Pillborn Immortal

The sect's market was a bustling hive of activity, filled with the clamor of haggling voices, the clinking of spiritual stones. Stalls lined the narrow streets, their owners proudly displaying wares ranging from low-grade spirit herbs to rudimentary cultivation tools.

Zhuan Ming moved through the crowd with practiced ease, his sharp eyes scanning the area for opportunities. His expression was calm, almost disinterested, but his mind was working swiftly. He needed resources—spiritual stones, materials, and most importantly, a furnace. But with his limited funds, he would have to rely on his biggest skill that saved him time and time in his past life: teft-path.

As he passed a stall selling spirit herbs, his hand flicked out with the precision of a seasoned thief, slipping a small pouch of spiritual stones from the belt of a distracted disciple. The movement was so smooth, so natural, that no one noticed—not even the victim, who continued haggling with the stall owner.

Zhuan Ming's lips curved into a faint smirk as he pocketed the pouch. "Pasts hardships pay well," he thought. In his past life, he had honed his theft skills everyday from the age of 5 he had to live on the street steeling food, resources, money just to survive, and now it served him well. He repeated the process twice more, targeting wealthy-looking disciples who were too engrossed in their own affairs to notice the lightening of their purses. By the time he reached the end of the market street, Zhuan Ming had amassed a decent sum of spiritual stones. It wasn't enough to buy a high-quality furnace, but it would suffice for his current needs. He was actually quite poor living from few spirit stoned a day having spent most of his money on a cheap sword to help him kill, he was too busy training to make any more money so the trip to the market was well needed.

The furnace seller's stall was tucked away in a quieter corner of the market, its wares displayed on a worn wooden table. The furnaces ranged from crude, barely functional models to slightly more refined ones, though none could be considered top-tier.

"Hey, old man witch one should I pick?" Zhuan Ming asked Qi Pill Ancestor, "The medium-sized furnace made of dark iron will do," he replied. How much for this one?" Zhuan Ming asked, his tone casual as he pointed to the furnace.

The seller, a grizzled man with a patchy beard, eyed him suspiciously. "That one's 100 medium-grade spiritual stones. Not a single stone less."

Zhuan Ming raised an eyebrow. "For this? It's barely better than scrap metal."

The seller scowled. "Take it or leave it, kid. Good furnaces don't come cheap."

Zhuan Ming sighed inwardly but didn't argue further. He handed over the stones, careful to hide the fact that most of them had been acquired in a few hours though once the people realize they have been robed the word will spread around and people will be more careful, not that it was really a issue for Zuan Ming who was a teft-path cultivator in his past life, but people might start carrying less spirit stones with them.

The seller grunted in acknowledgment and handed over the furnace.

With the furnace secured, Zhuan Ming retreated to a secluded area on the outskirts of the sect, where he could practice without prying eyes. The spot he chose was a small clearing surrounded by dense trees, their branches forming a natural canopy that shielded him from view.

He set up the furnace on a flat rock, its dark surface gleaming faintly in the dappled sunlight. "Alright, old man," he said, addressing Qi Pill Ancestor. "Let's get started."

Qi Pill Ancestor's voice echoed in his mind. "Finally, you're taking my advice seriously. But don't think this will be easy. The pill path requires precision, patience, and a steady hand. One mistake, and you'll ruin the entire batch."

Zhuan Ming rolled his eyes. "I'm not a complete novice. I've dabbled in pill-making before."

"Dabbled?" Qi Pill Ancestor snorted. "What you've done I bet barely qualifies as pill-making. Let this old man teach you how to do things." Zhuan Ming ignored the jab and focused on the task at hand. He pulled out a handful of low-grade spirit herbs he had purchased earlier, their leaves still fresh and fragrant. These would be the base materials for his first attempt at crafting a basic purification pill—a simple but essential pill for cleansing impurities from the body. Following Qi Pill Ancestor's instructions, Zhuan Ming lit the furnace and began the process of refining the herbs. He carefully controlled the heat, his hands moving with practiced precision as he crushed, ground, and mixed the ingredients. The air filled with the sharp, earthy scent of the herbs, mingling with the faint metallic tang of the furnace. "Not bad," Qi Pill Ancestor admitted grudgingly. "But you're rushing. Slow down and focus on the flow of spiritual energy. The pill path isn't just about physical ingredients—it's about harmonizing them with your own energy." Zhuan Ming nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. He adjusted his technique, allowing his spiritual energy to flow into the mixture, guiding it with careful intent. Slowly, the ingredients began to fuse together, forming a small, glowing orb of condensed energy.

"Not bad for a first attempt," Qi Pill Ancestor said, his tone slightly more approving. Zhuan Ming smirked, holding up the pill to examine it. "It's a start."

Over the next few days, Zhuan Ming continued to practice, refining his technique and producing a small stockpile of purification pills. Each attempt brought him closer to mastery, though Qi Pill Ancestor was quick to point out his mistakes. "Your heat control is still sloppy," the old man chided during one session. "And your energy flow is too erratic. Focus!" Zhuan Ming didn't argue. He knew the old man was right, and he was determined to improve.

Qi Pill Ancestor's voice cut through Zhuan Ming's thoughts, sharp and commanding. "Kid, I think you're barely ready now to make the blood path pills. But before you start, you'll need to prepare some materials. Go to the market and buy what's necessary."

Zhuan Ming raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "What exactly do I need?"

The old man's tone was matter-of-fact, but there was a subtle edge to it that Zhuan Ming couldn't quite place. "You'll need Crimson Lotus Petals, Shadowvine Roots, and Frostbone Ash, Spiritthread Moss. These are the core ingredients for the blood path pill. The Crimson Lotus Petals will enhance the potency of the blood energy, the Shadowvine Roots will stabilize the mixture, and the Frostbone Ash will act as a catalyst to bind everything together."

Zhuan Ming nodded, committing the list to memory.

Zhuan Ming navigated the crowd with ease, his movements fluid and inconspicuous. Every so often, his hand would flick out with the precision of a seasoned thief, slipping a pouch of spiritual stones from the belt of an unsuspecting disciple. The stolen pouches vanished almost as quickly as they were taken, slipping into the large hidden pockets he had sewn, adding to his growing stash.

With his pockets now heavier, Zhuan Ming moved with renewed purpose, his sharp eyes scanning the stalls for the ingredients he needed.

He found the Crimson Lotus Petals at a stall specializing in rare herbs. The petals were a deep, blood-red color, their edges slightly curled and shimmering with a faint spiritual glow. The seller, an elderly woman with a shrewd gaze, initially charged him a hefty sum, but Zhuan Ming managed to haggle the price down.

The Shadowvine Roots were easier to acquire, their twisted, blackened forms commonly used in low-grade alchemy. He picked up a bundle from a stall run by a burly man who seemed more interested in haggling with another customer than paying attention to Zhuan Ming.

The Frostbone Ash proved more challenging. It was a rare material, harvested from the bones of spiritual beasts that have been frozen in ice for mounths. After searching for nearly an hour, Zhuan Ming finally found a small vial of it at a stall tucked away in a corner. The seller, a thin, nervous-looking man, eyed him suspiciously but handed over the ash after receiving payment.

The last ingredient, Spiritthread Moss, was the hardest to find. It was a pale, almost translucent moss that grew in dark, damp places, and its spiritual properties were highly sought after. After asking around, Zhuan Ming was directed to a shady stall run by a hooded figure who spoke in hushed tones.

"Spiritthread Moss, you say?" the figure murmured, their voice raspy. "That's not something I usually carry. But… I might have a small amount. For the right price."

Zhuan Ming's eyes narrowed. "How much?"

The figure named an high sum, but Zhuan Ming had no choice. He handed over the spiritual stones, his unease growing as the figure produced a small pouch of the moss. It felt cold to the touch, and a faint, almost imperceptible hum seemed to emanate from it.

"Okay, kid," Qi Pill Ancestor said, his voice carrying a hint of anticipation. "Now that you have everything, it's time to find your next prey."