Actually, when he was still in the desert, Song He had felt that this method was exceedingly peculiar; even now, as he was mixing the materials, he still couldn't fully shake off that sense of absurdity.
It really was like working with clay. He didn't wear gloves or use magical power; he just used his hands to feel the texture and rhythm of the materials and then combined them together.
The strength of the mix and the quantity of materials added with each breath were under strict control—it was so precise that an ordinary person would have likely botched it long ago.
Only a cultivator who had perfectly mastered control over their own body could manage such a multitude of delicate operations.
After about the time it takes an incense stick to burn, the materials that had been in over a dozen boxes had transformed into a small pool of golden, flowing liquid.
