Transmigrated into a Grandpa, Embracing the Laid-Back Life

A brilliant green light erupted from the alchemical furnace with explosive force, as if it had forcibly carved a world crafted entirely from jade deep within the cramped pill room.

This light carried an overbearing law of vitality. The gray-black Pill Fiend tentacles that had clung to the furnace bottom like an incurable disease instantly dissipated silently in the void upon contact with this emerald radiance, like spring snow under a scorching sun, without even letting out a struggle.

The ink-black, thick gray fog receded like an ebbing tide, rapidly retreating along the corroded, pockmarked bluestone walls. Within moments, it had withdrawn entirely from the pill room’s perimeter.

Before the furnace, Elder Qingyang’s withered frame suddenly convulsed violently.

His hands, almost nothing but skin and bone, left a series of afterimages in the air as his ten fingers plucked in rapid succession. The joints let out a grating “crack-crack-crack” sound that set one’s teeth on edge. Dozens of incredibly complex pill-sealing hand seals, fueled by the last trace of scarlet-gold spiritual energy squeezed from his body, poured into the still-humming furnace in an unbroken stream.

With each hand seal he cast, Qingyang’s complexion grew a shade more ashen. By the time the final seal landed, firmly locking the vast, dissipating medicinal power within the furnace walls, he looked like a man whose very marrow had been drained. His arms hung limply, his hands trembled like sieves, and the bones of his fingers faintly gleamed white beneath the skin. It was clear he had reached the end of his strength.

Su Ming slumped on a meditation cushion a few feet away. Every inch of his body screamed in agony.

Two streaks of crimson blood trickled slowly from the corners of his eyes, sliding down his chin to drip onto his tattered robe. Similar streaks of bright red seeped from his nostrils, ears, and the corners of his mouth—bleeding from all seven orifices. His vision was filled with overlapping images, the world spinning around him in a dizzying blur.

Shadow lay sprawled on top of his head. Her usually glossy, metallic-black feathers were now mostly scorched and curled. In several places, the burned flesh beneath was exposed. Her golden pupils, once so fierce and proud, were now dull and lifeless. She couldn’t even muster the faintest “cheep.”

He didn’t get up. Instead, he crooked his trembling index finger and lightly hooked it through the air toward the heavy furnace lid.

“Clang—”

The lid let out a crisp sound of metal striking stone as it slid aside.

Three pills, no bigger than dragon’s eyes, rose slowly on a cloud of white medicinal vapor, hovering above the furnace mouth. Each pill glowed with a warm, fluorescent light—not harsh to the eyes. Yet on the surface of the pills, extremely fine golden patterns moved slowly and rhythmically across the emerald base, like living creatures.

This was the tangible manifestation of the Heaven-Mending law condensed into form.

Qingyang raised his bloodless, gaunt face and stared fixedly at the three perfect-quality Heaven-Mending Pills floating in midair. There was no frenzy in his eyes, no greed—only the ultimate peace of having finally achieved a century-old wish after enduring a lifetime of solitude.

A long silence fell over the pill room. Only the faint crackle of residual earth fire at the bottom of the furnace could be heard.

A full incense stick’s time passed.

Qingyang finally moved. With slow, deliberate movements, he drew a prepared top-quality warm jade bottle from his sleeve.

With a dry, skeletal finger, he gently flicked through the air.

Two of the pills bearing golden patterns, guided by spiritual energy, flew steadily toward Su Ming and hovered before him. The remaining pill was loaded into the jade bottle without hesitation and tucked away into the sleeve of Qingyang’s tattered gray Daoist robe.

Su Ming looked at the two pills before him with bloodshot eyes. Qingyang dared to pocket one in front of him because he had paid the price of burning his essence blood, and because Xuanheng was waiting outside. It was an unspoken exchange of interests. By taking one pill, Qingyang cleared the karmic debt between him, Xuanheng, and Su Ming.

Su Ming twisted his mouth, trying to thank him, but only a few hoarse, rasping sounds emerged from his parched throat.

Qingyang didn’t even seem to have the strength to look at him. He just waved his hand wearily.

“Just don’t die in my pill room,” Qingyang’s voice grew fainter. “Get the hell back and treat your injuries.”

A night breeze, carrying a damp, moist air, blew in from outside the courtyard.

Xuanheng was already standing silently outside the crumbling wooden door of the pill room. His deep blue, wide-sleeved Daoist robe was soaked with crystalline night dew. It was clear that for these nine days and nine nights, he had not left the courtyard gate for even half a step.

There was still no expression on Xuanheng’s face, but his deep, penetrating eyes contracted almost imperceptibly at the sight of Su Ming’s gruesome condition—bleeding from seven orifices—and the two floating pills. His steps into the pill room were distinctly faster than usual.

Su Ming raised his right hand with difficulty, took a jade box from his storage pouch, carefully collected the two Heaven-Mending Pills inside, and tucked it close to his body.

He forced his trembling legs to straighten, pushing himself up from the meditation cushion bit by bit. Shadow slid weakly down his neck and into the depths of his wide sleeve.

Su Ming turned and bowed solemnly to Qingyang, who was sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed. Then, unsteadily, he followed Xuanheng out of this nearly ruined pill room.

Outside the courtyard of Pill Cauldron Peak, the night was thick.

Luo Feng was pacing anxiously back and forth on the mountain path. The moment he saw Su Ming emerge, he rushed forward like the wind and grabbed Su Ming’s teetering body.

“My own mother! Were you refining pills or having your soul drained?” Luo Feng shouted, his voice twisted with fright as he saw the blood on Su Ming’s face.

Xuanheng ignored Luo Feng’s bluster. Walking ahead with his hands behind his back, he simply dropped a curt order.

“Send him back to Gazing Star Cliff.”

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!