"Then I shall trouble you tomorrow, General Liu," Chen Rong said. "I brought some seeds granted by the Immortal. I intend to try planting them."
Liu Zhonglu's eyes brightened at once.
"Seeds from the Immortal?" he repeated, lowering his voice slightly as though speaking of something sacred. "Could they be… the legendary elixir of immortality?"
Chen Rong almost laughed, but he restrained himself.
In this era, the pursuit of immortality was no joke. From emperors to wandering ascetics, nearly everyone of power or ambition had at least heard of miraculous medicines that prolonged life.
Even rulers who publicly dismissed such tales often sent secret envoys to search for them once their health began to fail.
The Great Khan's summons to Master Changchun—Qiu Chuji—was itself proof.
Officially, it was to seek spiritual guidance and moral counsel, yet rumors had long circulated that Qiu Chuji had lived for more than three centuries.
Whether anyone truly believed it hardly mattered. When a ruler who commanded half the world desired longevity, even a rumor became worthy of investigation.
"If there truly existed an elixir of immortality," Chen Rong replied calmly, "then I would already be a god, not merely a mortal who once dwelt in an immortal's cave for a few years."
He shook his head.
"If your Great Khan seeks the medicine of eternal life, I fear I cannot provide it."
Liu Zhonglu chuckled awkwardly, realizing his own eagerness.
"Indeed, I spoke rashly," he said, cupping his hands in apology. "Sir, please rest early. At dawn, I shall send several soldiers to gather what you require."
"Thank you, General Liu."
The two exchanged polite farewells. Liu Zhonglu returned to his post, while Chen Rong turned back toward the strange steel carriage that had drawn so much curiosity.
The prairie night stretched silent and vast. The wind whispered through the tall grass, and distant horses snorted occasionally in their sleep.
Above, the sky glittered with countless stars, brighter than anything Chen Rong had seen in the modern world, unspoiled by city lights.
He climbed into the vehicle and closed the door gently.
Inside, the familiar scent of plastic, metal, and fabric surrounded him. It was a small, fragile pocket of the modern world—perhaps the only one left to him.
Chen Rong reclined the seat slightly and took out his smartphone.
The battery icon glowed reassuringly.
For now, electricity was not an immediate concern.
The foldable solar panel mounted on the roof, combined with the portable power supply, could store up to 1.5 kilowatt-hours of electricity.
As long as the weather remained clear and the equipment remained intact, he could maintain power for quite some time.
But without a signal, the phone was little more than a sealed library.
No internet.
No communication.
No navigation.
Only what had already been stored within.
He scrolled slowly through the phone.
There were photos—travel pictures, family gatherings, random landscapes taken on impulse. Fragments of a life that now seemed impossibly distant.
Then there were the so-called "study materials" he had saved long ago—documents, videos, and files downloaded casually over the years.
Wait.
Study materials…
Chen Rong's fingers paused.
He suddenly remembered something.
Several years earlier, certain "sacred books" had circulated widely across the internet—collections of practical knowledge compiled during the twentieth century.
At the time, someone in a gaming group had shared electronic versions of them. Out of idle curiosity, Chen Rong had downloaded the files.
He had barely skimmed them before forgetting their existence.
But now…
Chen Rong quickly opened the storage folder and searched.
His heartbeat quickened.
There they were.
"Friends of Military and Civilian Talents."
"Militia Training Manual."
"Barefoot Doctor Handbook."
And several other miscellaneous practical guides.
Chen Rong stared at the screen, stunned.
These were not mere books.
They were knowledge—condensed, practical, applicable knowledge—far beyond anything available in this era.
"This…" he muttered under his breath, his pulse racing. "This is the real treasure."
His hands trembled slightly as he opened the Barefoot Doctor Handbook first.
The electronic version was somewhat inconvenient. The font was small, and there was no proper table of contents. Some pages were even photographs of printed text, making them harder to read.
Still, the content was intact.
There were multiple editions—the Hunan version, the Shanghai version, the Jilin edition from the 1970s, and later compilations.
Inside were treatments for hypertension, stroke, heart failure, paralysis, anemia, bleeding disorders, ulcers, cirrhosis, and countless other conditions. Emergency procedures, diagnostic methods, and basic medical techniques filled page after page.
There were even explanations of diagnostic methods—inspection, listening, pulse examination, palpation, and other techniques blending traditional Chinese medicine with practical field treatment.
Some treatments required modern pharmaceuticals, which would be difficult to obtain in this era.
But many relied on herbal remedies.
With sufficient knowledge of local plants, even partial application could save lives.
Chen Rong slowly exhaled.
In this world, where illness often meant death, such knowledge could elevate a person to the status of a miracle physician.
He switched to another file.
"Friends of Military and Civilian Talents."
This book covered military knowledge, agriculture, construction, livestock breeding, handicrafts, and even recipes. It was essentially a survival encyclopedia.
Then came the Militia Training Manuals—several versions, including training guides for ordinary militia and manuals for officers.
Military formations.
Basic tactics.
Field fortifications.
Improvised weaponry.
Chen Rong leaned back, staring at the phone in disbelief.
If he could preserve this knowledge…
If he could apply even a portion of it…
The possibilities were enormous.
But a cold thought soon followed.
These were electronic files.
If his solar panel broke…
If the power supply failed…
If the phone itself malfunctioned…
All of it would vanish.
Gone forever.
Chen Rong frowned.
He would need to copy them manually. Write them down. Preserve them in physical form.
But that would take time—months, perhaps years.
He sighed and continued scrolling.
Then he noticed something unusual.
There was another file mixed among the e-books.
The title caught his attention.
"A Quick Guide: How to Earn Your First Fortune in Ancient Times Using Chemical Knowledge."
Chen Rong blinked.
"What is this?"
Curious, he opened the document.
The introduction read:
"When traveling back to ancient times, you may use simple scientific knowledge to impress the ignorant, gain influence, and rapidly accumulate wealth…"
Chen Rong raised an eyebrow.
The document listed target audiences—those lacking education, people in adversity, rulers, and followers of superstition.
It also advised avoiding scholars and knowledgeable individuals.
Chen Rong almost laughed.
Then he began reading the examples.
The document continued.
One hundred simple scientific 'miracles'—specific methods as follows:
Write on white paper using melted white wax. Once the wax dried, the writing would disappear. Later, brushing ink over the surface would reveal the hidden words.
Another method involved soaking turmeric in water, then immersing paper in the liquid and letting it dry. Afterward, spraying alkaline water onto the paper—or onto a wooden sword or blade—would cause blood-red markings to appear wherever the turmeric had been applied.
There was even an improved version: write characters directly using turmeric water. Once dry, the writing vanished. When sprayed with alkaline water, the hidden characters would reappear in vivid red.
Another technique involved writing on paper using alum water. Once dried, the writing would vanish. Submerging the paper in water would reveal the hidden message.
Green vitriol hidden beneath a fingernail could be stirred into tea, turning the liquid black. Oxalic acid hidden beneath another fingernail, when stirred in afterward, would gradually restore the tea's clarity.
The document even explained that green vitriol was commonly found in arid regions, particularly in areas such as Shanxi, Gansu, Anhui, Hubei, and Sichuan. Oxalic acid, meanwhile, occurred naturally in many plants.
The text continued.
White phosphorus dissolved in carbon disulfide and applied to a candle would ignite spontaneously once the solvent evaporated. The burning phosphorus could then light the candle without any visible spark. The same principle could even be applied to paper.
If one mastered the timing carefully, such displays would appear miraculous—enough to convince others that the performer possessed supernatural power.
The guide concluded with a final warning:
Be careful. If you encounter someone like Ximen Bao, you might be exposed and killed on the spot.
Each example explained both the method and the underlying principle.
Chen Rong's expression gradually shifted from amusement to contemplation.
To people of this era…
These would appear as miracles.
Divine signs.
Supernatural power.
With careful timing and presentation, one could easily gain influence.
But Chen Rong quickly frowned.
Genghis Khan's court was not filled with fools.
Scholars from the Central Plains.
Craftsmen from the Western Regions.
Advisors like Yelu Chucai.
These were intelligent, observant individuals.
If he performed such tricks carelessly, exposure would be inevitable.
And in an age where deception involving supernatural claims could be considered treason…
Exposure might mean death.
Chen Rong locked the phone screen and stared into the darkness of the vehicle.
Still…
Perhaps these methods need not be used as deception.
Perhaps they could serve another purpose.
A slow, thoughtful expression appeared on his face.
If used carefully, demonstrations of "miracles" could open doors—gain attention, build credibility, create opportunities.
But only if handled cautiously.
Outside, the wind whispered softly across the grasslands.
Chen Rong set the phone aside and leaned back.
The night stretched on, silent and vast.
Gradually, his breathing slowed.
And under the endless Mongolian sky, Chen Rong fell asleep, his mind filled with plans for the uncertain days ahead.