Chapter 13: The Poison in the Blood

The morgue lights buzzed overhead, fluorescent and sterile, casting everything in shades of pale green. Liang Yue stood over the covered body, her hands clenched at her sides. The cold air bit through her thin sweater, raising goosebumps on her arms.

Professor Li moved to the table, his movements slow, deliberate. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I need to see her."

He pulled back the sheet.

Grandma's face was peaceful—too peaceful. The kind of peace that came from careful arrangement, not natural rest. Her skin had the waxy sheen of embalming fluid, her eyes closed as if in sleep. But Liang Yue had seen her grandmother sleep a thousand times. This wasn't sleep. This was erasure.

Her hand reached out, trembling, and touched Grandma's cheek. Cold. So cold.

"The toxin," she said, her voice hollow. "Show me."

Professor Li handed her a magnifying glass and pointed to the liver cross-section. "See these micro-hemorrhages? They're clustered around the bile ducts. That's characteristic of *Cupping Ghost Toxin*—an ancient poison made from the venom of five creatures blended with mercury and arsenic in precise ratios."

Liang Yue's stomach lurched. "Cupping Ghost. That's from the *Bencao Gangmu*—Li Shizhen's pharmacopoeia. It was banned during the Qing dynasty because it was impossible to antidote."

"Impossible for ordinary doctors. But you're not ordinary." He pulled out another document. "Your grandmother kept a record. A complete breakdown of the toxin's components, with potential counteragents. She knew she was being poisoned, and she spent her final months trying to create an antidote."

"Why didn't she take it?"

"Because she couldn't finish it." Professor Li's voice cracked. "The final ingredient requires fresh blood from a living Internal Alchemist. She was the last one alive, and she couldn't sacrifice herself to save herself."

The furnace pulsed in Liang Yue's dantian, a thrum of heat that spread through her chest. She understood now. Grandma hadn't just given her the furnace—she'd given her a responsibility. A debt that demanded payment.

"She wanted me to finish what she started."

"That's why I brought you here." Professor Li closed the folder. "The Zhang family is holding a celebration tonight. A private dinner at the Ritz-Carlton. They're announcing their breakthrough with artificial Qi."

"How do you know?"

"Because my former graduate student, Chen Wei, works in their research division. He's been feeding me information for months. Tonight, they're going to unveil a prototype—a pill that can simulate the effects of Internal Alchemy without years of cultivation."

"That's impossible," Liang Yue said again, but the words felt hollow.

"It's not impossible if you don't care about side effects." Professor Li's face darkened. "Chen Wei says their test subjects are dying. The artificial Qi burns through their organs, heating them from the inside until they cook. But the Zhang family doesn't care. They're selling it to desperate rich people who'll pay anything for power."

"Where's Chen Wei now?"

"He was supposed to meet me here an hour ago." Professor Li checked his phone. "He's not answering."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Liang Yue's hand went to the furnace, feeling its warmth pulse against her skin. The pills she'd refined in her dorm room—the Healing Pills, the Qi-condensing Pills—they'd been practice. Trial runs. But now she understood what Grandma had been preparing her for.

"I need to crash that party."

"Liang Yue, you're a pharmacy student. They have private security. They have—

"I have the furnace." She pulled it from her bag, the brass surface gleaming under the fluorescent lights. "And I have Grandma's recipes. The real ones."

She opened the leather journal Professor Li had given her, flipping to a page she'd only glanced at before. The characters were written in Grandma's sharp hand, each stroke precise and deliberate.

*The Path of the Avenging Phoenix: A formula for creating a Qi resonance bomb. Uses the user's own refined Qi as fuel, creating a wave of spiritual energy that disrupts all artificial Qi within a hundred-meter radius. Caution: user will be depleted for three days. Caution: user's dantian will be vulnerable to attack. Caution: once used, the enemy will know you are an Internal Alchemist.*

"Grandma planned for this," Liang Yue whispered. "She knew someone would have to stop them."

"She planned for a lot of things." Professor Li's voice was sad. "She planned for her death. She planned for yours, if you weren't careful."

"Then I'll be careful." Liang Yue closed the journal. "But I'm going."

The Ritz-Carlton lobby glittered with chandeliers and polished marble. Liang Yue wore a black dress she'd borrowed from her roommate—sleek, elegant, nothing like the hoodies and jeans she usually wore. Her hair was pinned up, her face made up with borrowed cosmetics. She looked like she belonged.

She didn't feel like she belonged.

The private dining hall was on the third floor, guarded by two men in black suits. They scanned her invitation—forged by Professor Li using a template Chen Wei had provided—and waved her through.

Inside, the room was a sea of silk and gold. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting rainbows across white tablecloths. The guests were the wealthy elite of Chengdu—business magnates, government officials, celebrities. And at the head of the room, standing on a raised platform, was Zhang Weimin.

He was younger than she'd expected—maybe forty, with sharp features and cold eyes. He wore a charcoal suit that probably cost more than Liang Yue's entire life savings. When he smiled, it didn't reach his eyes.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, his voice smooth as silk, "thank you for joining us tonight. We stand on the precipice of a new era. An era where the power of ancient cultivation is no longer reserved for the few, but available to all."

Polite applause rippled through the crowd.

"Through years of research and investment, the Zhang family has achieved what our ancestors only dreamed of. We have synthesized Qi. We have bottled the essence of life itself."

He gestured, and a server brought forward a small box, lined with velvet. Inside sat a single pill—deep red, almost black, glowing with an inner light that made Liang Yue's furnace pulse with alarm.

"This is the Dawn Pill," Zhang Weimin announced. "One dose. Three months of Qi cultivation. No meditation. No training. Just power."

The crowd leaned forward, hungry. Liang Yue saw it in their eyes—the desperation, the greed. They wanted what they hadn't earned. They wanted shortcuts.

"Testimonials from our volunteers have been remarkable," Zhang Weimin continued. "Increased strength. Sharper senses. A feeling of vitality that rivals youth itself."

*Lies,* Liang Yue thought. *They're dying, and he's selling their deaths as success.*

But she couldn't expose him yet. Not without evidence. Not without Chen Wei.

She slipped out of the main hall, moving through service corridors until she found the research wing. The doors were locked, but the furnace's heat unlocked them—a trick Grandma had taught her, using refined Qi to manipulate mechanical systems.

Inside, the lab was pristine. White walls, gleaming equipment, rows of computers displaying complex chemical formulas. And in the center, strapped to a hospital bed, was a man.

Chen Wei.

He was alive, but barely. His skin was flushed red, steam rising from his body. The artificial Qi was burning him from the inside, cooking his organs, turning his blood to boiling water.

"Help," he whispered, his voice a croak. "Please."

Liang Yue's hands flew to her bag. She had Healing Pills—three of them, refined with Grandma's furnace. She pressed one to Chen Wei's lips, forcing him to swallow.

The effect was immediate. The flush began to recede, the steam dissipating. Chen Wei's breathing slowed, his eyes focusing.

"They knew," he gasped. "They knew I was feeding information to Professor Li. They forced me to take a triple dose. They wanted to see how long I'd last."

"How long have you been here?"

"Four hours. They're going to announce the pills in thirty minutes. You have to stop them."

Liang Yue looked at the furnace, still warm from the refining. The Path of the Avenging Phoenix required her full Qi reserve. If she used it, she'd be helpless for days. But if she didn't use it, the Dawn Pills would be released, and hundreds of people would die.

"I need you to get to safety," she said, cutting his restraints. "Tell Professor Li what happened. Tell him I'm going through with the plan."

"But you'll be—

"I know." She helped him to his feet, supporting his weight. "Now go."

Chen Wei stumbled toward the service exit, pausing at the door. "Liang Yue. Your grandmother would be proud."

Then he was gone.

She turned back to the lab, her eyes scanning the equipment. The Dawn Pills were stored in a climate-controlled vault, secured by biometric locks. But the furnace didn't care about locks. It cared about intent.

She pressed her hand to the vault door, feeling the metal grow warm beneath her palm. The Qi flowed through her, seeking the weaknesses in the lock's mechanism. Click. Click. Click.

The vault swung open.

Inside were rows of pills—thousands of them, each one a death sentence. She could destroy them. She could burn them with the furnace's fire. But that would only delay the Zhang family. They'd make more.

No. She had to destroy the source. The formula. The research. The equipment that synthesized the artificial Qi.

She found the main computer, its screen displaying the chemical structure of the Dawn Pill. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, deleting files, corrupting data. But the system had backups. Redundancies.

The red light on the security panel began to flash.

*Emergency override initiated. Security team en route.*

She had minutes. Maybe less.

The furnace burned in her chest, demanding release. The Path of the Avenging Phoenix was designed for this—a targeted burst of Qi that would disrupt all artificial energy in a defined radius. It would destroy the pills. It would destroy the equipment. It would destroy her cover.

But it would also destroy her.

Not kill her. But drain her. Leave her helpless.

*Grandma,* she thought, *I hope you were right about me.*

She closed her eyes. She felt the furnace's heat spread through her body, gathering in her dantian, building pressure until it was almost unbearable. Then she released it.

The wave of spiritual energy exploded outward, invisible but devastating. The pills in the vault shattered. The computers sparked and died. The equipment crumpled as if crushed by an invisible hand.

And through it all, Liang Yue stood at the center, her body wracked with pain, her Qi reserves draining like blood from a wound.

She collapsed to her knees, gasping.

The door burst open. Security guards flooded in, their guns drawn.

"Don't move!"

But it wasn't the guards she was worried about.

Behind them, walking slowly, calmly, was Zhang Weimin. His cold eyes fixed on her, and he smiled.

"Miss Liang," he said, his voice soft and amused. "I was wondering when you'd show up. Your grandmother was so stubborn. I see you inherited that from her."

Liang Yue tried to stand, but her legs wouldn't cooperate. The furnace was cold, empty, drained.

"You're under arrest