The senior brothers assumed attentive postures.

“Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, fluorine, neon, sodium, magnesium, aluminum, silicon, phosphorus!” Emily Cooper gathered her qi in her dantian and, word by word, recited this remarkable mnemonic.

“What does this formula mean?” The senior brothers were baffled yet impressed. They understood every word, but when put together, it left them confused.

I didn’t know what it was either... Emily Cooper maintained a mysterious smile, saying nothing.

“A genius, a genius! The person who came up with this formula is truly an alchemical prodigy,” a white-robed senior brother exclaimed in admiration.

Genius? Where? Senior brother, stop letting your imagination run wild! Emily Cooper’s smile didn’t change.

“Junior sister Emily, who told you this formula? Did you meet a master alchemist who gave you guidance?”

Emily Cooper thought, good question! She deftly shifted the blame.

“That person is called Andrew Bennett, nephew of Peter Bennett, a seventh-rank green-robed officer from the Imperial Blade Battalion. You can go find him.”

Hearing it was a martial artist, the white-robed ones were displeased.

“What a joke! We, the dignified Directorate of Celestials, full of talent, need outsiders to help us refine counterfeit silver?”

“And a martial artist, no less.”

“If word got out, wouldn’t we become a laughingstock?”

Due to the differences in cultivation systems, several interesting hierarchies of disdain had formed.

The Daoists looked down on the Buddhists, and the Buddhists looked down on them in return.

The warlocks looked down on the shamans, the shamans looked down on the gu masters, and the gu masters looked down on the warlocks.

Then, Daoists, Buddhists, warlocks, shamans, and gu masters all looked down on martial artists together.

As for the Confucians—sorry, to be blunt, everyone present here is trash.

However, the Confucian school had already declined in recent times.

“Junior sister Emily, why don’t you guide us?”

Emily let out a “heh”: “Next time, for sure!”

She squeezed her way out of the group of white-robed senior brothers and continued up the steps.

In truth, she didn’t understand it either.

Last time at the yamen, she had successfully refined counterfeit silver in one go, but when Emily tried again in private, she failed.

She had completely replicated the previous process, but it just didn’t work. She didn’t know why.

The rooftop of the Star Observatory wasn’t a regular eaved roof, but an octagonal platform, subtly corresponding to the eight trigrams.

Thus, it was called the Eight Trigrams Terrace.

At the edge of the terrace, an elderly man in white lay over a desk, holding a wine cup in one hand and propping his head with the other, half-drunk, gazing at the capital below.

The girl in the yellow dress sensibly didn’t disturb him. Her master rarely did anything proper, preferring to sit on the terrace, drink wine, and enjoy the scenery.

He also disliked being disturbed.

He would sip his wine, squint his eyes, and say he was focusing on observing the mortal world.

“Emily, you’re here?” the old man in white said with a smile.

“Master.” The girl in the yellow dress beamed and ran over, standing at the edge of the terrace, her skirt fluttering.

“What reward did the old emperor give you?”

“A few hundred taels of silver, a few bolts of silk,” the girl in yellow replied. “Master, what exactly is counterfeit silver?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is there really something in this world that Master doesn’t know?”

“Far too many things.” The old man in white chuckled. “For example, I don’t know where those thieves from nineteen years ago went.”

“You always say those thieves from nineteen years ago were hateful, but you never tell me who they were or what they stole.”

The old man in white stood up, walked to the edge of the octagonal terrace, and sighed, “What they stole was extraordinary.”

“Then do you know who refined the counterfeit silver?” The Directorate of Celestials was the origin of the warlock system; every alchemist in the world, even if not from the Directorate, must have some connection to it.

Behind the tax silver case, there was an alchemist involved, and to have refined such a strange thing, he was certainly no ordinary person.

“Of course I know.”

.......

In the small courtyard, in the main room.

Andrew Bennett lay on the bed, staring blankly at the crisscrossing beams above, illuminated by the bright moonlight streaming in through the window.

He was worried about his future, feeling a bit anxious and lost, yet also somewhat fired up.

As a product of nine years of compulsory education, all the knowledge in my head is like cheat codes.

It’s easy to stand out in this backward monarchy and become the brightest star.

However, a society where imperial power is supreme often means human rights are not protected. Today you might be with beauties at a club, tomorrow you could be exiled to the frontier.

This is something that would trouble any modern person.

Thinking about this, Andrew Bennett fell asleep. When he woke up, it was already bright outside. He put on his dark public office uniform, fastened his belt, tied up his long hair, and hung his broadsword at his waist.

His posture was upright, masculine, and handsome.

One had to admit, ancient clothing really enhanced one’s looks and aura—except it was too much trouble when going to the toilet.

He climbed over the wall to his second uncle’s house for breakfast. The uncle and nephew left for work together. Peter Bennett had been reinstated to his original post; everything was as before.

Changle County Yamen was a county attached to the capital, and the yamen was inside the city, about six or seven li from the Xu residence. Andrew Bennett had neither a horse nor a carriage, so he had to take the “number 11 bus” (walk on his own two legs). It took two quarters of an hour to reach the county yamen.

The Changle County Yamen faced south, with two stone lions as tall as a person at the entrance. On either side of the large red-brown lacquered doors stood big drums with peeling paint.

The structure of the county yamen was worth mentioning. The highest official was, of course, the county magistrate, called the chief officer. He had two deputies: one was the county deputy, and the other was the registrar.