Chapter Fifteen: First Encounter with Haynes

After curing the Blazing Bird, Andrew became even more satisfied with Gong Hao, and decided to keep his promise.

“Greil, tell me what kind of reward you desire. I can grant anything you wish.”

I want you all to go to hell… Gong Hao said silently in his heart.

But reality remains reality. Andrew’s words sounded generous, but there was no lack of probing in his tone. In his eyes, Hugh Greil was too clever—so clever that Andrew worried this boy might uncover the secrets behind Purgatory Island.

Perhaps his request would reveal his true intentions.

If he dares to ask to leave, I’ll kill him on the spot, Andrew thought viciously.

What he hadn’t expected was Gong Hao’s respectful reply: “To serve the greatest alchemist of the Empire is my highest honor. As a servant, how could I possibly make demands of my master? For my master’s favor I am grateful, for his reward I am humbled.”

“Very well. So you do not wish to claim a reward?”

“My lord,” Gong Hao answered humbly, “just being able to work here is my greatest fortune. History will be our witness—I am striving for the glory of the Empire. If I have any regret, it is that, after being here for over half a year, I have yet to meet Master Hynes. Of course, this is not a request for a reward, merely a small wish I hope you might grant me.”

Andrew chuckled. “You wish to meet my mentor? An interesting request. Fine, I can grant you that. I’ll report your situation and work to the master—I’m sure he’ll be interested to meet you.”

Gong Hao was overjoyed. “Thank you for your grace, my lord.”

Andrew waved his sleeve and departed.

Three days later, Gong Hao received word from Andrew: the Grand Alchemist Patrick Hynes would see him at the top floor of the Alchemy Tower.

---

Patrick Hynes was an old man with a head full of white hair and beard. He looked just as Gong Hao had imagined: a long mage’s robe, a comically pointed hat atop his head, and a staff in hand.

When Gong Hao entered, Hynes appeared to be in the midst of some grand experiment in his laboratory.

Contrary to popular image, not all alchemists spend their days with test tubes, solvents, and crucibles. Many alchemy masters possess some magical cultivation of their own, and their fields of research vary greatly. The making of potions certainly requires crucibles and solvents, but some research demands none of these.

For instance, Hynes’s current experiment required none of those implements.

The spacious laboratory floor was covered with strange symbols, and special magical threads laid out in intricate patterns formed a massive magic array. At the center of the array rested a small ring.

It seemed Hynes was working on something with this ring, to require such an elaborate setup.

As Hynes chanted softly, the magic circle blazed with light, all of it gathering in an instant to a single point, then condensing into a small orb that finally fused into the ring.

In that moment, Gong Hao saw a minute black hole appear on the ring, swallowing all the gathered light before returning to calm.

All the crystals set around the array were instantly drained of energy, crumbling to dust.

Hynes picked up the ring and inspected it, sighing and shaking his head: “Spatial fluctuations increase with energy input; doubling the space requires tenfold the energy, and stability drops a hundredfold. Duration… three seconds. Failure.”

Almost instinctively, Gong Hao pulled out pen and paper to record this, but then remembered he was not in the archive and that Hynes’s experiment was not for his note-taking. Reluctantly, he set the pen down.

The old man glanced at Gong Hao. “I’ve heard about you, young man. You wanted to meet me? Come here.”

He looked rather stern.

“You saved my Blazing Bird, nurtured several rare magical plants, managed numerous tasks, and kept everything in perfect order. Most admirable is your continued reverence toward your master—a rare and precious quality.”

Gong Hao knelt on one knee. “It is my honor to serve Master Hynes.”

Hynes waved him up and shook the ring in his hand. “Do you know what this is?”

Gong Hao shook his head, looking utterly guileless.

“It’s a spatial ring,” Hynes replied.

“A spatial ring?” Gong Hao’s eyes filled with wonder, his face that of a boy easily surprised. He exclaimed, “I thought those were lost to history!”

“That’s right. The method to craft spatial rings has indeed been lost. All those in circulation now are relics from the Century War, each worth a fortune. But that doesn’t mean we can’t try to recreate them.”

“Have you succeeded?” The childish timbre of Gong Hao’s voice echoed in the lab.

Hynes shook his head regretfully. “No, I haven’t. Spatial magic has always been the most mysterious and powerful of all magics—both mages and alchemists are fascinated by it. To carve out an independent space inside a small ornament requires immense power and a profound understanding of spatial energy. We must grasp not only the nature of our own space, but also the kind we wish to create, and why it exists. Unfortunately, we have made no further progress. I can now create an independent space within this ring—but it requires vast energy, and once the energy is depleted, the space collapses. Sometimes I wonder if my approach is flawed; forcibly breaking through space may not be wise, but when faced with a spatial barrier, unless you tear through it, do you expect it to open at a knock?”

“I think I understand. You mean that beyond our own space there are others, but they are separate from us, naturally divided by a barrier. What you’re doing is using the inside of an object to open a passage to another space, and isolating it to create a special, independent space. Is that correct?”

“No, it’s not quite that simple. Opening a path to another dimension requires far more energy than creating a spatial item. It’s like two adjacent rooms with no door between them. To go from one to the other, you’d have to break a hole through the wall, which takes tremendous force. But a spatial item doesn’t need to do that—it only needs to make a tiny hole in the wall via some medium, creating its own independent space. But beware: space is not parallel, so you can’t simply imagine it as a wall… Spatial barriers are everywhere, so you can do this anywhere.”

“It doesn’t sound too difficult.”

“Yes, it doesn’t sound hard, provided you compare human strength to the entirety of space—in which case, humans are far smaller than ants in that room.”

Gong Hao began to understand. “So with human strength, we can only work on spatial items, but breaking through the wall itself is nearly impossible, isn’t it?”

“Exactly—unless there’s already a hole in the wall,” Hynes answered. “On the Windwhisper Continent, we call such holes dimensional gates.”

“There are dimensional gates on the Windwhisper Continent?” Gong Hao’s eyes widened.

“Yes, child.”

“Where do they lead?”

“The Abyss.”

Gong Hao fell silent.

He realized just how little he truly understood about this world, but also that if two parallel spaces are like adjacent rooms, then aside from dimensional gates, there’s at least one other way to cross the barrier known as space.

That is, the soul—his true reason for arriving here.

But this world seemed more like a Rubik’s Cube; the spaces connected to it were far more than just one or two.

“Well, let’s not talk about my failed experiments. Since you’re here, and I’ve spoken with you, if there’s nothing else, you may go. I must return to my research.”

Clearly, Hynes was obsessed with alchemy and nothing else. Even when his own servants sought an audience, he’d chat a bit about alchemy—and then… then politely ask them to leave.

This, it seemed, was him at his most courteous.

With such a person, there was no point in beating around the bush; directness worked best.

Gong Hao said at once, “Master, there is something I wish to report.”

“Speak. What is it?”

“It’s like this: you know Lord Lancelot has long been responsible for capturing magical beasts in the Purgatory Island jungle.”

“Mm.”

“Recently, Lord Lancelot brought me a flower.”

“That plant resembling a Ghost Mask Flower? I know of it. What did you discover?”

“Yes, Master. I found it was indeed a Ghost Mask Flower, but entirely non-toxic.”

“Oh?” Hynes was intrigued. “And why is that?”

“My guess is that the flower mutated. Most likely, the Ghost Mask Flower’s seed was carried by a bird immune to toxins, and as it flew over Purgatory Island, the seed was dropped and grew there. During transport, the seed was affected and mutated, so it could no longer produce toxins.”

“An interesting theory. But so what?”

Gong Hao hesitated on purpose, then muttered, “Actually, I realized it was a Ghost Mask Flower from the very first day, but I didn’t dare say so.”

“Why?”

“Because Lord Lancelot believed it was not.”

“You didn’t want to embarrass him?”

“In fact… this isn’t the first time something like this has happened,” Gong Hao continued cautiously.

Hynes’s brow furrowed.

Seeing that Hynes showed no sign of anger, Gong Hao grew bolder. “I don’t mean to criticize Lord Lancelot. After all, he’s a warrior, and it’s natural for his knowledge of magical beasts and plants to be limited. Bringing back the wrong plants isn’t a big deal. The reason I mention this is that I worry Lord Lancelot might, for the same reason, overlook some rare species… That is, if he can bring back unnecessary plants, he might also leave behind those that shouldn’t be missed, Master.”

Hynes nodded. “That’s entirely possible. But you can’t really blame Lancelot; he is, after all, a warrior. Magical beasts are easy to distinguish by their varied forms, but with plants… it’s trickier.”

“That’s why I wished to see you, Master. Why not send an apprentice to accompany Lord Lancelot into the jungle?”

Hynes immediately shook his head. “Impossible. That would be a waste of manpower, and I fear my apprentices know less than you do. Alchemists are not hunters; there’s no need to study the ecology of magical plants and beasts. We care only about their uses, and that alone is enough for a lifetime of research.”

“That’s a pity,” Gong Hao said with genuine regret. “As the continent’s last reservoir of resources, there must be many alchemical materials still undiscovered. If they’re missed…”

Hynes was moved. “I heard you cultivated the Blood Orchid and identified the mutation of that Ghost Mask Flower, and you’ve read widely in the archives. You must know quite a bit about magical plants.”

Gong Hao replied at once, “As long as I’ve seen a plant before, I can always identify it.”

“Excellent.” Hynes nodded. “In that case, from tomorrow on, you’ll accompany Lancelot on his hunts in the jungle. With you there, we’re unlikely to miss any rare magical plants.”

“I will obey your instructions, Master.”

Success! Gong Hao cheered inwardly.

From the moment he requested to see Hynes, he’d been waiting for this day.

From now on, he would be able to move freely in and out of the castle and travel wherever he wished on Purgatory Island.

Still, Gong Hao had no intention of abandoning his current duties. Hynes was a little surprised by Gong Hao’s diligence.

As he was leaving, Gong Hao asked what should be done with the mutated Ghost Mask Flower. Hynes replied indifferently, “If it’s useless, just throw it away.”

Descending the stairs, Gong Hao clenched his small fists and punched the air a few times in triumph.

Wonderful—he had solved two problems at once.

If Lancelot ever learned that the flower named after him ended up discarded, he’d likely be quite unhappy.

But so be it; after all, it was Hynes’s decision. If there’s blame, let it fall on Hynes.

---

A note regarding updates.

I have reached an agreement with the website: each month I must update at least 200,000 words, or I’ll be docked pay.

So this month I’m updating according to that quota. However, I can’t guarantee I’ll reach 200,000 words next month. As you know, after finishing Skywind, I began uploading The Alchemist. Although I had a 100,000-word buffer, I don’t think that’s enough. You may recall that with Skywind, I also had 100,000 words in reserve, but midway through, the buffer ran out and I had to write and post the same day, which affected quality. While family reasons contributed, who’s to say something else won’t happen in the future with this novel?

My intent was to build up at least 200,000 words before uploading, but my editor pressed me to start. I’ll try to write more this month, but if I can’t reach my ideal standard, I’d rather forgo next month’s bonus and only post 100,000 words, then work hard to maintain 200,000 words per month thereafter.

All this is for the sake of quality. My writing may not surpass others, but I promise to write diligently and seriously. Each chapter is reread and revised, sometimes after writing a dozen or more chapters I’ll go back and edit earlier ones.

If you’ve noticed, the early chapters of Skywind are almost error-free, but the later ones have far more typos—that’s because I was writing and posting on the same day, with no chance to reread.

Once a chapter is posted, I rarely revise it. Therefore, my novels will never undergo a major revision or a temporary hiatus for rewriting. You won’t see me taking sick days or making obvious plot contradictions—no characters dying in one chapter and coming back in the next, or a low-level warrior suddenly defeating a saint. That simply won’t happen in my books. But that requires a sufficient buffer.

So, next month is the only time I can’t guarantee my word count. Still, by 2010, I’ll do my best to update 200,000 words a month. That’s unlikely to change—barring unforeseen circumstances. Even if something happens, as long as it doesn’t go to court, it shouldn’t affect me much.

Finally, I want to reiterate something I mentioned in Skywind: I personally dislike writing subscription or collection appeals at the end of a chapter. It disrupts the reading experience. That’s why I rarely add such notes. Still, I sincerely hope you support legitimate copies and reject piracy. Without your support, authors cannot survive—they would starve.

If you support the author and enjoy their work, please show it through your actions.