The Hundred Herbs Hall was the largest apothecary in Mortal Dust City. It smelled of dried ginseng, sulfur, and the sterile, bitter scent of money.
Li Fan walked to the counter. He was still disguised as the raspy-voiced rogue, "Zhang San."
"I need Spirit Condensation Pills," Li Fan said.
The shopkeeper, a fat man with oily skin, rubbed his hands together. "Excellent choice, sir. We have high-grade pills from the Azure Cloud Sect for ten stones each. We have mid-grade from the Medicine Valley for seven stones. And we have—"
"I want the rejects," Li Fan interrupted.
The shopkeeper paused. "Rejects?"
"The low-grade ones," Li Fan clarified. "The ones with 40% purity. The ones you usually sell to rogue cultivators who can't afford better. How many do you have in stock?"
The shopkeeper's expression soured slightly. Low-grade pills were high-margin but low-prestige items. They were full of impurities—"Pill Poison"—that clogged the meridians if taken too often. No self-respecting cultivator ate them if they could avoid it.
"We have about... two hundred bottles in the storage," the shopkeeper said dismissively. "Ten pills per bottle. Two stones per bottle."
"I'll take them all," Li Fan said.
The shopkeeper blinked. "All? That's two thousand pills. Sir, if you eat that many low-grade pills, you'll turn into a statue. The Pill Poison will calcify your joints."
"I have a large... family," Li Fan lied smoothly. "And we are not picky."
He placed a heavy bag of Spirit Stones on the counter. Four hundred stones.
The shopkeeper's concern vanished instantly, replaced by greed. "Right away, sir! I'll have the boys box them up!"
Li Fan waited, tapping his fingers on the counter.
Two thousand pills, he calculated. For a normal cultivator, this is a lifetime supply. For me? It's breakfast.
He also bought a few auxiliary items: Cleansing Grass (to settle the stomach) and huge jars of water.
Ten minutes later, Li Fan left the shop with a spatial bag filled to the brim with cheap, toxic, glorious energy.
Trash Peak, Small Pond Sect
Li Fan did not return to his dorm room.
Cultivating with pills created spiritual fluctuations. If he popped a pill every hour, his roommates would notice. If he popped a hundred pills at once, the resulting energy flare would act like a beacon to every Elder in the sect.
He needed a place that was already overflowing with chaotic, messy energy. A place where a strange fluctuation would be dismissed as "garbage exploding."
He returned to the Waste Pit.
It was past midnight. The moon was hidden behind thick clouds. The stench of the pit was as awful as ever, keeping even the patrolling beasts away.
Li Fan climbed down into the crater, finding a small hollow beneath a pile of broken shield fragments. It was a natural cave formed by debris, shielded from the wind and prying eyes.
He sat cross-legged on the dirty ground.
He took out the spatial bag and dumped the contents.
Clatter. Clatter. Clatter.
Hundreds of small white porcelain bottles piled up around him like a mountain of bones.
Li Fan picked up one bottle. He popped the cork. Inside were ten gray, lumpy pills. They smelled like burnt sugar and chalk.
Spirit Condensation Pill (Low Grade).
Effect: Provides a burst of Qi.
Side Effect: Accumulates 60% impurity residue.
"In Life 45, I died because I couldn't cultivate fast enough to escape a bandit raid," Li Fan whispered to the bottle. "In Life 88, I died because I cultivated too fast and exploded my heart."
He poured the ten pills into his hand.
"Balance," he muttered. "It's all about balance."
He threw the handful into his mouth.
Crunch.
He chewed. They tasted vile, like eating dry flour mixed with ash. He swallowed them dry.
Boom.
As soon as they hit his stomach, the pills dissolved into a violent, chaotic rush of Qi. It wasn't the gentle stream of energy one got from meditation. It was a flash flood.
The energy roared into his meridians, expanding them violently.
"Guh!"
Li Fan gritted his teeth, veins bulging on his forehead.
His 5th Grade Spirit Root was narrow. The energy tried to jam through, scraping against the meridian walls like sandpaper. Pain, sharp and blinding, shot up his spine.
If a normal disciple did this, their meridians would rupture. They would cough blood and die.
But Li Fan closed his eyes.
His consciousness—the soul of a man who had lived around 25,000 years—descended on the chaotic energy like an iron clamp.
Submit.
He didn't fight the flow; he guided it. He spiraled the energy, forcing the chaotic flood into a tight, spinning drill.
The Formless Ocean Art (which he would get later) relied on volume. But right now, using the Basic Qi Condensation Manual, he had to use Micro-Management.
He visualized every inch of his meridian network. He saw the blockage. He saw the impurities.
He slammed the Qi drill into the blockage.
Crack.
The blockage shattered. The energy flowed through, depositing the Qi into his dantian.
But with the Qi came the black, tar-like Pill Poison. It tried to stick to his meridian walls.
"Not today," Li Fan hissed.
He used the momentum of the Qi to scour the walls, pushing the poison ahead of the flow, forcing it out of his pores.
Sweat, black and foul-smelling, began to ooze from his skin.
One bottle down.
Li Fan gasped, his chest heaving. His body felt like it had been beaten with hammers.
"Net gain..." he checked his dantian. The wisp of Qi had grown by a hair's breadth. "...0.5%."
He looked at the mountain of bottles.
"Too slow."
He grabbed two bottles this time. Twenty pills.
He downed them.
The pain doubled. His skin turned red. Steam began to rise from his head.
"More."
He grabbed three bottles. Thirty pills.
His stomach was burning. His blood felt like lava.
To an observer, this was suicide. It was madness. It was the equivalent of drinking gasoline to run faster.
But Li Fan's expression remained terrifyingly calm. His body shook, his muscles spasmed, but his mind was absolute ice. He monitored his heart rate, his blood pressure, and the tensile strength of his veins with the precision of a machine.
Heart rate: 180. Warning.
Meridian stress: 85%. Warning.
Qi accumulation: Rising.
"I don't care about the warnings," Li Fan growled, shoving another handful of pills into his mouth. "Break. Or grow. Those are the only options."
Hours passed.
The pile of empty bottles grew.
Ten. Twenty. Fifty. One hundred.
Li Fan was covered in a layer of black sludge—the expelled impurities. He looked like a demon crawling out of a swamp. The ground around him was scorched by the heat radiating from his body.
Crack.
A sound echoed from deep within his body.
The barrier of Qi Condensation Layer 1 shattered.
The energy rushed into the new space, filling it instantly.
Status: Qi Condensation Layer 2.
Li Fan didn't stop to celebrate. He didn't even open his eyes.
He reached for more bottles.
"Layer 2 is trash," he rasped, his throat raw from the dry pills. "I need Layer 4 before the Secret Realm opens."
The sun began to rise, but down in the pit, the darkness remained.
Li Fan continued to eat.
To the outside world, cultivation was a noble pursuit of the Dao. It was sitting under waterfalls and sipping tea.
To Li Fan, cultivation was an eating contest where the food was poison and the prize was not dying.
He ate until his gums bled. He ate until his stomach threatened to revolt. He ate until the spiritual energy in his body was so dense it began to leak out of his eyes in faint blue wisps.
By the time the sun set on the second day, the pile of bottles was gone.
Two thousand pills. Consumed in forty-eight hours.
Li Fan lay on his back amidst the debris. He couldn't move. His body was numb. Every inch of him felt bruised.
But inside his dantian, a small lake of Qi swirled powerfully.
Status: Qi Condensation Layer 4 (Early Stage).
He had skipped three minor realms in two days. It was a speed that would make the so-called geniuses of the Central Domain vomit blood in envy.
And the cost?
Li Fan raised his hand. His skin was gray. His veins were black, visible under the surface.
Pill Poison saturation: 40%.
His foundation was unstable. His body was toxic. If he tried to cast a spell now, it would probably fizzle.
"Perfect," Li Fan croaked, a dry, cracked smile appearing on his blackened face.
He forced himself to sit up. He circulated his Qi, shaking off the numbness.
He picked up a nearby rock and squeezed.
Pow.
The rock crumbled into dust.
Strength. Raw, dirty, unrefined strength.
"I have the power," Li Fan whispered. "Now... I need the stage."
He stood up, his joints cracking like pistol shots. He activated the Heaven-Deceiving Copper Coin.
The gray skin, the black veins, the chaotic aura—it all vanished under the illusion. To the world, he was once again the weak, unremarkable Li Fan at Qi Layer 1.
He climbed out of the pit, ready to rejoin the flock. The sheep had sharpened its teeth.