Chapter 5: The Elf’s Alchemy Workshop

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Zong Ming finally witnessed the elf’s innate talent in alchemy. After bringing back Lü, Zong Ming immediately arranged for him to take a bath. The butler stepped forward, scrutinizing the elf from head to toe. In fact, everyone, including Zong Ming himself, had to tilt their heads upward to see the elf’s face clearly, for he was extraordinarily tall.

Even standing there and looking up, the butler’s eyes bore a shrewd, condescending gleam. He opened his mouth to speak, but Zong Ming quickly interrupted. “Take him to clean up, then bring him to my laboratory,” Zong Ming said. He was genuinely worried the butler would utter something like “you lowly captive” next, a cliché line that would irritate him deeply. Though foolish, Zong Ming could not bear to watch such a tiresome script unfold on himself; it might drive him to despair.

The butler opened his mouth again, and Zong Ming sensed the butler’s inner urge to mock burning fiercely. At this moment, a malevolent world force seemed to envelop the butler, urging him on as a venomous antagonist destined for self-destruction. He was not fighting alone.

Zong Ming’s gaze turned cold, forcibly suppressing the butler’s rising impulse: “Hurry up.”

With a reluctant sigh, the butler led the protagonist away. The protagonist lowered his eyes, subtly glancing back at the man behind him, maintaining an obedient and compliant demeanor the entire time.

Lü stepped into the bath, cleansing his body. The water washed away the filth clinging to him, blood trailing down his pale skin marked with countless fine scars.

Yet, from the moment he opened his eyes until now, Lü finally found a moment of relaxation—no longer trapped in a cage, no longer forced to endure pain.

Memories of past events seemed to blur, a wholly unfamiliar development that sparked a faint curiosity within him, beneath which lay an unshakable indifference.

He touched the back of his neck; enveloped by steam, his crimson eyes slowly shed a vivid mist as if purified by the water, revealing clear emerald eyes like a pristine spring.

A subtle writhing sound emanated from the man’s nape, as if something was stirring beneath his fingertips. Lü faintly smiled. At the moment he withdrew his hand, a tendril-like substance appeared to sprout rapidly from his neck. The water flowing over his fierce face seemed to darken, thickening into a viscous, shadowy substance.

Beneath his silver hair, something struggled incessantly. At that moment, the silver-haired elf resembled a specter. But just before the crack on his nape could fully split open, a voice suddenly came from outside.

“Why is it taking so long to finish a bath?”

Zong Ming stood outside, looking toward the servants. “I told you to bring him to the alchemy lab. Did you do something to him?”

The servants protested their innocence, unaware why the elf’s bath had taken so long. Zong Ming had waited a considerable time in the lab without seeing him. Concerned the protagonist might have triggered the “malicious minor antagonist” script again without his knowledge, he came rushing over, only to find the protagonist still inside.

It was said elves were fastidious, but spending two hours bathing? Seriously?

Hearing the voice outside, Lü glanced expressionlessly toward the door. The tendrils at his nape were nearly fully emerging but were tightly bound by magic, unable to take form completely. No matter what those outside intended, as long as he could create a “messenger,” he was confident he could accomplish his goals swiftly.

Unfortunately.

The flesh at his neck gave a low, unwilling growl before retreating back inside. The silver-haired elf wiped his face clean, dressed, and stepped out. While Zong Ming was still pondering what the protagonist had been doing inside, he unexpectedly met a pair of emerald eyes.

The elf, dressed in an exquisite robe, now free of dirt, emanated a fresh scent—the clean, pure aroma of forest foliage.

A faint fragrance mingled with a chill. His long silver hair flowed behind him, his tall, slender figure outlined in the corridor, embodying the quintessential grace of an elf.

He glanced at Zong Ming; a small mole at the corner of his eye was revealed by a strand of silver hair. Though his features remained fierce, an indescribable beauty radiated from him.

“What do you want me to do?” Lü’s voice was cold and even, yet remarkably melodious. Elves were the forest’s favorites, emissaries of nature, and Lü was the most beautiful and gifted among them. At this moment, Zong Ming felt utterly certain he had made the right decision—rescuing Lü before the torment began was the best choice.

Lü’s limbs were intact; his appearance would be healed in time. When that happened, he would stop descending into darkness.

Zong Ming smiled contentedly. “Come on, elf, I want to see you brew a potion.”

“I’ve heard elves are creators of secret medicines. Teach me alchemy!” Zong Ming said.

So that was the reason.

Lü lowered his eyes. At this moment, even Zong Ming could not read his thoughts. The protagonist spoke softly, “Is this why you rescued me?”

“What if I can’t do alchemy?” The elf’s voice remained cold. “My knowledge of secret medicines is not profound.”

Zong Ming frowned suspiciously.

Their emerald eyes met, calm and clear like a still pool. Zong Ming didn’t understand why Lü said that, but the elf claimed he could not practice alchemy.

Ha.

Among the most powerful alchemists of the abyssal elves—the unrivaled masters of alchemy—he claimed ignorance.

Ha.

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Zong Ming said, “Let’s just say you’re being modest. How will you know if you don’t try?”

He turned and walked toward the laboratory. The protagonist remained standing still. Zong Ming paused, then said, “Keep up.”

Only then did the protagonist take a few strides to walk beside him. Being tall had its advantages; he walked faster than others. No matter how Zong Ming moved, the elf followed at a measured pace—an extremely vulnerable position. Lü lowered his eyes, watching the man ahead. If he reached out, he could grasp Zong Ming’s neck or crush his skull.

Could someone really be this unsuspecting?

Was it stupidity? Or overconfidence?

Lü’s fingers twitched restlessly.

When they arrived at the laboratory, Zong Ming excitedly laid out a series of tools before the protagonist, then stood beside him eagerly watching. Lü stood before the alchemy table, staring at the items as if pondering. After a while, Zong Ming couldn’t help but urge, “Hurry up.”

“My magic is sealed,” the elf said softly, yet his tone carried an unspoken rebuke: “I cannot brew potions.”

Zong Ming was momentarily stunned. His gaze swept swiftly over the protagonist, who calmly regarded him, as if waiting for Zong Ming’s next move.

“Would freeing one hand be enough?” Zong Ming asked. Seeing the elf’s expression, he pressed, “What about both hands?”

Lü found his feelings indescribable. The man before him was foolish but not foolish enough to remove the seals entirely. It was as if something had changed, yet his actions remained unchanged.

Like a different person, yet the same outcome awaited—tedious.

Despite this thought, Lü smiled faintly, as if expecting the other to do something else, to be even more foolish.

Then he heard Zong Ming hesitate for a long moment.

“There’s a seal my father left on you,” Zong Ming said. “If I remove it entirely, he’ll find out.”

Lü narrowed his eyes, coldness gathering, but the next second, Zong Ming seemed to make a difficult decision.

“But your magic is trapped; it must be uncomfortable.”

In his hand appeared a bell. With a gentle shake, before Lü could react, the bonds on both his hands were instantly released. The stagnated magic inside surged, natural elements flowing toward him, circulating within. The restraints on his legs were also touched. Only the final magical rune on his neck remained, suppressing his power.

The barriers long pressuring his body were swept away. Lü sighed involuntarily. Once he regained control of his magic, he opened his eyes to meet a pair of golden ones.

Zong Ming looked at him with concern.

“Do you feel better now?”

Lü gazed back with an unprecedented look, then softly said, “Much better.”

He seemed genuinely pleased, his silver hair gleaming brilliantly. Zong Ming laughed happily, sensing the unmasked joy. The earlier malice abruptly paused.

This guy.

Really is a fool.

Zong Ming looked up just as a shadow fell over him. The fierce-faced elf bent slightly and said, “I’ve recovered most of my magic, even the spells I command.”

His voice was gentle: “All thanks to you.”

Zong Ming blinked and nodded. “Well then, hurry and brew the potion.”

He stepped forward, nudging the elf, but saw his body tremble slightly. Had he understood what was said? Lü blinked slowly and said, “I can use magic now.”

Zong Ming: “Then why aren’t you brewing the potion?”

He studied the elf ahead, then asked after a moment’s thought, “Are you tired?”

“No way!” Zong Ming raised his eyebrows. “I worked hard to bring you back. Don’t think you can rest now!”

Lü: …

No, that’s not the point at all!

“Don’t slack off!” Zong Ming warned. “If you don’t listen, I’ll lock you back in the cage!”

The elf’s body stiffened slightly. After glancing at Zong Ming, he turned away and covered his face.

Ha ha, scared now, huh?

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Zong Ming thought the protagonist had just come out of the cage and certainly didn’t want to return. But constantly threatening him wasn’t good either. Seeing the elf slowly turn his face toward him, those deep green eyes held a trace of hurt. The man snorted and said, “If you’d been obedient, I wouldn’t have treated you that way.”

Lü looked at him. After a moment, he sighed softly, seemingly submitting to the intimidation, and reached out to grasp the alchemy tools.

Because his mind was elsewhere, Lü’s potion-making was somewhat careless. Even so, Zong Ming felt dizzy watching him. He couldn’t even see clearly how Lü handled the materials so swiftly, as if every movement carried the rhythm of nature, the breath of life.

This was a trait unique to elves, whose bodies were favored by elemental forces. When Lü stood there, everything around seemed to respond to and be commanded by him.

A nearly perfect potion bottle was placed on the table. Only then did Lü glance down at it. Such inferior quality had not been brewed by him for a long time. It seemed he urgently needed the core of the Tree of Life; otherwise, he would have to drink this substandard potion himself.

Lü thought this, then turned to see Zong Ming staring in amazement. The blue-haired youth murmured, “Incredible…”

He carefully picked up the potion. “A potion of this quality is nearly the work of a grand mage alone.”

Zong Ming looked at the protagonist and suddenly realized his own behavior resembled a bystander in a novel marveling at the hero. For an elf to casually produce such a secret medicine could stir the entire continent into madness. Back then, Zong Ming only felt exhilarated. Now, he still did.

After all, the protagonist was his own son.

Zong Ming smiled joyfully, his gaze passing over the mole at the corner of the elf’s eye. Stroking his own face, he noted he had the same mole.

Lü looked at him. He had seen countless people go mad over his potions, but Zong Ming’s expression was strange. It wasn’t joy for the potion itself, but pride in him.

The abyssal power within Lü allowed him to sense others’ emotions, yet when he perceived Zong Ming’s feelings, even Lü doubted his own judgment.

Because this ability could see through hearts, the elf fell silent.

For the first time in his life, he felt his power was malfunctioning.

“This is an imperfect potion,” the elf said. “A low-grade product. Why are you so happy?”

Zong Ming’s eyes narrowed, displeased. “How can you say that? You brewed it yourself.”

So what?

Lü opened his mouth but said nothing. Zong Ming set the bottle down and continued, “It’s well made, but can you teach me alchemy as a mentor?”

Lü studied him. He knew other races lacked the elves’ talent but was unsure if this man had aptitude. He recalled that the former prime minister’s son had some talent and even dared to provoke him. Lü scanned him and saw Zong Ming push him aside, confidently stepping to the table and picking up some materials.

Lü watched, waiting.

One second, two seconds.

Zong Ming turned and stared at him. “Speak.”

Lü: “?”

Zong Ming looked bewildered. “If you don’t teach me, how do I know what to do next?”

Lü: “…”

The elf said, “You don’t know alchemy?”

Zong Ming looked as if he’d met a fool. “If I did, would I need you to teach me?”

Zong Ming glared, half annoyed at the protagonist’s sluggishness.

Lü looked at him, then stepped forward to guide him through the process. Zong Ming’s expression shifted from excitement to silence, hesitation, and finally sweat-drenched determination. He stood timidly, watching the elf, saying, “Now, stir the levitating herb…”

Zong Ming looked at the items on the table and was silent for a long time. “What’s the levitating herb?”

At that moment, the elf’s patience vanished entirely. He looked at the man before him, thinking it would have been better to kill him earlier—no, to kill him now. He should have done it long ago.

The elf put down his tools, stopping his movements. “I can do alchemy, yes, but even I cannot teach a fool the secret scriptures.”

Zong Ming’s face flushed. He threw down his tools and glared fiercely at the elf, wanting to bite him hard. “You talk too much!”