On the first day after the old alchemist's departure, the herb garden fell into a deathly silence.
Wen Buhuo stood in the silent herb garden, his heart pounding. He first carefully checked the surroundings of the herb garden, confirming that the old alchemist had indeed left and was not secretly watching. Only then did he close the courtyard gate and take out the dark green bottle from his bag.
Under the midday sun, the bottle appeared ancient and mysterious. Wen Buhuo cautiously uncorked the bottle, and an indescribable fragrance wafted out. He remembered the old alchemist's teaching that one should always leave a way out, so he didn't try it directly. Instead, he went to a slow-growing "Spirit Gathering Grass" in the corner of the herb garden.

He carefully tilted the bottle and dripped out a drop of emerald green liquid. The liquid fell into the soil and instantly disappeared. The scene that followed left Wen Buhuo unforgettable: the Spirit Gathering Grass, which was originally only half an inch tall, grew branches and leaves at a speed visible to the naked eye. In just the time it takes to burn a stick of incense, it had grown to the size it would normally take three years to reach.
"This... this is simply defying the laws of nature." Wen Buhuo gasped, but instead of ecstasy, a deep chill ran down his spine. If this treasure were known to outsiders, he would definitely not survive until tomorrow.

To further test the medicinal properties of the liquid, he squatted down and grabbed a wild rabbit hopping in the grass. He thought, if this stuff can make herbs grow wildly, can it also strengthen living beings? He cautiously took out another drop of liquid and dripped it into the rabbit's mouth.However, the expected strengthening did not happen. The rabbit, the moment it swallowed the liquid, convulsed violently, blood oozing from its eyes. In just a few breaths, it stiffened and fell to the ground, completely dead.

Wen Buhuo's face turned pale, and he suddenly let go of the rabbit.
"It brings life to herbs, but death to living creatures." He muttered to himself, his brain working rapidly. The liquid in this bottle contained terrifying energy. Herbs could absorb and transform it, but the flesh and blood of ordinary people simply couldn't withstand it. This discovery reminded him of the "Heart Purification Technique" that the old herbalist had taught him. This technique had no offensive power, but it made his perception of herbs increasingly acute. A chill ran down his spine: why would the old herbalist make him practice this technique? Combining this with Li Zhuang's disappearance, a terrifying thought formed in his mind.

For the next few days, Wen Buhuo outwardly continued his routine of fetching water and weeding, but secretly he began searching the herbalist's hut.
Under the cover of night, he sneaked into the old herbalist's study. It was usually a forbidden area, and Wen Buhuo didn't even dare to breathe loudly. He held his breath and searched through the gaps in the bookshelves. Finally, under a loose floor tile, he found a secret compartment.

The compartment contained no gold or silver, only a yellowed, tattered notebook and several wooden tags with names written on them. Wen Buhuo's hands trembled as he opened the notebook, which was filled with densely written data on various human experiments. Among the wooden tags, he saw one with "Li Zhuang" written on it, conspicuously marked with a bright red cross.
At that moment, Wen Buhuo felt as if he had fallen into an icy abyss. He finally understood that the old herbalist was not a kind elder at all, but a demon in human skin. The so-called "going home" simply meant that Li Zhuang had become a failed experiment, a discarded waste product.

"I'm next," Wen Buhuo stared intently at the records about "medicinal ingredients" in the notebook, his eyes gradually shifting from terror to a resolute calmness.
Since the old herbalist wouldn't be back for another month, that month was his only chance for survival. He looked down at the small green bottle in his hand; it was his only trump card, his only weapon for revenge.

Facing the wooden tag marked with a red cross in the secret compartment, Wen Buhuo didn't shed a single tear. He knew that in this silent, almost deathly herbalist's hut, crying was the most useless thing he could do.
He decided to use the month the old herbalist was away to carry out a desperate act of self-preservation.

Wen Buhuo began an extremely rigorous routine. Every day before dawn, he used the small green bottle to accelerate the growth of the rare qi-replenishing herbs. He didn't dare to directly swallow the herbs containing such violent energy. Instead, relying on the solid pharmacological knowledge he had accumulated, he refined them into concentrated pills. Each time he swallowed a pill, he felt a surge of heat coursing through his body. Although the process was as painful as being bitten by a thousand ants, he gritted his teeth and endured, guiding this power to his limbs and body.
He knew that medicinal power alone wasn't enough. Every night, when all was quiet, he would secretly slip out of the herb garden and meet Zhang Xiaopang in a secluded clearing in the back mountains.
"Wen Buhuo, why do you suddenly want to learn swordsmanship? You look so frightening," Zhang Xiaopang said, startled by Wen Buhuo's cold, changed demeanor.
"Don't ask so many questions, just teach me," Wen Buhuo said, taking the wooden sword Zhang Xiaopang offered him.

Initially, Wen Buhuo's body, weakened by long hours of labor and his thin physique, couldn't even wield a heavy steel sword. He was breathless after only a few swings. He deeply regretted not having asked Li Zhuang for the "Vajra Technique" method; with Li Zhuang's powerful physique, his progress would have been much faster.
But he had a fierce determination. When he couldn't swing the sword, he used the pills to sustain himself, repeating the most basic chopping, thrusting, and slashing motions over and over again. From initially being unsteady, after half a month, he could skillfully perform the few moves of the "Flowing Cloud Sword Technique" that Zhang Xiaopang had taught him. His sword strikes were incredibly fast and carried a desperate resolve.
Zhang Xiaopang sensed the seriousness of the situation. Before parting, he took a gleaming short sword from his怀里 and slipped it into Wen Buhuo's hand.
"This short sword was given to me by the gang after I performed a meritorious deed. It's made of fine steel. Keep it hidden in your sleeve for self-defense," Zhang Xiaopang whispered. "Wen Buhuo, if you can't stay in the herb garden anymore, run."
Wen Buhuo took the short sword, gently stroking the cold blade, and said softly, "Thank you, Xiaopang."
After returning to the herb garden, Wen Buhuo continued to work from dawn till dusk every day. He not only practiced swordsmanship, but also studied how to apply the deadly liquid from the small green bottle to actual combat. He diluted the lethal liquid and applied it to the tip of his short sword, and also developed several powders that could instantly paralyze a person.

His eyes became increasingly calm, like a bottomless ancient well. The cultivation of the Heart-Cleansing Technique allowed him to maintain absolute clarity even when extremely exhausted. He calculated the day the old master would return, and every day he rehearsed possible combat scenarios.
Twenty-eight days, twenty-nine days...
When the twilight of the thirtieth day arrived, a familiar, slightly hoarse cough echoed on the path outside the medicine hut. Wen Buhuo put away his short sword, wiped the sweat from his face, and adopted a docile yet slightly weary expression, slowly walking towards the entrance of the medicine hut.
"Master, you're back." Wen Buhuo lowered his head, his voice calm and showing no emotion.