Beauty and Might: Heavenly Flames

Li Yan met both of their eyes evenly. ”I will walk both paths,” he said. ”Swordsmanship… and alchemy.”

Silence followed.

This time, it was not tense—

But stunned.

The answer was not what either of them had expected.

Ji Hong’s brows drew together almost immediately. Cao Lian’s expression shifted into something more complex—surprise, followed by concern.

”Li Yan,” Cao Lian began, her tone gentler now, ”you still have time. There’s no need to decide everything so quickly. You can explore both, but eventually… you’ll have to choose.”

Ji Hong nodded slightly, his voice more direct. ”Dividing your focus will only limit your growth. Both paths demand absolute dedication. Walking both—” he paused, then said bluntly, ”—is not realistic.”

Li Yan listened without interruption. Then he spoke again, his tone unchanged. ”I understand.”

A brief pause. ”But I won’t change my decision.”

There was no defiance in his voice—only certainty. ”I will work harder,” he continued. ”And I will walk both.”

The room fell quiet again. This time, neither Ji Hong nor Cao Lian spoke immediately. They had expected hesitation.

Consideration.

Not this.

Ji Hong’s expression grew more serious. Beneath that seriousness lay something deeper—concern, restrained but unmistakable.

Li Yan was not just any disciple. He had been entrusted to him.

Protected. Watched over.

If this path led to mediocrity—if dividing his focus dulled his potential—then it would not only be a waste. It would be a failure.

Ji Hong’s gaze lowered slightly as he thought.

Then—

An idea formed. When he looked up again, his expression had changed.

Calmer. Decisive.

”If you insist on walking both paths,” he said slowly, ”then prove it.”

Li Yan’s eyes narrowed slightly—not in resistance, but in interest. ”How?”

Ji Hong did not answer immediately. Instead, he turned toward Cao Lian.

”Tell me,” he said, his tone measured, ”how long would it take for a true genius to become a full-fledged Tier-1 Alchemist?”

Cao Lian blinked, clearly not expecting the question. For a moment, she studied Ji Hong, as if trying to understand his intent.

Then she answered, her tone thoughtful. ”Tier-1 alchemy includes forty-one types of pills across four levels—Low, Mid, High, and Peak,” she said. ”Even for a genius, mastering all of them would take at least one and a half years.”

She paused briefly. ”To reach Tier-1 Peak… and be considered complete Tier-1 alchemy.”

Ji Hong nodded slowly.

Thoughtful. Satisfied.

Li Yan, on the other hand, remained silent.

But inwardly—

He was surprised. Forty-one types. One and a half years. He had already mastered twenty in less than three days.

And the rest would not take long as well.

The realization settled quietly within him, but none of it showed on his face. His expression remained composed, his breathing even.

Ji Hong turned back to him. ”The condition is simple,” he said. ”If you can become a Tier-1 Peak-Level Alchemist within one year, then I will not interfere with your decision.”

A brief pause. ”But if you fail—” His gaze sharpened. ”You will abandon alchemy and focus entirely on the sword.”

Before Li Yan could respond, Cao Lian spoke. ”That’s unreasonable,” she said immediately, her tone firm. ”You’re setting the bar deliberately high.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at Ji Hong. ”You’re trying to force him onto the sword path.”

Ji Hong did not deny it. ”I am, but I’m also ensuring he doesn’t waste his potential. He had awakened Sword Intent at this young age, so if he has potential with the alchemy path, then this one year is more than enough.”

Their gazes met again, tension resurfacing—but this time, it did not escalate, because the decision was no longer theirs.

Li Yan stood quietly between them, his expression calm. On the surface, he seemed to be considering the condition.

But beneath that calm—

His thoughts had already shifted elsewhere. One year. That was the limit given—more than enough. The real problem was not achieving it.

It was—

How to do so without revealing too much. His progress. His methods. The speed at which he advanced. Also, something that settles the decision right now without giving them a reason to ask his progress every day for one year.

If exposed that too early, it would draw attention—the kind he had already decided to avoid. Li Yan’s eyes lowered slightly, thoughtful.

A path formed in his mind.

Careful. Measured. Hidden.

When he finally looked up, his expression had settled once more into calm certainty.

The answer had already formed.

He simply hadn’t spoken it yet.

Silence lingered in the room, thick but controlled.

Ji Hong’s condition hung between them, unyielding. Cao Lian’s concern had yet to fade, her gaze still fixed on Li Yan as if searching for hesitation—some sign that he would reconsider.

Instead—

Li Yan spoke. ”I accept.”

The words were calm.

Decisive.

Ji Hong’s eyes sharpened slightly, while Cao Lian’s expression shifted with quiet alarm.

But Li Yan was not finished. ”There’s no need for a full year.”

That—

Caught them both off guard.

Ji Hong’s brows lifted faintly, a trace of surprise surfacing beneath his composed exterior. Cao Lian stared at Li Yan, her concern deepening, now mixed with disbelief.

”What do you mean?” she asked, her tone tightening.

Li Yan did not answer immediately. Instead, he turned toward her with measured calm.

”Elder Cao,” he said, ”based on Elder Ji’s condition… how long would it take me to master all eleven Tier-1 Low-Level pills?”

Cao Lian frowned slightly, clearly not expecting the question. Still, she considered it seriously. Her eyes lowered for a moment as she calculated—taking into account talent, learning curve, refinement speed, and failure rates.

Then she answered. ”If you’re aiming to meet his one-year condition,” she said slowly, ”then you would need to complete the Low-Level stage within roughly sixty to seventy-five days.”

Her gaze returned to him. ”That alone would already be exceptional.” Li Yan nodded once, as if confirming something internally. ”If Low-Level defines the foundation… then that is where the answer lies.”

Then he turned to Ji Hong. ”And what if I master Low-Level recipes in two weeks?”

The room fell silent again.

This time—

The shock was unmistakable.

Cao Lian’s eyes widened slightly, while Ji Hong stared at him for a brief moment before something unexpected surfaced—

A faint smile. Not warm. Not approving. But interested.

”Two weeks?” Ji Hong repeated, his tone almost amused.

To him, the claim was impossible. Completely unrealistic.

And yet—

Exactly what he needed.

If Li Yan failed under his own conditions, then the choice would no longer be his to argue. It would be settled.

Ji Hong’s gaze sharpened, a quiet decisiveness settling in.

”Fine,” he said. ”If you can master all eleven Tier-1 Low-Level pills within two weeks… I’ll accept your decision.”

A brief pause. ”But if you fail—” His voice lowered slightly. ”You leave the alchemy path. Completely.”

The condition was sealed. Cao Lian stepped forward immediately. ”Li Yan,” she said, her voice carrying clear concern now, ”do you understand what you’re saying?”

Her gaze searched his face. ”This isn’t confidence. This is overconfidence.”

There was no anger in her tone—only worry. ”As an alchemist, I can tell you clearly… what you’re claiming isn’t realistic. Even with perfect control… You would still need dozens of failed attempts just to stabilize one formula.”

Li Yan met her gaze calmly. ”There’s no need to worry,” he said. ”I know what I’m doing.”

His voice was steady.

Grounded.

But that only made it harder for her to accept.

Cao Lian turned toward Ji Hong, frustration surfacing. ”You’re letting this happen,” she said. ”You know he’s pushing himself into a corner.”

Ji Hong remained unmoved. ”I offered him a year,” he replied evenly. ”He chose this himself.”

There was no guilt in his tone.

Only finality.

Cao Lian fell silent.

A quiet sigh escaped her as her shoulders lowered slightly, the tension leaving her posture—not because she accepted it, but because she understood she could no longer change it.

In her eyes—

The outcome was already decided.

A promising path in alchemy… lost before it even began. She had hoped to see a fine alchemist in Li Yan… but now, it felt as though that path had already ended.

Li Yan noticed.

The faint shift in her expression. The disappointment she tried to conceal.

He paused for a moment.

Then—

”Give me a minute.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked toward the alchemy room.

Cao Lian and Ji Hong remained where they stood. For a brief moment, neither spoke. Then they exchanged a glance—silent, questioning. Neither of them understood what he intended to do.

Inside the alchemy room, Li Yan moved directly toward the shelf.

Twenty-one pill bottles were arranged neatly, each containing the results of his recent refinement sessions. The faint medicinal aura they emitted lingered subtly in the air, a quiet testament to his progress.

His gaze swept across them.

Then he acted.

Li Yan reached out and picked up three bottles, his movements calm, deliberate. This was enough.

Enough to show—

Without revealing everything. He turned and walked back toward the living room. His expression remained composed. But within his eyes—

There was quiet certainty.

When Li Yan returned to the living room, both Ji Hong and Cao Lian turned toward him at once.

Without preamble, he stepped forward and extended three pill bottles toward Cao Lian. His movements were calm, unhurried, as if what he held carried no particular weight.

”Please take a look,” he said. ”Then tell me whether my claim is overconfidence… or something else.”

For a brief moment, neither of them moved. Ji Hong’s brows drew together slightly, while Cao Lian simply stared at the bottles in Li Yan’s hand, her thoughts stalling for a fraction of a second.

”…What?” The word slipped out from both of them, almost in unison.

The silence that followed was not empty—it was stunned.

After a few moments, Cao Lian stepped forward and accepted the bottles, her expression tightening as she examined them more closely. ”You’ve already started refining pills?” she asked, her tone edged with disbelief.

Li Yan nodded, a faint, composed smile resting on his lips. ”I have.”

Her gaze sharpened immediately. ”Didn’t I tell you,” she continued, her voice firm now, ”to practice with an empty furnace first? To stabilize your Qi output? At least two hours of continuous control before attempting real refinement?”

”I did,” Li Yan replied calmly. ”I followed your advice.”

A brief pause. ”On my second attempt, I was able to sustain it.”

This time, both of them reacted.

Not outwardly—but the shift in their expressions was unmistakable.

”I was surprised as well,” Li Yan continued, his tone steady, almost analytical. ”But after observing my Qi consumption, I realized the reason. My Darkness affinity is at the Superior level. My Qi reserves… are larger than average for my cultivation.”

Cao Lian and Ji Hong exchanged a glance. It made sense. High affinity could influence capacity, stability, and even recovery speed. But—

That alone did not explain everything.

Cao Lian lowered her gaze to the bottles in her hands. Three labels came into focus, written in clean, deliberate strokes.

First Pill.

Swift Movement Pill.

Pain-Suppressing Pill.

Her fingers paused slightly on the last label before she looked back up. ”You’ve already refined two types of pills?” she asked, her voice quieter now, more cautious.

Li Yan nodded. ”Yes.”

Ji Hong’s eyes narrowed subtly at that. If true—

Then the challenge might not be as one-sided as he had assumed. ”Check them,” Ji Hong said, his tone controlled, though a faint edge had crept in. ”Let’s see the quality.”

Cao Lian gave a small nod and moved to the couch, sitting down with measured composure. She placed two of the bottles on the table before opening the one labeled First Pill.

With a flick of her wrist, she summoned her Pill Tester.

The familiar hum of the artifact filled the room as she extracted the pill and placed it carefully inside. The runes along the base lit up, and the mist within the tube began to swirl.

A moment later—

32%.

Cao Lian exhaled softly, her expression easing slightly. ”For a first pill,” she said, glancing at Li Yan, ”this is already quite good.”

Ji Hong, however, did not look at the number. His gaze remained fixed on Li Yan. ”How many attempts?” he asked.

The question was simple.

But pointed.

Li Yan met his gaze evenly. ”This was my first attempt.”

Silence.

Then—

”Impossible.” This time, the word did not carry surprise alone.

It carried disbelief.

Cao Lian’s hand tightened slightly around the tester, while Ji Hong’s expression hardened, as if rejecting the answer outright.