The afternoon sun reflected off the snow that blanketed the little cabin nestled deep in the forest. Though its rays glimmered brightly, as if trying to melt away winter's grip, the ever-present chill in the wind refused to yield. The breeze carried with it silence—thick, absolute, peaceful.
Mason Lu, as usual, sat reclined on his favorite wooden chair outside the cabin. A thin stick dangled from his mouth, and his arms were folded behind his head as he bathed in the stillness.
Then—
"Kaboom!!"
The door of the house burst open. Chase stumbled out, his face blackened with soot, hair standing upright and somehow even blacker than before. Smoke curled out behind him like a defeated spirit escaping the scene of the crime.
"Old Lu," he growled as he staggered forward. "Are you sure you taught me the right method? It's been almost two months, and I still can't refine a single grade 1 pill!"
Mason chuckled with the unbothered joy of a man who relished another's suffering. Chase gave him a suspicious look, starting to doubt once again if this eccentric man was truly a 'master' or just a random forest hermit with a loud mouth.
Mason stood and stretched lazily, letting the wind comb through his wild black hair. With an exaggerated sigh, he patted Chase on the shoulder and said, "Brat, you've come a long way already. Honestly, I didn't mention it before, but...uh, well... How do I say this—"
He paused, scratching his cheek.
"Okay, here's the thing. To officially refine grade 1 pills, you need to be at least rank 2 late stage in cultivation. You've only just hit middle stage, so…"
BOOM.
An explosion of snow erupted several kilometers away as Mason's body was sent flying, his head buried in the white powder while his legs stuck out like awkward signposts.
From afar, his voice drifted through the wind. "Y-You ungrateful brat! This was part of the training! I was helping you learn to control herbs and flames—you should thank me for my divine wisdom!"
High above, on a slender, snow-covered tree branch swaying with the wind, Chase sat cross-legged.
"Now I can start for real," he muttered. "Old man better not be lying this time…"
His eyes were closed, attuning to the flow of energy in his body. Air elemental energy gathered around him faster than ever. It had been just over a week since Mason confessed the truth behind Chase's repeated failures. The issue wasn't talent—it was cultivation level.
Now, having finally reached rank 2 late stage, Chase was ready.
He opened his eyes slowly, fingers brushing against his eyelids as a cold glint passed through them. "Cloud family… I wonder what kind of excuse you'll have when I come knocking."
Gripping the crooked support stick beside him, Chase leapt down from the branch. The stick touched the ground first, followed by his feet with light grace. He picked up a worn basket leaning against the tree and started trekking deeper into the forest.
'Strange,' he thought. 'I've never seen any beasts above rank 2 around this place. Why is that?'
By dusk, the sun was surrendering its place to the moon. Back at the house, Mason sat in his chair once more, eyes half-lidded, watching a figure slowly approach.
A thirteen-year-old boy appeared from the trees, carrying a basket of herbs and two small rabbits slung over his back. He held a gnarled 1.6-meter tree branch in one hand, using it like a walking cane. His expression was calm, eyes grey and strangely devoid of emotion.
Mason raised a brow. "What's with that stick? You can walk just fine without it, no?"
Chase replied without pause, "...It makes me look cool."
"…"
Chase tossed the basket into his room and returned. "Old Lu, I've broken through. I'm at rank 2 late stage now. You sure I can refine pills? You're not lying again, right?"
Mason gave a smug smirk. "Who do you think I am? I'm a divine existence."
Chase rolled his eyes and walked back inside.
He sat down, meditating for a few minutes before opening his eyes and reaching for the black cauldron that Mason had gifted him. Despite countless past explosions, it hadn't even scratched. Clearly, it was no ordinary tool.
He carefully placed it in front of him and began organizing the herbs from the basket. Rubbing two flint stones together, he ignited a small fire beneath the furnace. Still unable to conjure flames on his own, this primitive method had become routine.
One by one, herbs were tossed into the cauldron with practiced timing. While it seemed random to the untrained eye, Chase's speed and rhythm were exceptional—even rivaling rank 2 alchemists.
As the mixture boiled, his hands moved fluidly, manipulating the surrounding air to raise or lower the flames. Mason had never taught him how to control fire directly during refinement, but through trial and error, Chase adapted.
Thirty minutes later, the fire went out. Smoke rose in coils, and he leaned forward.
Inside the cauldron were eight perfectly rounded green pills.
A grin spread across Chase's face. He scooped them up and dropped them into a transparent glass bottle before dashing outside.
"MASTER! I DID IT! I SUCCEEDED!" he shouted.
Mason looked at the bottle and let out a loud laugh. "Hahaha! Well done, brat. NOW you call me master, eh? Am I not divine?"
Chase frowned. "Are you praising me or yourself?"
"Of course myself! Who do you think taught you?"
Rolling his eyes, Chase muttered, "I'm going to make more pills," and returned to his room.
Mason remained seated, watching the boy's back disappear through the doorway. A thoughtful glint appeared in his eyes.
'Eight perfect pills... I could only refine six when I started. My son could only refine five. Most people barely manage two or three, and even those are imperfect. Looks like I've won the lottery. Hehe…'
He stretched his arms and yawned.
'Time to stop lazing around. The real training begins now.'