Early the next morning, Jiang Yi opened his eyes. Beneath him was still the hard wooden plank bed, and the place he lived in was still the same cramped, pitch-black room reeking of mildew.
Not the slightest bit different from before.
He propped himself up with one hand, tapped his head, and stared fixedly at a spot as though in a daze.
That page of the heavenly book, covered in tadpole-like tiny characters, slowly condensed into form, iridescent light flowing across its surface.
“Thank goodness, thank goodness. It wasn’t a dream. I only need to wait two more days… and verify this fortuitous encounter.”
Jiang Yi let out a long breath. Though the bitter days of living like a menial beast of burden had not changed at once, the chance to turn his fate around was already firmly in his grasp.
He wanted to ask more, but that sheet of golden paper dimmed once again. When touched, it gave no response, as though it could no longer sustain the inspection of cause and effect.
“Could it be that because this opportunity hasn’t been exhausted yet, there’s no way to ask another question?
Cause and effect, cause and effect—only with a cause can there be an effect. Only after the first fruit falls can the second be plucked?
Or perhaps one question must be resolved before another can be answered?”
Jiang Yi pondered, inwardly feeling it a pity.
He had originally wanted to ask more and learn more, so as to provide himself with greater assurance.
After a while, he wrapped himself in that dull gray, thick Daoist robe and pushed the door open, leaving the room.
When he came into the courtyard, the weather was freezing cold, and a thin layer of ice had formed over the water vat.
Jiang Yi took up a wooden ladle and scooped water to wash up.
He had work today; he had to move quickly!
After hurriedly eating a few mouthfuls of dry rations with plain water to fill his stomach, Jiang Yi strode out of the communal courtyard and headed toward the Quenching Room.
The halfway point of Scarlet Flame Peak was where the menial servants lived. Farther down were all manner of shops, making it convenient to purchase daily necessities.
Near the summit was where the “workshops” were located.
By the time Jiang Yi arrived, quite a few “workmates” had already gathered in clusters, packed together in a dark mass, making the place seem lively.
Sweeping his gaze over them, he saw that every one of them wore the same dull gray Daoist robe. Their expressions were mostly unpleasant, and it was rare to see anyone in high spirits. They looked like mules and horses driven along by livestock traders.
Jiang Yi silently joined the end of the line, waiting for the stewards of the various rooms to come out and draw lots and issue tallies.
Scarlet Flame Peak mainly refined “White Bone Dharma Swords,” and beneath it were divided the three rooms of “Quenching,” “Grinding and Engraving,” and “Forging.”
The general process was to take the hard bones purchased and collected by the sect, first send them through the Quenching Room to burn away impurities in the refining furnaces and select usable materials, then send them to the Grinding and Engraving Room to scrape off grime and polish them, and finally carry out forging.
Only after completing every step would it count as a qualified magical artifact blank.
The role of the menial servants was mainly to act as “workers” carrying out repetitive operations.
The reason they did not recruit vast numbers of ordinary mortals, plentiful as wild grass, was because no matter which workshop it was, the environment was rather harsh. Without true qi in the body to resist it, people would often fail to last more than a few days before dying.
“This demonic path… actually seems to understand ‘asset management’? Could this be the difference between an orthodox Dao lineage and side-door heresies?”
Jiang Yi pondered. In his view, true demonic cultivators ought to drain the pond to catch the fish—directly abduct mortals, and when one batch died, replace it with another.
How could they possibly establish Daoist studies, train consumables, and regularly recruit workers into the factory?
“Brother Yi, you’re early.”
He Laohun had somehow also lined up in the queue. When he saw Jiang Yi, he smiled and said,
“I lost my composure yesterday and made a fool of myself in front of you, Brother Yi. I even troubled you to carry me back.”
Jiang Yi waved his hand.
“Brother He, don’t be so distant. We’re all from the same courtyard. Thanks to you telling me the inside story, I gained some knowledge.”
He Laohun revealed a smile. A bowl of spirit rice and a meal of wine and meat had brought his relationship with Jiang Yi much closer.
“The newly recruited people will enter the rooms in a few days. We can talk to Old Yang—maybe we’ll be able to get assigned to guide the newcomers and avoid suffering in front of the furnaces.”
Jiang Yi only smiled and said nothing.
The steward of the Quenching Room was named Yang Xun, with cultivation at the fifth level of Qi Refining. His temperament was strange on ordinary days, and he was very difficult to deal with. Only He Laohun, relying on his familiarity and seniority, dared to say a few witty remarks to him.
According to the original owner’s memories, managing to serve a full twelve years as a menial on Scarlet Flame Peak was no easy matter.
Too many “workmates” had died silently along the way, without even their names being remembered by anyone.
In the vast Qianji Sect, there had never been a shortage of people who dreamed of rising above others and struggled desperately to jump ahead.
But most of them ended up being thrown into the furnaces of the Quenching Room to be burned as charcoal, or became flower fertilizer on the Herb-Gathering Peak.
Do more, speak less, and firmly remember one’s own identity as a consumable—only then could one preserve one’s life.
This was the way of dealing with the world that Jiang Yi had silently settled upon.
“They’re opening the gate.”
Before long, the courtyard gate responsible for dispatching work was thrown open. Three young Daoist boys with red lips and white teeth held bamboo lot cylinders and called out names one by one:
“Zheng Dajiang, Grinding and Engraving Room… He Laohun, Forging Room… Jiang Yi, Quenching Room!”
Jiang Yi, standing at the very end of the line, heard his own name called and hurried forward to receive his copper tally.
He glanced at He Laohun, who had been assigned to the Forging Room. The other man’s face was full of bitterness; it seemed his plan to slack off and muddle through had fallen through.
“Time to work!”
Someone shouted, and the many menial servants scattered like birds and beasts, surging toward the different workshops.
Boom!
Jiang Yi stepped into the Quenching Room. Inside, it was tall and spacious, almost like a great hall.
Five or six large furnaces were placed in the four directions, each over a zhang tall. Waves of heat rolled out, rising like surging tides.
According to the tally’s assignment, he walked to one of the furnaces. Beside it was a small mountain of stark white bones, a terrifying sight at a glance.
These “materials” had been processed beforehand. Most were spinal bones, arm bones, and leg bones, all roughly the same length, about two feet.
There were four “workmates” working with Jiang Yi in total. Everyone was experienced, and they soon each took up their own duty.
Some transported charcoal, some fed in the materials, and some controlled the temperature. Every two hours, they changed shifts.
Though no steward or overseer appeared inside the Quenching Room, everything remained orderly. The menial servants worked seriously, not daring to be negligent.
After all, if the work was not completed, or if it was done poorly, the light punishment was a flogging; the heavy punishment was losing one’s life.
How they were dealt with depended entirely on the steward’s mood.
“Being ‘optimized out’ in the demonic path is no joke. Losing your post means reporting straight to King Yama.”
Jiang Yi held a thick, large plantain-leaf fan in both hands and stood beneath the furnace, repeatedly fanning toward the ventilation holes.
Whoosh!
The firelight suddenly surged, leaping upward by a great stretch. Several “workmates” either added charcoal below or supported a ladder and climbed up to the furnace mouth, feeding hard bones into the interior one by one.
The Quenching Room was filled with the choking smoke of sulfur and saltpeter. Coupled with the rapidly rising, blazing heat, before long, the many menial servants were sweating as though drenched in syrup.
Jiang Yi was naturally no exception. In particular, he was responsible for fanning the flames, the most unbearable task in the Quenching Room.
Because the fire needed to fluctuate, neither too high nor too low, he had to concentrate fully.
“No wonder He Laohun complains nonstop. This Quenching Room really is much harder to endure than in the past.”
Jiang Yi silently circulated his true qi, dispersing the dry heat and fire poison he had inhaled into his body. Each stroke of the fan was just right, making things much easier for the workmates responsible for adding charcoal and quenching the bones.
It was not that he was naturally honest and hardworking. Rather, there were rules to working in the workshop.
If one often slacked off and played tricks, causing others to suffer, then after enough times, one’s reputation would be ruined, and the other menial servants would not be willing to work alongside him.
Otherwise, if something went wrong one day, who could guarantee they would not be implicated?
And once rejected by one’s workmates, it would be very difficult to remain for long.
Thus, Jiang Yi always did his own part well and never caused trouble for his workmates. His reputation was quite good.
At last, two hours were endured.
“Brother Yi, you’ve worked hard. Working a shift with you really makes things easier.”
One man took the plantain-leaf fan from Jiang Yi’s hands and began to change shifts.
“It’s only right.”
Jiang Yi’s lips were cracked dry, and his throat felt as though it were smoking. He truly had no strength to speak.
After a brief rest of fifteen minutes, the Quenching Room once again returned to its bustling scene of fervent labor.
This time, Steward Yang was present to supervise, and even less did anyone dare delay.
When one became a beast of burden to the very depths, one no longer sensed the length of the days.
By the time Jiang Yi stepped out of the Quenching Room, the sun had already sunk low, and the lingering sunset dyed the peak.
The cold air outside was bone-piercing. Jiang Yi’s face was like a boiled prawn, scalded red.
When the wind blew over him, it actually hurt somewhat like being pricked by needles.
“Brother Yi, why are you working so desperately? We have to come work every day. Doing just enough is fine.”
Seeing Jiang Yi in this state, He Laohun shook his head repeatedly.
“Hurry and get some medicine to apply to your face. You were originally quite a handsome young fellow, but now your face is like red-hot charcoal, as if it’s been smeared with a layer of chili.”
Jiang Yi had been roasting near the furnace for four hours. His head was already dizzy and swollen, and he was utterly exhausted.
He thanked He Laohun for his concern, then went to the labor courtyard to return the copper tally.
Four marks had been drawn on it by the steward with a vermilion brush, meaning that he had worked for four hours and passed without making any mistakes.
All the menial servants had to use these tallies to receive talisman money. If they were not approved by the steward, a considerable amount of their pay would be deducted.
“All right, go on down.”
After Jiang Yi returned the tally, the young Daoist boy recorded today’s talisman money in the accounts, to be distributed together in the middle of the month.
“These days… I have to endure them for twelve years before I can catch even a sliver of breath.”
Wrapped in his thick Daoist robe, Jiang Yi walked toward the halfway point of the mountain. He did not assume that, just because he had obtained the fortuitous encounter of the heavenly book, he would soar into the sky at once and thus treat work as unimportant.
His experience from his previous life of successfully making it ashore had taught him: before reaching the public announcement stage, never think victory was assured and start celebrating early.
“If it’s not in my hands, then it doesn’t count as mine.”
Jiang Yi thought this silently and continued to live dutifully.
Quietly waiting for the fortuitous encounter to arrive two days later.