Chapter Twenty-Two: Forging the Outer Elixir in the Furnace

At that moment, the crowd outside, waiting for the treasure to emerge, heard that they were being publicized in Shengjing. If word got out, how could they maintain their dignity? A few of them jumped down from the courtyard wall, and the leader shouted at Wang Yuanling.

“Sharp-tongued, are you? Let’s settle your fate first.”

As he spoke, his hand shot out and a rope flew toward Wang Yuanling.

Wang Yuanhong reacted quickly; as soon as he saw the group jump down, he waved his hand. The archers immediately understood.

“Swish, swish, swish.”

More than a hundred arrows flew toward the intruders, but their skills were clearly extraordinary. A faint black mist rose from their bodies, enveloping them.

The arrows hit the mist, but as soon as they entered, it was as if they struck cotton, dropping harmlessly to the ground with soft thuds.

Although Wang Yuanfeng was intently watching the fusion between the external elixir and Wang Yuanqing, he kept an eye on the commotion outside. When the leader threw out a rope, Wang Yuanfeng gestured toward his flying sword. The sword flew out from its case, spun around the rope, and then returned. The rope was severed, dropping in two pieces to the ground.

“Ah, my Corpse-Binding Rope! Ah…”

A cry of agony echoed from within the black mist. The mist dissipated, revealing a man in black clutching his neck, his face filled with disbelief.

“Swish, swish, swish.”

Dozens more arrows lodged in his body, turning him into a pincushion as he slowly collapsed. His magical artifact had been destroyed, injuring his soul; with his mind shaken, the black mist opened a brief gap and an arrow pierced his throat.

Wang Yuanhong waved his hand again. After three volleys, the mist around the remaining adversaries was still as before—perhaps diminished, but more solidified.

Wang Yuanhong bellowed,

“Swordsmen and shield-bearers, prepare!”

A hundred swordsmen and shield-bearers shouted in unison,

“Kill!”

Wang Yuanhong roared again,

“Form the Beast-Trapping Formation!”

“Kill! Kill! Kill!”

The hundred fighters echoed, swiftly surrounding the remaining enemies in the courtyard, advancing step by step with each shout, pounding their shields in rhythm.

The surrounded group felt their spirits waver. They realized the soldiers’ murderous aura was affecting them—every shout sent their minds into disarray. If their magic faltered, it would be their death.

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The besieged shouted desperately for help toward those on the wall, but no matter how loud and frenzied their cries, their voices were drowned out entirely by the unified stomping, shield-beating, and shouts of the hundred shield-bearers.

Wang Yuanhong drew a small black flag from his waist and raised it high.

With a flourish, the flag descended.

The shield-bearers paused, then shouted,

“Kill!”

The front row gave a battle cry, struck the surrounded enemies with their shields, and retreated rapidly. The group’s spells were shattered.

The rear row advanced, shouted, rammed their shields sideways, and withdrew swiftly. Blood began to seep from the mouths of the intruders.

Then, with a shout, they struck with their blades. Accompanied by the cry of “kill,” the remaining enemies were hacked to pieces.

Wang Yuanhong waved the flag twice, and the shield-bearers retreated smoothly to their original positions, leaving nothing but severed limbs scattered on the ground.

Those on the wall were stunned, not expecting the army’s murderous aura to be so overwhelming—even cultivators found themselves defenseless.

Wang Yuanfeng, too, understood the situation outside. He had heard that wherever the army marched, even spirits and gods would flee; only now did he realize why no one dared fly above the troops. But he paid no mind, focusing on the pill furnace. Just then—

“Condense.”

He struck a hand seal.

He opened the cauldron, and the external elixir floated out, flying toward Wang Yuanqing. It entered through his bloodied finger, coursed along his arm and meridians, circulating within his body.

Wang Yuanqing’s pale face immediately regained color, and even the wound on his finger vanished.

Wang Yuanfeng finally breathed a sigh of relief. He had successfully refined the external elixir. As long as it remained in Wang Yuanqing’s body, even without further cultivation, he would be free from illness, strong and healthy, and might even experience strange phenomena—such as seeing light, or predicting events.

With his help, Wang Yuanqing had integrated the external elixir; since he had assisted with the final refinement, Wang Yuanqing had already begun nurturing it within, skipping a critical step. All that remained was to teach him the method, and he could truly make it his own—saving him considerable effort.

As Wang Yuanqing absorbed the external elixir, he entered a meditative state. This rare opportunity for meditation was not to be squandered. Though external calamities existed, Wang Yuanfeng was there to shield him, along with his elder brothers, Xiao Cui, and Huamei—two other cultivators. With two hundred swordsmen and archers, their numbers were formidable.

Although this would affect Wang Yuanfeng’s own fortune, the path of the external elixir was one seized by force—perhaps a manifestation of fate itself.

Wang Yuanfeng looked at the tense crowd outside and took out the most powerful Thunderstrike Bomb he had acquired from the Diviner.

Just then, a bald man leaped from the wall. He appeared to be a monk, recited a Buddhist verse, and spoke,

“This humble monk, Sanpo, requests the master of this place come forth for a conversation.”

“Monk, this is none of your concern. Take another step forward and you’ll regret it.”

Sanpo acted as if he hadn’t heard, continuing to advance.

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Wang Yuanhong waved his hand, and a hundred arrows flew toward the monk.

The monk produced an umbrella adorned with pearls, agate, and seven precious gems.

The arrows dropped three feet away, as if rendered completely ineffective.

Wang Yuanfeng found this peculiar—there was something strange about the aura. It looked like a Buddhist artifact, but felt ominous and sinister, as though it shared the same origin as his own anti-magic items.

He frowned inwardly. If that were the case, archers would be useless against him. While shield-bearers could form a battle array to exert some influence, it was likely negligible. Judging by the Vajra staff on his back, the monk possessed strength beyond measure. Wang Yuanfeng added a protective seal to Wang Yuanqing, strapped on his sword case, took up his sword, and stepped outside.

He addressed those outside,

“I wonder why you do not rest, but instead intrude upon the Marquis’s residence at this hour?”

Those atop the wall, seeing the true master, jumped down. Among them, a young, alluring woman with a red mark between her brows spoke,

“There is a great treasure here. If you hand it over, I can use my connections to grant you wealth and honor—far better than staying in this ruined courtyard of the Marquis’s estate.”

Wang Yuanfeng wondered if she was mad; did he need her to grant him riches?

On the rooftop, beside Wang Yuanhong, Huamei was trembling. Wang Yuanhong squeezed her hand, pulled her into his arms, and covered her eyes, lest she gaze upon the woman. He knew her—Huamei’s junior from the Hundred Flowers Pavilion, called Lianxin.

Wang Yuanhong shouted down,

“Nonsense! The riches of the Marquis’s estate are beyond your reach!”

At that moment, an elderly woman with a red mark between her brows, standing beside Lianxin, glared at Wang Yuanhong on the roof. She recognized the armored man as the eldest son of the Marquis of Wu’an, though she had no idea why he was here in this small courtyard—perhaps coveting the treasure himself. She ignored him and addressed Wang Yuanfeng,

“Young man, do you know my lady’s identity? She knows many officials in Shengjing. If you agree, securing a position for you would be easy. If you refuse, though you have the protection of the Marquis’s estate, you are merely a servant—you can’t hide forever.”

Only then did Wang Yuanfeng realize they had mistaken his identity. Just then, his third brother Wang Yuanxing called out,

“Our fourth brother has never visited brothels. Your lady is a hostess, I presume? Please understand.”

Wang Yuanling chimed in,

“If you wish to entertain guests, kindly wait patiently. In a few days, I shall pay a visit myself.”

Lianxin and the old woman finally understood—the youth in this secluded courtyard was Wang Yuanfeng, fourth son of the Marquis of Wu’an. Though the family knew of his existence, outsiders did not. Security here was stricter than in the inner residence; anyone unauthorized who approached would be seized and interrogated for days, no questions asked.

No matter how unruly Wang Yuanfeng was, news would not leak out. If not for the Nine Mountain Prince’s son inadvertently spreading rumors, no one would know anything about Wang Yuanfeng at all.

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