NOVEL NEXT Chapter 11: Expanding Operations
The days following my encounter with the inner sect girls were a blur of effort. Every spare moment was poured into my cultivation and expanding my salve business. The demand had grown exponentially, with disciples clamoring for products that outperformed anything available from their usual sources. Healing salves, pain relievers, and even skincare remedies—all of them were gaining traction among the outer sect disciples.
For now, I had put my alchemical pursuits on hold. Alchemy was an expensive discipline, requiring resources and capital I didn't yet possess in abundance. The salves, however, were my stepping stones. They were affordable to produce and yielded consistent profits. But despite my meticulous planning, one glaring problem emerged: I couldn't keep up with the demand alone.
Ingredient preparation was by far the most time-consuming part of the process. Gathering, cleaning, grinding, and processing herbs demanded precision and patience. If I was going to scale my operations, I needed help—but finding someone I could trust, or better yet, someone who didn't even know who they were helping, was a challenge.
Among the disciples I had met, only one seemed like a viable candidate: Lin Mei. She worked in the Medicine Department and had a calm, focused demeanor that suggested she valued efficiency. Her work with herbs and remedies made her the ideal choice to assist in ingredient preparation. However, involving her directly was too risky. Revealing my involvement in the salve business was out of the question. Anonymity was my greatest shield, keeping attention—and competition—at bay.
If I was to enlist Lin Mei's help, it would have to be done in a way that preserved my secrecy.
I began by observing her routine. Over several days, I noted her movements, paying attention to when she visited the Herbarium and how she worked. She was methodical, spending her mornings at one of the workstations near the center of the Herbarium before returning to her quarters in the evening. She rarely deviated from this schedule, which made planning easier.
On the fourth day, I put my plan into motion.
Early that morning, I arrived at the Herbarium under the pretense of gathering ingredients for my own use. The Herbarium was a vast, carefully maintained space shared by both the Medicine and Alchemy Departments. Rows of rare herbs and medicinal plants stretched as far as the eye could see, their scents mingling in the air. Disciples moved between the rows, harvesting and cataloging ingredients with practiced precision.
Near one of the workstations Lin Mei frequented, I placed a small leather pouch. Inside were neatly folded instructions detailing how to prepare specific ingredients, along with a payment of 50 Spirit Stones. The note was unsigned, and the instructions were written in a precise but neutral hand to avoid drawing suspicion.
The task was straightforward: prepare the ingredients exactly as described, package them neatly, and leave them in a designated spot within the Herbarium. Payment was provided upfront, with a promise of more if the task was completed satisfactorily. It was a calculated risk, but one I was confident would yield results.
From a discreet vantage point near the Herbarium's entrance, I watched as Lin Mei arrived, her black braid swaying gently with each step. She moved with her usual calm efficiency, settling into her workstation and beginning her tasks for the day.
It didn't take long for her to notice the pouch. Her brow furrowed slightly as she picked it up, untying the string and examining the contents. Her expression remained unreadable as she read the instructions and counted the Spirit Stones. After a moment, she tucked the pouch into her robe and returned to her work without a word.
She had taken the bait.
That evening, I returned to the Herbarium under the cover of darkness. In the designated spot, I found a small bundle of neatly prepared ingredients, just as the instructions had requested. Each cut, grind, and extraction was executed flawlessly. Her precision was evident, confirming my assessment of her skills.
Leaving another pouch of Spirit Stones as payment, I quietly collected the bundle and returned to my quarters.
Over the next several days, the process repeated. Each morning, I left a new set of instructions and payment in the same location. Each evening, I retrieved the prepared ingredients, always finding them completed to perfection. Lin Mei never pried or questioned the arrangement. Her discretion and reliability only reinforced her value.
With her handling the preparation work, I was free to focus solely on creating the salves themselves. Production increased significantly, allowing me to meet the growing demand without sacrificing quality.
On the seventh day, however, a complication arose.
As I approached the Herbarium that morning, I noticed a group of outer sect disciples lingering near the entrance. Their conversation carried through the air, their tones laced with curiosity and suspicion.
"Have you heard about the pouch?" one of them said. "Someone's been leaving Spirit Stones and instructions for ingredient preparation. No one knows who it is."
Another disciple snorted. "Probably some inner sect disciple too lazy to do their own work."
"Or too smart to waste time on it," a third chimed in.
I watched the scene in front of me, recognizing the implications in their words. The pattern had been noticed, and if questions continued, it could lead to unwanted scrutiny. Adjustments needed to be made.
That night, I changed the drop-off location, leaving a note in the previous spot informing Lin Mei of the update. The new location was a secluded corner of the outer sect courtyard, far from the prying eyes of curious disciples.
When I arrived to collect the prepared ingredients, I found them waiting as usual, along with a brief note in Lin Mei's handwriting: Understood.
Her adaptability and willingness to follow instructions without unnecessary questions only solidified her as an asset to my operation.
Returning to my quarters with the bundle of prepared ingredients in hand, I allowed myself a moment of rest. The system I had built was efficient and discreet, allowing me to expand my business without exposing myself. Lin Mei's involvement, though indirect, was a critical factor in this success. Her skill and reliability provided the foundation I needed to operate in the shadows, but now it was time to take the next step.
My capital had increased significantly, and with it, the possibilities for scaling my operations. The salve business was booming, but the demand was far outstripping my capacity to produce. To maintain my hold on the market, I needed more hands to assist with the growing workload. Ingredient preparation, the most time-consuming part of the process, was the bottleneck. It was time to bring in more workers, and the best way to do that was through the sect's mission system.
As I sat at my desk drafting the mission details, my thoughts wandered to the broader strategy.
Business, at its core, is no different from war. Back on Earth, the battlefield wasn't fought with swords or Qi, but with influence, resources, and manipulation. Capitalism was the ultimate proving ground for those who understood the rules—or knew how to break them. Corporations with wealth and power crushed their competitors, using strategies that seemed fair on the surface but were anything but.
Lowering prices to undercut the competition was a classic maneuver, one I had employed here with precision. By offering superior salves at a lower cost, I forced my competitors into a corner. They could either match my prices, cutting their profits to unsustainable levels, or maintain higher prices and lose their customers. It was a lose-lose scenario for them and a win-win for me.
In a way, it was almost unfair. The disciples here were young and naive, with little understanding of economic principles or the long-term consequences of their actions. Many of them saw the world in absolutes: power, strength, and immediate gains. They had no concept of market dynamics, supply chains, or the value of a stable monopoly.
On Earth, companies would spend years building their brands, scaling their operations, and creating demand through clever marketing and psychological manipulation. Here, I was doing the same but in a much shorter timeframe. These disciples couldn't see the strings I was pulling, nor did they understand how easily their actions played into my hands.
For example, the lower prices I introduced weren't just about attracting customers—they were about creating dependency. When someone becomes accustomed to getting more for less, they resist returning to inferior products. Disciples who bought my salves now compared everything else to my quality and cost, and by comparison, nothing else measured up.
This dependency was the foundation of my strategy. As demand grew, I would scale up production by employing apprentices in the Medicine Department. These apprentices, eager for Spirit Stones and recognition, would work diligently under the contracts I issued. Their labor would allow me to flood the market with my salves, further entrenching my position as the primary supplier.
Once I dominated the market, I could begin the next phase: manipulating supply and demand. Artificial scarcity was one of the most powerful tools in a monopolist's arsenal. By reducing the availability of my salves, I could create a sense of urgency, driving up prices as disciples scrambled to secure my products.
At the same time, I would cater to high-value customers—inner sect disciples and influential figures—by offering exclusive, premium products. These salves would be tailored to their needs and sold at exorbitant rates, reinforcing the perception of quality and scarcity.
For my competitors, their fates were already sealed. The smaller operations couldn't match my scale or pricing. As their businesses faltered, I would offer to buy them out for a fraction of their worth, absorbing their supply chains and eliminating them as threats.
On Earth, this strategy was known as vertical integration: controlling every aspect of a product's creation, from raw materials to distribution. Here, it would make me untouchable.
Of course, none of this would work if I exposed myself. Anonymity was my greatest weapon, shielding me from scrutiny and allowing me to operate without interference. To maintain it, I would rely on intermediaries—disciples who acted as the public face of my operations. They would handle transactions and negotiations, keeping my identity concealed while ensuring the business ran smoothly.
The more I thought about it, the more it became clear that this sect, for all its emphasis on power and cultivation, was ripe for exploitation. Strength was important here, but it wasn't the only path to influence. Resources were equally valuable. Spirit Stones fueled cultivation, rare herbs enabled breakthroughs, and alliances determined survival. By controlling a vital resource like salves, I could wield power that not many could rival.
On Earth, the greatest empires weren't built by warriors or kings—they were built by those who understood money, influence, and leverage. Here, I would do the same. My salves were the beginning, a means to gain control over the market and establish a foundation for greater ambitions.
I finalized the mission details, ensuring the instructions were clear and the payment attractive enough to draw interest. As I placed the final seal on the document, I allowed myself a brief moment of satisfaction.
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A week had passed, and every moment had been orchestrated to perfection. The salve business, as I had predicted, had grown explosively. My calculations had been precise, my strategies effective, and now I stood at the pinnacle of wealth among the outer sect disciples. Even many inner sect disciples, despite their elevated status, couldn't rival the fortune I had amassed.
But the salves were merely a means to an end. They had provided the capital I needed to take the next step. Alchemy was my true focus now—the path that would elevate my standing and hone my skills. My calculations had shown me that alchemy held far greater potential for influence and power, and with my funds brimming with Spirit Stones, I was ready to embrace the risks it demanded.
That morning, I entered the Alchemy Department with a singular purpose. The familiar scents of herbs and Qi-infused flames greeted me as I moved purposefully through the hall. Disciples worked at their stations, their robes marked with insignias denoting their ranks. The black flame of Novice Alchemists was most common, but I spotted a few silver flames of Apprentice Alchemists—a rank I aimed to surpass sooner rather than later.
Securing a private refinement room, I set out my tools and ingredients. The Qi Replenishing Pill was my target, chosen for its complexity and potential for growth. This wasn't just about producing pills—I intended to deconstruct every step of the process, analyze each variable, and refine my technique to perfection.
The ingredients were arranged meticulously: Shadowmint leaves, Jade Ginseng Root, Moonlit Dew, and more. Each component was prepared with precision, their properties carefully noted. I knew I could follow the established formula and succeed, but that wasn't the point. I needed to understand why each ingredient was used, how their interactions shaped the final product, and how I could push the boundaries of their potential.
Placing my hands on the ignition crystal, I channeled Qi into the furnace. The flame roared to life, its blue glow casting flickering shadows across the room. I adjusted the temperature and began adding the ingredients, each step deliberate.
The first attempt failed spectacularly.
The Shadowmint leaves dissolved too quickly, releasing their essence before the mixture could stabilize. Smoke filled the room as the batch was ruined. I calmly shut the furnace down, noting the timing error and adjusting the sequence.
The second batch fared a little better. The Moonlit Dew was added at the wrong moment, diluting the mixture's potency. The resulting pills were uneven in color and emitted a faintly acrid odor.
With each attempt, I experimented further. I altered the proportions of the ingredients, tested different temperatures, and adjusted the timing of each addition. Some batches were crumbly, their structure unstable. Others had unusual colors or emitted strange scents. Every failure was a lesson, revealing the intricate balance required for perfection.
On the twelfth attempt, disaster struck.
The furnace exploded with a deafening roar, scattering scorched fragments across the room. Smoke billowed out, the acrid stench of burnt ingredients filling the air. The cost of the failure was immense—the ingredients alone were worth more than many disciples earned in a month, and this does not even include the damaged furnace.
Yet I remained composed. This, too, had been accounted for. Failure was part of the process, a necessary step on the path to mastery. After I replaced the damaged furnace and reviewed my notes in my head, I adjusted my approach and continued without hesitation.
Hours passed as I refined my technique. Each iteration brought me closer to understanding. I began to see how the subtle variations in timing, temperature, and Qi infusion affected the outcome. The Jade Ginseng Root, for example, needed to be ground more finely to release its essence evenly. The moonlit dew required precise timing to merge harmoniously with the mixture.
Finally, success.
The flame burned steadily as I added the last ingredient. The Moonlit Dew merged seamlessly into the mixture, the bubbling liquid stabilizing with a faint shimmer. A fragrant aroma filled the room—a clear sign of a successful refinement.
Carefully, I retrieved the pills and placed them on the impurity-testing device. The mechanism whirred to life, analyzing the batch before displaying the result: 71% impurity.
A mid-grade pill.
The result was precisely what I had aimed for. Not only had I succeeded, but I had also gained a deeper understanding of the process. Each adjustment, each failure, had taught me something new. If I could replicate this result consistently, I would qualify as an Apprentice Alchemist—a rank many spent years striving to achieve.
But becoming an Apprentice Alchemist wasn't my goal at the moment. Not only would it bring even more attention to me—an inconvenience in itself—but it would also lead people to connect the dots about the pills I was selling. If I started to sell medium-grade pills while being recognized as a mere Novice Alchemist, no one would suspect me of being the one behind them.
Reaching the rank of Apprentice Alchemist from Novice Alchemist was a task that took most cultivators years, sometimes even decades if their talents or resources were lacking. The leap was significant, requiring not only a deeper understanding of pill refinement but also consistent results with higher-grade materials. My ability to achieve such results within mere weeks of becoming a Novice would undoubtedly raise suspicion.
I carefully stored the batch of pills I had just refined, sealing them in a plain, unmarked jade bottle. The craftsmanship of the pills was evident: their surface was smooth and glossy, their color vibrant, and their scent potent yet balanced. To the discerning eye, it was clear these pills had been crafted by someone with precision far beyond the typical Novice.
With the pills safely tucked away, I turned my attention back to the tools scattered across the table. The cauldron's faint warmth still lingered, the scent of herbs clinging to the air. The room was quiet, save for the distant hum of disciples training in the outer courtyards. I moved with methodical precision, cleaning each instrument and organizing my materials.
As I cleaned the room, I reflected on the day's work. The failures hadn't been setbacks; they had been investments in my knowledge. The experimentation had shown me the underlying mechanics of alchemy, and that understanding would serve me far beyond the Qi Replenishing Pill.
Now, with my method refined, and my techniques honed, I could produce Qi Replenishing Pills en masse, even achieving mid-grade quality consistently. The cost of production had decreased significantly as well. I no longer needed to use as many materials as before, and my efficiency in ingredient utilization ensured less wastage and better results. This would undoubtedly attract even more attention to my humble business.
The wealth from selling mid-grade Qi Replenishing Pills alone would cement my influence further, but my sights were set higher. With this newfound capital and confidence, it was soon time to advance my craft.
The Qi Condensation Pill.
This pill, which Bai Yun had refined during her examination, was far more complex than the Qi Replenishing Pill. It required more ingredients, each with specific preparation methods, and a precise yet intricate refining process. The slightest deviation in temperature, timing, or Qi control could ruin the entire batch. It was a challenge far beyond anything I had attempted thus far, but I felt prepared.
Watching Bai Yun refine the Qi Condensation Pill had been invaluable. Observing her process gave me insight not only into her skills, but also into areas where I could improve. Her precision in ingredient preparation, her control over the flame, and the timing of her additions had all been etched into my memory.
Unlike most, who would struggle to keep track of every step, I had committed every detail to memory. I recalled how each ingredient had been handled: the temperature at which the Shadowmint essence had been extracted, the precise size to which the jade ginseng root had been sliced, and the careful order in which they were added to the furnace. The adjustments she made to the flame's intensity and her timing between steps were all logged in my mind with clinical accuracy.
A typical alchemist would need the recipe itself for guidance. Recipes didn't just provide the steps; they often included additional tips, warnings, and insights into the subtle nuances of each ingredient. But recipes of this caliber came at an exorbitant price. The recipe for the Qi Condensation Pill, for example, would cost upwards of 10,000 low-grade Spirit Stones—an amount I could technically afford but wasn't willing to spend. That capital would be better used for multiple attempts at concoction.
I wasn't relying solely on memory, though. My time experimenting with Qi Replenishing Pills had significantly improved my control over the furnace, my Qi flow, and my understanding of how ingredients interacted during refinement. I was no longer the novice I had been when I first joined the sect.
The Qi Condensation Pill was my next goal, a challenge that would push me further along the path of mastery. If I succeeded, the benefits would be manifold. Not only would I refine a pill of significant value to cultivators in the Qi Condensation realm, but I would also be able to improve my cultivation level even faster.
Sitting at the desk, I mentally rehearsed the process. In my mind's eye, I envisioned every step, every movement, every adjustment to the flame. I visualized the bubbling mixture in the furnace, the precise moment to add each ingredient, and the subtle shifts in the flame's intensity to coax out the perfect reaction.
Placing the last cleaned tool back in its place, I stood and gazed out of the window. The moon hung high in the sky, its silvery light casting long shadows across the sect grounds.
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Returning to my quarters that evening, I prepared a simple meal with ingredients that I bought at the market. The salve business, my cultivation, and my alchemical pursuits were progressing exactly as I had planned.
After eating, I turned my focus to cultivation. The Umbral Absorption Technique drew shadow Qi into my body with increasing efficiency, circulating it through my meridians and refining it before directing it to my dantian. With the wealth of Spirit Stones at my disposal, my progress had accelerated dramatically.
The energy within me swelled, potent and refined, circulating through my meridians with ease. The flow was steady yet powerful, a sign of my rapid approach to the peak of the second stage of Qi Condensation. Each cultivation session brought me closer to yet another breakthrough, the threshold to the next realm within sight.
Leaning back slightly, I let out a quiet breath, my gaze drifting to the faint reflection in the polished surface of the window. Three months. It had been three months since I first arrived in this world—a place so vastly different from the structured life I once knew at ANHS. The passage of time here felt both swift and deliberate, each day filled with purpose and opportunity, yet also brimming with challenges that demanded constant vigilance.
Reaching up, I touched my hair, noting its length. It had grown slightly longer than I usually kept it back at ANHS. I had always preferred it short—neat, practical, and efficient. But here in the Monastery, long hair seemed to be the norm among most disciples and cultivators.
Only a few, like Jiang Wei, Mo Hong, or myself, seemed to favor shorter hair. But even their styles bore a certain rugged practicality rather than strict conformity.
"Might as well let it grow," I muttered under my breath.
The stillness of the night was a sharp contrast to the day's activity, a quiet moment where even the smallest sounds seemed amplified.
I extinguished the small lamp beside me, and the room was enveloped in gentle darkness. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I let the residual warmth of the day's cultivation settle in my core. After a moment, I shifted to lie down on my bed, the faint hum of energy within me a soothing rhythm.
The faint rustle of leaves outside and the steady cadence of my breath were the only sounds that accompanied me. Slowly, the stillness of the room and the softness of the night eased me into sleep.