93: Chapter 93 Preparations for Alchemy, Iron Pillar's Attack

The morning light had just crawled over the eaves of the Main Hall when Chen Wuwang was already standing before the stone table, his fingertips carving three deep grooves into the surface, lining up with the ones he had incised the night before.

A teacup sat in the corner, completely cold; he hadn't taken a single sip.

The blue light of his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye flickered slightly. In his field of vision, the "temporary storage point" on the northern barren slope was being filled with the wreckage of several old mechs, and the data stream of the sensor web was running steadily—

The bait had been cast, and the hook was buried. The traces of the Zhao Clan's spies had not appeared again, but the quieter it was, the more it indicated they were waiting for a larger opening.

But Chen Wuwang did not want to wait any longer.

He raised a hand and pressed down, unfolding a holographic projection. The residual data model of the Medicinal Field slowly rotated: the growth curve of the mutated spiritual plants, the Spiritual Qi conversion rate, the peak of cell division...

Strings of numbers danced before his eyes.

The robbery three days ago was a conflict on the surface, but in reality, it was a litmus test—the fact that they dared to make a move proved that this thing truly had value.

"It is not meant for showing off," he said in a low voice. "It is meant to be used."

Medicinal Pills were the core of the next phase.

The improvement of the clansmen's strength could not rely solely on mechs and Formations; the shackles of Bloodline and Spiritual Root would ultimately have to be broken by external forces.

And these mutated spiritual plants had high purity and strong vitality. If they could be refined into pills, even if they were just basic Body Tempering pills, it could elevate the overall combat power of the Seven Clans' disciples by a level.

The key was—how to refine them?

Traditional Alchemy relied on people; controlling the fire depended on experience, identifying herbs relied on intuition, and sealing the furnace depended on timing.

But what the Chen Clan wanted was not ten or eight pills; it was mass production, an assembly line. It was to turn Alchemy into an industrial process like assembling mechs: replicable, traceable, and capable of batch output.

No one had ever done it.

But he believed one person could do it.

He pressed the communication button: "Tiezhu, come to the Main Hall. I have a task for you."

Half an hour later, the sandstorm outside the Artifact Refining Workshop had not yet stopped, and Chen Tiezhu arrived.

He wore work clothes covered in metal shavings, and the joints of his left mechanical prosthetic limb were still emitting a faint heat, clearly having just come down from the testing bench.

"Clan Leader." His voice was low, carrying the steadiness unique to a craftsman.

Chen Wuwang didn't waste words and directly brought up the projection: "I want to build an automated Alchemy Workshop. From feeding Materials, extraction, and pill Formation to packaging, everything must be driven by the spiritual energy System, minimizing human intervention."

Chen Tiezhu frowned: "Alchemy is not blacksmithing."

"I know," Chen Wuwang nodded. "That's why I came to you."

He paused, staring into the other man's eyes: "I cannot trust others. Only you understand the old ways and are willing to touch new things. You can carve runes into chips and connect furnaces to control consoles; therefore, you can turn 'heat control' into parameters and 'medicinal properties' into data."

Chen Tiezhu did not speak, his gaze falling on the curves on the projection, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the joints of his prosthetic limb.

He knew how difficult this job was.

Alchemy emphasized "favorable timing, location, and conditions"; if the fire was too strong, the furnace would explode; if the fire was too weak, the medicine would be ruined; if the ratio of ingredients was off by a hair, the finished product would be poison.

Not to mention those invisible variables—Spiritual Qi tides, environmental humidity, and even the emotional fluctuations of the Alchemist—all of which would affect the success rate of the pill Formation.

Now he was being asked to stuff all of this into a single System? It was equivalent to translating the "feel" of a thousand-year Legacy into code.

But he also knew that someone had to do this job.

The Chen Clan had reached this point not by clinging to the old ways, but by breaking the status quo.

He looked up: "When do you need it?"

"No rush," Chen Wuwang shook his head. "But the sooner, the better."

Chen Tiezhu's mouth twitched; he didn't smile, but there was a fierce determination of resignation: "Fine. I will go prepare."

He turned and left, his footsteps steady, as if he were carrying an entire mountain.

Chen Wuwang didn't keep him, nor did he say another word. He knew that for people like Tiezhu, the fewer the words, the heavier the task.

Deep in the Artifact Refining Workshop, the lights in the laboratory stayed on all night.

Chen Tiezhu sat at the console with three blueprints spread out before him: one was the structural diagram of an old-style Pill Furnace, one was the module design for a mech production line, and the third was a sketch he had drawn himself—

A three-layered reaction chamber: the top layer for feeding spiritual plants, the middle layer for low-temperature extraction, and the bottom layer for pill Formation and storage, with the middle connected by spiritual energy conduits, attempting to mimic the flow rhythm of human meridians.

The tip of his pen scratched against the Jade Slip, making a rustling sound. He drew and edited, edited and tore up, then tore up and redrew.

A dozen discarded drafts were piled on the table, some with scorched edges—tossed into the brazier when his emotions flared.

The hardest part was temperature control.

Traditional Alchemy relied on pill fire, divided into nine grades, each grade having three tiers, all adjusted based on the Alchemist's perception.

He tried to transplant the temperature control module of a spiritual energy furnace, but the first round of simulation directly blew up the virtual model—the temperature curve was too rigid and lacked a "sense of breath."

He cursed, removed the casing of his prosthetic limb, plugged the data cable directly into the interface, and manually adjusted the parameters.

The curve on the screen smoothed out bit by bit, but just as it stabilized, it oscillated violently at the pill Formation node.

"It is not a problem with the machine..." he muttered. "It is that the medicinal Materials themselves are 'alive'."

He stood up, threw on his outer robe, and headed straight for the edge of the Medicinal Field.

The three mutated Red Sun Grasses were still in their original spot, a faint blue luster remaining on their roots.

He crouched down, carefully dug out a bit of root with a sampling knife, sealed it in a special jade box, and brought it back to the laboratory.

The low-temperature distillation test began.

He placed the sample into the reaction chamber, set different Spiritual Pressure gradients, and recorded the volatilization critical point.

In the first round, the plant juice boiled at 37 Spiritual Pressure, but 42% of the medicinal properties were lost; in the second round, the temperature was lowered to 29 Spiritual Pressure, and the loss dropped to 18%, but the extraction efficiency plummeted.

"Too sensitive..." He rubbed his temples. "If I move it even slightly, it changes."

He stared at the screen, suddenly remembering something, and called up the vibration frequency data of the mech production line—that was the micro-vibration used to prevent metal fatigue; it was almost imperceptible, yet it could allow the internal stress of the Materials to be evenly distributed.

"What if... I gave the medicinal Materials a little 'massage' too?"

He immediately modified the program, adding a low-frequency resonance module to the extraction process. The third test began.

On the screen, the medicinal property loss curve slowly flattened out.

His eyes lit up.

But before he could rejoice, the pill Formation stage had another problem—the medicinal liquid could not solidify and remained in a gel state.

"It is missing a catalyst." He gritted his teeth. "It needs a 'core'."

He scoured through the data and finally set his sights on the Sword Intent fragment left behind by Chen Xiaodao during his last sword testing—that thing had once briefly stabilized the Zerg Egg Core.

He hesitated for a moment, but still took a wisp and mixed it into the simulated pill Formation pool.

This time, a tiny vortex appeared in the center of the medicinal liquid.

He sat up abruptly.

It was feasible.

Not one hundred percent, but the direction was right.

He grabbed the carving knife and began to revise the third version of the design.

The lines on the Jade Slip became increasingly dense; the reaction chamber structure was disassembled and reassembled, with a dynamic feedback System, Spiritual Pressure buffer valve, and micro-vibration array added...

Every detail was fighting against uncertainty.

Outside the window, the sky gradually darkened, and the lights of the Artifact Refining Workshop became the only source of light.

Chen Wuwang arrived.

He didn't knock, but gently pushed open the partition of the laboratory.

The room was very quiet, with only the sound of the carving knife scratching against the Jade Slip and the faint humming of the prosthetic limb joints from long-term operation.

Scattered on the table were discarded drafts, empty medicine bottles, and half a piece of cold dry rations.

Chen Tiezhu had his back to the door, his shoulders tensed like iron, his right hand gripping the knife, his left hand supporting the table, his knuckles white.

He didn't turn around, but he knew who had come.

"Progress?" Chen Wuwang asked.

"Not formed yet." Chen Tiezhu's voice was hoarse. "But I have found the path."

Chen Wuwang walked closer and glanced at the data stream on the screen—the extraction rate had rebounded, and the pill Formation stability had improved; although it was still far from practical use, it was no longer a castle in the air.

He said nothing, took a low-grade Clarity Pill from his bosom, and placed it on the corner of the table.

Chen Tiezhu glanced at it but didn't move.

The two stood in silent confrontation, with only the soft sound of the machine running in the air.

A moment later, Chen Wuwang spoke: "I believe you can build it."

After saying this, he turned and left.

The sound of footsteps faded away, and the door closed gently.

Chen Tiezhu didn't look up, but the hand holding the carving knife suddenly steadied.

He blew out an oil lamp that was about to burn out, replaced it with a new one, and continued carving.

The lines on the Jade Slip extended inch by inch.

Outside, the night wind whipped sand against the window lattice.

The lights of the Artifact Refining Workshop remained on.

Chen Wuwang stood in the side hall of the Main Hall, his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye connected to the surveillance feed, watching the figure hunched over the desk, motionless.

He picked up the teacup and took a sip.

The tea was still cold.

He did not have it refilled.