Pills and Artifacts Subdue the Eight Sects

At the waterside pavilion behind the Misty Rain Pavilion, a thin mist veiled a pond of withered lotus leaves. Mo Yuan rolled half of a broken jade flute between his fingertips. The flute was smooth and warm to the touch, but a jagged crack split it near the finger holes. Three years ago, when he joined the Misty Rain Pavilion, the sect leader had given it to him personally. Now it had become the “token” marking his expulsion from the sect.

Three years ago, he had come here to study under the name “Green-Robed Wanderer.” His spiritual roots were mixed, touching all five elements of metal, wood, water, fire, and earth, yet pure in none of them, so he was assigned to the lowest-ranked servants’ courtyard. The other disciples either devoted themselves to practicing the sect’s art, the Misty Rain Formula, or curried favor with the elders in hopes of finding opportunities. Mo Yuan alone spent every day in the abandoned alchemy room of the servants’ courtyard, studying the neglected art of alchemy beside an old pill furnace covered in verdigris. Sometimes he would play a tune on his flute, though he could never get it quite right, just to console himself.