Chapter 222 – Legend of the Sage Alchemist (IV)

Chapter 222

Legend of the Sage Alchemist (IV)

“As I said,” he started. “According to my father, Alchemy is strict. And it’s an enclosed group–so much so, in fact, that a good number of alchemists don’t even take on disciples and hide their knowledge like you would a cultivation method. This Sect is an exception rather than the norm, but that is largely because the standards here aren’t particularly high.

“Think of this line as the condensed knowledge of alchemy.” He drew a line across the paper–a very thin line. “When even just a Tri-Aspects Alchemist dies, the line is interrupted because some knowledge they’d discovered on their own is now lost and has to be rediscovered. The continuation barely exists, but who suffers the most because of it? This line is the sum of all existing Alchemists across the Heavens,” he drew another line. “When an alchemist dies without passing their knowledge,” he drew a cutting-like line across the long one towards the top of it. “Those below suffer. Repeat this over and over again, over thousands and thousands and thousands of years of existence, and the knowledge of alchemy is so scattered that even the most basic things have to be relearned, especially someplace like this.

“But because alchemy treats itself as a Heavenly Art, there are very few that are willing to desecrate it–once they find one way to use something, they will not search for another. It’s a mindset that becomes ensconced within the depths of the psyche and is passed on line by line to the younger generations.”

I get it.

Despite how dumb I may be at the time, I do grasp the concept of lost knowledge. It’s not rocket science. And even if this place is some backwater where Alchemy standards are truly rock bottom, I still can’t believe, in good conscience, that people wouldn’t at least try.

Or is that me applying earthly sensibilities again where they don’t belong?

If, instead of a craft, I think of Alchemy like it’s a religion, the idea of it shifts a bit. It’s no longer about experimenting and figuring things out but more so dogmatically following whatever it is that they believe in.

“It’s not that they don’t think of the alternate ways,” he said, standing up. “But it’s more that they actually have a similar mindset to you–they think, ‘None of the books I read ever say to prepare this ingredient in any other way; if it could be prepared in another way, the books would have mentioned it. I don’t want to waste a perfectly fine ingredient’, and, so, they just never do.”

“Doesn’t make me much of a genius then, no?” I chuckled.

“… no.” The silence was fairly lengthy, and his grin strange. “The only geniuses around these parts are our parents.”

“Oh, yes. No geniuses like the dead ones.”

“Indeed. Good luck with your performance,” he said. “I’ll let the others know to be prepared to run in case things don’t go our way.”

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“…” That’s not a scary thought, not at all. “Good luck to you, too.”

For the next three days, Gu Zhao and I did a lot of practicing our routine. Well, there wasn’t really a ‘routine’; he mostly summoned Elders and asked them which of the things we did made the most sense, and they’d stare at us blankly like we were morons, and he’d then share one of the alternate ways to prepare an herb, crediting me, at which point I’d see a new set of eyes stare at me in ways I am not comfortable with.