Chapter 27: The New Job (Part II)

“Lord Andrew.” When Gong Hao appeared at Andrew’s laboratory, he carried himself with utmost composure.

“How are you finding your new work?” Andrew asked.

“Very well. Knowledge is the alchemist’s sharpest weapon. Tell me, how much have you learned?”

Gong Hao replied, “In three days, I’ve learned to make almost twenty kinds of potions.”

“That’s not very many.” Andrew frowned.

“I mean those I can prepare independently,” Gong Hao clarified.

“Oh, that’s not bad at all. I knew you’d never disappoint us. At this rate, you’ll be able to make all the potions on your own soon, won’t you?”

“I’m afraid I still have a long way to go,” Gong Hao replied. “If I only had to learn how to make one, it would be fine. But as the types of potions increase, the ingredients begin to blur together in my mind. If it were just the ingredients, I could always check the records beforehand. But when it comes to mastering temperature and dosage, things become much more difficult. The records can never be that detailed; we have to understand and grasp these aspects ourselves. Especially with some special potions, instability is common. Dealing with such situations takes truly extensive experience. I think I’m still far from fully mastering the making of these potions.”

“Hm, you’re very clear-headed, Glaire. You’ve always been level-headed, and that’s what I admire most about you. Well then, since you came to find me, perhaps there’s something I can help you with?”

“Yes, my lord, I’d like to request some glass and some allseason grass.”

“Oh? What do you need those for?”

“I just want to make some tools that suit my hand better.”

“If that’s the case, you should go to Pierre.”

“My lord, I am still your servant, am I not?” Gong Hao smiled at Andrew. If he went to Pierre, Pierre would certainly interrogate him thoroughly about his reasons.

For now, Gong Hao did not intend to let Pierre know about his tools.

So it was necessary to make use of Andrew’s favor. Only with Andrew’s help could Gong Hao complete the work he wanted, without anyone noticing.

As expected, Andrew agreed. Some glass was of little consequence, and allseason grass was not a precious material.

On Windwhisper Continent, alchemy had never been put to use for civilian purposes.

This was a feature decided by the nature of a hierarchical society.

In the world of magic, magical talent determined the superiority of bloodlines, which fostered and reinforced a stratified system. Because of this aristocratic system, technology was developed primarily to serve the upper classes, not the common folk.

This is the essence of feudalism—serving the nobility.

Yet, for this very reason, high-level alchemy often lacked support from the grassroots.

This led to a great flaw in society’s development: people failed to see that foundational technology is the cornerstone of advanced science. Many high-level technologies rely on sufficiently developed basic techniques. If advanced technology is the leader, then basic technology is the driving force behind its progress. Without this drive, even the leader would struggle to move society’s technology forward. It is exceedingly difficult for a single pioneer to pull the entire weight of technological progress.

Perhaps the pen you use in an experiment, or the paper you write on, comes from civilian technology. But because such grassroots technology is underdeveloped, the progress of high technology is constrained.

Thus, alchemy on Windwhisper Continent finds itself in this kind of deformed state.

You can imagine: alchemy can create advanced things like puppet warriors, yet cannot produce something as simple as a thermometer.

It’s not that they can’t, but rather that they never thought to try. Alchemists are not inventors; they don’t attempt to master everything. Since no one knows how to make a thermometer, they substitute their own knowledge and experience. And even if they thought of it, they might not make one, for once it exists, alchemists might become less valuable.

It’s much like how Chaplin opposed talking films—once films acquired sound, he could no longer express his unique artistic vision through body language alone. The advent of new technology can put skilled old workers out of a job while letting the young rise. The logic is the same.

Alchemists, even as beneficiaries, are the ones most opposed to such things. This makes them all the less likely to devise basic tools.

But Gong Hao did not concern himself with this—so long as he could do his work well, it didn’t matter if others did not invent something; he would do it himself and use it for his own benefit.

Gong Hao had little trouble making a thermometer.

A sealed glass tube and a few drops of allseason grass juice sufficed.

This thermometer lacked precise gradations, since Gong Hao could not calibrate it to exact temperatures. But that did not matter. When the potion reached the desired temperature during processing, Gong Hao would make a mark on the thermometer, perhaps writing the name of the corresponding herb. This meant that when the liquid reached that marker, it was time to add the ingredient.

Thus, a fixed standard was established.

Different potions could use different thermometers, and many potions could share one or more devices. In this way, with a dozen or so thermometers, Gong Hao could master all the temperature variations for over a hundred potions.

Gong Hao went a step further and fashioned the thermometer into a stirring rod, making it even more convenient and eliminating any risk of Ivo noticing anything amiss.

With this tool, he no longer had to worry about errors in temperature measurement—though he still had to conduct repeated experiments to ensure that his markings represented the optimal temperature. This would cost him many failures.

Fortunately, failure was nothing unusual for a new apprentice, so Gong Hao’s mistakes did not attract suspicion.

After finishing the thermometer, Gong Hao made a graduated beaker. Again, he did not know how to calibrate the scale precisely, but that posed no problem; he simply assigned markings according to each potion’s usage.

The beaker was for measuring out materials. Previously, apprentices would add ingredients by feel, but now Gong Hao could use the beaker for precision, greatly increasing accuracy.

He carved special symbols only he understood onto the outside of the beaker and thermometer to indicate volumes. Naturally, the best symbols were Chinese characters.

With these tools, what would have taken Gong Hao a month to grasp and a year to master, he accomplished in half a month.

This was due both to his diligence, his invention of the thermometer and beaker, and to his time in the archives.

While in the library, he had read all available potion-making records, and was already completely familiar with proportions, quantities, and order of mixing—he simply lacked hands-on experience. With a solid theoretical foundation, and practical work to match, for someone who had served as an assistant in a chemistry laboratory, all this was child’s play.

Thus, while other apprentices took a month to become gradually proficient, Gong Hao picked it up so fast it seemed he’d been learning for years. Even Hines was astonished.

What was even more surprising was not just Gong Hao’s speed, but his success rate.

Apart from the failures at the outset while establishing standards for temperature and dosage, Gong Hao’s error rate plummeted.

A skilled apprentice might succeed one time in three, and an alchemist at best two in three.

But Gong Hao’s success rate reached one in two. In potion making, after just one month, he was close to master level.

Even Pierre found this extraordinary, unable to fathom how he managed it.

Of course, Pierre didn’t know that Gong Hao had deliberately overreported his failures; in reality, his error rate was even lower. If he had reported the truth, he wouldn’t have been able to stash extra potions for himself.

After all, the potions made on Purgatory Isle were rare across the whole continent, with no formulas leaking out. The potions available outside were all cheap and crudely made. Drinking a healing potion might not restore much health, and could easily leave you with a headache or fever for days.

Potion making requires more than a formula; it needs rare ingredients. Only Purgatory Isle has the means. The 113 potions Ivo had mentioned were all standard high-class potions. There might be thousands of lesser potions elsewhere on the continent, but none to compare with those from Purgatory Isle.

Given such an opportunity, Gong Hao was determined to make the most of it.

Higher success meant greater efficiency. Gong Hao now had free use of the large crucibles and could brew ten potions at a time, dramatically speeding up his work. With fewer failures, he did not waste effort, saving even more time.

In just twenty days, Gong Hao, still a newcomer, completed an apprentice’s entire standard workload, using far fewer materials, all while continuing as scribe and hunting magical beasts. His progress astonished everyone.

Even Hines, who knew Gong Hao was a prodigy, hadn’t expected him to master things so quickly.

The greatest credit, of course, went to his thermometer and beaker. With these, Gong Hao had no worries about potion making. If time allowed, he planned to build a small workbench and make some of the more sophisticated tools he’d used in a chemistry lab.

But two months would hardly be enough for that.

If he wanted Hines to keep him, he would have to make an even greater contribution.

Potion making alone would not suffice.

No matter how skilled, it was just a matter of craftsmanship. If Gong Hao wanted Hines to overlook the secrets he’d uncovered and keep him long-term in the Alchemy Tower, he needed Hines to recognize his true worth.

Irreplaceable value!

Gong Hao remembered an incident from his previous life:

A worker once complained that despite working the hardest, he was paid the least, while technicians did little but earned several times more. Gong Hao had said to him: a person’s value is not determined by how much labor they put in, but by how irreplaceable they are. If you leave and there are dozens ready to replace you, you are the most expendable. No matter how much you toil, your reward will be limited.

But if you know that when you leave, there are things only you can do, things others cannot, then you have the power to name your price.

That’s it—irreplaceability. He had to make Hines see that he was irreplaceable. Only then would Hines risk keeping him.

Mere proficiency in potion making would never achieve that. For someone like Hines, who squandered more materials in a day than Gong Hao could possibly save, it meant nothing. For an alchemy fanatic like him, only the unknown, the mysterious, the unaccomplished, had value.

Whoever could do that would be irreplaceable.

Improving potion formulas! That was the only thing Gong Hao could think of and might accomplish.

“Lord Pierre.”

Gong Hao went to Pierre’s laboratory and saluted him respectfully.

“What is it?”

“My lord, the list of potion requests from the Empire has been completed. I was wondering if you have any further orders?”

Pierre set down his experiment.

He was quite interested in Gong Hao.

He couldn’t say why, but this boy was elusive.

He was too clever—clever enough to master every task swiftly, to exceed expectations, to make it hard even to catch him in error. You could entrust him with anything and not worry.

Rumor had it that after Ivo taught Hugh Glaire once, there was no need for further lessons. Soon after, Ivo focused solely on his own work and left Hugh to his own devices.

Now, less than a month later, Hugh had finished his work even before Ivo, and was already seeking new assignments.

Not only clever and eager to learn, but also diligent.

He was even better than Neil.

By rights, Pierre should have been pleased by such a person, yet he couldn’t shake a sense of unease.

He couldn’t explain it.

After a moment’s thought, Pierre said, “So, is there anything you’d like to do?”

“My lord, if you have no further tasks for me, I would like to try to improve the existing potion formulas using leftover materials,” Gong Hao replied.

“You want to alter current potion recipes?”

Gong Hao responded immediately, “Formulas are created by people, and successors always innovate on what came before. If the ancestors could do it, why can’t we do better? Also, I think I might be able to help the other apprentices, but as you know, I cannot go about as I please.”

“Don’t you think you’re a bit too ambitious?”

Gong Hao immediately put on a look of humble concern. “My lord, I only wish to do more for the master and for you.”

“In that case, just keep doing your own work. I have other matters to attend to. You may go.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Gong Hao returned, crestfallen.

For the first time, his request for additional work had been refused by Pierre.

He’s wary of me, that damned bastard!

Back in his own laboratory, Gong Hao frowned. Working under someone always on guard was far more difficult than under Andrew’s supervision.

Should he go to Andrew?

No, that would only make Pierre more resentful. It was not worth it.

But if he wanted access to the deeper secrets of alchemy, he had to make Pierre recognize his value.

Perhaps Hines could help him.

Gong Hao’s eyes lit up.

Yes—within the Alchemy Tower, Hines was the true authority. Just as he had relied on Andrew’s help to become head servant and gain access to the archives, he could approach Hines now.

But not yet. Not just yet.