Two hours later, amidst the crisp sound of the cauldron lid lifting slightly, the second batch of medicinal pills unexpectedly produced twelve pieces once again.
If other alchemists were to witness this, their jaws would likely drop on the spot. Ordinary alchemists crafting the same type of pill would consider it a sign of exceptional talent if they succeeded once out of a hundred failures; how could anyone be like him, successfully forming pills every single time and yielding a full number in every cauldron?
When the fire for the third batch of pills went out, Zhang Ming breathed a long sigh of relief as he counted thirty-eight spiritual pills.
Chapter 97