Wan Long woke before dawn. The faint chill of morning air brushed against his skin as he stepped out of his quarters. The Alchemy Hall was still quiet—only the soft hiss of furnaces and distant crackle of flames filled the silence.
Today, he had another goal in mind.
He intended to visit the Sect Main Library before returning to coordinate the inner hall's cleaning assignments.
Becoming a first-tier alchemist had earned him thirty contribution points, and he still had four hundred saved from the pills he sold.
Four hundred and thirty contribution points…
Not a fortune, but enough to buy a few manuals.
And with the System, even the most ordinary techniques could be transformed into something divine.
He followed the stone path winding down the mist-shrouded slope until he reached the sect's heart. The Main Library stood there—an ancient nine-storied pagoda of pale silver wood that shimmered faintly even under morning light. The air around it hummed softly with the weight of countless formations and ancient restrictions.
After verifying his new outer disciple token at the gate, he was led to the outer floors of the library. An elderly man in gray robes sat behind a jade counter, his beard flowing like mist.
The old man lifted his gaze briefly. His spiritual sense brushed over Wan Long's token.
"Outer disciple, Alchemy Hall… Tier One Alchemist?"
He looked mildly surprised before nodding.
"You may browse the first and second floors. Manuals above the Purple Tier are sealed. Take what you need and record your selection."
Wan Long bowed respectfully. "Many thanks, Elder."
The man waved him off, already lost in his reading.
The first floor of the library was vast and silent. Shelves of jade slips and scrolls stretched endlessly into the distance, lit by floating spirit lanterns. A faint fragrance of ink and age lingered in the air.
Wan Long walked through the aisles slowly, eyes scanning over countless titles.
Stone Body Forging Art, Fiery Eagle Fist, Serpent Step, Iron Wall Defense…
Most were common techniques, found in every peak or sect across the continent. Nothing special.
He sighed quietly. "No wonder they're all gathering dust…"
But then, as he moved deeper into the western section, something caught his eye.
A single shelf stood apart, marked with a faint silver sigil — the mark of the moon.
Intrigued, he stepped closer. The manuals there were clearly ancient — their jade slips cracked, their inscriptions faded. Few disciples even bothered to glance their way.
He reached out and picked one up.
Moon Breathing Technique.
His eyes lit slightly — this was the same cultivation method he already practiced.
Encouraged, he checked the other manuals on the same shelf and found more with similar origins:
Lunar Sword Technique
Lunar Dome Bell Art
Lunar Mental Tome
Lunar Body Tempering Technique
Moon Steps
All of them bore the same emblem of a crescent moon carved faintly at the top, and all were listed as Low-Grade Yellow Tier, incomplete, and considered obsolete.
Even servant disciples could afford them — each only cost 50 contribution points.
Most of the sect saw them as worthless remnants of a bygone age. But to Wan Long, the connection between them — their shared origin — was unmistakable.
He checked their histories. Each record mentioned that the original volumes had long been lost or destroyed, leaving behind only fragments. The Moon Pavilion Sect had been founded under the blessing of the Eternal Moon Goddess, who was said to have created nine supreme lunar techniques — but only pieces of that ancient legacy survived.
And here they were — the lowest remnants, forgotten and dusty.
Wan Long didn't hesitate. "If the system can restore lost volumes… then....."
He collected all five techniques, registering them with the gray-robed elder at the counter.
The man blinked when he saw the list.
"You're taking the moon-line techniques?" He looked faintly puzzled. "No one studies those anymore. They're incomplete. Even a common body refinement art would serve you better."
Wan Long smiled slightly. "I'll just have a look at them.."
The elder frowned but said nothing more, recording the exchange. "Two hundred and fifty contribution points in total."
Wan Long handed over his token. As it glowed faintly, registering the purchase.
Before leaving, he lingered in a quiet alcove, reading the faded mural of the sect's history carved into the wall. It depicted nine moons, each phase representing one of the original divine arts of the Eternal Moon Lineage — cultivation, sword, body, spirit, movement, and more.
But the later generations had failed to preserve them. The nine became six… then three… until only weak fragments remained.
Wan Long traced his fingers over the carving, feeling a strange resonance in his chest.
He placed the manuals into his pouch carefully, glancing one last time at the silver emblem above the shelf. Then he turned and walked toward the exit.
When Wan Long returned to the Alchemy Hall, the morning sun had already risen high, spilling light across the pill furnaces and courtyards. The once-familiar area—where he had quietly scrubbed cauldrons and swept ash—now felt entirely different.
Just a day ago, he was the one being assigned menial duties.
Today, he was the one assigning them.
As he stepped into the outer compound, he found a line of servant disciples already waiting. Most were bleary-eyed, clutching brushes and cleaning cloths, whispering among themselves about the new "coordinator" for the day.
When Wan Long appeared, several straightened up immediately, surprise flickering in their eyes.
He glanced at them calmly, his demeanor quiet yet commanding.
"Clean the open areas and the storage halls," he said casually. "I'll handle the western chambers — the pill refining rooms and dreg disposal."
The servants blinked at each other, confused. That area was normally off-limits for servant disciples without special permission. But since it was Wan Long giving the orders, and he now wore the robes of an outer sect alchemist, none dared to question him.
"Yes, Senior Brother Wan," they chorused, bowing before dispersing to their tasks.
Wan Long's lips curved faintly. Good. That should keep them occupied for a while.
He knew exactly what he wanted—the West Wing housed the higher-grade refining stations and the discarded remnants of failed pills, all rich with residual medicinal essence. With the Recycle System, even waste was treasure.
As he walked deeper into the hall, passing lines of glowing cauldrons and bustling alchemists, he began to understand just how structured the Alchemy Hall truly was.
Every alchemist here had a duty to the sect. They were not just scholars or craftsmen—they were contributors to the Holy Sect's strength.
A jade plaque hanging over the main refining area listed the Contribution Rates clearly:
Low-Grade Pills: 10 contribution points per batch
Mid-Grade Pills: 100 contribution points per batch
High-Grade Pills: 500 contribution points per batch
These rates applied to Tier One and Tier Two alchemists. For higher tiers, the rewards multiplied accordingly.
He overheard two disciples discussing in low voices nearby.
"I heard Tier Three alchemists earn over ten thousand contribution points per month just from refining mid-grade pills…"
"Of course! But that's if they don't go to the Demon Borders. Some take combat assignments—they say killing a single high-rank demon beast equals the reward of refining fifty mid-grade pills."
Wan Long nodded thoughtfully. So that's the sect's way of balance—fight or refine.
Every alchemist was required to contribute, one way or another. Either by supplying pills for the sect's armies and disciples, or by venturing beyond the borders to help defend the Holy Lands from the encroaching demonic tribes.
Naturally, most preferred the safety of the cauldron.
Then he noticed something else—a smaller jade notice pinned beside the main board:
Research Division Recruitment:
Outer Alchemists may apply to join the Research Hall.
Tasks include: developing new pill formulas, improving existing recipes, or studying ancient pill remnants.
Contribution points and merit rewards awarded upon success.
Wan Long's eyes lit up slightly.
Research division, huh?
His heart quickened as a grin spread across his face.
The System had given him countless complete pill formulas—many of which didn't even exist yet as complete formulas. If he revealed one under his name, he could easily skyrocket his reputation within the sect.
Not to mention the contribution points…
He could already picture the jade tokens piling up, his recycle points rising in turn.
He looked around the bustling hall, alchemists sweating over their furnaces, servants running errands with boxes of herbs, and the faint hum of spiritual flames filling the air.
"This hall," he said quietly to himself, "will be my hunting ground."
When he reached the western chambers, he shut the door behind him. The scent of medicinal residue filled the room—burnt herbs, spilled essences, and discarded cauldron dregs.
He smiled faintly, raising his hand.
"System, begin recycle sweep."
A familiar hum answered him as faint motes of light gathered, spiraling into the air.
One by one, the remains of old herbs, shattered cores, and failed pill fragments disintegrated into energy particles and vanished.
A line of text appeared before his eyes:
[Recycling in progress…]]
[+42,000 Recycle Points gained.]
'Huh? ' He exhaled slowly, wondering what had happened.
He had only received recycle points . Nothing Else! Does that mean there was nothing in the area, not , even a pill?
Was the system broken?....