Chapter 41: Travelers Riding the Wave of the Craze

These past two days, Stone Pagoda Town has been livelier than usual.

The shipwreck ancient coins have attracted more than just a passing wave of sensation-seekers. Fake news regarding the treasure of a lost ancient dynasty has been spreading with increasing absurdity throughout Hongdu. In an era where information media remains underdeveloped, manufacturing and spreading rumors is effortless, while debunking them is an insurmountable challenge.

Commoners believe the wealthy are no fools; the wealthy believe experts are no fools; experts trust their own eyes, concluding that the shipwreck coins are not forgeries, though the authenticity of the lost treasure remains difficult to verify.

Newspapers sensationalized the reports, claiming that experts had confirmed the treasure's existence, causing all social strata in Hongdu, high and low, to believe it entirely.

This autumn, a minor archaeological craze has swept through the imperial capital, showing a distinct tendency to spread to other regions.

Waves of adventurers arriving across the sea followed one after another—nobles with bodyguards, mercenary squads dispatched by wealthy merchants, and unemployed idlers harboring dreams of striking it rich.

They all sought to extract news of the treasure from the lips of Stone Pagoda Town's residents.

Townsfolk with nimble wits had already begun passing off worthless old items from their homes as the rumored dynastic antiques, selling them at exorbitant prices to shortsighted fools.

Especially some elderly folks looking weathered by the elements, who could hold up inferior gems picked up from the seaside and brag about them as hard-won spoils from deep inside dragon lairs during maritime adventures.

Their physical disabilities and ailments, resulting from hard labor and accidents, lent their tales a particularly persuasive air, and clueless adventurers fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

Ever since the rise of urban industry brought about population growth, the tourism boom sparked by a mere rumor—after all these years—brought a considerable economic windfall to this otherwise unremarkable seaside town.

Private residences were vacated to serve as lodgings for travelers, with a single night's rent outstripping three days' earnings for a worker's family.

The White Conch Tavern's customer traffic was packed to capacity every day, leaving the sole waitress, Jilin, exhausted with her tongue hanging out, while the owner's cheek muscles grew two sizes wider from smiling.

The streets, which used to be desolate both day and night, were crowded with tourists as noisy as fat geese and chickens. They wandered about during the day, interrogating anyone they met.

Fishermen returning from night fishing and trying to sleep were dragged out of their beds, bleary-eyed; the elderly priest at the church was pestered beyond endurance; even children near the schoolyard wall were bribed with candy by adults to answer questions.

The children cared nothing for this or that treasure; their rule was to eat the candy first, and once finished, claim ignorance. These primary school students could also be said to have tasted the sweet rewards of the tourism economy.

The coastline was plowed over repeatedly by adventurers who wished they could dig three feet deep to unearth the shipwreck treasures washed ashore by the waves, only to find nothing at all, save for a few seashells and stones.

The solitary, snow-white lighthouse on the headland was also visited with mounting frequency.

However, the lighthouse keeper was frequently away. While the courtyard gate could be opened with a simple pull, the main door of the tower was always secured by an iron padlock.

Courteous and well-mannered visitors would turn away upon seeing this, or simply linger on the headland to admire the coastal scenery.

Yet there were also some unruly petty thieves who, upon seeing the locked door, would flash a "watch me show you a trick" smile to their companions, draw a wire from their sleeve, and fish a screwdriver out of their pocket.

As they eagerly prepared to pick the lock, they discovered that the padlock on the heavy door had no keyhole.

How could a solid iron padlock hang on a door? And how did the master of the house unlock it?

The petty thief and his companion were utterly baffled, wearing expressions as if they had seen a ghost. Finding themselves completely helpless against it, and gazing up at the out-of-reach upper windows, they had no choice but to leave in sullen frustration.

Lin Bo cared little for the visits of the tourists, and his own schedule was subjected to very little interference.

In the mornings, he sampled and recorded herbs deep within the woodlands, heading to the Eastern Cliff Grottoes by noon. Both locations were unfrequented by humanity, and the mage interacted far more with wildlife than with people.

Once the growth of the omni-strain entered a new phase, Lin Bo began continuously feeding herbs to the mycelial blanket.

His communication with the mycelium proceeded with utmost smoothness. As his vocabulary of magical language grew daily, Lin Bo became capable of uttering coherent and complete sentences.

Before feeding any herb, Lin Bo would first probe its true name, and then, as the mycelial blanket devoured and absorbed the herb's genes, repeatedly whisper its true name to it, hoping the mycelium would retain a sufficient impression.

The omni-strain indeed proved capable of remembering these true names. When Lin Bo repeated a herb's true name and instructed the mycelial blanket to produce the corresponding mimetic mushroom, it executed the command flawlessly.

This constituted the core communicative philosophy within *Myconid Agronomy*.

The relationship between cultivator and fungal strain was not merely that of farmer and crop; rather, the omni-strain should be regarded as an intelligent biological tool. Much like humans making friends with artificial intelligence, one could grow quite close to the omni-strain.

Through true-name magic, communicating with all things, and teaching the fungal strain to produce mushrooms with specific genes, Lin Bo secured a steady, endless supply of herbs.

His research project on trial-producing mental potions was only in its nascent stages, yet it had already yielded initial results. Whale oil tincture mixed with calming herbal decoction genuinely restored mental energy significantly, proving far faster and more convenient than meditation techniques.
This could be considered version 1.0 of the whale oil potion. Consuming a single dose completely replenished exhausted spell-casting incantation power within fourteen minutes.

Perhaps limited by the absorption rate, consuming whale oil potions consecutively in a short span did not accelerate the recovery speed.

Using the potion carried certain side effects: rapid heartbeat, excessive sweating, elevated body temperature, and clouded thoughts. These were not poisoning reactions, but merely the body's natural metabolic process; the initial side effects subsided after one hour and seven minutes.

As the frequency of consumption increased throughout the day, the duration of the side effects also lengthened, and the intensity of the reaction escalated.

The next research direction would focus primarily on reducing side effects, and secondarily on enhancing recovery efficiency.

He hoped to replace meditation with potions as soon as possible, thereby increasing the daily frequency of his martial arts training.

When tasting the whale oil, Lin Bo perceived its profound silence; this substance imbued with magical energy never once spoke or poured out its heart to the mage. For the time being, he was entirely at a loss regarding this phenomenon.

It was only when he returned to the lighthouse each afternoon carrying a bundle of medicinal herbs and mushrooms that Lin Bo truly experienced a tangible sense of Stone Pagoda Town's recent frenzy. There were simply too many outsiders who had followed in the wake of the townspeople.

The crowds visiting Stone Pagoda Town these days spanned all social strata, and not everyone showed respect for the local residents. Petty thefts, intimidation, and extortion were frequent, and conflicts escalated day by day.

The garrison forces in the town were virtually nonexistent. Maintaining grassroots law enforcement was a group of young men who adhered to warrior faiths, led by a sailor with a scar across his face.

Lin Bo had crossed paths with this scarred man a few times, having noticed his immense prestige among the sailors and fishermen during his very first Sunday church service.

As visitors to the lighthouse increased, maintaining order became considerably more difficult. Incessantly, unruly individuals would crowd into the lighthouse seeking information from the night watchman, requiring wave after wave to be driven away.

In the past, the female waitress from the White Conch Tavern would have been more than happy to help, but recently she, too, was too swamped to spare a moment.

Starting perhaps on Tuesday or Wednesday, the scarred sailor began bringing a crew of fellows every afternoon when the lighthouse opened for medical treatments. They stationed themselves on-site to chase away ill-intentioned outsiders, lingering until the sun dipped below the horizon before departing.

Lin Bo had never spoken with the scarred man, only learning through casual conversations with townsfolk that this reputable sailor was a semi-professional brawler.

The folk culture of the Curnish Empire was rather fierce and rugged. Boxing and weapon combat were commonplace, and a thoroughly masculine, blood-soaked brawl served both as entertainment and as a means to settle disputes.

When large whaling ship captains encountered disputes regarding the ownership of catches at sea and failed to reach an agreement, they would arrange a duel. The scarred man was the one responsible for stepping into the arena to fight on such occasions. His civic prestige was forged through combat records; everyone agreed his fists were formidable and that he had never tasted defeat.

With such a figure voluntarily keeping watch over the premises, the townsfolk could seek medical care and prescriptions with much greater peace of mind. By dusk, the scarred man would leave alongside the receding tide of humanity, never lingering unnecessarily, only to appear punctually the next day.

*Clink-clank—*

The iron bell rung by the lighthouse administrator had grown familiar to the townsfolk. In the past, they would arrive bearing consultation fees and gifts only to return empty-handed; now, one by one, they began stepping out of the lighthouse carrying small packages of herbs.

All the herbs appeared somewhat peculiar, finely chopped to the point where their raw ingredients were indistinguishable.

According to the night watchman, upon returning home one needed only to boil them over a high flame, reducing three bowls of water down to one before drinking. Everyone who drank it reported a noticeable improvement in their condition, and that being the case, no one bothered to inquire further about the origin of the herbs.