Chapter 2: Tales from the Furnace

The door gave a sharp bang.

Lu Fan shoved the furnace into his robe, pulled a tattered quilt over it.

"Deaf?" the voice outside snapped. A boot kicked the door open.

Zhao Duo came in, his blue robe's hem sweeping the threshold, a lantern-carrying outer-sect disciple at his tail. The lantern flickered; every shadow in the woodshed went crooked.

"Senior Brother Zhao." Lu Fan stood with his hands at his sides.

"That basket of yours — I lost a few pieces." Zhao Duo's eyes raked the woodpile. "Blue-striped root, three pieces. Where'd you hide them?"

"That's all that's in the basket. I haven't seen any blue-striped root."

"Haven't seen?" Zhao Duo gave a short laugh and kicked the bamboo basket in the corner over. Seven or eight stalks of spirit-herb tumbled out, leaves limp.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Zhao Duo crouched, picked them up one by one, held them out to Lu Fan. "Count."

"Eight."

"How many when you got them?"

"Eight."

"I said ten." Zhao Duo stuffed the herbs into his sleeve. "You stole two."

Lu Fan said nothing.

The lantern-bearer chuckled at the door.

Zhao Duo rose and flung Lu Fan's bedding off — tattered quilt, straw, a coarse shirt, all tumbling to the floor. Then he kicked the woodpile apart; firewood rolled everywhere.

Lu Fan stood where he was, hands hanging.

"Where's the furnace?" Zhao Duo suddenly asked.

Lu Fan's eyelid twitched. "What furnace?"

"The old-timers in the alchemy hall say you pried a furnace out of the waste heap the day before yesterday." Zhao Duo closed the distance. "Hand it over. Stuff from the alchemy hall ain't yours to take."

"Whatever's in the waste heap's burnt to a crisp long ago. What would I want with it?"

Zhao Duo stared a while, then patted his robe, pinched the sleeve. Found nothing.

"If Senior Brother Zhao wants to search, search," Lu Fan said.

Zhao Duo didn't. He backed half a step, shook the spirit-herb out of his sleeve. "Eight stalks of herb. By the books, you owe me two. Three days from now the Pill Hall collects — ten qi-gathering pills on your name, not one short."

"Ten?" Lu Fan looked up. "I only have eight stalks of herb."

"That's your problem." Zhao Duo moved for the door, stopped at the frame. "Oh — if you can't turn in the pills, your menial-labor token comes off. For woodshed work, the queue of volunteers stretches to the mountain gate."

The lantern-bearer followed out; the lantern shadow shivered on the door twice, then was gone.

Only when the footsteps died did Lu Fan crouch and dig into the cold ashes of the stove.

The furnace rolled out of the ashes — fist-sized. The seam was still there.

"Did the eighth die like this?" Lu Fan asked, low.

"No." The little old man's half a head popped out of the furnace, dust shaking off. "The eighth got beaten to death. He was still counting spirit stones."

"And the ninth?"

"The ninth's you." The little old man perched on the furnace's rim. "Not dead yet."

Lu Fan didn't answer; he gathered the scattered spirit-herb, stalk by stalk. Zhao Duo had snatched five; three lay on the floor, all wilted.

"Three stalks, ten pills." He spread them in his palm. "You say this furnace can close the seam?"

"Can." The little old man raised a finger. "Let's get this straight. This furnace's called the Heaven-Mending Furnace. Whatever you feed it, what comes out's more than what went in."

"How much more?"

"Depends on the fire, the feed," the little old man said. "One stalk of spirit-herb in a common furnace gives a low-grade qi-gathering pill. This one — two."

Lu Fan's hand stopped. "Two?"

"Steady fire, three's possible." He held up three fingers, then tucked two back. "But the first feed's the one that matters. Within three days, you owe it a good feed to close the seam. Fails, the crack runs to the bottom. Furnace breaks, you and me go down together."

"What counts as good?"

"Real spiritual energy, in good shape. Don't feed me wilted weeds."

Lu Fan looked at the three limp stalks in his hand. "Does this count?"

The little old man leaned in, sniffed, wrinkled his nose. "Barely."

"Barely closes the seam?"

"Barely won't make it spit at you."

Lu Fan tucked the herbs into his robe, got up, listened at the door. Wind threaded through the pine boughs; nobody outside.

"One more thing," the little old man said suddenly. "Doubling ain't free. Every time it doubles, it remembers the taste. From now on, every three days, you feed it. Miss that—"

"It cracks."

"It cracks."

Lu Fan nodded. "Got it."

Night. The woodshed.

The stove had burned into the second watch; coals glowed a dull red. Lu Fan set the furnace on the stove, added three coals, raked with the tongs.

"Fire's too hot," the little old man said from inside.

"No strong fire, no pill."

"Who told you that?"

"Three years watching fires in the alchemy hall."

"A fire-watch makes a pill-refiner?"

"No." Lu Fan pinched up a stalk of spirit-herb. "But I know when the alchemy hall lifts the lid, when it drops the fire. Three years. I've watched every day."

The little old man said nothing.

Lu Fan dropped the herb into the furnace mouth, closed the lid.

The furnace shuddered. Not fire-shake — something pushing out from within.

"Hold it down!" the little old man shouted.

Lu Fan pinned the lid with both hands, palms stinging. A thread of red light seeped through the seam, like a needle pricking its way in from the inside.

"It's eating," the little old man said. "Don't let go."

The furnace shuddered again, steadied.

He let the fire drop off — pulled two coals, kept a low base, waited half a shichen.

"Open."

He lifted the lid.

Two pills rolled out onto the coarse cloth. Round, bright, a fine crackle on the surface.

Lu Fan held them to the lantern light.

"Mid-grade," the little old man said.

"Mid-grade?" Lu Fan looked up. "One stalk of herb gives mid-grade?"

"Mid-grade, and two of them." The little old man sat on the furnace's rim, legs swinging. "The seam closed. Look."

Lu Fan looked down. The crack had closed halfway, down to a hairline.

"Drop the last two stalks in, same time," the little old man said.

"Together?"

"If you can keep the fire steady, do it together. Saves work."

Lu Fan fed the two remaining stalks of spirit-herb in at once.

This time the shudder was lighter. He held the lid, counted the fire, pulled coals on the third count, lifted the lid.

Four pills, in a row.

Add the first two — six.

Lu Fan sat on the woodpile, counted them off twice.

"Six," he said.

"Three herbs, six pills." The old man nodded. "Doubled."

"Zhao Duo wants ten."

"Then you need two more herbs."

Lu Fan said nothing. Tucked the six pills into a rough cloth bag, tied it shut, slid it under his shirt.

The old man spoke up. "Not asking why it doubled?"

"Why?"

"Hungry." The old man said. "This furnace's been empty three hundred years. You feed something starved three centuries, it remembers you forever."

Three days later. Pill Hall.

A queue snaked through the stone hall. Outer sect disciples, one basket each, dumping pills on the tables. Some counted. Some logged.

Zhao Duo stood behind the table. Black robe. Ledger in hand.

Lu Fan set the cloth bag down.

Zhao Duo looked up. "Ten?"

"Six."

The hall went quiet.

Zhao Duo snorted. "Six? I said ten. Something wrong with your ears?"

"Three herbs, six pills." Lu Fan said.

"Three make six?" Zhao Duo shook the bag open. Six pills rolled across the table. He plucked one, held it to the window light.

The grin froze.

"Mid-grade?"

The logging disciple leaned in, froze too.

"Bring it." A voice from the front.

Steward Zhou straightened up in his chair. He ran the Pill Hall's outer-sect pill ledger. Didn't usually bother lifting his eyelids.

Zhao Duo passed it up.

Steward Zhou pinched the pill, rubbed it between his fingertips, held it to the light. Read the pattern.

"Even." He said. "Stable heat. Unbroken pattern. Mid-grade."

He looked up. "Three Return-Spirit Herbs?"

"Yes." Lu Fan said.

"What furnace?"

Every eye in the hall was on Lu Fan.

Zhao Duo cut in. "Steward Zhou, that furnace is scrap he dug out of the alchemy hall waste pile. I said we should confiscate it—"

"I asked *him*." Steward Zhou didn't look at Zhao Duo.

Lu Fan kept his hands at his sides. "Picked it from the scrap pile. Was broken. I patched it."

"Patched?" Steward Zhou worked through the pills, stopped at number five. "This one's short half a shade of heat."

Dropped it back on the table. "Five mid-grade, worth ten low-grade. Settled. Keep the short one."

"Steward Zhou—" Zhao Duo's face flushed. "He stole materials—"

"He claimed eight. You took five." Steward Zhou raised his eyes. "Zhao Duo, a true disciple, fighting over three wilted herbs, then writing ten on the ledger. You think I can't count?"

Zhao Duo shut up. Slammed the ledger down, turned and walked out, shoulder-checking Lu Fan on the way.

Lu Fan took a step back. Stayed on his feet.

Steward Zhou swept the five pills into a wooden box. Then, "What's your name?"

"Lu Fan."

"Report to the Pill Hall tomorrow. Watch the fire." Steward Zhou said. "The woodshed—hand it off."

The hall thinned out. Lu Fan pocketed the undercooked pill, headed for the door.

At the foot of the stone steps, Zhao Duo was waiting under a pine.

"Lu Fan."

Lu Fan stopped.

"That furnace," Zhao Duo said, drifting over. "I want it."

"Broken scrap furnace. If Senior Zhao wants it, I'll bring it tomorrow."

Zhao Duo stared, then smirked. "You bring it? I wouldn't dare take it." Leaned in, voice dropping. "My master said a pill furnace recognizes its master. A broken one making mid-grade pills ain't broken."

"And what's Senior Zhao's point?"

"My point—" Zhao Duo patted his shoulder. "Three days. I want ten again. You deliver, I drop the furnace thing. You don't, I reassign your woodshed. One word."

He left.

Lu Fan stood under the pine, waited for the footsteps to die, then pulled the furnace from his chest.

Fist-size now. The crack sealed to a hairline, red light bleeding through.

"He caught the scent." The old man's voice came from inside.

"Mm."

"Number nine." The old man said suddenly.

"What?"

"Eight before you. Seven died choking on 'not enough.' One stumbled on 'enough'—didn't die, but uglier than death." The old man poked his head out. "You showed six today. Tomorrow someone's asking for seven."

Lu Fan said nothing. Ran the numbers in his head. Then, "If the herbs can double, what about the pills?"

The old man blinked.

"Can pills double?"

The old man stared a while. Straightened up slow. "You sure know how to ask."

"Can or can't?"

"Can." One finger up. "Drop one in, two come out."

Lu Fan pulled the undercooked pill from his chest. Tossed it in.

The furnace made a soft sound. Like swallowing.

Two pills rolled out into his palm. Still warm.

"Two now." The old man said.

Lu Fan stared at them. "Ten in, then—"

"Twenty." The old man cut in. "But it's marking the taste. Feed it one mid-grade pill tonight, it wants two tomorrow."

"The day after?"

"Four." The old man leaned on the furnace wall, voice dropping. "Feed it less, it goes out looking on its own."

In the hairline crack on the furnace, the red glow pulsed once.