Alchemy Principles of Type-Moon World

"Anyway, thank you very much. I still have to go to church to pray, so I won't bother you any further." Xing Qingfeng thanked him and continued walking forward. He paid attention to the surrounding environment while walking, stopping from time to time to chat with the villagers passing by, asking about interesting things in the village or inquiring about some trivial matters. His tone was relaxed and casual, as if he was really just chatting casually.

——But he actually knew very well in his heart that this was also a means of exploring the interior of the village. What was certain at the moment was that the people in the village were not xenophobic. Although this had been confirmed in the morning, there was no need for him to run around carrying two fish to confirm it again.

When he finally reached the small square in the village's center, the sun was already sinking behind the mountains, and the sky's color gradually shifted from orange-red to deep purple. The square was small, paved with rough stone slabs and dotted with a few wooden benches, giving it a rather spartan look. Several elderly people sat chatting, their voices echoing through the empty square.

Xing Qingjiu's gaze swept across the square, noticing the church's main entrance not far away. Ivy covered the grayish-white stone walls, and the stone steps in front of the door were swept clean. However, his attention was quickly drawn to another scene: an old horse-drawn carriage parked in a corner of the square, with several wooden boxes and sacks piled beside it. A thin vendor was busy packing up his stall.

Frankly, Xing Qingfeng was somewhat surprised to still see a horse-drawn carriage in 2002. Perhaps having spent so much time in the city, he hadn't realized that even now, horse-drawn and donkey-drawn carts were still commonplace in remote mountainous areas. The wheels of the carriage were caked with mud, and the axles creaked softly, like the echo of exhaustion after a long journey. The horses stood by, heads bowed, nibbling at the grass, occasionally flicking their tails to shoo away mosquitoes, appearing leisurely and quiet.

"A foreign vendor? It seems this village is more accepting of outsiders than I imagined," Xing Qingyu thought to himself, frowning slightly. But in remote mountainous areas, the arrival of a vendor is usually a relatively significant event. After all, it's the village's only window into external communication, and there's always some discussion to ensure no one forgets to trade essential goods. But he remembered he hadn't heard of any vendors coming into the village today, so he stopped and walked towards an elderly woman resting on a bench.

"Excuse me," he asked with a smile, pointing to the carriage and the vendor, "Excuse me, what is that...?"

The old woman looked up, squinted her eyes at him, and then smiled. "Oh, that's the vendor who comes to our village regularly to sell things." She paused, patted her knees with her rough hands, and continued, "He also brings us some natural gas, kerosene, and other necessities—"

"But normally, they should come two days later," the old woman thought for a moment, a hint of doubt in her tone, "It's a bit surprising that they brought the goods here without even saying hello this time."

"I see." Xing Qingwu nodded slightly, his eyes casting a thoughtful look at the vendor. He carried two fish and walked slowly towards the vendor, looking at the things being sold on the vendor's cart as he walked.

——The wooden boxes were filled with various daily necessities, from needles and thread to candles, and even some fresh fruits and vegetables. It looked like a complete range of products, and it was indeed a very ordinary vendor.

The vendor noticed Xing Qingjiu approaching, stopped what he was doing, and looked up at him. His eyes flickered, as if he was sizing him up, with a hint of unconcealed surprise on his face.

"What's wrong?" Xing Qingwu also noticed the vendor's unusual behavior and asked in a relaxed and casual tone.

"No...ah..." The vendor paused, slightly concealing the expression on his face, and said in a dry voice, "I just haven't seen you before..."

"——I'm pretty familiar with everyone in this village. Are you a tourist here, sir?"

"Ah, yes," Xing Qingqi smiled and said gently, "I just went down the mountain to the lake to fish. I got a little lost on the way back, so I wandered around for a while."

As he spoke, he showed off the two fish in his hands. The fish tails swayed gently in the air, splashing a few drops of water.

"Oh, that looks really good. Have you considered selling it?" the vendor couldn't help but praise, with a hint of tentativeness in his tone. "You can't finish it all by yourself, right? How about selling me one?"

"Haha, forget it then," Xing Qingyu shook his head, a smile on his face, his tone relaxed and casual, "I plan to share these two fish with the brothers and sisters in the church."

The vendor smiled upon hearing this, saying nothing more, and continued to sort his merchandise. His rough fingers rummaged through the wooden crate, neatly arranging several bundles of candles and bags of salt. His movements were hurried, as if he was in a hurry to finish packing up. Xing Qingjiu stood aside, his eyes scanning the carriage, lingering for a moment on the vendor's movements before retracting his gaze and turning away, heading towards the church.

At the church's entrance, Sister Ilumia stood there, dressed in a simple nun's dress. Though the fabric was a bit worn, it was clean and tidy, making her look even more gentle. Of course, that was if Xing Qingjiu ignored the ceremonial attire she was wearing. Even though it was disguised as ordinary clothing, in Xing Qingjiu's perception, it always made its presence felt.

The agent will only appear on what the church considers to be the "front line", and when she appears here, it means that the conflict here is enough for the church to take it seriously and take forceful measures.

Weber, who did not realize the existence of agents in the church, did not have a clear understanding of the situation.

Not far away was the fat, ball-like priest Fernande, pruning the plants in the flowerbed with his short limbs, extending from his torso. His movements seemed clumsy due to his obesity, but a closer look revealed a remarkable mastery. His fingers deftly gripped the scissors, precisely snipping away the unwanted branches and leaves. Beads of sweat shimmered on his forehead in the setting sun, trickling down his round face and onto the soil. His overly tight white robes seemed ready to burst whenever he bent, a humorous quality.

After watching for a while, Xing Qingfeng finally realized the problem. He had assumed that Sister Ilumia handled the church's daily affairs. Given Priest Fernand's size, it was hard to imagine him doing things like pruning plants or cleaning the church. He paused, his gaze lingering on Priest Fernand for a moment, then looked back at Sister Ilumia, his lips curled slightly.

"Oh, did Mr. Xing go fishing?" Sister Ilumia saw Xing Qingjiu carrying a fish towards the church from a distance. Her voice was clear and pleasant, with some concern, "No wonder I didn't see you this afternoon."

Whether it was an illusion or not, Xing Qingqiu felt the nun was less wary than she had been yesterday and this morning. Her eyes were less vigilant and more gentle, as if she were gradually accustomed to his presence. Xing Qingqiu took a few steps closer and lifted the fish in his hand.

"Yeah, I fished all afternoon and only caught these two fish," Xing Qingfeng said with a smile, his tone relaxed. "Although they're not big, they should be enough for a meal."

Sister Ilumia looked down at the fish, her brows slightly furrowed, as if she was thinking about something.

"Hmm... the fish is a bit big," she said softly, a hint of apology in her tone, "We might not be able to finish it... Do you mind if I send some to Mr. Belsac and Little Grey after I finish it?"

"Of course I don't mind," Xing Qing said casually, his tone relaxed and casual, as if this was just a normal thing. "In fact, that's what I was thinking. It would be great if I could catch more fish. Then I could share some with everyone in the village—"

He paused, looking down at the two fish in his hands, their scales gleaming silver in the setting sun. He sighed with pretended regret, a hint of self-mockery in his tone.

"——It's a pity there are only two fish. Sigh, my fishing skills are still not good enough."

Upon hearing this, Priest Fernande awkwardly turned from the flowerbed. His movements were slow, yet agile beyond belief for his size. His gaze fell on the two large fish Xing Qingqiu held in his hands. Their bodies were sturdy, their scales glistening, clearly fresh catches. Recalling Xing Qingqiu's words, Priest Fernande's expression twitched.

"Oh, brother," Xing Qingqiu said, holding the fish, and walked towards Priest Fernande with a brisk pace and a smile on his face. "Thank you for your fishing gear, it's really useful! If it weren't for your fishing gear, I might not have caught a single fish."

Priest Fernande wiped the sweat from his forehead and wiped the beads of sweat from his cheek with his sleeve. Then he smiled sheepishly. "Oh..." He took a breath, his voice a little low. "Can I weigh these two fish? They look really big..."

"Of course." Xing Qingwu replied readily and handed over the fish in his hand.

Priest Fernando extended his chubby hand and carefully took the fish. He lifted it in his hand, weighed it, and a look of surprise crossed his face. The fish was much heavier than he had expected; it was incredibly heavy.

"What a great fish," he exclaimed, a hint of envy in his tone, his eyes gleaming with nostalgia. "It seems Mr. Xing's fishing skills are much better than mine. I used to go fishing often when I was young, but I never caught a fish this big."

"Oh, it's just luck," Xing Qingqi said sheepishly, his lips curled up slightly, a hint of humility in his tone. He waved his hand, then turned and walked briskly towards the church. "I'll help the nun get the fish to the kitchen first, and then I'll help you later."

Priest Fernande nodded slightly, his eyes following Xing Qingjiu's back until he disappeared through the church doors. The afterglow of the setting sun cast a warm golden hue on the church's stone walls, and the air was filled with a faint aroma of grass and trees. Priest Fernande stood there, recalling the weight of the fish in his hand, his brows furrowed slightly, and he thought to himself—

He didn't remember his fishing rod being able to catch such a big fish. The rod was the one he used when he was young. Although the material was good, it had been in disrepair for a long time. The line was a little worn and the rod was not as strong as before.

Even before, his fishing rod could only withstand about fifteen pounds of force, and now that it's aged, ten pounds is probably the limit. Priest Fernande looked down at his rough hands, his palms still lingering with the sensation of weighing the fish—the weight of those two fish far exceeded the rod's capacity. His brow furrowed slightly, a look of confusion crossing his round face.

Logically speaking, if you catch a fish this big, either the line will break or the rod will break. He was very curious about how Xing Qingfeng caught it.

Thinking of this, Priest Fernande couldn't help but look at Xing Qingjiu's back again, with a hint of awe in his eyes.

"It seems Mr. Xing is a really good angler," Fernando thought, secretly admiring him. "To be able to catch such a big fish with this rod, he must be very good at fishing. But what technique did he use...?"

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the thought, but the doubt in his heart was like a thorn, stuck in his heart, and he couldn't pull it out. His fingers unconsciously stroked the scissors in his hand, but his eyes never moved away from Xing Qingjiu's back.

After a moment, he took a deep breath, trying to calm his inner turmoil, and turned back to continue pruning the plants in the flowerbed. However, the question still echoed in his mind -

——How the hell did they catch those two big fish? I've never seen anyone catch such big fish before, so how did Xing Qingfeng do it?

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The previous foreshadowing was emphasized, and some small foreshadowing was arranged. It can be regarded as a transition chapter. Next, Weber will leave the core of the incident with Gray, confused, just like in the original book.

The above is a new book by a new author. Please vote and give me feedback. Thank you!

Volume 24: Xing Qingfeng's Perfect Arithmetic Classroom: . Big things are coming

After casually praying before the prepared statue of the Virgin Mary, Xing Qingjiu walked out of the church. The setting sun stained the church's stone walls amber. As he stretched his shoulders, he caught a glimpse of Priest Fernande, still hunched over the flowerbed. His round figure almost took up a corner of it. His white vestments, soaked with sweat, clung to his back, revealing his broad shoulders and rounded waist. Every time he bent, the fabric of his vestments seemed to groan under the weight.

It is still difficult to imagine that he would personally take care of the affairs of the church. After all, his appearance is completely consistent with the stereotype of a medieval religious figure who took advantage of his position to enrich himself.

Xing Qingfeng shook his head and walked over. He squatted beside Priest Fernande, his hands casually resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the neatly pruned plants. Though Priest Fernande's movements were clumsy due to his obesity, his technique was deft, evidently one who did this kind of work often. His stubby fingers gripped the shears, moving deftly through the branches and leaves, snipping away the unwanted growth.

"These plants are really well taken care of," Xing Qingfeng said casually, with a hint of admiration in his tone, "I didn't expect Priest Fernande to have such skills."

Priest Fernande raised his head and wiped the sweat from his forehead. A few beads of sweat slid down the grooves of his double, even triple, chin, gleaming faintly in the setting sun. He took a breath, his voice low and gentle. "Ah, I learned this when I was young," he said, a hint of nostalgia in his tone. "No one in the church took care of these things before, so I figured it out on my own."

"Have you always been the one taking care of these church affairs?" Xing Qingyu asked.

"It doesn't look like it," Father Fernando replied, "I wasn't this fat before. Seven or eight years ago, before the nuns came here, I was managing the entire church by myself."

"Hmm... to be honest, it does look that way," Xing Qingqi replied honestly, his gaze still fixed on the plants. He knew nothing about gardening, and mostly just squatted beside Priest Fernand, watching him prune and tend to them. Priest Fernand didn't mind his annoyance, explaining the key points of care to Xing Qingqi as he pruned.

"Look, this wild thistle grows too fast. If you don't prune it in time, it will crowd out the flowers nearby and leave them with no room to grow," said Priest Fernando, as he snipped off an excess branch with scissors. "And this kind of this one has too many leaves, which will affect ventilation. We need to prune some of them."

Xing Qingjiu listened with rapt interest, nodding in agreement from time to time. His eyes followed Priest Fernand's movements, as if he had truly developed an interest in gardening. After a moment, Priest Fernand stopped scissoring and turned to look at Xing Qingjiu. The flesh on his round face trembled slightly with his movements, and his eyes narrowed into slits.

"Do you want to try it yourself?" Priest Fernande suddenly asked.

Xing Qingwu was stunned for a moment, then laughed.

"Okay," he agreed readily, "but this is my first time doing this kind of work."

"It's okay. They're just weeds. If you cut them, they'll grow back." Priest Fernande handed the scissors over, waving his chubby hands in the air. His tone was relaxed. "Gardening is something you'll learn if you try more."

Xing Qingqi took the scissors and gently stroked the fine lines on the wooden handle with his fingertips. He leaned over, his gaze lingering over a wild thistle, then carefully trimmed the branches at the back. The trimmed branches fell to the moist soil, splashing fine dust.

"How's the cut?" He straightened up and turned to look at Priest Fernande. The old priest was wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. He narrowed his eyes, and a smile formed on his chin. "It's a very nice cut," he said with approval. "You seem quite talented."

"Actually, I've seen something similar before," Xing Qingfeng said seriously, cutting off another branch with the scissors in his hand. "I know a guy named Tony who claims to be very good at pruning—"

"Until he cut a notch while cutting my hair and asked if I wanted a flat head." He gestured to the back of his head. "Since then, I've been cutting my own hair. It feels like cutting branches, not unlike cutting hair."

Hearing this, Priest Fernande let out a low gurgling sound, as if he couldn't help laughing. He slowly straightened up, holding his knees, the hem of his robes matted with dirt and grass. "I think," he said, panting, rubbing his fingers on the small of his back, "gardening is a lot like fishing." The setting sun stretched his shadow long, and his sweat-soaked robes stood out against the twilight. "It's both a job of patience."

"Haha," Xing Qingqiu paused with the scissors in his hand, looked up at Priest Fernande moving his waist awkwardly, "But fishing is much easier than this, at least you don't have to squat for so long." As he spoke, he cut off another branch, and this time his movements were obviously much more skillful.

"How about... you teach me how to fish next time?" Priest Fernande followed up the topic, his tone filled with anticipation, as if it had been brewing for a long time.

Xing Qingfeng paused. He looked down at the scissors in his hands, his knuckles turning slightly white. "Hmm... well, uh..." he hesitated, his eyes wandering. "If I get the chance, I'll definitely teach you." He then returned to pruning the branches, his movements noticeably faster.

He is now thinking about how to make some useful bait. I believe alchemy can do this!

————————————————————————

Priest Fernando straightened up and breathed a sigh of relief. The back of his robe, soaked with sweat, clung to his broad shoulders. He patted his muddy palms and bent down to pick up the scissors and weed basket on the ground.

Xing Qingfeng handed the scissors back to Fernande, his eyes scanning the neatly pruned plants. The wild thistle branches had been trimmed cleanly, revealing new shoots beneath.

"What?" Xing Qingfeng said with a hint of complacency, "My cutting technique is pretty accurate."

He has become accustomed to the daily life where no one responds to his jokes, and just treats it as a form of self-entertainment.

Priest Fernando took the scissors, wiped the blade carefully with an old linen cloth, and then put it into the tool bag hanging on the wall.

"These tools need to be taken good care of," Fernando muttered as he sorted his tool bag. "Last time, Sister Ilumia volunteered to trim flowers for me, but the scissors were rusted after she was done..." His fingers fumbled in the tool bag for a while, then he took out a small shovel and some bundled hemp ropes and stuffed them into the basket.

Xing Qingqiu stood aside, watching Fernand lift the weed basket to the corner. It was overflowing with weeds, a few thistle thorns still stubbornly sticking out. Fernand kicked the basket to make sure it wouldn't fall over, then dusted off his hands and turned to Xing Qingqiu, saying, "Let's go. It's time to go back and eat. Sister Ilumia should be ready."

When he reached the church door, Father Fernando stopped again, looked back at the flowerbed, and nodded with satisfaction: "We have to dig out the roots of those wild thistles tomorrow, otherwise they will grow everywhere again."

"Ah, let me do this kind of physical work," Xing Qingfeng said, "I'll help you tomorrow morning."

"No, no, no, at least let me exercise more," Priest Fernande refused. "Look at me now. I can't lose any weight..."

Xing Qingjiu didn't respond, but silently followed him into the church. The aroma of grilled fish wafted from the kitchen, filling the stone porch. Sister Ilumia was setting tin lunch boxes on the long table, her freckles glowing warmly in the firelight. Two trout sat on earthenware plates, one wrapped in sage and roasted to a golden crisp, the other bubbling in a milky-white broth with a few elderberries floating on the surface.

Sister Ilumia tapped the edge of the soup pot with a wooden spoon and was about to put the stew into the lunch box when Priest Fernande suddenly pushed aside the bench and stood up, and the hem of his robe swept the bread crumbs off the table.

"I'll go see him off," Priest Fernand suddenly said, "I just remembered I have something to ask Belsac."

Sister Ilumia paused, her hand holding the spoon, her eyebrows raised slightly: "But the road to the gravekeeper's hut..."

"I can walk three times with my eyes closed," said Priest Fernande.

Sister Ilumia didn't insist, silently packing the stew into the lunch box and adding a few slices of rye bread. Father Fernande took the lunch box and tapped the lid lightly, as if to confirm something. He glanced at Xing Qingjiu, nodded slightly, and then turned and walked towards the door.

"Do you need help?" Xing Qingjiu suddenly spoke, his eyes falling on the grinding mortar in Sister Ilumia's hand, from which a refreshing fragrance emanated.

Sister Ilumia raised her head, the corners of her mouth slightly raised: "Then thank you for your help."

As Xing Qingjiu was slowly grinding the spices in the bowl, Priest Fernande disappeared through the back door of the church. But soon, Xing Qingjiu looked in the direction where Priest Fernande had disappeared with great interest.

——————————————————————————————

It was late at night. The shadow of the church bell tower slanted across the stone wall. Moonlight streamed through the glass windows, casting dappled shadows on the floor. Xing Qingfeng leaned against the headboard, holding a stack of test papers in his hands. A red pen in his right hand scratched the paper, leaving a fine, rustling sound.

——It is obvious that our teacher Xing Qingyu is grading test papers.

From time to time, he would put down his red pen and reach for the wine glass on the table. The glass held a deep crimson liquid, its moonlight filtering through it, casting a jewel-like luster. The box of wine Cibia had given him was now down to the last bottle. Xing Qingfeng took a sip, his tongue gently resting on the roof of his mouth, savoring the bitterness and aftertaste of the wine as it spread through his mouth.

"The Atlas Institute's brew is truly remarkable. Perhaps alchemists also possess unique skills in brewing?" he muttered to himself, a smile playing on his lips. "I'll definitely ask around when I visit the Atlas Institute."

Obviously, this guy was already planning to extort a few more boxes of money from Zibia after resolving this matter.

—The box of wine that Zibia had been forced to give him yesterday was now down to its last bottle. Oh, so that was the First Motive!? The being praised so highly by the Dean of Atlas Academy… but its true form was a drunken, slovenly man!? Buddha, are you asleep?!

He put down the red pen and rubbed his temple.

The blue and red blocks of color just happened to cover up a wrongly answered linear algebra problem on the test paper. "These four guys," he shook his head at the air, tapping his fingertips on the sloppy steps of the problem-solving process, "I told them to study advanced math after class, and now they can't even figure out eigenvalues—"

"——Are we really going to have to add more classes and start from scratch next semester?"

Xing Qingqiu glanced out the window at the night. He had no intention of resting, or more accurately, he had no intention of temporarily shutting down the thread that controlled his daily life. Just before dinner, Priest Fernande's unusual reaction caught Xing Qingqiu's attention. So Xing Qingqiu used a strand of magic thread, as thin as a hair's breadth, to quietly wrap his attention around Priest Fernande's silver belt buckle, allowing him to keep an eye on him remotely.

——As a result, I noticed that when he just walked to a place where no one was paying attention, he secretly opened the food box. It was not clear what he did specifically. After all, it was just using vibration to restore the movements and sounds, but I'm afraid he didn't do anything good.

Priest Fernand can be said to represent the Holy Church, while Belsac, the gravekeeper, represents the villagers. So when Priest Fernand took the initiative to find Belsac to do this, it might mean that the balance of power between the Holy Church and the village is likely to be broken.

But strangely, nothing happened after Priest Fernand returned. So Xing Qingfeng guessed that it was just some other minor problem.

——Or, the conflict breaks out late at night.

Xing Qingwu grabbed the wine glass and took a sip of the remaining wine. The deep red liquid left spider-web-like marks on the wall of the glass. Then he continued to think in his heart.

The disruption of the balance of power inevitably means the occurrence of contradictions and conflicts. Considering the Clock Tower forces represented by Xing Qingfeng and Weber, even if Weber wanted to protect himself, I am afraid that others would not let go of their concerns about him.

——In other words, if a conflict really breaks out tonight, then there will be something interesting to watch.

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From this point on, the story's trajectory completely shifts. Originally, the Templars were passive, reacting only after the incident. Here, while the Templars are aware of the problem, neither the protagonist nor the Templars, or rather, the Templars in the original story, realize that the forces in this place aren't simply a triad. This is precisely why Gray is able to escape the cemetery and follow Waver out of the heart of the incident.

The above is a new book by a new author. Please vote and give me feedback. Thank you!

And, Happy New Year to everyone in advance!

Volume 25: Xing Qingfeng's Perfect Arithmetic Classroom: . Before Dawn

Midnight, no, to be more precise, it was almost dawn.