Year 148 of the Azure Dragon Era


    Month of the Silent Moon, Day 17


    The stench of rot and desperation still clings to me even after three washes. Five years. It''s been five years since I felt the cold mountain winds of the Iron Fist Sect on my face, five years since I Master Zhao died. Five years I''ve spent in this festering in this Black Market, amongst the dregs of this world. Good riddance, I say.


    My stall, the "Crimson Cauldron," is small, tucked between a purveyor of dubious talismans and a man who sells dried grubs. It’s hardly fitting for a man who once trained under a master alchemist. But it is…useful. Here, I am unseen, unjudged. I trade in shadows, and the shadows cloak my true purpose.


    Today, a young cultivator with wide, hopeful eyes came to my stall, asking for a ‘strength enhancing’ pill. I sold him one, of course, a concoction I brewed from the teeth of cave vipers and a pinch of powdered grave moss. I watched his face wrinkle in disgust, then in delight, as he chewed it. Ignorance is bliss. I offered him another at half price. He took it, of course. I''ll see him again tomorrow, begging for more. The fools always do.


    Month of the Silent Moon, Day 23


    Another alchemist graced my stall today. He looked old, even older than me, a scholar with hands stained yellow from turmeric and his robe smelling of ginger. He called himself Master Bai and spoke of the ''harmonious balance'' in pill refinement. He was a man of theories, well-versed in the ancient texts. We talked for hours, his words painting pictures of elegant formulas and carefully measured ingredients. I listened, of course. I always listen.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    He spoke of the need for ''Yin and Yang,'' for the correct proportions, for a respect for the herbs’ innate nature. It was…interesting, in a textbook kind of way. But their theories are so rigid, like trying to hold a storm in a teacup. They’re afraid of the edges, the wildness that births real power. They meticulously follow recipes passed down through generations, oblivious to the boundless possibilities. He left shaking his head, muttering something about ‘reckless abandon’ and ‘the perils of chaos.’ Good. Let them cling to their brittle traditions.


    Month of the Blazing Sun, Day 3


    My own experiments continue, of course. The last batch of Blood Lotus Extract gave the subject a rather…unpleasant rash. Noted. Needs more cooling herbs. I’m pushing the boundaries of the established knowledge. These so-called masters are like children playing with firecrackers when they could be harnessing the power of the sun.


    I’m currently working on a new batch of ‘Turtle Breath’ pills, more potent than anything I’ve ever attempted. In theory they will hide ones cultivation aura for fifteen to thrity breaths. Enough time to escape. I need the spines of a Sand Howler and the heart petals of the Night Bloom. The commissions keep me afloat and also keep my supply cabinet well stocked with ‘interesting’ materials. The black market is a treasure trove for a man willing to bargain and trade in the dark corners. I traded a batch of ‘Focus’ pills (most of which were diluted with tree sap) for the Sand Howler spines today. The merchant seemed pleased with the deal. I almost laughed.