Chapter 58 – Cauldrons and Shadows
The city woke before dawn, as if the streets themselves were eager to see fire. Banners for the Grand Alchemy Competition cracked in a brisk wind, their dyed silks catching the first light: cauldrons, cranes, lotus blooms—sigils of guilds and sponsoring clans. Vendors rolled out carts stacked with jade bottles and porcelain gourd-flasks. Every alley smelled of roasted chestnut, damp stone, and pungent herbs.
Lin Xuan, Mu, Bai Liang, and Wen joined the slow river of people heading toward the Guild Arena. The structure rose like a stadium of polished jade, ringed by terraces and a lattice of formation pillars that held a translucent dome over the central platforms. Under it, dozens of grand cauldrons already sat waiting, their bronze sides etched with old runes.
"Security's tight," Wen murmured, noting patrols at each archway. "Triple wards on the entrances, talisman checks. They expect trouble."
"Because there will be," Bai said. "Pride, profit, prestige—stir and ignite."
Mu's hand brushed the three-star badge at her belt, then drifted up to steady the strap of her crystal cauldron. "And an ingredient we need is the prize. That alone will bring wolves."
Lin carried himself with the same even calm he wore for war. The four-star badge he kept tucked away—less a boast than a key he would draw when needed.
Inside, the arena was packed. Cultivators, merchants, nobles; even a few cloaked figures who never lifted their hoods. On the dais above the platforms sat guild elders in green-and-gold, and among the front row of VIPs Lin recognized banners from allied orthodox sects—and one crimson-and-gold phoenix standard.
Red Phoenix Auction House had come in force.
Feng Xiaoyue sat with her father's steward—the new steward, loyal and hawk-eyed—flanked by guards. Xiaoyue caught Lin's gaze as he and Mu took the competitor's steps. She offered the slightest nod: cordial, composed—and undeniably curious.
Across from the dais, a cluster of alchemists in deep violet robes traded measured glances. "The Cloudsky boy," one muttered. "Four-star by the guild's hand…" Another scoffed softly. "We'll see if he holds under pressure."
Guild proctors moved like clockwork, distributing jade slips to each platform. The head examiner—a silver-browed elder with a voice that reached the last tier—rose and lifted his hand. The crowd quieted to a hum.
"Welcome. The Grand Alchemy Competition begins. You know the rules: three rounds. Fail a round, you leave your flame and your pride behind. Sabotage of a competitor's cauldron within the field earns disqualification…and worse." His gaze trailed across the terraces, harder than iron. "Mind your hands."
A scribe unfurled a scarlet banner: Round One: Swift Purity. The challenge: refine a batch of Spirit-Clearing Pills—simple in form, vicious in timing—within a strict window. Two pills minimum, both under ten percent impurity. Failure rate in city qualifiers: seventy percent.
Mu exhaled. "I can do this."
"Do it like you're in the Pavilion," Lin said. "Forget the crowd."
They lit their flames.
Mu's phoenix fire answered her will like a living thing, gathering to a thin sheath that hugged the cauldron's base. The herbs for Spirit-Clearing—bitter marsh reed, featherleaf, and a pinch of amber pollen—were volatile together if rushed. Her fire coaxed, retreated, pushed again. When the mixture shivered and tried to billow into smoke, she pinched her fingers and the flame folded into itself, compressing heat. The steam rose clear. She smiled without meaning to.
Lin moved like a quiet tide. His flame wasn't loud or theatrical; it was obedient. His herbs melted faster than any around him, but nothing spattered or burned. The impurity line never wavered. When the condensation runes triggered, his cauldron opened to three pills that glowed faintly, pure as dew.
The arena announcer sent assistants skimming from platform to platform. "Platform Six—pass. Platform Four—fail. Platform Twelve—pass!" He reached Lin and Mu, brows lifting in quick succession. "Platform Two—pass with excellence. Platform Three—pass with excellence!"
Applause rolled the lower tiers. The guild elders exchanged glances—curiosity tilting toward respect. Across the sand, a young man in violet robes finished slower than Mu and looked toward Lin with thinly veiled irritation.
"The second round will sort him," the violet-robed master beside him murmured. "Let him stumble where patience is bait and the test is poison."
Poison. The second scarlet banner unfurled: Round Two: Antidote Mandate. Contestants were to refine a Nine-Leaf Venom Purge—a delicate antidote with a notorious failure point halfway, when the ninth leaf's essence would curdle if purity fell even a breath.
Sabotage wasn't permitted; pressure was.
Between rounds, the politics thickened. A small delegation in iron-gray—the Ironwood Sect—took seats beside Yu Meiling's Flower Pavilion elders. There were nods, watchers comparing notes. A courier in plain brown threaded through the dais and spoke to a guild elder; the elder's jaw set. Rumor rushed the terraces: demonic sect spies had been spotted in the outer districts last night.
Bai, watching from the competitor's waiting arch with Wen, kept his voice low. "Eyes on Mu when the heat spikes. These are the rounds where accidents happen."
Wen didn't blink. "Already saw two 'accidents' in qualifiers. One hand-wave too close to a neighbor's wind screen and voilà—someone's flame collapses." His eyes tracked the violet-robed circle. "And those fellows know the timing."
The gong sounded. Flames rose.
Nine-Leaf Venom Purge required a slow braid of essences. Mu's lotus fire unfurled petal by petal, each petal a slightly different temperature, a different touch. Beads of liquid toxin surfaced and were skimmed off with needle-slim strands of fire. The ninth leaf went in with a whisper. The cauldron kicked—the way it always did at that threshold—and Mu held steady, refusing her own reflex to spike heat. She exhaled slowly. The mixture smoothed.
Lin guided the antidote as if he had written its recipe. His fire shifted across micro gradients only he seemed to see, everything at once unclenched and precise. The ninth leaf melted and sang into the whole, harmonics settling with a near inaudible tone.
On the far end, the violet-robed prodigy tried to catch Mu's rhythm and failed by a hair; his pot belched a sour smoke. He swore, then doubled down; the brew curdled. Disqualified.
By the call, more than half the platforms were dark. Lin and Mu passed cleanly. The crowd knew what that meant. Voices sharpened; wagers whispered behind sleeves.
A steward in Red Phoenix crimson leaned to Xiaoyue's ear. "Miss, four-star or not, that boy's hands are steadier than the guild's darlings."
"Mm." Xiaoyue's eyes stayed on Lin. "And he doesn't fight his cauldron. He invites it to dance."
Below, guild assistants cleared failed stations and reset the field. The head examiner stood again, voice carrying a subtle gravity.
"Round Three: Hearts of Heaven."
A hush swept the arena. Hearts of Heaven wasn't a single recipe; it was a class—high difficulty pills aligned to intent. The guild would roll from a list of possibilities and display the chosen formula overhead. Today's lot slowed; the jade screen blossomed with characters:
Verdant Meridian Renewal — a pill used to repair damaged meridians, demanding exquisite control over wood-aligned essences and a finishing thread of pure yang to dissolve lingering scars.
Mu's hand trembled and then stilled. She was a fire artisan. This would test the edges of her control, not the core. She glanced to Lin. He nodded once, calm as a stone in a river. You can.
Competitors received weighed ingredients and sealed vials. The gong.
Mu changed her flame at once—stripping phoenix temperament down to a green-tinged warmth, calling on fire that nurtures rather than consumes. Her cauldron brightened, the crystal body singing gently as wood essence bled from leaves and root. Twice she faltered as the brew tried to lurch into boil, and twice she softened it with a caress of heat. When the pure yang thread had to be woven, she pinched a line from the heart of her flame and sent it through like golden silk.
Lin's movements barely seemed to belong to the same test. His fire—what looked like simple coals—breathed and exhaled in perfect time with the mixture's demands. He guided wood qi like a gardener pruning a bonsai: cut, release, encourage. The pure yang at the end didn't stab; it unfolded like dawn.
A breath before completion, a ripple of malice brushed the field.
It was thin. A quiver of killing intent, shaped like a gust that only a refiner's flame would notice. Wen felt it, head snapping toward the upper tier where a cloaked figure shifted and vanished. Bai's hand went to his saber and then fell—guards had already begun to move.
Mu's flame wavered a hair. That was all malice ever wanted: a breath, a blink, the smallest opening.
Lin's cauldron lid clinked shut—his pill complete—and his off hand flicked almost lazily, not touching Mu's station, just… stilling the air between platforms for a single heartbeat. Mu's flame steadied. She finished the weave.
"Time," the examiner called.
Assistants gathered pills. The announcer took his time, conferring, testing, repeating metrics in a tight whisper. At last, his voice rang:
"Platform Three—Verdant Meridian Renewal: pass. Impurity—seven percent. Three crowns of merit."
The three crowns meant not only a pass, but tradition: a small purse, a scroll of guild favor—respect in ink.
"Platform Two—Verdant Meridian Renewal: pass with excellence. Impurity—two percent. Four crowns of merit."
The stands broke into full applause. Mu's smile was shaky, radiant; Lin inclined his head once in acknowledgment, nothing more.
"By tradition," the head examiner said, stepping forward, "final standings for today's division: first place—Lin Xuan of Cloudsky Sect. Second—Mu of Cloudsky Sect. Third—Gu Renshan of Violet Crane Guild."
The jade gong sounded again. Attendants brought forward enameled trays. On Lin's, the prize ingredient glowed a pale blue through crystal: Sky-Spring Dew, a condensed essence harvested from a single alpine pool under star wind—infamously rare, perfect for the Sect Master's restorative. Mu received a compressed purse of spirit stones, a guest-right token to the guild's library, and a jade vial of supplementary essences.
The crowd's noise fractured into reactions: excitement, chagrin, the rattle of shifting politics. Flower Pavilion representatives clapped openly. Ironwood masters applauded with careful restraint. Red Phoenix's steward smiled a merchant's smile; Xiaoyue's was warmer.
Bai clapped Mu on the back in the tunnel. "Second place and three stars yesterday? You've started a fire."
Mu flushed happily. "I almost lost it at the end. Something… moved."
Wen nodded once. "Not your imagination. Someone probed the wards. Guards moved too quickly for amateurs."
Lin tucked the crystal phial away, every sense extended. "We assume there are more eyes than walls," he said. Then, lower, to Mu: "You changed flame well. Remember that feel—the line between nurture and burn."
She beamed at the praise, then sobered. "You blocked the draft for me."
"I finished first," he said, as if that explained everything. "I had a hand free."
In the VIP tier, the guild elders adjourned to hushed talk. Two left with the city magistrate. Flower Pavilion's envoy approached Red Phoenix for a quiet exchange of courtesies. Across the way, the violet-robed masters withdrew like an ebb tide, faces unreadable.
At the arena's shadowed edge, the cloaked figure who'd touched the wards slipped into a knot of foot traffic and was gone, the faintest smear of resentful qi on the stones like a slug's trail. A runner in plain dress—guild guard, not guard—peeled away to follow.
The afternoon turned gold. Vendors shouted again. Children re-enacted their favorite contestant's cauldron stance with ridiculous solemnity.
Lin's group left by a side gate. Wen took rear, Bai flank, Mu between them with her crystal cauldron hugged to her chest, glowing faintly as if content.
"Red Phoenix will want a word," Bai said, eyeing the phoenix banners. "Your four-star badge just raised our price."
"Let them talk," Lin answered. "We have what we came for."
They turned onto a quieter street bathed in sun. Xiaoyue stepped from a portico ahead, two guards a respectful distance back. Her bow was graceful, just shy of intimate.
"Congratulations," she said. "The city buzzes with your name."
"We only did what we must," Lin replied.
Her smile tilted. "And you do it better than most. Red Phoenix hosts a supper for certain guests this evening. Come. Hear what the guild will not say aloud about the competition's next rounds…and who wants you to lose them." She let that settle, then added, lighter: "Besides, my father would be hurt if Cloudsky's four-star boy refused our table."
Bai's glance flicked to Lin: useful. Wen's to the rooflines: watchers. Mu's to Xiaoyue's eyes: sincere… and also not.
Lin weighed flame and shadow, favor and risk. Then he inclined his head. "We'll attend. Briefly."
"Briefly," Xiaoyue echoed, smiling like a cat in sunlight. "Bring your friends."
She withdrew. The street reclaimed its ordinary noise.
"Politics," Bai muttered, half amused. "I prefer a blade that says what it is."
"Cauldrons talk too," Mu said, looking down at her badge. "Just quieter."
Lin turned the Sky-Spring Dew's case in his hand; the light inside pooled like a captive dawn. One more piece for the Sect Master. One more name on the list of those who now watched them closely.
Above the arena, the ward dome dimmed to a faint shell. Somewhere beneath the gilded hospitality, knives took their measure in the dark.
Tomorrow, more rounds, more flames, more eyes.
Tonight, a supper where victory would be weighed—by friends, by strangers, by those who smiled and counted the ways to make a fire go out.