After a series of relentless disappointments, Count Raymond grew increasingly disheartened by his son. Yet, rather than resigning, his resolve only strengthened—though not in the way one might expect.
Do not misunderstand; he had long lost the patience to waste further energy on a son he deemed a talentless fool. Instead, the Count directed his "efforts" toward his beautiful wife.
If this son was fated to be a failure, incapable of carrying on the family legacy, then he would simply have to bring forth another heir to fulfill that purpose. Thus, after a month of relentless dedication, his labors bore fruit: the Countess was once again with child. By the following winter, Count Raymond was rewarded with the birth of his second son.
While the entire manor celebrated this joyous occasion, Du Wei remained secluded in his room, diligently studying the books on alchemy he had managed to procure.
Thank the heavens for Clarke's parting suggestion, which had, after all, proven useful. Resigned to the notion of "what could be worse," the Count had finally allowed his "fool" of a son to pursue alchemy.
For months, the Count could scarcely be bothered to check on his disappointing firstborn. Even the Countess, who had once been affectionate toward Du Wei, visited him less frequently due to her pregnancy and, later, her recovery.
The day after his mother gave birth to a younger brother, Du Wei was brought to the Count's chambers to see the weakened Countess and the newborn child.
The Count was visibly pleased. This new son, like the proud lineage of the Rowling family, let out a strong, healthy cry; even as an infant, it was clear he would grow up sturdy and vigorous.
The Count barely spared Du Wei a second glance, dismissing him after a curt greeting. Though the Countess felt a pang of regret, her attention was swiftly pulled back to the newborn's cries.
As Du Wei quietly withdrew, his father's satisfied laughter and the infant's wails echoing behind him, he couldn't help but feel a faint trace of sorrow in his heart. Yet, he reminded himself: Don't let your mind wander. You don't belong in this world; he is not your father…and she…she is not…
His thoughts drifted to that stormy night when this beautiful woman had knelt in prayer before a statue of the goddess, imploring for him. A faint ache tugged at his heart as he shook his head, forcing these feelings aside.
With a determined focus, Du Wei redirected all his energy into his studies.
One thing was undeniable: Du Wei harbored a profound fascination with the magic of this world. Although Clarke had deemed him untalented, Du Wei, stubborn and defiant, still clung to a glimmer of hope. And, naturally, the library within the Count's estate was substantial, holding many volumes on magic.
After poring over numerous tomes, Du Wei was forced to admit Clarke had been right; he truly lacked the innate gift for magic. Even if he sat meditating for hours on end, he felt not the faintest ripple of magical energy. On one occasion, he even drifted off to sleep.
Undeterred, Du Wei then turned his attention to Clarke's suggestion: "magic alchemy."
After all, alchemy was, in its way, a branch of magic, and an alchemist, however loosely, could still be called a mage.Though Du Wei had inquired with the servants of the estate, it was only then he truly understood the perception surrounding this so-called "branch of magic." And what was it like? In his eyes, it bore a striking resemblance to a system of chemistry from another world.
In this realm, people might outwardly acknowledge alchemists as a type of magician, even the Mage's Guild had officially sanctioned this view in writing. Yet, in truth, the general sentiment remained one of disbelief: *Is this truly a form of magic?*
Du Wei had never imagined that magic could be explained in this way. Potions to induce muteness, elixirs to petrify, concoctions that could ignite into flames—fascinating, was it not?
Alchemy, as its name suggested, was the study of creating various magical brews. Yet in Du Wei's mind, the profession of an alchemist seemed closer to that of a physician—though a physician's craft served to heal, while the alchemist's talents leaned towards crafting harmful poisons.
With time, Du Wei arrived at a fitting comparison: if one likened it to the medical field of his previous world, a true magician would be akin to a specialized doctor in a hospital. Meanwhile, an alchemist would be a mere assistant, like a nurse. Although they both worked within the same domain, the nurse's status and income could never match that of an actual doctor.
What Du Wei did not realize was that this perception mirrored how the people of this world regarded alchemists: as "poison masters."
Days passed one by one, and Du Wei remained engrossed in the study of alchemy. Still, his knowledge stayed confined to theoretical reading, as many of the rare and exotic ingredients he read about were not to be found, even in the estate of the noble Rowling family.
Yet, as he delved deeper, Du Wei's fascination with alchemy only grew. To him, this was an entirely new realm to explore. For instance—how could one use the eyes of a Dorag jump frog combined with purple wormwood to concoct a potion that would render someone mute? Or, how to grind together the saliva of a Staphen dragon-lizard, clover leaves, and the liver of a Keke scaled-fish to produce a powder capable of turning a person to stone?
These ingredients were only found in the labs of true magicians. In the hierarchy of magic, alchemists were usually relegated to serving as aides and assistants to proper mages. Moreover, no one would dare hand over such perilous materials to a child, even if he was the son of a count.
Another example: the dried, crushed powder of fire-scale grass—sprinkled anywhere, it could ignite into flames in an instant.
Six years slipped by unnoticed. In this time, Du Wei's younger brother, Gabriel, grew strong and healthy, embodying the classic traits of the Rowling lineage far more than Du Wei ever could. As for the peculiar plants and creatures he studied—those "jump frogs," "dragon-lizards," "Keke scaled-fish," and "fire-scale grass"—Du Wei could barely find one in ten that he'd actually heard of before.
Unlike Du Wei, his younger brother was vigorous and energetic from a young age. At six years old, he was already training under the Alpha Swordsman, the estate's chief of guards.It was said that the captain of the guards held the count's second son in high regard, and nearly everyone in the estate saw him as the future hope of the Rowling family. The count lavished all his affection on this son, and he had even decided that in two years, when Gabriel turned eight, he would begin formally teaching him the family's secret martial technique.
The servants' adoration, the captain's praise, the father's devoted attention—even the young tutor praised the boy's talent. Rumor had it that, for the sake of the family's future, the count had already arranged a prestigious engagement for his six-year-old son with a notable family in the capital.
Meanwhile, Du Wei, the family's eldest son, was forgotten, left in the shadows. The count scarcely saw his firstborn even once a month. Only the countess came to visit her son in private, sometimes slipping into his room at night in her bare feet and nightdress to cradle her poor child, singing him lullabies to lull him to sleep. It was in these moments alone that Du Wei's heart would soften. At times, he feigned sleep to avoid the tears her visits brought him; her quiet tears and sighs would often sing him to slumber.
At last, when Du Wei was thirteen and Gabriel seven, word arrived of the count's final decision. Starting the next year, he would personally teach Gabriel the family's martial skills and heirloom techniques. Simultaneously, the count arranged a marriage alliance with the Imperial Chancellor, fortifying their political ties. Gabriel's future bride would be none other than the chancellor's granddaughter, a girl of nine.
There were whispers, though, that this engagement had been settled long ago—even before Gabriel was born. Originally, the one destined to wed the chancellor's granddaughter was Du Wei. But now, as he was deemed a hopeless fool, the responsibility of binding the two families fell instead to his gifted younger brother.
As for Du Wei...
One dark, moonless night, he departed the capital by carriage, bound for the Rowling family estate in the southern Kotter province. Publicly, it was announced that "Master Du Wei, now thirteen and nearing adulthood, would oversee the family estates." Yet, Du Wei understood all too well that he was being cast aside.
Overseeing the family estates? It was a farce. Everyone knew the family's true assets lay in the capital, the empire's political heart. As for the estates in the provinces—farmland, peasants, and taxes—such matters needed only a steward.
In truth, Du Wei had received word that he was to live out his days at the family's remote ancestral home in Kotter, far from the capital. And unless summoned by the count, he was likely never to return.
Everyone understood: the title of "Rowling family heir" had shifted from Du Wei's shoulders to rest firmly on those of his seven-year-old prodigy of a brother.