Chapter 48: Ordinary Fire Refines the True Elixir; A Few Words Resolve the Knots in the Heart

The reputation of the "Sorrow-Dispensing Grocery Store" spread like dandelion seeds, riding the gentle breeze of gossip to quietly take root and sprout in every nook and cranny of the lower three districts.

It still sold the cheapest pills and talismans, but those who came here were long past seeking mere meager discounts. They arrived laden with exhaustion and riddled with confusion, hoping that a word or two of questioning from the mysterious boss would reveal a glimmer of light to part the heavy mists.

On this day, a young rogue cultivator named Lin Mu walked into the grocery store for the fifth time.

Lin Mu was an alchemist, or rather, he aspired to be one. He possessed delicate features, yet his gaze was forever haunted by a persistent anxiety and weariness. Every time he came, he would buy only a single Qi-Recovery Pill, after which he would recount the troubles he had encountered during his alchemy sessions.

"Sir, I have failed again," Lin Mu said, his voice brimming with a sense of defeat. "This time, I strictly followed the recipe: I used a 'gentle fire' to preheat the Three-Sun Wood, and a 'fierce fire' to refine the Iron-Thread Grass. The transition of the flames was precise down to every single breath, yet the cauldron exploded in the end anyway. All my savings have been reduced to this batch of ruined pills..."

He opened his palm to reveal several charred, pebble-like pills that emitted a pungent, scorched odor.

Jiang Yiyi looked at him with a trace of sympathy. In Flowing Cloud Immortal City, alchemists should have been a deeply revered profession, but that referred to sect-affiliated alchemists with proper lineages and abundant resources. Rogue alchemists like Lin Mu, devoid of master guidance or high-grade cauldrons, had to risk their very lives just to acquire medicinal herbs. Every single step they took was fraught with immense difficulty.

From behind the bamboo curtain, Jiang Xiuyuan's voice sounded. This time, instead of answering directly, he posed a question in return: "Lin Mu, are you hungry?"

Lin Mu was momentarily stunned, then nodded instinctively: "I haven't eaten a thing since yesterday."

"Wait a moment."

A short while later, Jiang Xiuyuan emerged from the backyard. This was the first time he had ever shown himself before a customer. He looked like an ordinary, well-preserved middle-aged scholar with a gentle disposition and a calm gaze, entirely devoid of any formidable demeanor.

Jiang Xiaobai immediately hopped out from behind the counter and dutifully fetched a small stool. Jiang Xiuyuan smiled and gestured for Lin Mu to sit down.

Then, he did something that left both Lin Mu and Jiang Yiyi dumbfounded.

He brought out an ordinary mortal iron wok from the backyard, along with a clay stove and a handful of charcoal typically used by mortals for cooking. He kindled a mortal fire, waited for the iron wok to heat up, and then poured half a wok of soybeans from a cloth bag.

Without employing a shred of spiritual energy, just like a common mortal cook wielding an iron spatula, he began to stir-fry the beans with a loud, clattering rustle.

"Look at these beans," Jiang Xiuyuan said calmly as he tossed them. "If the fire is too fierce, the outer skin scorches while the inside remains raw; if the fire is too weak, they take forever to cook, lose all their moisture, and taste like nothing when chewed. What is it that ensures they are thoroughly cooked both inside and out, remaining crispy and delicious?"

Lin Mu stared blankly, unsure of how to respond.

"It is not the fire," Jiang Xiuyuan said. "The fire is simply there, whether large or small. What matters is this hand." He gave the wok a gentle toss with the spatula, sending the soybeans tracing an elegant arc through the air before they fell back down evenly. "Your hand must be steady so that every single bean receives uniform heat. Your mind must be still, attuned to the subtle sounds of the beans bursting within the wok, inhaling the aroma as it shifts from raw to roasted. Your mind is your hand. Your divine sense is your ears and your nose."

"You care far too much about the 'gentle fire' and 'fierce fire' written in the manual, much like a clumsy cook who only knows how to follow recipes calling for 'quick-frying over high heat' or 'slow-simmering over low heat' without ever truly sensing the ingredients in the wok. Your mind is shackled by the recipe, and your divine sense fixes solely on the size of the flame while ignoring the most microscopic transformations of the medicinal liquid within the cauldron."

With a flick of his wrist, Jiang Xiuyuan tilted the iron wok, causing the perfectly roasted, golden and fragrant beans to tumble entirely into a ceramic plate. He pushed the plate toward Lin Mu: "Taste them."

With trembling hands, Lin Mu picked up a bean and popped it into his mouth. It was crisp, fragrant, and crunchy—a pure flavor inherent to the food itself burst forth within his mouth. As he chewed, tears welled up and spilled uncontrollably down his cheeks.

The essence of controlling fire lies in the mind, not in the flame...

"Thank you, sir! Thank you for your guidance, sir!" Lin Mu stood up, bowed deeply to Jiang Xiuyuan, grabbed a handful of beans, and turned to sprint out of the grocery store. The anxiety in his eyes had been completely swept away, replaced by sudden enlightenment and boundless ecstasy.

Jiang Xiaobai watched his retreating figure, then looked at the remaining beans on the plate, and could not resist pinching one to toss into his own mouth. Mumbling indistinctly, he said to Jiang Xiuyuan, "Dad, you really are stingy. You dismissed someone who came for guidance with just a pan of stir-fried beans."

Jiang Xiuyuan smiled and shook his head, sharing the remaining beans with both Jiang Yiyi and Jiang Xiaobai.

Three or five days later, a female cultivator dressed in a black dress and bearing a haggard expression stepped inside. A faint, chilly aura clung to her person, and her eyes were hollow, as though she had lost interest in all things in the world.

She purchased the cheapest bottle of Qi-Recovery Pill. When Jiang Yiyi asked whether she wished to have a question answered or vent a trouble, she remained silent for a long time before speaking in a voice akin to a sleepwalker's: "My trouble... is why this lifespan is so utterly devoid of meaning."

The female cultivator continued unprompted: "My cultivation partner and I practiced together for three hundred years. We promised to witness all the scenery of this world together, to walk side by side to the very end of the Great Dao. But fifty years ago, he blocked a fatal blow from my enemy for me, resulting in the complete destruction of both his body and soul... From that day onward, my world was reduced to mere black and white. Everyone urges me to let go, but the word 'let go' is easily spoken—how is one actually supposed to achieve it? Taking even a single step further on this path of cultivation without him is sheer torture."

Her voice held no grief, only a bone-deep, lifeless stillness. It was far more unsettling than weeping aloud, for it signified that her heart had perished alongside the death of her partner. This aura of death was precisely the source from which her inner demons bred.

Jiang Xiuyuan's voice drifted from behind the bamboo curtain, carrying a trace of warmth: "Have you ever raised flowers?"

The female cultivator was momentarily startled, then shook her head.

"Mortal flowers sprout in spring, bloom in summer, wither in autumn, and return to dust in winter. If you could not bear the sight of their withering and plucked them at the height of their bloom to seal them within ice crystals, they might appear to have attained eternity, yet they would forever lose their spring to sprout once more. Their life would be terminated at that very moment."

"In your heart, is your cultivation partner also like a flower that refuses to wither?"

The female cultivator's body trembled slightly.

"All things possess a lifespan; grasses and trees do, stars do, and cultivators do as well. Death is not an end, but rather a node in a cycle. Though his physical form has perished, did the profound affection contained within that blow he blocked for you not merge into your flesh and blood, transforming into a part of your cultivation? The mountain scenery he wished for you to see—should you not carry his 'heart' and continue to behold it?"

"Only by letting him return to dust can a new spring take root within your heart. Within that spring, his shadow will linger, but more importantly, it will be the path of your own future. That is the greatest solace you can offer him."

Within the hollow gaze of the female cultivator, tears welled up for the very first time. The frozen lake of her heart seemed to fracture, splitting open a crack. Covering her face, she wept with suppressed sobs, and the lifeless grief accumulated over fifty years finally found an outlet to vent at this moment.

After a long while, she finally quieted her weeping, turned toward the bamboo curtain, and executed a solemn Daoist salute.

"Thank you, sir, for your guidance. This junior... understands."

She turned and departed. Her steps remained heavy, yet the chilly, lifeless aura that had shrouded her body had quietly dissipated by a few fractions.

Jiang Yiyi watched all of this with emotions churning in turmoil. Her father was akin to a supreme physician; without cutting open flesh or prescribing medicine, he merely used the simplest of words to untangle the stubborn, dead knots weighing upon cultivators harboring deep-seated spiritual ailments.

And the reputation of the "Sorrow-Dispensing Grocery Store" was finally no longer confined to Mud Bottle Alley. Like ripples upon water, it began to expand outward in ever-widening circles to places far beyond.