Dimensional Storekeeper-Chapter 161: Pills Take Minutes, Wing Blast Takes Less Than a Second!

Chapter 161: Pills Take Minutes, Wing Blast Takes Less Than a Second!

In the cultivation world, qi-recovery pills were not uncommon.

Especially among Saint Apprentice or even early Saint Realm cultivators, these pills were a necessary tool. They supported daily cultivation, healed minor injuries, and helped push bottlenecks forward.

But all of them had one shared truth: slow absorption.

Qi pills worked over time. Even the best ones took minutes to circulate through the body, gradually restoring energy in waves. Most of the time, it was even less efficient than it sounded.

For someone in the Saint Realm, a mid-grade pill might only restore ten or twenty percent of what was lost.

And the higher the realm, the weaker the effect.

Heavenly King Realm cultivators often couldn’t even be bothered with most pills unless they were high-grade or tailor-made.

Now, there were legends of fast-acting pills. Recovery within thirty seconds. Emergency-grade treasures. Something a Grand Elder might carry into a battlefield, or that a sect might auction off for sky-high prices.

But even those pills only restored part of one’s qi, not all of it.

And every one of them had side effects.

Overheating. Meridian strain. Loss of sensitivity in spiritual perception. At worst, a cultivator might collapse from internal imbalance or trigger a backlash.

Only alchemists at the Grandmaster level could even attempt to craft such things.

And the ingredients?

Not grown. Fought for.

Most were hidden deep in ancient ruins, guarded by beasts that had been sleeping for centuries. It was a miracle to find one intact.

Ji Yunzhi wasn’t a Heavenly King, not yet. But he was far beyond the average Spirit Awakening or Saint Apprentice. His dantian was large. His qi was dense. Refilling it completely should take a high-tier pill and time.

And yet... Wing Blast did it in seconds.

No instability. No shakes. No dizziness. Just clarity.

It was clean, pure, and sharp.

Within less than seconds of tipping the last of the can into his mouth, it hit him.

All of it hit him.

The fluid surged down his throat and into his stomach, and from there, a sudden coolness spread - before it exploded into warmth.

Then surged again.

Then vanished like mist leaving the air crisp.

And that was when his body lit up with certainty.

His technique, Fractal Resonance Dissection, had not been wrong.

He had thought the numbers were off, thought his senses had misfired. Thought something in his spiritual net had misread the circulating qi pattern.

But no.

It couldn’t be more right.

The Wing Blast had not just recovered his qi. It had restored all of it.

Every ounce. Not a single strand missing.

His core spun smoothly. The reserves in his storage space were packed full again, brimming to the brim with fresh qi like they had never been depleted.

And this wasn’t just a trickle of healing.

This was total restoration.

If this could do that to him, then it could certainly benefit a Saint Realm cultivator. Maybe even someone at the level of a Heavenly King.

It would not be a stretch to say it might restore them fully too.

And that was absurd.

There were no signs of backlash. None of the usual limitations. Not even spiritual residue or dryness in the throat.

And the price? Two crystals.

Two.

There was no need to compare it to qi pills. A pill capable of even half this effect would already start a bidding war between sects.

Let alone one that acted faster, cleaner, and fully.

It was laughable.

And yet it was real.

Ji Yunzhi truly could not imagine it.

What kind of hole did the storekeeper crawl out of?

Or what kind of mad genius stood behind the crafting of this drink?

This wasn’t just some high-quality spirit tonic or a mutated elixir from the outer plains.

This was alchemy.

He was sure of it.

But not in the traditional sense of fire cauldrons, herbs dried under a full moon, or binding spiritual energy into solid pills.

No.

Whoever made this had taken alchemy, compressed it, refined it, and poured it into liquid form.

That alone required immense precision.

And that was putting it lightly.

Even the most stable pills could only achieve partial absorption due to their form and density. But liquid? Liquids moved faster.

Flowed deeper. Interacted with meridians in unpredictable ways. That was why no alchemist, not even a Master, dared to base core healing formulas in pure liquid form without stabilization arrays or post-processing.

Yet here it was.

In a can.

Without spiritual drift. Without imbalance. Without artificial qi residue.

How many control techniques were needed to keep this stable?

How many layers of spirit-binding filtration and infusion?

This wasn’t just clever ingredient use. This was spiritual architecture on a terrifying level.

To create a product like this, one would need not just peak alchemy skill but mastery over qi control, medicinal rhythm, and even resonance tuning to ensure perfect compatibility with all kinds of bodies.

It was overwhelming to think about.

He could barely make Cola-Inspired Pill without risking burnout.

Whoever made this drink didn’t just brew elixir medicine.

They rewrote what alchemy could be.

Ji Yunzhi slowly cracked his knuckles.

One hand, then the other.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

This... this was what he lived for.

To chase after things that shouldn’t exist.

To dissect the impossible.

To feel the thrill of a perfect technique unfolding right before his eyes.

Maybe someday, he could create something similar.

Not as perfect. Not this level of polish. But close.

Just close enough to stand beside it.

And maybe, just maybe, surpass it.

To craft something that could one day make another alchemist feel this much awe. This much obsession.

To ignite the same fire in someone else’s soul.

If Hao knew what Ji Yunzhi was thinking right now, he might actually nod in approval.

Why?

Because Ji Yunzhi was the one who created the Cola-Inspired Pill.

The very same pill that had earned a rare praise from the system itself.

And that system wasn’t generous.

Its standard didn’t just come from one world or two.

It drew from millions, billions of realms.

Only the best of the best, plucked from endless universes, ever made it to the shelves of the Dimensional Convenience Store.

To replicate even part of that, to imitate and infuse it into a cultivator-grade pill, to create an even more improved version and succeed?

That was insane!

And yet Ji Yunzhi did it.