Chapter 2027 — The Long-Cherished Dream

"Uh..." Wei Zhao was utterly bewildered. "Your master handed you a single alchemist's notebook and then dropped dead?"

"That's right. He lost control during a refining too, and was blown apart by his own cauldron. Only I had better luck than he did, and better medical skill, so I lived. When he took me on, his own skill was nothing to speak of, so he died." Bai Lingtou said.

"..." Wei Zhao was speechless. Yet he caught something between the lines: the Zhang Lifeng lineage could not have much left to pass down. These alchemists handed their craft from one generation to the next, and Bai Lingtou's case was probably far from rare — the older generation dies while the younger has not yet come into its own, so the essence Zhang Lifeng left behind thinned with every generation, and most of what remained each man had to work out for himself.

The thing was, the title "heir of Zhang Lifeng" struck Wei Zhao like a thunderbolt. Bai Lingtou stood some generations removed from Zhang Lifeng as a disciple, while he himself counted as Zhang Lifeng's direct disciple — did that not make him Bai Lingtou's grand-master?

Of course, Wei Zhao only entertained the thought. After all, he had merely come into possession of some of Zhang Lifeng's relics; he was no disciple of Zhang Lifeng in the true sense. So taking Bai Lingtou as his master weighed on him no more than that, and in fact carried a certain flavor of returning to his roots.

Wei Zhao shook his head. Bai Lingtou had clearly misunderstood him.

Besides, why would Wei Zhao fear injury? Even if the cauldron blew and hurt him, he had the jade pendant's space — what was there to fear? So long as he was not blown to death and a breath remained in him, he would recover. And from what Bai Lingtou said, their line had passed down generation after generation for so many years and still endured, which meant that even a blowout during refining did not kill at once — a man could hold on long enough to give his last instructions. And in the time it took to do that, Wei Zhao would already be whole again.

"No, it is not that I am worried about it — I was only astonished," Wei Zhao said. "If I am not mistaken, the material you were given was not much good, and yet you groped your way to becoming a master alchemist of your generation. What a feat that is!"

"That much is true!" Bai Lingtou nodded. "Before my master died, he passed on what he had learned in his life to two people. One was me; the other, I suspect, lacked the gift, for he vanished without a trace once he had the manual... Though my master was also grasping at straws — he was dying, and had no leisure to choose his heir..."

Wei Zhao nodded. Had Bai Lingtou not been so gifted, the art might truly have been lost.

"So I am preparing against the rainy day — finding an heir before I die. Once I am gone, it will be too late to look for one," Bai Lingtou said. "And my master — he had all that knowledge and never set it down in a volume. The notebook of an alchemist's reflections was compiled by his own master; good enough, to be sure, but much of his own theory was never preserved. His master's alchemy was in truth not the equal of his."

"Mm..." Wei Zhao smiled wryly. Many sects were the same these days: cultivation methods and martial techniques kept jealously secret, so that if the keeper of such arts met with trouble, the consequences rippled outward...

"But I am rather clever, and I have built on his foundation and compiled it into volumes of my own, striking out in a style of my own. Master my material thoroughly and there is no question of your becoming a top-rank alchemist!" Bai Lingtou said.

"Truly?" Wei Zhao's eyes went wide, and he was greatly stirred. Was this not exactly the thing he had dreamed of?

"Of course it is true. Why would I lie to you about such a thing?" Bai Lingtou said. "Is it my teaching you doubt, or your own ability? Hmm... speaking of ability, if you are not cut out for alchemy, there is nothing I can do about that..."

Wei Zhao felt a small jolt at his words. Not cut out for it? He... he had Zhang Lifeng's notebook of an alchemist's reflections in his hands, and still had not mastered anything worth speaking of. Could it be that he truly had no gift?

Of course, Wei Zhao said not a word about the notebook in his possession. The matter was grave, and he well knew the old truth that an innocent man is guilty for the treasure he carries. His strength at present was no more than the peak of the early Earth rank; the hidden You family, turning out in full, could wipe him out. So never mind that You Panhu might be eavesdropping at the door — even had he not been, Wei Zhao could not have spoken of these things now.

Even if Wei Zhao were to show these things to Bai Lingtou, it must wait until his own strength was sufficient. Otherwise it would be as with the formula for the Life-Extending Detox Pill — coveted by many, and bringing down on Guan Xin the calamity of kidnapping.

If such a thing could happen over an ordinary formula, how much more so over Zhang Lifeng's notebook of reflections, which held many long-lost pill formulas besides? Wei Zhao could not lightly reveal it.

As for Bai Lingtou's injuries — the shattered and damaged meridians — Wei Zhao might have had a way to heal them, but heal them he did not.

Because Bai Lingtou was far too famous; famous enough that even the ancient sects knew of him. If his meridians were suddenly whole again, would those people not grow suspicious?

Moreover, the damage to Bai Lingtou's meridians was peculiar. If Wei Zhao's guess was right, they were not merely severed: much of the pill-fire poison born of his loss of control was clogging them as well. And to purge such a thing, Wei Zhao had not the least confidence.

The poison of pill fire was not as the poison of ordinary true qi. Pill fire might be called another form of existence transformed out of true qi; Wei Zhao himself could not yet command pill fire at will — how could he purge from Bai Lingtou's body the pill fire of a runaway refining?

He must not, in a careless moment, be bitten back by the pill-fire poison himself — then he would truly have drawn "fire" down upon his own head.