Ze Tian Ji

Edited by: Michyrr

The Sacred Hospital was utterly silent—not even the sound of breathing could be heard within the room at the very back. It was even possible to hear that someone was intentionally holding their breath. A few people lowered their heads, a few people nervously looked around, and the atmosphere was oppressive and tense as if someone was spying on this place.

In this tense atmosphere, a person was finally unable to suppress a cough. The general glanced at this person, then asked, "Ten more days?"

This question somewhat lightened the mood in the room.

An Hua walked with the cleric to the window and whispered, "Just what is going on here?"

The cleric responded, "No one can have the herbalist give out the recipe, because up to now, no one even knows who’s been making this medicine."

An Hua was so astonished at this answer that she forgot about the strange mood pervading the room. In a somewhat louder voice, she asked, "How can this be possible?"

Since this medicine existed in the world and was already in use, there was clearly someone sending it to the various army headquarters. How was it possible that the maker of the medicine had not been found out?

The cleric raised his right hand to hint that she should pay attention to her emotions, but did not give an explanation.

"Even if we don’t know the origins of this medicine, what can’t we imitate the refining style? Even if there’s no recipe, we can infer the ingredients from the composition of the pill."

Seeing the hesitant expression on the cleric’s face, An Hua thought that she knew what he was apprehensive about and persuaded, "This is for helping the dying and healing the injured, not for business. The lives and safety of the soldiers on the frontlines are far more important than those banal morals and ideals. I’m confident that whether it’s the archbishops or you, all of you understand this point."

The cleric shook his head and said, "You don’t understand. This matter is very complicated, and this medicine is also very complicated. It’s incredibly difficult to find the refinement process."

"From its name, we can guess that this pill’s primary ingredient is cinnabar, with the other ingredients complementing it. If it really is so miraculous, the importance should rest on the complementing ingredients." An Hua stared into the cleric’s eyes and then continued, "But please do not tell me that those complementing herbs are so precious and rare, because that won’t convince me."

There was no such herb in the world that the Orthodoxy or the Imperial Court could not find, but this fact could not make the cleric fall speechless. With a bitter smile, he replied, "Don’t even talk about finding those complementing ingredients. Right now, no one has even been able to distinguish what sort of complementing ingredients were used in it in the first place."

An Hua was stunned once more, thinking to herself, with all the priests and scholars the Orthodoxy and the Imperial Court have, how could they fail to identify what complementing ingredients make up the medicine and how much is used?

The cleric whispered, "There are too few pills available for research, and the person providing the pills clearly stated in advance that researching it was forbidden."

An Hua’s interest was piqued by this statement. She asked, "Just where did this pill come from?"

"As I said earlier, no one knows where the medicine came from. Everyone only knows that one year ago, a bottle of these pills appeared at Blue Pass."

The cleric’s eyes suddenly turned bright as if they were glowing, not out of greed or desire, but yearning and respect.

There had been twenty pills in the bottle that had appeared in Blue Pass. Perhaps because their injuries were too severe or because the mysterious pill refiner had arranged things ahead of time, several soldiers on the verge of death took the pill and survived.

Such incidents continued to occur. No matter how severe the injuries, as long as the patient did not die on the spot, they would recover upon taking this pill. Although the wounded were not able to completely recover every time, with the damaged Ethereal Palaces or fractured meridians of some cultivators unable to recover, they had at least been able to distance themselves far away from the shadow of death.

Everyone who personally witnessed the sight of this pill saving patients all acclaimed it as a miracle.

News of this miracle naturally spread very quickly. In a short time, this mysterious medicine became the most famous item in the ten-some army headquarters located on the snowy plains.

At some point, people suddenly came to know that this medicine was called the Cinnabar Pill, yet nobody knew where it came from or who had made it.

’To save the dying and grow bones’ was a saying that An Hua had seen before in the Daoist scriptures. She naturally knew that this was an exaggerated description that could not actually be real. However, the reactions of everyone in the Sacred Hospital and the shining eyes of the cleric both told her that this was real and had been witnessed. How could this sort of thing be possible? Even if the sacred medicines rumored to be stored in the depths of the Li Palace really did exist, they would presumably not have such a wondrous effect. Moreover, the quantity of sacred medicines was assuredly very small and thus meaningless to this sort of war...

She suddenly asked, "How many Cinnabar Pills are there in total?"

The cleric replied, "Nobody knows."

Upon hearing this answer once more, An Hua suddenly felt very tired.

But this time, it was not from the mystery of the whole affair, but because of a simple problem of mathematics.

"Every month, a bottle of Cinnabar Pills will appear, so nobody knows just how many pills that person has."

The cleric looked into her eyes and continued, "I’m more inclined to believe that the Cinnabar Pills were refined by that person and that they are continuing to be refined."

An Hua was shocked once more, her voice slightly tense as she said, "I also hope that it is so."

If this really was the case, then it meant that the supply of Cinnabar Pills sent to the frontlines would never cease, and there was even a chance that the amount might gradually increase.

In every aspect, this was the best-case scenario. Of course, this was all predicated on the idea that the Cinnabar Pill really was so wondrous.

An Hua looked at the cleric, her eyes somewhat hopeful, almost begging.

The cleric knew what she was feeling and what she wanted to hear, because he had once had a similar moment. That sort of anxiety and hope was difficult to forget.

He calmly and firmly said to her, "Yes, the Cinnabar Pill really can save lives, no matter how severe the injury suffered."

An Hua’s hands were trembling, not because she was nervous, but because she was happy and bewildered.

She was both a cleric and a doctor, and her heart was brimming with compassion and charity. What she contemplated the most was how to help the dying and heal the injured.

She was well aware of what this signified: for the first time in history, the Human race possessed a sacred medicine that could be mass-produced.

To her, this signified that many deaths and partings would vanish, many pains would disappear.

Of course, this sacred medicine held many other meanings for humanity. For instance, people like array masters or cultivators would have another chance at life.

Then what did this pill mean for this war between the humans and the demons?

An Hua did not think about that.

She was thinking, if this pill is not a gift bestowed upon the Human race by the Divine Kingdom, what else could it be?

No matter who that person is, aren’t they foreordained to stand at the pinnacle of history and receive the worship of the masses?