in the backyard again and again until they were shiny and bright, and even scraped the mud off the bottom of the jars. He swept up the broken medicinal residue in the corner, bagged it, sorted it, and buried it in the soil as fertilizer. He sorted the remaining dried medicinal materials according to what Old Man Zheng had taught him, with licorice in one pile, poria in another, angelica in another, and even the scraps that he couldn't name were put in a separate pile.

As he was squatting on the ground distributing medicine, he straightened up and rubbed his back when he noticed Old Man Zheng standing at the courtyard gate staring at him for a while. He quickly gave a simple and honest smile and said, "Uncle-Master, I've finished distributing the medicine. Would you like to check it?" Old Man Zheng didn't say anything and turned to leave.

Two days later, Old Man Zheng gave him a wooden plaque, polished until it shone and with rounded edges. It was clearly the work of several generations of drug testing laborers. The word "test" was crookedly engraved on the front. "Hang it at the door, and show the plaque when you come in and out," he said before leaving.

He examined the plaque over and over again, then solemnly hung it on the door nail as if it were a precious treasure, touching it every day before leaving to feel at ease. That morning, as he was touching the plaque, he saw Old Man Zheng standing on the steps with another person beside him. The young man in the gray robe was half a head taller than Old Man Zheng, with broad shoulders and a straight back. He wore a black iron thumb ring on his right hand, and his chin was slightly raised, giving him a haughty air when he looked at people. He was clearly a proper outer disciple.

"This is Zhou Yan, from the outer sect of Danfeng. He'll come every month to collect his drug trial records," Old Man Zheng explained simply.

Zhou Yan glanced at him, his gaze lingering on the black pot on his back for less than a second, so quick it was almost an illusion. "You're the new drug testing errand boy?" His tone was flat, revealing no emotion.

"It's me, it's me, greetings, Senior Brother Zhou." He quickly bowed and greeted him politely.

Zhou Yan hummed in agreement and pulled a piece of paper from his sleeve, handing it to him: "Last month's medicinal properties record. Uncle Zheng said you tried three batches. Should we record it in a book or on paper?"

"The books are all packed." He went back into the house, brought the books, and handed them over with both hands. Zhou Yan took them, flipped through them, and didn't say whether they were good or bad. He turned around and whispered a few words to Old Man Zheng. His voice was very low, and Old Man Zheng could only hear the words "waste pills" and "pulse-protecting pills" clearly. Then Zhou Yan walked away.

"We'll start testing the fourth batch of medicine today." Old Zheng walked to the stone table and sat down. "First, we'll use the Qi-tonifying formula, then the Blood-activating formula tomorrow, and the Wind-dispelling formula the day after. Once the tests are complete, we'll give it to him." This morning, they tested two Qi-tonifying powders, both of which were mild. After swallowing them and closing their eyes, they felt a warm sensation in their lower back and a feeling of bloating in their stomach. He reported back every fifteen minutes, describing it in great detail, even making up a story about which bone the heat sensation first came from.

Old Zheng, while taking notes, suddenly spoke up: "Try that hot feeling on your lower back again." He did as he was told and pinched a pinch more. This time, the heat came on even faster, reaching his shoulder blades in less than half a cup of tea. It lingered for a while on the side of his back where the iron pot had been pressed against before slowly dissipating. The pot was neither cold nor hot; a thin layer of moisture had quietly condensed on the side that had been in contact with his flesh, like sweat.

He waited until the fever subsided before reporting, "I've noted it down. This herb goes along the upper part of the Du meridian and doesn't work with the main prescription. Try it again before dinner." He nodded in agreement, secretly pleased with himself.

He tried again in the evening. The heat traveled up his tailbone, paused slightly when it passed under his ribs where he had been stuck before, and then flowed smoothly through. He stood in the yard with his eyes closed, feeling the heat until it completely dissipated before opening them. It was already dark. The light was on in Old Zheng's house, and the shadow of the pottery jar under the courtyard wall stretched long.

Looking down at his hands, he noticed a slightly astringent, light gray powder on his fingertips. He rubbed it and found the powder to be finer than the medicine he'd tried a few days ago. "The alchemy skills of the Danfeng disciples are so uneven," he muttered, putting the bowl back on the stone table and sauntering back into his room.

He practiced his qi at night, and his qi flowed exceptionally smoothly. He could complete a full cycle in one breath, and when it sank into his dantian, he could clearly feel a solid, resounding thud as it landed. After finishing his practice, he looked at the pot on his knee by the moonlight. Something seemed to be slowly flowing within the grooves of the pot's rim, a very faint color like a layer of moisture condensed on the iron surface that vanished in the blink of an eye. He reached out and touched it; it was dry. "It can even play dead," he chuckled, and put the pot back on his back.

The next morning, Old Man Zheng did not come. There was a note on the stone table: Closed today.

He turned it over and looked at the back twice, but there was nothing there. "A holiday? Perfect time to take a day off and secretly study my precious pot." He wandered to the backyard, squatted down and rummaged through the medicinal herbs. The licorice was 70% dry, the poria was still a bit damp, and the angelica root roots were all curled up.

Just as they were climbing over the courtyard wall, they heard footsteps outside, and two people walked and talked.

"Have you seen that new guy at the drug testing center?"

"Yes, I went with Senior Brother Zhou yesterday."

"Old Zheng is always picky about people, why did he take him in? He looks so rustic, like he doesn't have any background."

Zhou Yan's voice rang out calmly: "You can improve your foundation by practicing. As long as you are attentive, that's enough. He remembered the details of those three batches of medicine last month better than some people who have been trying for half a year."

The footsteps faded into the distance. He squatted there, holding a piece of poria cocos, a slight smile playing on his lips. He hadn't touched any medicine that day. With Old Man Zheng not around, he wouldn't experiment. He sat on the stone bench, basking in the sun for a while, and read the Qi-Inducing Mantra from beginning to end. When he reached the second level of Qi Inducing, where the meridians were initially open, he touched his dantian and calculated that at this rate, he could advance to the next level in about ten days. Old Man Zheng still hadn't returned by evening, so he went to the kitchen, heated up a bowl of leftover porridge, and ate it with some pickled vegetables.

Two days later, Zhou Yan came to pick up the records. Wei Ping'an handed the book over, and Zhou Yan, who was standing in the courtyard, suddenly stopped in the middle of the page and looked up at him: "The words on this page are different."

"I wrote the first part, and Uncle Zheng corrected the last few lines. He thought my handwriting was ugly and was afraid of embarrassing me if I took it up there." Zhou Yan looked at him for a couple of breaths without saying anything, rolled up the book and put it in his sleeve, then took out a small porcelain bottle and placed it on the table. The bottle was not big and was sealed with wax.

"These are defective Protective Pulse Pills. Three batches were ruined during the refining process at Danfeng and ended up in the waste medicine pile. Take them back and try them out. Write a record after you're done, and I'll come back to pick them up next time." He picked up the porcelain bottle, weighed it in his hand, and found it to be quite light. He shook it, and a few pills inside made a clattering sound.

"Are the drug's properties clear?"

"I don't know. If I knew, you wouldn't need to try it. Grind a little bit to taste before you eat it. Don't swallow it whole. If something happens, no one will save you." After saying that, he left.

He took the small porcelain bottle back to his room and placed it on the table, examining it for a long time. The wax seal was intact, and the bottle was clean, so it looked quite legitimate. He scraped off a bit of the sealing wax and rubbed it on his tongue; it tasted bitter but not strange, meaning the medicine hadn't leaked. He then smelled it through the bottle, but couldn't detect anything.

I used a bamboo skewer to pry open the wax seal and poured a pill into my palm. The pill was dark brown with a thin layer of white frost on the surface, as if it had been sitting out for a long time and had become damp. I scraped off a little powder with my fingernail and put it in my mouth. It was extremely bitter, so bitter that it made my tongue numb. It was on a completely different level from all the other medicines I had ever taken. The bitterness dissipated quickly, disappearing in just a couple of breaths. My mouth felt completely clean, as if I hadn't eaten anything at all.

He put the pills back in the box, sealed them, picked up the book, and started writing: "The pulse-protecting pill is defective, extremely bitter, dissipates quickly, and has no adverse effects upon initial taste." He added at the end, "Take half a pill later and observe." After waiting for a long time without seeing Old Man Zheng return, he figured that half a pill shouldn't cause any major problems, and if something really went wrong, there was still some medicine left in the pot to cover it up.

He poured out half a grain, crushed it, mixed it with water, and scooped up a small spoonful to drink. The bitter taste hit him hard, and he swallowed it with a grimace. Immediately afterward, a heavy feeling slid down his throat to his stomach, like swallowing a handful of pebbles, making him feel uneasy. He stood in the yard for a long time, feeling no pain, no heat, and no dizziness. He had a slight feeling of something in his stomach, not uncomfortable, but it was always there.

He squatted down and continued rummaging through the herbs, all the while keeping an eye on his stomach. After about half an hour, the sinking sensation gradually subsided, disappearing silently like water seeping into sand. He added to the book: "Half a pill was extremely bitter at first, then the sinking sensation subsided after about an hour. The medicine's properties are too downward-moving and stagnant in the middle burner." He put down his pen, poured out another half pill, crushed it, and drank it. He waited an extra hour to make sure there were no other reactions before putting away the remaining pills.

As dusk fell, Old Man Zheng returned. He walked past him without looking at the stone table or asking about the medicine, only saying, "Go to the medicine storehouse in the west courtyard of Danfeng tomorrow to get the herbs yourself. Find Uncle Liu."

The next morning, he set off with his pot on his back, marking the way as he went. He noted down the steps, noting the crooked stone and the forked tree with its seventeen steps, careful not to get lost. The west courtyard was larger than he had imagined. The bluestone walls were covered with vines, and several small windows were closed. He went around to the back door, pushed it open, and found the courtyard filled with wooden boxes and burlap sacks, and strings of dried herbs hanging on the walls, the smell of which was so strong it was pungent.

An old man with gray hair sat by the wall, pruning withered branches with a long pair of shears, without even looking up: "Which branch are you from?"

"Master Zheng from the Medicine Testing Hall asked me to come and get the medicinal herbs from Uncle Liu." Only then did Uncle Liu look up at his face, his gaze lingering on the pot on his back, stopping at the patterns on the rim of the pot before moving away.

"A newcomer to the drug testing center? Old Zheng didn't say what they were supposed to receive?"

"They didn't specify anything, they just told me to come and get the herbs." Uncle Liu put down the scissors, stood up, dusted himself off, went inside, and carried out a burlap sack half his height, placing it on the door with a thud.

"These are all scraps, roots, bark fragments, and pieces left over from the outer sect. You can pick them out yourselves if you need them in the medicine testing hall." He glanced at the opening of the sack. "Can you carry them?"

Wei Pingan squatted down and tried it; it was quite heavy. He tightened the rope and hoisted it onto his shoulder. The pot on his back was pressed down, making his shoulder blades ache.

He shifted his position, steadied himself, and stood up: "I can carry it!"

Uncle Liu glanced at him, turned and went back into the house. Before closing the door, he said, "There's a packet of blood ginseng rootlets at the bottom of the bag. Don't mix it with the other herbs. Collect it separately." The door was already closed. He carried the sack back home, making the name "blood ginseng rootlets" a memory.

By the time he returned to the medicine testing hall, the sun was already high. He emptied the burlap sack onto a coarse cloth and began to sift out the herbs one by one, carefully sorting and arranging the angelica slices, astragalus root pieces, and atractylodes root. At the bottom, his fingers touched a hard little cloth bag. He opened it and found several dark red ginseng rootlets lying inside, their color deeper than any other medicinal herb he had ever seen, resembling congealed blood.

He took a closer sniff; the smell was pungent, like a thin needle pricking his forehead—not painful, but it made his head spin. He quickly wrapped it up, put it in a clean little earthenware jar, covered it with a cloth, and placed it in a cool, shady place. After spreading out the other herbs to dry, it was past noon. He took a break and couldn't resist opening the cloth bag to smell it again. Just as he leaned closer, he heard Old Zheng's voice behind him: "Don't put anything that smells prickly in your mouth."

He was so startled that his hand trembled and he almost dropped the ginseng rootlets. He quickly wrapped them up and turned around with a smile: "Uncle-Master, you're back. Uncle Liu said this is blood ginseng rootlets and told me to keep it separately."

"Hmm, the waste sifted from Danfeng's waste pile hasn't been processed in ages. Remember, don't touch your tongue with raw stuff even if you can smell it."

"Understood, Senior Uncle."

After finishing his sentence, Old Zheng went back into his house.

For the next few days, he would open the jar every day to look at it and smell it. As he looked, he noticed that the smell was gradually fading. It wasn't dissipating, but rather the ginseng rootlets were shrinking back into the jar, becoming finer and deeper. He tried one of the half-bottle of defective Protective Pulse Pills every two days, and each pill had a different effect: after taking one, his left hand was colder than his right hand for an entire afternoon; after taking one, his throat felt dry no matter how much water he drank; and after taking another, he felt nothing at all. However, the next day, while standing at the kitchen door, he sneezed, and a surge of medicinal power suddenly emerged from his back, traveled along his meridians, and sank into his dantian with a thud. The previously stable qi in his dantian was instantly stirred up, and its color deepened.

On the fifth night, after taking the last half of the pulse-protecting pill, he meditated and practiced as usual. This time, his qi flowed very smoothly from beginning to end without any blockage. The back of his body felt cooler than usual, cool and moist, like a water-soaked stone against his skin, which felt very comfortable.

After completing the three circles, his dantian suddenly vibrated with a buzzing sound, like a large bell being struck in the distance. The aftershocks spread from his lower abdomen outwards, a tingling, warm sensation. His back straightened abruptly, the edge of the pot pressing against his spine, yet he felt no pain. The vibration spread along his spine like a tightly twisted rope suddenly loosening, and every pore on his body opened up. As the vibration slowly subsided, he opened his eyes. The lines between his fingers were incredibly clear, and his palms were warm and powerful. He had achieved the second level of Qi Induction!

The next morning, he squatted in the yard and pinched his lower back. The skin and flesh bounced back very quickly, which was completely different from before.

He flipped out the Qi-guiding manual and compared it with the description of the second layer: "The meridians are unobstructed, the Qi flows freely, and the consciousness is beginning to condense." Most of it matched. He closed the book and sat against the pot. He could see things more clearly now. He could count the individual bark veins of the old locust tree, and he could hear the distant birdsong with exceptional clarity.

Just as he was feeling quite pleased with himself, he heard footsteps outside the courtyard gate, and there was more than one person. He looked up and saw two gray-robed servants standing at the door with unfriendly expressions; the one in the lead was a narrow-faced man.

"You're Wei Ping'an?" the man asked in a very aggressive tone.

He slowly stood up and quietly placed his hand on the edge of the pot: "Yes, it is. What can I do for you two?"

"Something's up. Brother Xu asked me to pass on a message to you: don't think you're safe just because you're hiding in the medicine testing hall. The position in the medicinal cuisine room isn't for a poor country bumpkin like you. Those who should leave will leave sooner or later."

He narrowed his eyes, but instead of showing fear, he smiled, revealing a set of white teeth: "Oh? Is that so? Then go back and tell your Brother Xu that the location is right there; if you're capable, come and get it yourself. What kind of ability is it to just send a messenger?"

The narrow-faced man, not expecting him to talk back, paused for a moment before angrily shouting, "You little brat, you're asking for it!"

"I'm standing here perfectly fine, why would I be looking for death?" He shrugged innocently. "The Medicine Testing Hall is under the jurisdiction of Master Zheng. Are you trying to alarm Master Zheng by shouting here?" His words left the other person speechless.

She glared at him fiercely with her narrow face and said, "You just wait!" She turned and left after saying that polite thing.

He watched the two walk away, the smile on his face slowly fading. Xu Baochai? The location of the medicinal cuisine room? He stroked his chin, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

"Fine, you've only been here a few days and someone's already causing trouble. Do they really think Wei Ping'an is a pushover?" He turned around, went back into the house, and pulled out several packets of strange medicinal powders he had collected before, placing them on the table. Qingfeng Powder, bitter gall powder, and some finely ground waste pill powder were all haphazardly arranged in a row. "Since you want to play, then let's play properly," he tapped the table with his fingertip, "I want to see if you guys are tougher or if these medicinal powders of mine are more effective."