Chapter 235.1: Dream of Ashes

Imagine that your back was unbearably itchy, but you couldn’t reach the spot. After rummaging through everything you own, you finally find a backscratcher, only to discover that no matter how you scratched, it never hit the right place. The more you scratched, the worse it felt. And the worse it felt, the more desperately you scratched.

A tiny itch became a maddening one until it grew into the kind of itch that haunted you for years[1]. Then your imagination ran wild, conjuring one horrific reality after another. You suffered over and over again, trapped in an endless cycle with no escape. In the end, you collapse, clutching the backscratcher and sobbing uncontrollably as you bitterly regret ever touching it.

Its capacity for torment was undeniably impressive, and the malice behind its design was unquestionable. And yet, despite all that, it was utterly, spectacularly useless.

Jian Yuan only wanted to ask one question. How did you even manage to make this?

The procedure was correct. Every step had been carried out properly. Even the underlying logic was sound, yet the final result was completely wrong!

He had used so many materials saturated with violent resentment, and employed countless techniques specifically designed to intensify corruption. So why was the degree of corruption so shallow and crude? This should have been a vicious weapon capable of killing someone through the slightest scratch. Instead, it had somehow become this ridiculous joke of an object!

It was like deciding on a whim to melt down an old necklace and turn it into a bracelet. Before entering the furnace, it had been solid twenty-four-karat gold, yet when it came out, only the thin outer coating was still gold. Where had the rest gone? Had Ji Jue eaten it?

“Where’s the corruption?”

Ji Jue stared at him. “How should I know?! I made it exactly the way I was supposed to! You taught me the theory, you gave me the books, and you supplied the materials. This is what came out, and you’re asking me? You shouldn’t blame others whenever something goes wrong. Shouldn’t you reflect on your own mistakes?”

The smile faded from Ji Jue’s face until all traces of warmth disappeared. He no longer bothered to hide the coldness in his eyes. “Then tell me this. What exactly did you teach me?!”

Jian Yuan didn’t answer. He merely weighed the backscratcher in his hand and sighed. Ji Jue had meticulously controlled the direction of its corruption, painstakingly adjusted its effects and intensity, and ultimately succeeded in turning it into a perfectly useless piece of junk. It was truly breathtaking.

Jian Yuan had already come to understand this. After all, this was hardly the first time Ji Jue had done this.

Before this, there had been a fierce-looking suit of armor that offered no protection whatsoever and covered its wearer in eczema; a small red ball that made anyone who put it on their nose laugh uncontrollably; and a letter opener that made its wielder exceptionally likely to stab themselves and guaranteed a case of tetanus. And now there was this backscratcher, which only made the itch worse with every scratch. Every single one of these items was a joke.

As the saying went, a worthy opponent brought out the best in a player, just as a capable general was matched with talented troops. Teaching such a gifted student should have been effortless.

What an immensely satisfying lesson this will be. At least, that was what Jian Yuan had naively imagined. It was his first time taking on such a remarkably talented student, and his first time seeing someone advance so rapidly along the path of Aberrant Alchemy. Those two joys should have added up to something even greater... or so he thought.

Jian Yuan wanted to crack open Ji Jue’s skull and see what the hell was going on inside his head. Why the fuck couldn’t he learn it right?!

As the saying went, a teacher could show you the way, but how far you went was up to you. As a Master Craftsman, Jian Yuan’s credentials had been doubly verified by both the Craftsmen Association and the Depths. Yet now, when Ji Jue reached the threshold, he insisted on hopping back and forth across it, making a spectacle of himself.

Look, I’m in. Now I’m out. Oh, I’m in again. Don’t like it? Come hit me then!

To squander such talent so recklessly... It was truly regrettable. But it didn’t matter. There was always a way.

“Very good. You did well.” With a casual flick of his hand, Jian Yuan tossed Ji Jue’s creation into the Annihilation Furnace without giving it another glance.

If a student scored one hundred on an exam, it could simply mean they were only capable of scoring one hundred. But when someone could land on exactly sixty points every single time, it meant the exam had already become far too easy for him. It was nothing more than a toy.

Theory, practical skill, conceptualization, creativity, principles—Ji Jue had no weaknesses in any of them. How could such exceptional talent be left to waste?

“That will be enough for the fundamentals,” Jian Yuan said. “It’s time for the next lesson.”

Ji Jue held out his hand indifferently. “All right, all right. I get it. Where are the books?”

“Unfortunately, this lesson isn’t taught in any book. You will have to learn it through firsthand experience.”

Jian Yuan smiled, his face filled with anticipation as he waved his hand. It felt as though an invisible force had seized hold of everything around them. In the next moment, everything within sight was dragged aside.

Ji Jue’s vision blurred, as if he’d passed through countless doors and corridors in the span of a single second before arriving in a dark, decaying area. It was vast and desolate, its darkness stretching endlessly.

The earth had split apart, and the blue, brick floor was riddled with cracks. The once-grand hall lay shattered, its walls collapsed into ruins. Even the enormous furnace at its center was broken and incomplete. Its flames had gone out long ago, so long that no one could say when it had happened.

High above, ash drifted down intermittently like gray snow. Flecks of fire glimmered among it, flaring briefly before fading and settling upon the ground.

Ji Jue’s wheelchair rolled over the ash as he followed Jian Yuan, leaving two long, narrow tracks behind him. They continued forward, then stopped before the ruins of the furnace.

The entire place looked like an abandoned... workshop?

“This was where I lived before I left the Craftsmen Association,” Jian Yuan said. “I fought that fellow here once, and the place was thoroughly wrecked, so I simply abandoned it. The furnace fire had already gone out, but after so many years of spent embers accumulating here, I suppose they could still be put to some use.”

Jian Yuan strolled through the ruins, his long, black robes trailing across the ground without picking up a single speck of ash. Ji Jue, on the other hand, was gradually being covered from head to toe. He wiped his face, then sniffed his hand. The scent was familiar. It was ash, furnace ash!

He looked up at the pitch-black ceiling. All the ash left behind by every craftsman’s furnace in Jian Yuan’s workshop had been sent here. A single wisp would have been nothing unusual, but after years of ash from countless acts of forging and creation accumulating in one place, it had taken on a vast, overwhelming, almost suffocating presence.

“Ji Jue, do you know why craftsmen are so obsessed with fire?” Jian Yuan stood before the ruined furnace and waved a hand. An invisible force swept aside the debris scattered around it.

Without waiting for Ji Jue to answer, he continued, “Craftsmanship has advanced to the point where fire is no longer essential to creation. It’s quite the opposite, in fact. More and more tools and mediums have been incorporated into alchemy, like water, air, dust, light, even the human body and one’s own hands, yet the furnace remains the foundation of the craft. A workshop without a furnace can hardly be called a workshop at all. Why do you think that is?”

“Because they’re practical? Convenient?” Ji Jue answered casually. “The craftsmen of the past grew accustomed to using them, and countless standards were developed around that practice. It’s hardly surprising that later generations continued the tradition.”

“And what else?” Jian Yuan asked with a faint, ambiguous smile. “Have you never witnessed the majesty of the Ember Furnace? Have you not seen with your own eyes the glorious flames that turned the stars themselves into a furnace when Ember reigned supreme?”

Ji Jue didn’t respond.

“This is fire.” Jian Yuan raised a finger and blew gently. A faint cloud of dust stirred and spread, and that soft breath echoed through the underground chamber, swelling until it became a raging hurricane, sweeping every last speck of ash. The motes whirled and trembled, and sparks that had lain extinguished for untold years suddenly burned once more.

Countless threads of fire converged at Jian Yuan’s fingertip. The boundless accumulated ash condensed again into a single, pure flame. It danced and flickered, illuminating every corner of the darkness.

“Do you see it, Ji Jue?”

Bathed in firelight, all emotion seemed to fade from Jian Yuan’s face. Neither sorrow nor joy remained. He looked as solemn and majestic as a divine being.

“The earliest form of alchemy was born from fire. The moment the first flame in the world was kindled by the fire-stealer among the ancient kings, everything was set in motion. Those who brought forth fire were consumed by it, while those who followed passed the flame from one generation to the next. They used fire as their mark to create all things, and likewise, used it to burn all things away. Thus, the Ember Path was born, and from it came the Abomination of Putrefaction. What you must learn lies within it—”

An unprecedented roar echoed from the deepest reaches of the darkness, seemingly coming from every direction at once. When those countless echoes converged, they seemed to fill the very soul, crushing the will and overpowering the spirit. Every stray thought and lingering echo was swept away.

The instant the flame at Jian Yuan’s fingertip vanished, blinding light burst from the furnace. It surged like a torrent, dispersing until it engulfed everything. The light of kindled fuel and the fire of embers erupted into view, raging like a storm.

Ji Jue didn’t even have time to react, much less evade it. For a fleeting moment, he felt both his body and his soul swallowed by the raging torrent. They crumbled, peeled away, and scattered piece by piece into some unknown place, eventually shattered beyond recognition. His flesh, his life, his sense of self, and even his soul—everything was stripped away by the tide of light.

Then what was it that remained?

1. Author wrote 七年之痒 “seven-year itch” here but it doesn't really quite sound right in English.” ☜