Chương 20: Story 3 - Spiritual Vines and a Smokey Pill Cauldron (Part 11)

I expected to see interior smoke stains on the lid, but on the bottom? Was his past owner working on a damn anti-gravity pill? Maybe they went up into space to concoct? Wait! Was Old Smokey actually a space-exploring Pill Cauldron?! Amusing, but highly unlikely. Whatever. It was time to get shit done. I brought out the precious-precious sanding and polishing tool.

I used a spirit stone to power it and carefully, but still quickly, cleared away the stains and residue that the poor spring water couldn't get to in a mere twenty minutes. As I ran the tool over each inch, caked-on smoke turned into polished gold... Well, technically it was a spirit-energy-infused auriferous metal called Golden Impenetrable Adamantine Steel. One of the best, Heaven rank spiritual metals a smith could use for low to mid-ranked spirit cauldrons.

By the time every bit of the surface was clean, a full half-hour had passed and Old Smokey practically glowed. Now that the caked-on smoke was gone, the elegant vine filigree on the sides and lid clearly stood out. It really had been a very cute beginner cauldron at one point. Unfortunately, I couldn't stop to enjoy my hard work. I had to achieve my second shortcut — patching. There was about an hour left, and I needed to use it to fix the most disturbing of the micro-fractures.

Earlier, in the small bucket of scrap pieces where the tools were hidden, I'd discovered a chunk of Golden Impenetrable Adamantine Steel. I grabbed the extra steel and placed it in a spiritual ladle (a tool made to hold molten spiritual metal). Then I tossed the thing in the white-hot and blinding furnace. While that worked on melting I began heating the cauldron by converting a small portion of my Qi to have a fire-aspect and then flowing it over the cauldron in a specific mysterious pattern.

This essentially created another of those secret crafter's formations. It would heat the item, turn it malleable and force it to mostly hold its original shape during the repair process. Unfortunately, this drained my available spiritual energy by a small but significant portion. Now that the metal was malleable, I quickly used an ancient forgettably named tool and carved into the worst fractures. I created a shape that would help me strengthen the patched area.

Granted, it wouldn't be as good as reforging the whole thing, but I didn't have time or the spiritual energy for that. Once finished, I grabbed my ladle of molten steel and brought it over. With a quick hand seal, I used a technique to create a mold out of tiny shields of spiritual energy. While concentrating on those, I poured the metal into them like the badass professional I was. Not a single drop more than necessary landed on Old Smokey. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen.

Report the violation. I tossed the ladle aside, and by that, I meant, carefully placed it where it needed to go so I could keep working. Sweat, annoyingly, ran down my forehead. I wiped it with my sleeve and grabbed the little hammer off the tool rack. Once I sensed that the metal had cooled enough, I released my spiritual mold and hammered it just enough —both inside and out— to help with the next part. I made several hand seals, using a technique to force the metal to bind, blend, and become one.

Or, nearly one, since my cultivation realm wasn't high enough to use this technique at its required level. It was still really badass at doing quick patches like this... Unfortunately, it also left a residue of spiritual energy, so a cauldron could no longer be used for pills that required an absence of energy contamination. But that wouldn't be a problem for lower leveled tournaments like this one. With a thought, I teleported the cauldron into the spiritual lake to quench.

A short time later I moved it back to the worktable in front of me and scanned Old Smokey with my divine sense. After a few quick uses of the polishing tool, good Old Smokey shimmered like new and exuded classic beauty. I grinned. I was responsible for that! And now I knew this old guy's structure inside and out. He was ready to be used as a proper furnace again, instead of something to torture guild employees with. I glanced around the forge and sighed. It irked me, but cleaning up in here would have to wait.

Also, I needed to save my physical energy for pill concocting. While my injured side burned internally, the pain was currently at an ignorable level. That would change as the day wore on. I stored Old Smokey in my second-hand storage bag and opened the door to see Little Spring hold out a cup of cold spring water. I gulped it down. After quickly cycling my cultivation technique I had replenished what I'd used. He pulled out a towel from the looted bag I gave him a few weeks back, then he poured water on it.

"How did it go?" As I started to reply he began to wipe my face clean.

"It went well. There are a few insignificant microfractures but it will hold as long as I don't fuck up."

"The chances of that—" I held out my hand to stop him and he cut off, also moving his towel away from my forehead.

"For low-level pills like these, even using mostly ancient techniques, the chances that I'll cause an explosion without outside interference is beyond null." He blinked and wiped clean my hands that were still in his face. My cheeks burned. I'd just let a kid help me get cleaned up as if I were the damn kid... or, as he likely thought of me, the damn daft old senior. Whatever, I was technically injured anyway, so getting a little help was fine. Little Spring was a very thoughtful child. I ruffled his hair.

Smiling madly, I asked, "How do I look? Am I presentable? Do I appear to be the beautiful immortal I am?" He kindly patted my shoulder.

"Fairy Lin. I think you should go get changed and fix your hair." Huh? I glanced down at my ruined outfit... Ah... it might be my imagination but I was pretty sure the costume I wore belonged to a victim of an ancient structure fire. Right. White mortal silk —unlike the armor quality robes I wore in my last life— did not make a great forging uniform. Especially when grinding off smoke residue. Well, shit.