Novel Full Chapter 1097 - 1097: Rhythm of a Cauldron!
The night on Celestial Light Mountain was unusually still. The silver moon hung low, its light spilling over the bamboo groves and terraced gardens.
While most disciples exhausted themselves racing across ridges and valleys for herbs, Kent remained in the secluded courtyard of his pavilion, alone.
Before him stood a heavy bronze cauldron etched with faint dragon-carvings. This is his old Dragon-Phoenix Cauldron. Its body was cracked in places, patched with bands of spirit metal—it was not pretty, nor was it new. But Kent’s gaze on it was steady, as if it were an old friend.
He arranged the lotuses gathered by his one-eyed bandit pet across the mat before him. Moon-Seal Lotus. Frost-Petal Lotus. Shade-Lotus. Each flower glowed faintly in the moonlight, each one resonating with ancient qi.
Kent lowered himself into a cross-legged seat before the cauldron. His hands rested against its rim, his eyes closing. A faint golden flame flickered to life at his fingertips—the Nirvana Flame. It was a quiet fire, gentle yet absolute, burning not with destruction but with a purity that judged and chose.
He had brewed countless potions before. He could succeed tomorrow without practice. Yet tonight, he sought something different: perfection.
“This prince…” Kent murmured to himself, eyes still closed. “If he is desperate enough to involve the Academy, then the potion must not only heal—it must strike the heart. It must carry memory, lineage, truth.”
The Nirvana Flame swayed. He began working through the steps, one by one. Pulverizing frost-petals with precise bursts of flame, fusing shade essence without letting it devour itself, balancing the subtle fragrance of Moon-Seal so it lingered without overwhelming. Every motion was deliberate. Every moment was patience turned into art.
Hours passed. The cauldron glowed, then cooled, then glowed again as Kent adjusted rhythm and flow. By dawn, his shoulders were damp with sweat, but his eyes blazed with clarity. He finally released the flame, the cauldron settling into silence.
–
Morning broke with a roar.
The Great Courtyard of the Academy’s central mountain was already overflowing with disciples from all seven peaks. Tens of thousands lined the terraces, banners of flame, storm, ice, light, and beast waving in the breeze. The air thrummed with anticipation, and then—
BOOM.
The first of the ceremonial drums struck, a sound that shook the stones themselves. Then another, and another, until the entire valley thundered with their rhythm. The cry of heralds followed, voices amplified with spellwork.
“The Yellow Blossom River Prince approaches!”
Every disciple snapped to attention. Even elders emerged from their halls, their robes shimmering with power. Vice Matriarch Kim herself stood at the forefront of Celestial Light Mountain’s dais, her expression stern but dignified.
From the eastern sky came a glittering procession. Banners of golden silk trailed behind enormous river-barges that floated through the air as if they sailed an unseen current. Armored guards in scaled lamellar marched in perfect unison, their halberds glowing faintly. At their center walked the prince himself.
He was young, perhaps only a few years older than Kent, but his bearing was regal, tempered by grief. His robes were sewn from river-pearls and brocade, and yet his expression carried a weight that no silk could conceal. His eyes were calm, steady, touched by sorrow and iron.
Elders from all seven mountains bowed low as he passed, their voices carrying in unison. “We greet the Yellow Blossom River Prince.”
The prince inclined his head politely, but his gaze did not linger. His steps were steady, carrying him to the high seat prepared at the dais.
Among the gathered disciples, whispers surged.
“Look at that procession—river barges in the air!”
“The wealth of the river cities is terrifying…”
“They say the prince can buy half the empire with a single decree.”
“But why does he need the Nine Lotus Bewitching Potion? What weakness hides behind his eyes?”
The drums fell silent. Lady Kim raised her hand. “Bring forth the competitors!”
One by one, the disciples who had raised their hands yesterday filed out from their mountains’ ranks. Dozens in all, their robes pressed, their lotuses arranged carefully in lacquered boxes. They carried cauldrons with storage rings—sleek, polished, most forged in family halls or clan treasuries. Each set their cauldron down with pride, bowing toward the dais.
Then silence fell as the last figure emerged.
Kent King.
But unlike the others, he did not carry a storage ring in his hand. On his shoulder balanced a massive cauldron, its bronze body heavy enough to crush lesser men. He carried it alone, not by spell, not by trick, but with raw strength.
Every step resounded, the cauldron ringing faintly against his back like a living drum. His white-and-gold robes rippled in the morning breeze, his expression calm as ever. He crossed the courtyard slowly, yet with a presence that forced eyes to follow.
Murmurs erupted instantly.
“What is he doing?! Carrying a cauldron like a laborer!”
“Doesn’t he know how to use a storage ring?”
“Look at that old thing—cracked, patched… it’s barely worthy of a roadside alchemist.”
“Golden Heir? More like golden fool.”
Laughter rippled among the competitors. One disciple snorted openly. “Trying to impress the prince by showing muscle? Wrong stage, wrong skill.”
Another jeered, “He probably doesn’t have a cauldron worth storing!”
Even elders frowned slightly. Lady Kim’s eyes narrowed as Kent stepped into line and set the cauldron down with a deep, resonant thud. The ground seemed to tremble faintly beneath it.
“Kent King,” Lady Kim’s voice cut like steel. “Why carry such a thing on your back when all others use proper storage?”
Every disciple turned to hear. The prince himself lifted his gaze faintly, curiosity flickering for the first time.
Kent straightened slowly, brushing the dust from his hands. His voice, calm and clear, carried across the courtyard.
“If placed in a storage ring, the cauldron loses its rhythm. The pulse of metal, the weight of fire, the breath of herbs—these things vanish when sealed away. A cauldron must know its master’s hand and heartbeat, not the silence of storage.”
Gasps broke out.
“What nonsense is this?”
“Rhythm? Heartbeat? He’s dressing up excuses.”
“Absurd! A cauldron is just a tool!”
Yet a few elders stiffened, their eyes flashing with recognition. They knew what rhythm meant in the old ways of potion-brewing—when the cauldron was considered alive, an extension of the alchemist’s soul.
Kent rested his hand on the cauldron’s rim, his calm gaze meeting the crowd’s mockery without flinch. “This cauldron has endured fire and storm with me. If I do not carry it myself, then tomorrow’s potion will not carry me.”
Silence rippled for a heartbeat, before derisive laughter filled the space again. But the words had planted themselves in the air, heavy as stone.
Lady Kim’s eyes flashed. “We will see if your philosophy stands in practice. Begin preparations!”
The competition was about to start.