"How many days has it even been...?"
Slumped in his wheelchair, Ji Jue sighed heavily. "Why hasn't the Security Bureau made a move yet? At least give me some big news..."
They couldn't actually be leaving him to turn to corruption, could they?
In the polished mirror surface, an emaciated, haggard face was reflected.
His skin was pale, as if it hadn't seen the sun in years, thin enough to be skin and bones, his breathing sluggish—lying in an ICU bed wouldn't have looked out of place for him at all.
Yet, amid the strands of hair turning pallid, a strange light flickered within pupils that grew darker by the day. In casual glances and downcast eyes, it smoldered silently.
Like an eerie fiend dwelling inside a corpse, radiating a chilling, sinister aura.
Even if Tong the Vegetable were standing right in front of him now, he probably wouldn't recognize Ji Jue.
How much time had passed?
He had completely lost track...
It felt as if only a few short days had gone by, but subjectively, it seemed as long as a month or two.
Every day was an unrelenting loop of force-feeding and crafting, without a moment to catch his breath.
Even in dreams there was no escape; amidst countless chaotic theories and transmutation formulas, endless nightmares and past memories from his life surfaced in turns.
Those broken, fragmented dreams alternated with a reality so grueling it made him cough up blood, to the point that Ji Jue had completely lost all sense of time.
Perhaps that was one of Kanemoto's objectives.
Or perhaps time inside the workshop... had simply been different from the outside world all along...
Profound theory and techniques were not pure, dry, wonderful subjects like advanced calculus; on the contrary, they were riddled with inhumane yet cheap and viable shortcuts, numerous methods of material processing and harvesting that involved blood sacrifices, torture, and slaughter, and even more insidious corruption that seeped in imperceptibly...
Even an obsessive workaholic like Ji Jue had been worn down physically and mentally by this brutal force-fed education. His mind was filled with nothing but wanting a vacation. If no vacation was possible, dying worked too.
Just slit my throat and make it quick!
If there was any single upside to this dogshit existence, it was that materials were supplied without limit and without care for wastage. Even when Ji Jue used Kanemoto's supplies to practice his own craft under the guise of work, the old bastard did not seem to care in the least.
Transmutation, which had previously lagged behind due to a lack of money to burn, progressed at breakneck speed.
As for the various techniques of Stagnant Rot and the operations of corrupted alchemy, embarrassing as it was to admit, Ji Jue had completely gotten the hang of them!
Not just gotten the hang of them—his progress was downright soaring!
With the matrix fragments and scattered skills from Du Deng and Lianyun laying the groundwork before, followed by the old bastard Kanemoto teaching and consolidating everything without holding back, Ji Jue's progress skyrocketed. In just a few practice sessions, he had mastered the foundational basics and their subsequent extensions.
He was even ready to begin crafting blessed creations.
*Brother Embers, don't be sad. The old bastard forced me; I didn't want to! Truly, in my heart, there's only ever been you. You have to believe me...*
*I only made a mistake that any artisan would make!*
Since Embers hadn't explicitly forbidden it anyway, Ji Jue took it as tacit consent.
Still, how could a perfectly good prodigy of Embers suddenly turn into a pillar of the Profound?
If word got out, his teacher wouldn't personally come with a blade to clean house, would she?
Wait... could this also be part of Kanemoto's scheme?!
Maybe years later, when he became an artisan, a master, or even a grandmaster, he'd run into Kanemoto again, and the old ghost would chuckle slyly, pulling a stack of photographs from his pocket: *Ji Jue-kun, you wouldn't want others to find out about this, would you...*
Ji Jue sucked in a sharp breath of cold air.
He felt an urge to stamp his foot and curse a blue streak, but unfortunately, he barely even had the freedom to stamp his foot now.
Left arm, right shoulder, heart, right leg...
Chain-like black marks had surfaced on all of them.
A slight movement was enough to bring piercing pain and agony.
These were all the results of Ji Jue's overestimating himself during his resistance or probing attempts over this period.
BOOM!!!
A sudden, deafening blast erupted from the Crucible. Crimson gore surged outward, viscous hues erupting into a raging tide that nearly swallowed the emaciated figure before the furnace.
Ji Jue remained expressionless.
Snapping out of his daze, he casually raised a hand toward the swirling crimson and scooped it up.
His fingers tightened.
"That's enough," he said.
In an instant, the erupting blood-red color vanished without a trace, the writhing crimson rapidly contracting, while the shrieks echoing from the Crucible came to an abrupt halt.
As if a monster's vital point had been clamped tight.
Between Ji Jue's five fingers, the creation that had broken out of the Crucible was still violently vibrating, its intense heat swiftly dissipating to reveal the texture of steel.
Yet amidst the cold metallic gleam, threads of scarlet swirled, intermittently displaying the texture of living flesh.
The moment it landed in his grasp, it ravenously sought to devour Ji Jue's blood and spiritus.
Unfortunately, under the suppression of Non-Offensive, it was like a pathetic nobody punching above its weight, swiftly capitulating.
In the end, it was as docile as a chick.
"Corrupted alchemy? That's it? That's all? Just this?"
Ji Jue scoffed, casually tossing the creation into a box welded to the side of his wheelchair, utterly dismissive. "Mediocre junk."
In just a few days of experimentation and practice, he had already discovered the biggest difference between modern alchemy and the corrupted alchemy modified by Kanemoto.
—If modern alchemy used the four phases of Ascension, Transmutation, Purification, and Integration to grant dead matter a soul, then Kanemoto's eclectic, self-founded school of corrupted alchemy was about directly fabricating malevolent spirits!
Compared to a newborn bunny, a ravenous lion or tiger was undoubtedly far more ferocious and imposing, and wielding it felt far smoother and exhilarating, even if the price was steep...
Its essence lay in artificially triggering corruption and inducing mutation!
In Ji Jue's eyes, this was no different from lighting firecrackers over a manhole cover: the bang was definitely louder than usual, and when you went, you definitely went faster and more peacefully than normal.
The slightest lapse in attention would lead to an uncontrollable collapse, and a single slip-up could cause who-knew-what monstrosity to leap out of the furnace, leaving the artisan with no say whatsoever.
Once one mastered the relevant techniques and theories, it was indeed possible to transcend one's rank and limits, fashioning creations far beyond one's own ceiling.
The problem, however, was that controllability was practically nonexistent.
The craft was great craft; it just chewed through artisans a bit too fast.
Going into it completely unprepared was like flooring the gas pedal on an elevated highway in the dead of a stormy night. Don't ask where Daddy is going—just go, crying won't help, and at worst I'll take you down with me!
Therefore, it demanded far greater control, adaptability, and talent from the artisan.
Incompetents and failures were wiped out right at the doorstep. But if one could cross that threshold, their growth would skyrocket like riding a rocket...
Precisely because of this, the more Ji Jue learned, the more he felt something was damn well off.
Because he had never seen these theories and techniques used by anyone else!
Du Deng, an uncarvable lump of deadwood, didn't count, but Lianyun was supposedly his personal disciple—how did he not know even a shred of this?
Could this textbook he was studying have been concocted on a whim right on the spot by this old bastard?
Something was wrong—dead wrong!
Lost in thought, Ji Jue soon looked up at the afterimage phantom beside him. "Where's the old bastard? I want to see the old bastard!"
The phantom was silent for a moment before raising a hand to point at a door behind him.
The door swung open, revealing a corridor.
"Thanks."
Ji Jue turned his wheelchair around and leisurely headed toward the corridor, paying no heed to the mess behind him.
The entire workshop seemed to be constantly shifting; even the space behind the exact same door was different every time he looked. Sometimes this corridor led to the material storehouse, sometimes to Ji Jue's floor pallet, sometimes to the restroom, and now it led to Kanemoto's studio.
No matter how many times he traversed it, he could still feel the gazes and peeping eyes lurking in the shadows.
As though his every move was under the watch of countless eyes.
*Click.*
Not far away, a door slowly closed.
A hunched figure bowed and scraped as he backed out, respectfully shutting the door for his teacher with a flattering smile.
Yet when he turned his head and spotted Ji Jue not far away, the smile froze on his face.
His expression turned livid, then twisted into a scowl.
In his eyes, strands of bloodshot veins slowly surfaced.
He ground his teeth.
"You..."
"Oh my, what a small world! If it isn't Brother Cunling?"
Ji Jue glanced at his hunched, wretched appearance and the puppet growing fused with the flesh on his shoulder, clicking his tongue in wonder. "Haven't seen you in a few days—how did you get so pathetic?"
*Bang!*
His face livid, the corrupted artisan kicked over Ji Jue's wheelchair, grabbed him by the neck, hauled him up from the floor, and slammed him against the wall.
His fingers clamped like iron pincers, tightening millimeter by millimeter.
"Listen to me, you mongrel. No matter what trick you used to bewitch the teacher, your good days won't last long!"
Cunling leaned in close, glaring murderously into Ji Jue's face, warning him through gritted teeth, "One day, you'll fall into my hands. When that day comes, we'll settle our scores!"
In his suffocation, Ji Jue opened his mouth but could draw no breath, his vision rapidly dimming to black.
Only when Cunling had had his fill of watching Ji Jue's miserable state did his fingers loosen slightly.
Raspy coughing and wheezing followed—along with a mocking sneer.
"Brother, every debt has its debtor. Falling into this state wasn't my doing. You should think about who actually did this to you, shouldn't you?"
Panting, Ji Jue grinned. "If you really have any backbone, why not turn around, kick that door wide open, and hack that old bastard to pieces with a dozen knives? Wouldn't that repay your master's teachings and avenge your grudge?"
Cunling's face twitched. Suppressing an instinctive shudder, he flew into a rage. "Say one more word, and I'll tear you to pieces!"
"Oh really?"
Ji Jue asked curiously, "I feel like I can say quite a few more words, but you might not be able to... Mm, maybe you're already on your last legs."
Amid those pitying, sympathetic words, the hand choking his throat gradually lost its strength.
Trembling uncontrollably, it let go.
Ji Jue dropped to the floor.
Bracing himself against the wall and the floor, he pushed his body up, righted his wheelchair, and after a tremendous effort, finally hauled himself back into the seat.
He was drenched in sweat and gasping for breath.
Meanwhile, rolling and thrashing on the floor, Cunling was barely breathing, foaming at the mouth, on the brink of death as he convulsed and twitched in futile struggles.
Yet he could not break free...
From the two hands strangling his throat!
From behind him, the puppet that had sprouted from his flesh was now choking his neck without warning, its grip tightening rapidly.
Behind tears in the shredded skin, thick bloody fluid seeped out, yet before it could flow, it was hungrily sucked dry by the puppet's hands.
Not just the physical body—at that moment, half of the flesh, half of the matrix, half of the blessing, and half of the soul within him turned savage, launching a furious assault, ravenous to devour him entirely.
No matter how he tried to soothe it, there was zero response.
Suffocation, chill, and futile struggling.
Only hallucinatory cackles echoed, growing clearer and clearer.
Until, amidst his thrashing and rolling, he finally caught sight of the smiling face on the wheelchair and those dark eyes looking down with cold indifference. In that instant, he seemed to understand.
Cunling's eyes widened in terror. Crawling forward on all fours, he grabbed the cuff of Ji Jue's trouser leg, opening his mouth to plead, yet no sound came out.
He could only kowtow as if in prayer, his forehead slamming against the floor again and again until blood streamed down.
Muffled wails escaped him.
From beginning to end, Ji Jue remained expressionless.
Completely unmoved.
Only when Cunling had fallen into total despair, bereft of any strength to struggle, did a crisp sound ring out.
Ji Jue's finger tapped against the armrest of the wheelchair.
Instantly, the puppet's hands clutching Cunling's throat loosened by a sliver. Cold air rushed into his lungs, bringing with it life and all the wonders of the world.
Cunling coughed violently, spitting out thick bloody froth, tears and snot streaming down his face.
He was unable to move a muscle.
"See? Once we share the same circumstances, we can appreciate each other's difficulties."
In his haze, Cunling only saw the wheelchair roll past him, while a voice drifted down from above: "We really must get along, Brother Cunling."
Just like that, without stopping, the wheelchair rolled slowly right over him.
Finally, Ji Jue high-fived the puppet on his back in farewell:
"Bye, bro~"
The puppet grinned maliciously, waving enthusiastically as it watched him depart.
It watched until he disappeared at the end of the corridor before turning back to look down at its dying host, malice gleaming in its gem-carved eyes.
The game continues!
*
The door opened before Ji Jue.
Beyond the threshold, inside the studio, countless components hovered in midair, rising and falling like birds—tens of thousands of them constantly gathering and dispersing, circling that aged figure.
"Why the racket?" Kanemoto asked without turning around.
"Probably just honoring the fine tradition of veterans showing the rookies the ropes?"
Ji Jue smiled, speaking as if he truly believed the old man was oblivious, offering heartfelt praise: "The workplace culture of us Profound artisans is simply wonderful.
"Harmonious and loving, walking hand in hand, forging ahead together... Don't you think there's something a little off about that?"
"Embers is ruthless, showing no mercy to mediocrity. The cruelty of Stagnant Rot is greater still. You were competitors to begin with, so why waste time on meaningless pretenses?
"Allowing the essence of things to reveal itself in the clearest possible manner is the true core of the artisan's path. If you enjoy dreaming, you should go seek the Mirror and the Heart Pivot."
Kanemoto flicked his fingers, causing the colossal entity formed by the countless assembled components to disperse and dissociate once more. Only after a long silence did he look back impassively and ask:
"What is it?"
"Here, all done."
Ji Jue opened the toolbox on his armrest, pulled out the corrupted piece he had crafted not long ago, and tossed it straight toward Kanemoto.
The sound of rushing air cracked.
Immediately, a streak of silver light stopped right in front of Kanemoto, revealing its silhouette and appearance.
A slender handle, a slightly broader yet stubby tip, roughly the length of an ordinary one-handed sword.
The handle was straight, but the tip curled slightly, splitting like a claw.
Crimson hues swirled ceaselessly across its surface. Just looking at it made one feel a wave of ferocious hostility and a chill in the heart!
Yet the more Kanemoto looked at it, the tighter his brow furrowed.
"What in the world is this?"
"A gift," Ji Jue said considerately. "I noticed you've been grimacing and baring your teeth a lot lately. I figured your feet were probably itching and you couldn't scratch them in front of company, so I went out of my way to make you a backscratcher!"
Kanemoto's expression darkened further.
"What is its function?"
"What else is a backscratcher used for? Scratching an itch, of course."
Ji Jue explained with keen enthusiasm, "However, Grandmaster, don't look down on its ordinary appearance. In one aspect, it's exceptionally formidable—"
He paused, drawing out the suspense and whetting his appetite:
"—The more you scratch, the itchier it gets!"
Chapter 234