In Zhongzhou Alchemy Road, only Shengdan Pavilion and Wandan Valley have stood side by side for thousands of years.
On the Purple Smoke Peak, the black elixir robe is always in the clouds. Mo Chen, a sixteen-year-old boy, holds a black gold furnace with thousands of patterns, twists purple energy and contains fire with his fingers, and can refine a fourth-grade elixir from third-grade medicinal materials. People say that he has ice-cold eyes and is indifferent to the disputes in the mountain gate. He is indifferent to the warmth of the world. Only the spiritual power flowing through his fingertips in front of the alchemy furnace can dissolve the nine cold and make the withered medicine bloom.
But who saw him knocking on the blood tree in the forbidden area late at night? Who heard the intermittent whispers of the remnant soul of the three-thousand-year-old Medicine God in that gray seed?
The Young Master of the Wandan Valley knocked at the gate with the King of Alchemy Pendant, and the bet was made loudly: "The loser should kneel at the mountain gate and recognize the orthodoxy of the Alchemy Way." He only raised his eyes, and the fire in the furnace had leapt into a purple dragon: "As a bonus - wear it on your waist, and exchange it for the soul in my furnace."
The elixir contains blood debts from the past, and the elixir is entangled with the secrets of the devil. Even the pretty girl who always pesters him for the elixir has the fate of the "medicine spirit body" locked in the silver bell on her wrist.
When the ninth-grade elixir tribulation split the sky and the purple fire licked the wind and frost of the three realms, he slowly lowered his eyes.
It turns out that the strongest fire is never used to refine medicine. It is to open a path in the frozen lake of the heart - to let the remaining souls return to their places, to let the broken bones bloom, and to let the alchemy path soaked in intrigues smell the fragrance of three thousand years of medicine again.
And that Dan Wang Pei, which always feels hot on the fingertips, never reflects winning or losing. It is the human world that he hides under the ice and refuses to extinguish.
