Logically, with such classics, one should study and practice at the same time to achieve the best results. However, Logan Whitman had only a short two years, and later, when his stubbornness kicked in, he simply chose the dumbest method: rote memorization! He ignored the principles behind the formulas, let alone drawing inferences from one instance, and just memorized whatever was written in the book, word for word.

Logan Whitman wasn’t exceptionally smart, but compared to his peers, he was much more pure-hearted. Once he got into something, he became as single-minded as a fool, burying himself in the library from the moment he opened his eyes each day, muttering the texts even in his sleep. Every day, after taking care of Fourth Elder, Eli Whitman would come help him with his memorization.

Now, aside from eating, sleeping, and paying respects to Fourth Elder, Logan Whitman only did four things: practicing martial arts, memorizing books, entertaining the bug, and gnawing on carrots.

Whenever he played with the Buddha Lamp Bug, he would tell Eli Whitman about the outside world, about the cheesy TV dramas he’d watched, and funny stories from his past training. This bit of time was what Eli Whitman looked forward to most every day.

Fourth Elder probably never imagined such a foolish method. Whether it was back when he and his brothers were young, or when Harold Whitman was studying in the workshop, they would always spend some time first, drawing from the predecessors’ summaries of the Tuoxie alchemy methods, to find the direction most suitable for themselves. Then they would specialize in one area. According to ancient methods, everyone’s fate and elemental attributes differ, so in the five elements, there would always be a bias. Thus, in their alchemical cultivation, they would choose herbs and techniques that complemented their own fate and elements. Never had anyone heard of someone like Logan Whitman, who, upon entering, didn’t ask any questions, just picked up a book and memorized it, then moved on to the next one after finishing.

Now, Logan Whitman memorized books every day, with no real understanding, and had no questions—except when he encountered rare characters, he never bothered Fourth Elder. But the problem was, the characters Logan Whitman didn’t recognize, Fourth Elder usually didn’t recognize either.

So Mr. Whitman was often left at a loss by this kid.

About ten days after entering the Red Leaf Forest, the Buddha Lamp Bug in the incense cauldron suddenly became restless. It stopped sleeping as usual, refused to play with Logan Whitman, and spun around the cauldron nonstop. Several times it tried to crawl out, only to jump back in, as if it wanted to escape but couldn’t bear to leave the cauldron. Fortunately, after a few days, it returned to normal and settled down again, so Logan Whitman didn’t pay much attention to it.

About every ten days or half a month, Fourth Elder would forcibly drive Logan Whitman out of the forest, making him take Eli Whitman and two other men who had been raised by wild beasts since childhood to play in the mountains for a day. Logan Whitman, used to going with the flow, never resisted—he’d play happily when out, and when back, he’d bury himself in memorization until he was dizzy.

Logan Whitman’s two silly uncles would often shout for him to come play from outside the forest. Logan Whitman would drop whatever he was doing and lead his two uncles running wild all over the mountains, then roast a half-cooked protected animal for dinner at night.

Ever since he started memorizing books, every month or so, Logan Whitman would hand Mr. Whitman a notebook. There wasn’t much in it—just all the repeated content he’d found during his memorization. Logan Whitman was now mainly focusing on the medicinal properties of formulas summarized by the Wen family ancestors. These predecessors had recorded all their life’s experience in books, with a lot of overlapping content. He made simple notes of the large repeated sections he encountered, so that future readers could skip those parts.

Mr. Whitman never said much, always maintaining a “zero-degree freshness” attitude toward Logan Whitman. But gradually, as the notebooks piled up, the undisguised contempt in Fourth Elder’s gaze began to fade.

In the Red Leaf Forest, apart from Logan Whitman, Eli, and the two men raised by wild beasts, no one else showed a trace of vitality. They lived like walking corpses, not even making a sound when they walked. Logan Whitman tried to strike up conversations a few times out of boredom, but after being cold-shouldered, he gave up and stopped trying to talk to anyone else.

Six months later, from early spring to deep summer, Logan Whitman was muttering his memorization as usual, while Eli, bored out of her mind, sat beside him weaving grass rings. Suddenly, she cried out and, laughing sweetly, asked, “Logan Whitman, why are you cursing?”

Logan Whitman, dizzy from memorizing, was stunned at first. “What did I curse?” Then he snapped out of it, looked carefully at the booklet in his hand, and laughed, “It wasn’t me cursing, it was the ancestor who wrote the book.”

What Logan Whitman was holding was, he didn’t know which generation of Wen ancestor’s notes on poison techniques, probably not too ancient judging by the paper and ink—maybe a few hundred years old. He’d almost finished memorizing it. Most of the booklet was like other classics, recording the properties of substances and poison formulas he’d tested, his experiences and questions in practicing poison techniques, and many repeated insights from others. But near the end, suddenly there was a line: “Bullshit! Scholars are worse than bullshit, and those who memorize books are just like bullshit!”

Eli was immediately interested, laughing as she leaned over. “Wow, the ancestor says you’re just like bullshit! I only skimmed this booklet before, never read it carefully.”