I control the AI empire thanks to the geniuses in my group.

Chapter 5 Newton

The entire office fell silent.

Su Zhou glanced at Newton.

Newton's eyes began to glaze over.

"Great scientist, the esteemed Director of the Royal Mint, searched every corner of London for me, only to find I was already right before your eyes. How laughable!"

After saying that, Charona stood there, looking calmly at Newton, a barely suppressed smile on his lips.

He was clearly admiring Newton's expression.

Su Zhou reacted at this moment and shouted, "Sir, grab him quickly!"

Su Zhou shook Newton, but Newton didn't react. He then turned to look at Charona.

What about people?

William Charona, who was just standing there a moment ago, seemed to have vanished into thin air.

The office door was half open, and only the flickering candlelight cast shadows outside.

They actually ran away!

Su Zhou was stunned.

He rushed to the door and peeked out; the corridor was empty on both sides.

It was as if no one had ever been here.

Su Zhou inhaled.

No wonder Newton couldn't do anything about him.

If Charona were born in modern times, let alone counterfeiting coins, his skills and positioning alone would make him a top-tier point guard in professional basketball.

"Sir, he's run away! We must chase after him!"

Su Zhou turned around, and Newton was still standing in the same spot.

It didn't move.

Even the posture didn't change.

He remained in the same position, his right hand half-clenched into a fist, resting on the edge of the table, his gaze fixed ahead, but his eyes were completely unfocused.

"Mr. Newton?" Su Zhou called out tentatively.

No response.

Su Zhou stepped forward and waved his hand in front of Newton's eyes.

Newton finally blinked.

He slowly turned his head to look at Su Zhou, his lips moving slightly: "...We can't arrest him."

Su Zhou was taken aback: "What?"

"Every word he said today was carefully planned. He didn't admit to any specific counterfeiting activities in front of me; he just said he was Mr. Chandler."

Newton closed his eyes.

"Mr. Chandler is just a rumor, a code name in the London underworld. I don't have any key evidence to prove that this code name is directly related to counterfeiting."

"Moreover, he published some pamphlets on coinage, and now some people consider him a coinage expert."

"Including people in parliament."

Aren't counterfeiters just counterfeiting experts?

After listening, Su Zhou realized that Charona was even smarter than he had imagined.

However, to their advantage, he knew what Charona was going to do next, and he had to tell Newton immediately.

Su Zhou looked at Newton and suddenly became worried.

Newton is acting very strangely now.

He leaned back in his chair, his face ashen, his eyes sunken, and his lips trembling slightly.

It's like anger.

It's like the stress reaction of someone who has been suffering from chronic insomnia and is in poor mental condition after a sudden blow.

If the string is stretched too tight, it will break with the slightest external force.

In the eyes of later generations, this man was a god.

But now, he is not a god.

He was a lonely and weary middle-aged man.

Su Zhou stepped forward and said, "Mr. Newton, would you like to see a doctor?"

Newton shook his head and said, "I need to rest."

"Then I'll take you home."

Newton remained silent for a long time, seemingly pondering whether or not he should invite Su Zhou to his home.

Then, one of the proudest geniuses in human history nodded almost imperceptibly.

Newton's home was on Jermyn Street.

After leaving the mint, the carriage bumped along the cobblestone streets of London for nearly half an hour.

This was Su Zhou's first time riding in a 17th-century horse-drawn carriage.

Experience summary: I can only give it a one-star review.

Without shock absorbers or spring suspension, and with potholes everywhere, he felt like his body was about to fall apart with every bump.

Moreover, the carriage was filled with a strong smell of leather and horse manure mixed together.

He now misses taxis terribly, and even buses.

Even the crowded buses during rush hour, with passengers squeezed up to their armpits and faces, are at least not as bumpy.

Newton remained silent throughout the journey, simply leaning against the carriage wall with his eyes closed, his brow never unfurrowed.

Just as Su Zhou was about to be shaken to pieces, the carriage finally stopped in front of a three-story row of brick houses.

He helped Newton out of the car and looked up at the house.

I originally thought that Newton, as the director of the Royal Mint, must have a high salary and a rather grand place to live.

But the house in front of us had darkened brick walls, small windows, and a narrow porch, making it inconspicuous compared to the surrounding houses.

Newton took out his key from his pocket and opened the door.

The door lock made a dull click.

Su Zhou followed them inside.

The entryway was dark, with light squeezing in through the narrow window, just enough to illuminate a small patch of floor.

There was a musty smell in the air, a mixture of old wood, ink, and dust.

Newton conducted numerous alchemical experiments in this house.

The living room was small, and the furniture was so simple it was almost shabby: an oak table, two chairs, a bookshelf, and a fireplace.

The bookshelves were piled high with books and manuscripts, as were the tables and even the chairs; it was as if the entire house was covered in paper.

There are no decorations.

There is no painting.

There are no flowers.

There was nothing that could be associated with the words "pleasures of life".

It's obvious that no woman has ever stayed here.

"Please sit down."

Newton casually pointed to the chair, then walked to the fireplace and lit the embers.

Su Zhou looked around.

"Mr. Newton, do you...not have any servants at home?"

Newton didn't even turn his head: "No need."

Su Zhou understood the reason.

A person who is prone to outbursts of anger, who has already pushed away friends, how could they tolerate a stranger loitering around their home every day?

The problem is that without servants, there's no one to cook.

Su Zhou's stomach growled at this inopportune moment.

goo...

Newton turned his head and looked at him.

Su Zhou awkwardly touched his nose: "Um... Mr. Newton, do you have anything to eat at home?"

Newton paused for a moment, seemingly deep in thought about the question.

Then he pointed to the kitchen: "There should be bread over there."

Su Zhou walked into the kitchen.

On the stove, there was a copper pot containing oats that had dried into a crust, sometime in the past.

There were several wooden plates in the cupboard, and half a loaf of bread in the corner.

Su Zhou picked up the bread and weighed it in his hand; it was so hard it could be used as a weapon.

He tried to break it.

Not moving.

They exerted even more force.

It still won't budge!

He suspected he could use the bread for self-defense.

Unable to eat, Su Zhou resignedly put down the bread.

He re-examined the ingredients in the kitchen and found some flour, a few eggs, a small piece of butter, and a jar of salt deep in the cupboard.

There were also a few carrots and a small piece of meat that looked like it had been cured.

seasoning?

nonexistent.

Forget about soy sauce and vinegar, there wasn't even any pepper.

British food in 2009 was bad enough, but British food during this period was so bad it made you want to just die.

No chili peppers, no Sichuan peppercorns, no star anise, no cinnamon, no garlic, no ginger, no scallions...

Wait a moment.

He found a few shriveled onions in the corner.

There was also a small bundle of hay of unknown origin.

He leaned closer and took a sniff.

It's thyme.

There are onions, thyme, flour, eggs, and cured meat.

He is Chinese.

When it comes to cooking, Chinese people are never stumped by a lack of ingredients.

Su Zhou took off the ill-fitting 17th-century coat and began to operate it.

He added firewood to the fireplace and found the flint. Yes, in those days there were no lighters or matches (matches weren't invented until the 19th century), only flints.

Su Zhou struck the tinder more than a dozen times before generating a spark, which ignited the tinder.

At that moment, he felt that the inventor of the lighter was the Prometheus of the new era!

Otherwise, having to use a flint and steel every time you want to light a fire would be truly dangerous.

After the water boiled, he began to prepare the ingredients, cutting the cured meat into small pieces and peeling and cutting the carrots and other vegetables into sections.

Su Zhou had hardly ever cooked a meal in his life, and his knife skills were terrible. In addition, the knife in his hand was so dull that it was almost like wood. It took Su Zhou quite a while to finish the task.

He put the butter into a copper pot and heated it. After the butter melted, he added chopped onions.

Noisy!

The onions sizzled slightly in the butter, releasing a wonderfully caramelized aroma.

Su Zhou added the marinated meat chunks, stir-fried them a few times with a wooden spatula, then added water, carrots, thyme, and salt.

Cover the pot.

炖。

There were no timers, no thermometers, it was all based on feeling.

While waiting for the stew to cook, Su Zhou mixed flour, eggs, and butter to make a dough.

There is no rolling pin.

He found a cylindrical wine bottle, rolled the dough into a thin pancake shape, placed it on the grill, and then put it into the fireplace.

I don't know how much time has passed.

The house was filled with a fragrance that Newton had never smelled before.

Although there was no soy sauce, no cooking wine, and no thirteen-spice powder, Su Zhou relied on his innate culinary intuition, born with a Chinese stomach, to manage to turn this pile of 17th-century British ingredients into a decent-looking thick soup.

Serve with freshly baked flatbread.

All done!

Su Zhou took the wooden tray out of the cabinet and wiped it clean.

There were several tin spoons and a knife next to the plate.

Yes, there's no fork.

To be precise, forks were not standard cutlery in Britain at that time.

Most British people eat by cutting with a knife, scooping with a spoon, or simply eating with their hands.

That's right, grab it with your hands.

From nobles to commoners, everyone thought this was normal.

Forks are popular in Italy, but in Britain, many people, especially ordinary people, consider eating with a fork to be a pretentious habit.

If the British still eat with their hands, Su Zhou finds it hard to imagine how beautiful the scene of eating must be for this nation that has etched the spirit of dark cuisine into its DNA.

He carried two plates of thick soup and flatbread into the living room.

Newton was still sitting in front of the fireplace, holding a stack of documents, but he was clearly not looking at them.

"Mr. Newton," Su Zhou placed the wooden tray on the table, "dinner is ready."

Newton looked up, his eyes momentarily glazed over.

He looked at the food on the table, seemingly somewhat surprised.

"Did you do this?"

"right."

Newton looked down at the bowl of thick soup, a pale yellow broth with unevenly sized chunks of meat and carrots, and a few thyme leaves floating in it.

Next to it was a slightly steaming baked flatbread.

"These things seem to have been in the kitchen for a while."

"Hmm, I can see that, it shouldn't be broken."

Su Zhou said expressionlessly, "But that bread was so hard you could use it as a brick."

Newton explained somewhat embarrassedly, "I don't usually eat much."

"Sometimes I get busy and forget, or I just grab something to eat near the mint."

Su Zhou then understood why Newton was so thin.

If you're already in a bad mental state and you don't eat, aren't you just wasting your life?

Su Zhou dared not let one of humanity's top geniuses die young.

"Then why don't you try my cooking?" he urged.

Newton hesitated for a moment, but ultimately picked up the spoon.

I scooped up a spoonful of soup and put it in my mouth.