"H-how did you manage to do that?" The old man's voice trembled as he stared in disbelief at the pill in Wen Ran's palm, his face draining of color. He felt a deep, gnawing urge to shake the boy, to pry the secrets out of him. This pill, this level of craftsmanship—such a creation was beyond even his own reach, and he, an ancient demon, had no hope of replicating it. Tales of prodigies who crafted high-grade pills with ease had reached his ears, but he had never heard of anyone, let alone a young boy like Wen Ran, capable of forging a supreme-grade pill at his age. This was impossible. No matter how he looked at it, Wen Ran was a treasure—a priceless gem that any sect in the world would envy.
In his mind, the old man was already dancing with excitement. He knew, without a doubt, that he had stumbled upon a talent so rare, so astonishing, that it was worth protecting with his very life. This boy could not be allowed to slip through his fingers.
