I cultivate the Chaos Technique

Chapter 167 Hitting a wall

The moment Zhang Yifan stepped into the Lingdan Sect, he was filled with anticipation, as if he had seen the dawn in the darkness. He knew that an eighth-level alchemist was the greatest hope for the survival of his loved ones, so in the early days, he waited patiently every day with hope for the mysterious eighth-level alchemist to emerge from seclusion. At the first light of dawn, he would get up and stretch his limbs near the sect's designated residence, adjusting his state and preparing to welcome any possible turning point; during the day, whenever he saw Lingdan Sect disciples gathered together to discuss alchemy, he would shamelessly approach them, humbly asking for alchemy knowledge, his eyes full of longing and piety.

However, as time quietly passed, Zhang Yifan gradually noticed something amiss. The Lingdan Sect, a renowned alchemy sect on the Tianyuan Continent, held an extremely high position in this world, and its disciples were generally highly respected. After all, alchemists controlled the methods of refining pills that could enhance cultivation, heal injuries, and even prolong life. Whether in the fiercely competitive world of cultivation or among the many sects pursuing immortality, they were objects of eager flattery. This made the disciples of the Lingdan Sect arrogant and haughty, cultivating a sense of superiority.

Most of them ignored Zhang Yifan, this outsider seeking help, as if he were nothing more than an insignificant speck of dust. Occasionally, a hint of disdain would flash in their eyes, as if mocking Zhang Yifan's overestimation of his abilities—a mid-stage Nascent Soul cultivator daring to dream of seeking help from an eighth-level alchemist, it was simply wishful thinking.

Every time Zhang Yifan tried to engage in deeper conversations with them, inquiring about the alchemist's specific emergence time or seeking guidance on key alchemy techniques, he was often met with indifferent responses or perfunctory evasions. Once, he finally spotted a young disciple with a relatively kind face, pacing alone along a path in the herb garden, seemingly lost in thought. Zhang Yifan's heart leaped with joy, and he quickly approached, grabbing the disciple's sleeve and earnestly asking, "Fellow Daoist, when will your sect's eighth-level alchemist emerge from seclusion? I'm truly anxious; my family is waiting for help." A flash of displeasure crossed the disciple's face. He impatiently shook off Zhang Yifan's hand, glancing at him and saying, "How should I know? The itinerary of an eighth-level alchemist is not something you or I can casually inquire about. Just wait." With that, he hurried away, leaving Zhang Yifan standing there, filled with disappointment and helplessness.

Once again, Zhang Yifan saw several disciples sitting together in a corner of the sect's courtyard. Ancient books were laid out on a stone table in front of them, and they were enthusiastically discussing alchemy formulas. Zhang Yifan overheard them mentioning some theoretical knowledge related to the Seven Treasures Rejuvenating Pill, and a surge of excitement welled up inside him. He eagerly moved closer, wanting to listen and learn, hoping to glean some useful information to increase his chances of success in refining pills in the future. But before he could even get a foothold, a sharp-eyed disciple spotted him and said sarcastically, "What are you doing here, an outsider? Do you even understand such profound alchemy knowledge? Don't waste our time." The group laughed and continued their discussion, leaving Zhang Yifan standing awkwardly to the side, his cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment and indignation.

Anger gradually ignited within Zhang Yifan. He was already burning with anxiety; the lives of his loved ones hung by a thread, and every second of delay could extinguish their life. Yet here he was, enduring cold treatment, treated as an object of amusement by these disciples, his dignity and hope trampled upon. Several times he almost lost control, wanting to use force to compel these disciples to heed his pleas. After all, with his mid-stage Nascent Soul cultivation, he still possessed a certain intimidating power over these ordinary disciples. His hand unconsciously tightened around the hilt of his sword, and his spiritual energy began to surge within him, awaiting a trigger to erupt.

However, despite the burning anger within him, after a fierce internal struggle, reason ultimately prevailed, like a lighthouse in a turbulent sea. He knew very well that he was in a position where he needed their help, and if he impulsively chose to resort to violence, not only would he fail to obtain the assistance he desired, but he might even completely enrage the behemoth that was the Spirit Pill Sect.

It's important to understand that the Lingdan Sect, as a renowned and powerful alchemy sect, possesses a foundation and influence far beyond what ordinary people can imagine. If one were to truly incur the wrath of such a powerful force, let alone hope to obtain precious elixirs to save one's critically ill loved ones, even the possibility of leaving this place unscathed would become a huge question mark.

Thinking of these terrible consequences, Zhang Yifan couldn't help but gasp, and a fine layer of sweat appeared on his forehead.

He clenched his teeth and took a deep breath with all his might, as if trying to inhale all his anger and unease.

Then, he slowly released the sword hilt he had been gripping tightly. The sharp sword made a crisp sound after losing its master's grip, as if it were sighing for the conflict that was about to erupt but was forcibly suppressed.

As the sword hilt loosened, Zhang Yifan's tense body gradually relaxed, but his heart remained as restless as the sea in a storm.

He closed his eyes, silently reminding himself to stay calm and not to let a moment of impulsiveness destroy his last hope. After a long while, he finally managed to calm the turmoil in his heart, and opened his eyes again. Although a trace of unwillingness still lingered in his eyes, there was more determination and resolve than anything else.

So he could only suppress his anger and continue to wait silently in this awkward situation, hoping for a change in circumstances. Days passed, and his anxiety grew deeper, like a persistent, dark cloud. Waking up in the morning, gazing at the clouds outside his window, he was filled with sorrow; falling asleep at night, his dreams were filled with the increasingly haggard faces of his loved ones, and cold sweat often soaked his bedding.

But he never gave up, still wandering around the sect every day, looking for any opportunity that might prompt the alchemists to act quickly. He tried to glean clues from the disciples' casual conversations or to find a breakthrough in the busy figures of the sect's stewards. Even if the hope was slim, he would never give up easily.

During this agonizing wait, Zhang Yifan overheard that the sect leader of the Lingdan Sect often preferred to meditate in a medicinal garden on the back mountain of the sect, where many rare spiritual herbs were cultivated—the very essence of the sect leader's life's work. A thought suddenly occurred to him: perhaps only by directly pleading with the sect leader could this stalemate be broken…