Wen Buhuo and Li Zhuang followed the old herbalist over several mountains and finally arrived at the herb garden. The place was indeed secluded, but every plant and tree exuded an air of meticulous care and elegance. The paths crisscrossed, the herb fields were neatly arranged, and various strangely shaped medicinal herbs swayed gracefully in the breeze. The old herbalist was usually a man of few words, but he was extremely kind to the two brothers, treating them as if they were his own nephews. Wen Buhuo and Li Zhuang were also grateful, and after more than a month, they could skillfully identify the characteristics and habits of over a hundred kinds of herbs, and had even mastered the methods of planting, watering, and harvesting. The old herbalist saw this and often praised them softly, allowing these two boys, who had been oppressed by the gang, to feel a long-lost warmth.

One quiet night, moonlight poured like water onto the herb garden, illuminating the paths. Wen Buhuo was studying a book of herbal medicine in his room when he suddenly heard a faint knock on the door. When he opened the door, he saw Zhang Xiaopang's freckled face, which now held a mixture of fatigue and excitement.
"Buhuo! Li Zhuang!" Zhang Xiaopang exclaimed excitedly in a low voice as soon as he entered. The blue outer disciple uniform he was wearing looked much more impressive than Wen Buhuo and Li Zhuang's coarse linen clothes.
The three brothers sat down together in the room, and Zhang Xiaopang eagerly recounted his experiences in the Xuan Tie Gang. He had learned the gang's basic sword technique, called "Flowing Cloud Sword Technique," and was said to be quite talented, having already mastered three moves. He would soon be able to take on missions and earn merit. As he spoke, a childish look of pride appeared on his face.

Li Zhuang punched the door frame, sending wood chips flying. He excitedly demonstrated the body-refining technique—the "Diamond Technique"—that the old herbalist had taught him. This technique focused on tempering the muscles and bones, allowing an ordinary person's physique to reach its peak. As Li Zhuang spoke, he casually picked up a piece of firewood the size of a bowl, and with a "crack," the firewood snapped in two. His strong muscles looked particularly powerful in the moonlight.
When it was Wen Buhuo's turn, he felt a little embarrassed. The technique the old alchemist taught him was a breathing exercise called the "Heart-Cleansing Technique." It was said to temper one's character and calm the mind, but in his opinion, besides making his mind clearer and improving his efficiency when reciting the medicinal texts, it didn't seem to have any remarkable effects. He simply skillfully recounted the herbal knowledge he had learned in the medicinal garden these past few days, and how to distinguish between good and bad medicinal materials.
Seeing that both of his brothers had made progress, Wen Buhuo was genuinely happy for them. This peaceful and hopeful life was something he had never experienced since leaving his village.

Just as the three of them were talking, Zhang Xiaopang suddenly swayed, cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and his face instantly turned pale. He clutched his chest, opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, his vision went black, and he fell straight to the ground.
"Xiaopang!" Wen Buhuo and Li Zhuang were shocked and rushed forward to check on him.
Wen Buhuo immediately checked Zhang Xiaopang's pulse. His face suddenly darkened, and an unprecedented anger surged in his usually calm eyes. Zhang Xiaopang's pulse was weak and irregular, his internal energy was being forcibly depleted, and his meridians showed signs of damage. The pharmacological knowledge Wen Buhuo had learned from the old alchemist instantly allowed him to identify the root cause of these symptoms—it was the side effect of the "Marrow-Infusing Pill"!
"You took the Marrow-Infusing Pill?!" Wen Buhuo's voice was filled with suppressed anger. He took out several pills he usually made to relieve fatigue and pain from his pocket and forced them down Zhang Xiaopang's throat. "Are you trying to kill yourself? This pill can increase your strength in the short term, but it causes irreversible damage to your body and lifespan! You must never take it again!"
Li Zhuang looked at the unconscious Zhang Xiaopang, his eyes filled with worry and confusion.

Although Wen Buhuo's words were reproachful, his hand holding Zhang Xiaopang's was ice cold. He knew that the Marrow-Infusing Pill was used by some impatient outer disciples in the gang to overdraw their physical potential, allowing them to temporarily increase their strength and speed in order to gain merit in missions. But who could understand Zhang Xiaopang's suffering? And who would be willing to sacrifice their own life for such meager recognition? A feeling of powerlessness gripped Wen Buhuo's heart. All he could do was try his best to use his pharmacological knowledge to mitigate the damage to Zhang Xiaopang's body.
Old Man Yao appeared at the doorway at some point, calmly observing everything in the room, a subtle complexity flashing in his deep eyes.