Magic Potion

In the city of Sixiang, Chen Miemie had always been stuck with the identity of a witch descendant, but in truth, he knew very little about witches.

On one hand, he had been too busy with other matters to pay attention;

on the other hand, it seemed Sixiang City had subtly marginalized knowledge about witches, making it not so easy to access.

Now that he had moved to a different city and happened to run into a theoretical scholar, he seized the chance to catch up on his studies.

"I heard that witches are mutated from women of the six major races—do they all live that long?"

Rotten Wood crossed his arms: "It's not exactly top-secret, but knowledge in the domain of the mystical doesn't come for free."

Chen Miemie agreed readily: "No problem. Name your price, just put it on the [Chenpi] project group's tab."

Rotten Wood let out a cold laugh: "You're awfully generous, but everyone knows the [Chenpi] project group is dirt poor, and no one at the Scriptoria has ever managed to collect a debt from them."

"Fine, then I'll pay you out of pocket." Chen Miemie shrugged. "I've got time to burn."

Rotten Wood didn't commit one way or another: "Go ahead and ask. But I'm not a specialist on witches, so I might not know the deepest secrets."

When it came to asking questions, Chen Miemie was a pro.

"I heard witches are mutated from women of the six major races with special physiques—do the original races still make difference after they become witches?"

"Big difference. Some strengths of their original race carry over—like elves have long lifespans, humans have fast growth cycles, blood descendants have strong immortality, and the beast race has great physical strength."

"Only the strengths?"

"Strengths from another angle are weaknesses. Elves live long, but their power grows extremely slowly. Humans gain power quickly, but have short lives and frail bodies. Blood descendants are tough to kill, but their mystical side is one-dimensional—it mostly revolves around blood, making them easy to counter."

"So witches have their original race traits plus 'mystique,' making for a whole lot of possible combinations."

"Exactly. Once, witches were the most unpredictable race. Their members were the most diverse, their powers the most varied. Sometimes even their mystic rank couldn't clearly reflect their actual strength."

"Once?"

"This is the Eighth Era now. The new bizarre races are a hundred times more complicated than witches. Every member of those races is a different species, each with unique abilities and personalities. It's hard to imagine what kind of leader could unite them."

Chen Miemie waved a hand: "It's not that hard. The bizarre ones are reasonable folks, super easygoing."

Rotten Wood let out another cold laugh, thinking the young man was naive, a frog at the bottom of a well who had no idea what a horde of bizarre beings truly meant.

The conversation circled back to [Chenpi].

"Even an elf wouldn't outlive [Chenpi], right?"

"Of course. On this world, anything that's lived over 3,000 years is basically a super high-risk bizarre entity. Even the intelligent races, no matter how powerful they get, have a limit to their lifespan. That [Chenpi] has lived so long because of her special constitution, immense power, and unusual fortune. People like her are rare across the entire continent—she's one of only two original great witches."

"That's some secret—do you know too much?"

Rotten Wood was exasperated: "Us major scholars, who hasn't been invited to study her? In the end, who wouldn't be tempted by the secret of immortality? But over thousands of years, scholars have come and gone without cracking it. We all tried, and eventually gave up."

"Really gave up?"

"Really. For anyone capable and interested, [Chenpi]'s project group doors have never been closed. It's everyone else who stopped showing up. Some traits are simply unique—like a powerful 'mystique,' no point envying it. It's just something you're born with."

"Logically, [Chenpi] should rank high among witches, but why haven't I seen any witches around her?"

"Most witches operate solo. Unless [Chenpi] takes the initiative to rally them, it's normal not to see any. Besides, her title of great witch is honorary—it doesn't come with real power. She has no seat at the tea party now, and she can't command other witches."

"Do witches have great influence in the Scriptoria?"

"Huge. The Scriptoria is the witches' primary human city."

"Primary human city?" Chen Miemie heard a new term.

"You should know that witches only have one city—the Tea Party. The rest of them are scattered among the other 99 cities. Among all human cities, the Scriptoria is the core city for witches—it's their headquarters in human territory."

Chen Miemie left with a belly full of useless new knowledge.

He immediately doubled back and found [Chenpi] again.

"I know how to get funding," Chen Miemie said cheerfully.

"How?" [Chenpi] was still studying her own blood, staring at form data without lifting her head.

"Give me a few cases of magic potions, and I'll trade them for resources."

"A few cases? Why don't you just go rob someone?"

"Relax, I don't need the high-grade stuff. Just brew some cheap ones—lot of 'em—and we'll make a small profit with high volume."

[Chenpi] was puzzled: "Cheap? The cheapest potion takes a hundred years."

Chen Miemie froze: "Before, a witch sold me a potion for just 18 years. See, here it is."

He still hadn't drunk the potion he once bought from Amber.

[Chenpi] picked up the test tube filled with the potion, swirled it by her eyes, and studied the bubbles inside before commenting: "Looks a bit familiar. Hmm, it's a potion that temporarily keeps a person's consciousness intact—amateurishly refined, but the effect is decent. It's a high-grade potion, market price around 270 years, and hard to find. 18 years? If you sell it to me, I'll take as many as you have."

Chen Miemie quickly snatched back his "270-year" potion, shoved it into his pocket, and hid it: "Maybe a friend gave me a discount price."

"What kind of friend? Witches don't deal in favors when selling potions."

"Ha, rock-solid buddy—we even went on a blind date."

[Chenpi] laughed: "That's a high-grade potion. Even I'd have to tend to the cauldron for days to brew one. If you pull this off, you might as well be family to us witches."

"Ha, don't need to pull anything off—I'm already family. Enough. Do you have any potions or not?"

"No. I've sold everything I could. Back when I was poorest, I even sold my crucible."

"I can't believe you. Killing the goose that lays the golden eggs?"

"Keeping it would have been useless. Brewing potions requires a base level of mysticism, and after my power declined, every batch I attempted was a failure. I kept losing money—I was just cutting my losses."

Faced with such an unreliable project head, Chen Miemie turned around and left.

It was getting late. Dusk had fallen, and the eternal moon was rising above the treetops.

He returned to the shop, rested a bit, and opened for business.

Not long after, came the sound of the door opening and the rustle of paper wind chimes.

The one who entered was a coffee-haired youth, his breath heavy and rapid, as if he had just finished a long run.

Before the tea was even fully served and set down, he spoke with urgent haste the moment he took his seat.

"This is the legendary secret shop, isn’t it? Whatever the cost, please help me become stronger."