The yang fire roared, fierce yet contained within a manageable range.


    One by one, the medicinal herbs began to melt, their potency simmering and bubbling…


    Bang!


    A sudden explosion echoed from the Three Yin Cauldron. Han’s expression didn’t flicker—he stayed cool as a cucumber.


    Just a tiny slip-up in alchemy. No big deal.


    Failure’s just the stepping stone to success, right?


    While he cleaned out the cauldron, Lu Qingmo seized the moment to ask, “What’s with you and alchemy this month? You’re hooked.”


    Han replied, “I’ve been thinking lately—life’s all about having a solid skill to stand on. Something to anchor you, you know?”


    Over in the corner, An Lang, mid-cultivation, rolled her eyes so hard they nearly popped out.


    Lu Qingmo, he’s pulling your leg! He’s actually trying to whip up that crazy Reverse Fate Pill!


    “Fair point,” Lu Qingmo said, handing him a jade vial.


    “The Sky Serpent Vine flower—I’ve processed it for you. Once you hit the Bone Refining realm, you can take it and refine it directly.”


    Han popped open the vial. Inside was a dark red liquid that looked anything but appetizing.


    Not tasty, sure—but useful.


    “I’m kinda pumped to tap into that vitality power,” he said.


    When Han got back to his alchemy, Lu Qingmo slipped out, leaving him to focus.


    Truth be told, he wasn’t jumping straight into the Reverse Fate Pill yet—just warming up his skills. Spitting out lifespan blood in front of Lu Qingmo would be a tough one to explain.


    He’d wait until he was confident, then head to the martial hall’s underground chamber to get serious.


    At his current realm, Han could go a whole night without sleep and still be raring to go. After a full night of tinkering, he’d gotten a decent handle on the Reverse Fate Pill.


    Say what you will—his talent wasn’t just in cultivation. He had a knack for other stuff too.


    Was it innate, or had something changed him along the way? The Seven Apertures Exquisite Heart probably had a lot to do with it.


    Come morning, Han made his way to the Tai Bai Martial Hall. But just as he reached the entrance, someone called out to him.


    “Excuse me, is this the Tai Bai Martial Hall?”


    Han turned—and wow, he was floored.


    Standing before him was a stunning woman. Her features were like a painting—flawless skin, perfect proportions, ethereal eyes, and a refined, graceful air. Her figure was elegant and captivating.


    She rivaled Bai Ruoyue in beauty.


    “Yeah, this is the Tai Bai Martial Hall,” Han said. “What’s up, miss?”


    She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she sized him up, then asked, “You’re Han from Tai Bai, right?”


    “That’s me. Something I can help you with?”


    She flashed a faint smile. “Not really.”


    “I’ve just heard so many tales about Black Cloud’s top prodigy, so I wanted to see for myself. They say you hate evil like it’s your sworn enemy, love playing the hero, and have talent spilling out your ears. Meeting you now, I’d say the hype’s spot on.”


    Han blinked, totally thrown. Where’d you get “hates evil” and “hero type” from?


    What, did he just look like a walking pillar of justice?


    Well, she had good taste, at least.


    “Mind if I ask where you’re from?” he ventured.


    “No one worth mentioning—not worth dirtying your ears over,” she replied with a light curtsy. “Looking forward to our next meeting.”


    Before Han could press further, she turned and glided off.


    Watching her go, he frowned slightly.


    Something about her was off.


    He could tell she was a cultivator, no doubt—but her realm? Completely unreadable. That vibe, that presence—she wasn’t from some run-of-the-mill background.


    Her behavior, though? Weird as heck.


    Han shook his head. Mysterious types were par for the course now, with all these factions flooding Black Cloud Town. Some rolled in loud and proud, others kept it low-key.


    As he turned back, he caught Bai Ruoyue leaning against the martial hall’s entrance, eyeing him.


    “Little Junior Brother, who was that?”


    “…”


    Busted.


    “I don’t know her,” Han said honestly.


    “Don’t know her, huh? Looked pretty cozy chatting her up.”


    “Cozy? I didn’t even crack a smile.”


    Bai Ruoyue gave him a look, then spun on her heel and headed inside.


    “Morning, Teacher Bai!”


    A cheerful voice piped up, and Bai Ruoyue nodded in response.


    Han glanced over—a boy, maybe twelve, already at the Flesh and Skin realm.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    “New face?” Han asked. “Don’t think I’ve seen him.”


    With his memory sharper than a tack—he never forgot a face he’d seen even once—this kid wasn’t in the vault.


    “Yep, newbie,” Bai Ruoyue said. “Name’s Qian Duoduo, son of a rich family in town. Just turned twelve. Showed up at Tai Bai right before you headed into the mountains seven days ago.”


    “Qian Duoduo… Solid name,” Han said with a grin.


    “Kid’s got talent. Took him seven days to step into the martial path and cultivate inner breath.”


    Han nodded. Not on his level, sure, but for Black Cloud Town? Top-tier potential.


    “Dad doesn’t seem keen on taking him as a disciple, though,” Bai Ruoyue added.


    “I brought it up with him, but he told me to stay out of it—not to make promises to martial hall trainees on a whim. Said he’s got his own plans.”


    She frowned, puzzled. “Weird, right? With Qian Duoduo’s talent, you’d think he’d at least start sizing up his character, maybe prep to take him on as a disciple down the line.”


    “What if Dad’s standards shot up after seeing how crazy your talent is, Little Junior Brother?”


    “Whatever Master says, just roll with it,” Han cautioned. “Don’t go rogue.”


    Bai Tian was already mulling over becoming a “live-in son-in-law”—no way he’d take on more disciples. No amount of talent would sway him now; his heart wasn’t in it. He wasn’t about to drag a disciple along to the Ling family.


    Barring any surprises, Han figured he’d be the one to “close the shop” for Bai Tian.


    Bai Ruoyue shot him a sidelong glance. “Me, go rogue? Never.”


    “You’re acting like he’s your dad now, Little Junior Brother. Totally on his side.”


    Han chuckled, checked their surroundings—coast clear—then leaned in and whispered, “He’s our dad.”


    “Hey, watch it!”


    Bai Ruoyue’s cheeks flushed as she swatted him with a light punch, though inside, she was secretly delighted.


    “Little Junior Brother, you know how many people have signed up for the martial hall lately?”


    “Makes sense,” Han said. “Master’s a True Blood warrior—Black Cloud’s top local cultivator. Of course folks are flocking in.”


    On paper, at least, Bai Tian was the strongest around.


    “It’s not just that,” Bai Ruoyue said. “A ton of them are here because of you. When they sign up, they keep asking if they can get as badass as you.”


    “At this rate, we’ll need to expand the place.”


    “Expansion’s up to Master,” Han warned. “Don’t go calling shots on your own, Senior Sister.”


    Build it now, and when they all head back to Jade Capital, it’d be a waste of bricks.


    “Hmph, just wait. One day, I’ll be the one running this joint,” she huffed.


    Han figured he’d probably take the reins before she ever got the chance.


    Down in the underground chamber, after wrapping up his cultivation, Han pulled out the Three Yin Cauldron. Time to get serious about the Reverse Fate Pill.


    No one would barge in here—he’d already told Bai Ruoyue and the others he’d be refining a pill, and they wouldn’t disturb him.


    Everyone knew alchemy didn’t take kindly to interruptions. Who’d guess he was cooking up this kind of madness?


    Yang fire surged from the cauldron’s vents, swirling inside. The Three Yin Cauldron glowed faintly.


    The cauldron was primed.


    A three-vent cauldron like this wasn’t tied to rank—it was all about the alchemist’s preference. As a treasure from the Three Yin Mountain God, it was top-notch. Han and An Lang were still rookies, no fixed habits yet—just feeling their way into it.


    Han tossed in the first herb, his mental focus seeping into the cauldron. He tracked every shift in the herb, testing how different flame intensities refined it, zeroing in on the sweet spot.


    This wasn’t his first rodeo. With a soul tough as nails and total control over the yang earthfire, he’d racked up plenty of experience. He could nail every detail with pinpoint accuracy.


    As the yang fire danced, the dry, grass-like herb started to burn away. Tiny gray flecks of powder seeped out—the essence taking shape.


    The impurities? They got flicked out through another vent with each flicker of the flame. He could’ve torched them to nothing with a bigger blaze, but that risked scorching the herb mid-refinement if he wasn’t careful.


    Once the essence was fully extracted, Han shunted the gray powder to a corner of the cauldron and tossed in the next herb.


    New herb, new flame temp. He had to recalibrate, find the perfect point all over again for a flawless pull.


    For someone with a deep cultivation base and a rock-solid mind, this step wasn’t too tough—just a matter of practice.


    Time ticked by, and Han refined every ingredient the Reverse Fate Pill called for.


    Next up: fusion.


    Blending all those essences together while roasting them with fire.


    This part? Way trickier than extraction.


    Han shifted the gray powder to the flame’s center, giving it a gentle three-minute roast on low heat. Then he added a glob of green liquid, merging the two.


    The instant powder met liquid, they churned in the fire, turning black and sticky fast.


    The flame’s temp shifted constantly—small tweaks, sure, but critical ones. No room for slip-ups.


    Extracting was simple: find each herb’s sweet spot. But fusing two essences? That changed the game—new properties, new balance, way more complex.


    Different herbs had different heat tolerances, so he had to wield the flames with absolute precision. In the tight space of the cauldron, one spot might need a blaze while another needed a simmer.


    At the right temp, the essences “woke up,” hitting that fusion-ready state.


    Han flicked out a pill technique—a glowing rune sank into the merging essences, harmonizing and sparking them.


    Now it was multitasking time.


    One by one, the essences melded together. The Three Yin Cauldron flickered bright and dim as the heat shifted nonstop.


    Pill techniques flowed, guiding and shaping the mix.


    Finally, a lumpy, round blob floated in the cauldron, tumbling in the flames.


    One last technique—a flashing rune—shot in.


    The fire flared hard, hitting the perfect temp Han had sussed out over days of trial and error.


    The blob glowed faintly, rounding out in the heat until it settled into a pristine, flawless pill.


    The Reverse Fate Pill’s base form—done.


    Now for the big finish.


    Han’s face flushed red, like blood was rushing to his head. Then a vivid red droplet oozed from his brow.


    The moment it emerged, the chamber filled with a mouthwatering aroma. A faint pulse of vitality rippled out.


    This was the lifespan blood, nurtured per the Reverse Fate Pill’s unique method. Han had started prepping it days after getting the formula.


    An Lang gawked at the blood, speechless.


    “Twenty years of lifespan in that blood… You’re actually going for it, Young Master?”


    Han didn’t reply, letting the blood drip onto the pill’s base. In an instant, the whole thing turned a vivid red.


    The flames died down, leaving the pill glowing brighter by the second.


    Only then did Han spare An Lang a glance.


    “Twenty years? Peanuts,” he said dismissively.


    He’d need to crank out five hundred Reverse Fate Pills to burn through the [Longevity Dao Fruit].


    Not that he’d ever make that many.


    The lifespan blood fused with the pill, triggering some weird reaction. This step didn’t need his input—it just did its thing.


    That’s why the pill wasn’t considered hard to refine. The real kicker was the lifespan blood—the years poured into it.


    An Lang drifted over, eyeing the blood-red pill with curiosity.


    “So this is the treasure pill that takes twenty years to make? Is it really that amazing?”


    “We’ll find out soon enough,” Han said. “If it works, I’ll whip one up for you too.”


    “What? No, no—twenty years is way too much!”


    “I don’t care what you think—I care what I think. It’s settled.”


    Once the pill was fully formed, Han studied it closely, frowning.


    “It’s too obvious—too many giveaway traits. Doesn’t look like a legit pill. If I handed this to someone, they’d spot something’s up right away.”


    A pill forged with lifespan? No way that’s “legit” by any stretch.


    The Reverse Fate Pill was blood-red through and through, with a fresh, bloody scent that practically begged to be eaten.


    For cultivators at a certain level, blood didn’t stink—it turned sweet.


    Han popped the pill. A massive wave of heat erupted inside him.


    At first, it was a cozy warmth, but it quickly ramped up to scorching—like he was roasting over a fire. Still bearable, though.


    As the heat kept flowing, Han felt something shift in his body—hard to pin down, but real.


    It was like a weight lifted, burdens vanishing. He buzzed with energy.


    Back to twelve years old!


    “So this is what it feels like to be at the prime age for martial training?”


    Han savored it. Pretty sweet—unlike anything he’d felt before.


    The golden window for martial arts was twelve to eighteen, but this didn’t mean he’d “age” back up in six years.


    The Reverse Fate effect lasted twenty years, locking him in that peak training state the whole time.


    No surprise—it tied straight to that chunk of lifespan blood.


    Twenty years from now, he’d hit “nineteen.” By then, he’d be forty-two—maybe even an immortal. Whether his body was still in prime shape wouldn’t matter much.


    Immortal transformations blew all this out of the water.


    Even hitting True Blood or Yin Spirit realms, with their lifespan boosts, changed the math. A forty-year-old with a hundred-year cap wasn’t the same as one with two hundred.


    “Not bad at all,” Han said. “An Lang, you should give it a shot. You’re an old ghost yourself.”


    Ghosts didn’t have “prime training ages,” but as his ghost, she deserved the good stuff too!