Marcus Grey paused, his hand on the door, as Simon Harper held out three silver notes, each worth one hundred taels. The faint scent of herbs wafted from the house, mingling with the crisp Yewell City air.
Three hundred taels could sustain a family for generations, yet Simon offered it merely for apprenticeship. Marcus's eyes widened, his hesitation palpable.
"You're too old to master medicine," Marcus said, shaking his head. "It's a difficult path at your age."
"Please, Master, take me as your disciple," Simon urged, stepping closer with the notes.
Marcus sighed, relenting. "Your sincerity is clear. I'll accept you."
He took the silver notes, tucking them into his sleeve, and studied Simon with quiet astonishment. "Such wealth for an apprenticeship. His background must be extraordinary."
Marcus had nearly refused, given Simon's age, but the sum was too substantial to ignore. It would ease his family's burdens in distant cities.
"Your name?" Marcus asked.
"James Ward," Simon replied, maintaining his simulated identity.
Marcus nodded. "Come inside."
Simon followed, closing the door behind him. The room was lined with wooden shelves, brimming with boxes of medicinal herbs, their earthy aroma thick in the air. Tables and chairs sat in the center, a podium by the door for teaching.
Several young men studied medical texts, their heads bowed. At Marcus's entrance, they stood and bowed. "Teacher."
"This is my new disciple, James Ward," Marcus said. "He'll study medicine with you."
The disciples glanced at Simon, surprise flickering in their eyes. His age—nearing twenty—seemed unfit for starting such a complex craft.
Why would Master accept someone so old? they wondered, but Marcus's decision silenced any objections.
Marcus handed Simon a medical book from the podium. "To learn medicine, you must know herb properties. Start with this."
Simon nodded, accepting the book.
"Go study with them," Marcus instructed. The other disciples, recently accepted, could learn alongside Simon, simplifying his teaching.
Simon found a seat, opened the book, and began reading, the rustle of pages blending with the others'.
Marcus addressed the group. "Study diligently. If you have questions, I'll explain tonight. More books are on the podium."
He closed the door and left, leaving the room to the soft sound of turning pages.
Simon's photographic memory devoured the text, his pace far outstripping the others'. Each herb's properties imprinted in his mind effortlessly.
To his right, Thomas Keen noticed Simon's rapid page-turning and frowned. "Is he skimming? Does he not understand?"
A sense of superiority swelled in Thomas. He prided himself on his swift learning, praised by Marcus as exceptional. "This newcomer's wasting his time," he thought, refocusing on his own book.
Other disciples noticed Simon's speed, sharing Thomas's disdain. "He's flipping through like it's a storybook," one muttered. Some considered urging Marcus to expel him, his rapid pace disrupting their focus.
Simon, oblivious to their thoughts, finished the book in moments. He recalled every detail perfectly, nodding with satisfaction. His photographic memory made learning instantaneous, a feat that would take others months.
He stood, stretching, and approached the podium for another book. Thomas scoffed inwardly. "Pretending he's finished. Ridiculous."
The other disciples frowned, assuming Simon's actions were performative, not genuine study.
Simon returned to his seat, diving into the new book with the same relentless speed.
Evening fell, the sky ablaze with red clouds, their glow seeping into Marcus's residence. The disciples' page-turning slowed, anticipating Marcus's return.
Footsteps approached, and the door creaked open. Marcus stepped to the podium, his gaze settling on Simon. "James, you started today. Go rest."
Simon nodded silently and left, his steps echoing in the quiet house.
Marcus turned to the disciples. "Any questions about herb properties?"
A disciple in grey robes stood. "Teacher, I have no questions, but I must report James Ward."
The others exchanged glances, their expressions mixed.
"Report him?" Marcus frowned. "What's the issue?"
"He doesn't read properly," the disciple said. "He flips through books hastily, not studying. It's disruptive. Please expel him."
Marcus's frown deepened, but he remained silent.
Another disciple, in black, stood. "Why accept someone so old, Teacher? Starting medicine at his age is futile."
The disciples looked at Marcus, puzzled. His strict standards made Simon's acceptance baffling.
Marcus stroked his grey beard, hesitating. "I know his age makes mastery unlikely," he admitted.
"But… he gave too much."
"He offered three hundred taels for apprenticeship. How could I refuse?"
The disciples gasped, stunned.
"Three hundred taels?" the grey-robed disciple blurted, eyes wide. "That's impossible!"
Such wealth could sustain a family for a lifetime, yet Simon used it for a mere apprenticeship fee.
"We paid three taels," the grey-robed disciple muttered, slumping into his chair. "No wonder he was accepted."
The room fell silent, the disciples reeling from the revelation.
Thomas Keen felt his face flush. He'd assumed Simon was ordinary, like him. "He's a wealthy young master," he thought, embarrassed. "No wonder he skims books. He doesn't need to learn."
But Thomas steeled himself. "I'll outshine him with Master's teachings," he vowed, determined to prove his worth.
Marcus spoke again. "If he disrupts your studies, I'll question him tomorrow. If he's not serious, I'll separate him."
He valued Simon's wealth but wouldn't let it hinder the others.
The grey-robed disciple quickly intervened. "No need, Teacher. Studying together motivates us."
Others nodded, rejecting separation. Thomas scoffed inwardly. "Sycophants, chasing his money."
He saw their shift—coveting Simon's wealth, hoping to curry favor.
Marcus raised a hand. "Enough. I won't let him disturb you. Focus on your studies."
The next morning, sunlight filtered through the wooden shutters of Marcus Grey's residence in Yewell City.
Simon Harper, as James Ward, arrived punctually at the classroom where Marcus taught medicine. The room smelled of dried herbs and old paper, its shelves lined with medical texts.
Marcus sat behind the podium, flipping through a worn book. The other disciples were already seated, their desks cluttered with notes and open volumes.
Simon noticed their expressions shift as he entered—faint smiles tinged with deference. "What's this about?" he wondered, suspecting his wealth had changed their view.
Shaking his head, he approached Marcus. "Teacher."
"You're here," Marcus said, looking up. "I heard you flip through books hastily, finishing them without care?"
Simon smiled. "My memory is sharp. I recall everything with one glance, so I read quickly."
Marcus blinked, surprised. "You remember after one glance? Let's test that."
He leaned forward. "The medical book I gave you—what's the first sentence on page thirty?"
The disciples flipped to page thirty, eager to check Simon's answer.
"Elderwort, bitter in nature, purges toxins and soothes inflammation," Simon recited without hesitation.
Marcus stroked his grey beard, eyes wide. "Not a word wrong. You truly have a photographic memory."
A book slipped from Thomas Keen's hands, hitting the floor with a thud. "Impossible," he muttered, bending to retrieve it, bitterness creeping into his chest.
Marcus nodded at Simon. "With that ability, you'll study alone in my private study from now on."
Thomas's resentment flared. "I've never even seen Teacher's study," he thought, envious of the privilege.
The study held a wealth of medical texts, a treasure Thomas had longed to explore but never accessed.
Simon nodded calmly. "Understood."
"Study diligently," Marcus told the disciples, then led Simon to his study.
The study was a haven of knowledge, its shelves packed with books, the air heavy with the scent of ink and parchment.
"This is where you'll study daily," Marcus said, his tone warm with surprise. "With your memory, you'll master these texts in no time."
"Read carefully. Ask me if anything's unclear."
Marcus left, leaving Simon alone with the books.
Simon surveyed the shelves, his heart alight with excitement. These texts would fulfill his goal of mastering medicine, a key step in his plans.
He grabbed a book and flipped through it, his photographic memory absorbing every word in moments.
A month later, in Marcus's courtyard, Simon stood before a disciple, carefully inserting silver needles into precise meridian points. The disciple sat still, breathing evenly.
Simon withdrew the needles, placing them in a small box. The procedure was flawless.
Marcus watched, nodding. "You've mastered my acupuncture techniques and the human meridian chart."
"You've learned all I can teach. Now, it's about gaining experience and refining your skill."
His voice carried awe. Simon's talent was extraordinary, a rare gift.
"Thanks to your guidance, Teacher," Simon said with a smile, his tone humble.
Marcus beamed, flattered despite recognizing the courtesy. Teaching such a prodigy was a stroke of fortune.
"You don't need classes anymore," Marcus said. "Come to me with any complex cases."
"Thank you, Teacher." Simon bowed, fists cupped, and left the courtyard.
The disciples watched him go, their expressions complex—admiration, awe, and a hint of distance. Simon had achieved in a month what might take them years, leaving them speechless.
His talent was so vast that jealousy couldn't take root; they could only admire him from afar. Some considered currying favor, but the gap in ability held them back.
Outside, Simon sensed his Inner Breath, now robust and nearing Minor Achievement. "The dual systems are incredible," he thought, nodding.
The Starlight Flow Art and Serpent Coil Technique propelled his cultivation forward like a storm, far beyond his modest aptitude.
He was close to the Minor Achievement stage, where his Inner Breath would grow stronger and last longer.
Simon returned to his Yewell City mansion, pushing open the door. Three children—two boys and a girl, around ten years old—sat attentively, listening to a tutor he'd hired.
He nodded faintly. These orphans, handpicked for their intelligence and loyalty, were his foundation. Their tragic pasts made them devoted to him, their savior.
"When they're older, I'll teach them martial arts," he planned. "They'll aid my organization."
For now, they were too young to be useful, so Simon handled everything himself.
He entered a quiet room, its shelves lined with a brazier, medicine box, and silver needles—his space for refining medicine.
"Medicine and poison are two sides of the same coin," he mused, sitting before the brazier. Oddly shaped herbs lay beside him.
"Marcus taught me medicine, but I've learned the toxicity of these herbs as well."
Simon lit the brazier, its flames casting shadows on the walls. Following a precise recipe, he added herbs to an earthenware pot.
After hours of careful boiling, the herbs reduced to a thick paste. Simon extinguished the fire, let the paste cool, and rolled it into small pills, storing them in a vial.
Holding the vial, he smiled faintly. "Now, I need to test this poison pill."