The Ancestral Legacy Begins in the Wild West

Chapter 167 Formal Experiment with the Philosopher's Stone

After this battle, Vurban was completely dejected. He was carried back to his cell and lay there for a long time, but he still couldn't get out of bed and couldn't even be considered completely out of danger.

Even the prison doctor they knew best, who had already bribed them to give Vurban alchemical drugs, wouldn't dare make that guarantee.

After all, when he examined Vurban's wounds, there was hardly a single uninjured spot on his body.

The deepest cut was on the neck; the bleeding had temporarily stopped, but a lot of blood had already been lost.

In addition to these, there were dozens of other wounds on his chest, ribs, arms, and outer thighs, each drawing blood but not fatal.

The knife wounds were in very tricky locations, all in places where the skin was thin and there was little flesh, so they couldn't be sewn up. They could only be wrapped with strips of cloth layer by layer.

In this situation, the probability of survival is still quite high, but no matter what medicine is used, the recovery will take a very long time.

Moreover, before recovery, the pain will be unbearable every day, and in the end, recovery may not be possible, and there is a high possibility of permanent muscle damage.

His men weren't in such dire straits, but they weren't much better off either.

The guards not only added a bunch of extra sentences for them on charges of interfering with prison management and illegal fighting, but when they returned and saw their boss in this state, their faces turned even paler than Vurban's.

Given this situation, the news naturally spread very quickly. The free prisoners, however, had no idea what had actually happened in the kitchen that night.

But everyone knew that Vurban had taken five men to cause trouble for the Easterner, and then they were carried back by one person.

The Easterner walked back to his cell on his own, still holding a half-finished glass of wine.

From that day on, no one dared to bother Zhang Chang'an anymore, and Zhang Chang'an was happy to have some peace and quiet. He went to the lab when he needed to, and returned to his cell to review his actions when he needed to. Occasionally, someone would bring things in from outside, and he would chat and laugh with familiar fellow inmates, as if he had returned to his previous state.

However, another day has passed, and his time is running out. The day after tomorrow is the day of his execution.

That evening, he appeared at the laboratory door on time.

Antoine led the way, and as always, once they arrived, they turned around and left without saying another word.

Zhang Chang'an pushed open the door and went inside himself.

The warden hadn't arrived yet. He stood in front of the lab table for a while, mentally reviewing what he had learned yesterday.

Just then, the sound of the door being pushed open finally came from behind.

Marquis de La Motte entered, his face grim. His robes were more wrinkled than usual, and there were dark stains on the cuffs, as if he had just rushed back from somewhere and gotten them dirty.

He walked to the lab bench, threw a stack of parchment on the table, glanced at Zhang Chang'an, and then spoke.

"I only have half the night tonight," he said, his voice lower than usual, carrying a suppressed restlessness. "I have other things to do in the latter half of the night. Let's begin."

As he spoke, he pointed to the book "The Original Text of Alchemy" on the shelf and told Zhang Chang'an to take it himself.

Zhang Chang'an stood still, without moving.

The warden then stopped what he was doing and stood opposite the experimental table, watching him. His gray-blue eyes narrowed slightly, and his pupils contracted.

"I think I've learned enough," Zhang Chang'an said.

The warden frowned, and withdrew his hand that was about to reach for the experimental equipment.

At this moment, Zhang Chang'an spoke again, saying, "You can participate in the experiment now."

This is him. He made the decision after conducting the first experiment yesterday. With only two days left until his execution, he has no time to lose. To allow for some margin of error, even if his knowledge may not be comprehensive or profound enough, he must begin the experiment.

At the very least, he needed to know what kind of experiments the warden was conducting.

The warden's expression shifted from a moment of surprise to a calm one. "You'd better not decide to gamble because your execution day is approaching," he said in a flat tone. "If you're not skilled enough, participate in my experiment, and you'll die inside before your execution day even arrives."

He didn't ask a second question. He turned and walked towards the heavy iron door of the inner room without any hesitation.

"Crack—" As the iron gate was pushed open, a gust of cold wind rushed out from the crack.

It carried a strange, indescribable odor, a mixture of medicinal smells, the smell of various volatile materials, and a peculiar burnt smell and—a bloody smell.

Zhang Chang'an did not hesitate and decisively turned around and followed him inside.

Surprisingly, the inner room was more than three times larger than the laboratory outside, which was the only way in.

The vaulted ceiling overhead was very high, almost obscuring the top. The pyrotechnic lamps were fixed high on the walls, casting a yellowish-white light that illuminated the entire room with distinct light and shadow.

The overall structure resembles an ancient planetarium, a church, or a large factory.

In the center of the ground, where various things were scattered, the most eye-catching were a large number of huge instruments.

The vast majority are made of copper, with a surface covered with fine transmutation patterns that extend from the base to the top.

The patterns reflected light slightly under the lamplight, appearing alive and flowing slowly along the metal surface.

The instruments are connected by copper pipes of varying thicknesses; some lead to the walls, some are buried in the floor, and some are suspended in mid-air by iron chains, forming a net overhead.

The shelves against the wall were filled with bottles and jars, some containing strangely colored powders, others containing unrecognizable specimens, the liquids of which were cloudy and yellowish.

The large blackboard was covered with dense formulas and data. The chalk marks were fresh, and some parts had been erased and rewritten, leaving behind varying shades of white.

Parchment was scattered on the ground, its corners rolled up, the writing on it so illegible that it was almost impossible to decipher.

Several long tables were pushed together, and on the tables were piled crucibles, condensers, distillation flasks, balances, and some instruments whose names I didn't know. Glassware contained substances that hadn't been cleaned in time, which had dried and hardened into dark lumps.

Overall, it has a style that combines a mystical atmosphere with a strangely futuristic, technological feel.

Zhang Chang'an walked around among the instruments in front of the door, observing his surroundings.

After looking around the room, his gaze swept across the blackboard and then fell on the experimental data on the table.

He didn't need to look at it much to discover that the data and formulas almost all pointed to the same thing.

The Philosopher's Stone.

The blackboard was covered with diagrams of several different crystal structures, with densely packed parameters labeled next to them.

Each image represents a different interpretation of the same thing: the Philosopher's Stone, its final form, its perfect structure, and the end of alchemy.

The data records on the table were filled with analyses of the material's composition, logical deductions of transformations, and experimental comparisons of processing methods. Every page revolved around that one thing.

As soon as the warden entered, he decisively stood in front of the largest experimental table and began to adjust the equipment.

His movements were practiced; he turned the valves, checked the pressure gauge, and adjusted the flame of the phlogiston lamp without even looking up.

"I don't need to explain further, do I? My research focuses on the Philosopher's Stone, which is the ultimate goal for all alchemists," he said, his voice echoing in the empty laboratory with an unusual fervor. "In this country, of course, there are many lower-level alchemists who pursue gold. But I don't lack gold. To me, that stuff is no different from a stone."

He turned on a valve, and a low hum of gas flowing through the copper pipe came from it.

"Creating gold through alchemy is, of course, a transformation from low value to high value. This is something that no alchemist can do nowadays—a great creation, a leap in value."

But the Philosopher's Stone is different.

He turned around and looked at Zhang Chang'an.

"It is, like gold, a magnificent creation that transforms low-value substances into high-value ones. It is also the strongest purifying agent, capable of assisting any alchemical experiment and helping any substance complete its purification and transformation."

It is both the destination and the tool to reach it. Integrating it into every aspect of alchemy allows equivalent exchange to transform into a leap in value, elevating the entire alchemical system to a higher level.

His voice echoed beneath the vaulted ceiling, like a pastor performing a service in a church, giving the space a more mystical, even theological, atmosphere than before.

Zhang Chang'an rested his hands on another lab bench, glancing down at the records on the table. His brows gradually furrowed.

He discovered that—in addition to the diagram of the Philosopher's Stone's crystal structure, there was also a diagram of human anatomy on the blackboard.

The front, side, skeletal structure, and blood vessel orientation are marked in more detail than those crystal diagrams.

The open page of the experimental record on the table clearly read "Record of the Thirty-Seventh Living Transmutation." The handwriting at the beginning was messy; he quickly scanned a few lines, turned to the next page, and there was more human data. He turned again, and still nothing.

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