Chapter 54: Turning Point

It was precisely because of this that the agricultural officer failed to notice that, as he answered these questions, Wu Qingchen, standing upright across from him, had at some point slightly raised his head. His fists were clenched, his posture was rigid, and the respectful expression he wore before had been replaced by one of complete focus. His tone, once soft and deferential, had taken on a newfound gravity.

Clearly, this was yet another conversation that Earth had long foreseen.

Of course, foresight did not mean that those on Earth had predicted with exacting detail every event of the past two or three days—the mass injury of the village’s oxen, the lord’s command for the agricultural officer to come, the officer’s handling of the severely wounded herdsman, his witnessing of Wu Qingchen treating the oxen, counting them, and being questioned about his experience with livestock. No one could possibly anticipate every reaction, every minute dialogue among the various figures involved.

Anyone capable of such omniscience would not be called an advisor—at the very least, they would be a director, and at best, a legendary prophet.

The countless brilliant, sharp-minded, logical, and quick-witted strategists of Earth—adorned with all manner of adjectives, yet always under the broader mantle of “ordinary humans”—could, at most, anticipate in broad strokes. Based on Wu Qingchen’s training, the contingency plans prepared for crises, the analysis of existing information, and the character models of those involved, they could predict that, after the collective injury of the oxen, the feudal lord would likely come in person or send an important representative to the village to handle the aftermath.

Moreover, should this lord or important personage observe, through various overt or subtle, active or passive means, the mathematical skills, competence, and healing abilities Wu Qingchen displayed, it was reasonable to expect that, if all went well, the lord or notable would develop certain intentions as envisioned by the advisory team, and a deeper conversation would naturally follow.

In other words, this conversation would directly determine whether the ideal outcome designed by the advisory team for Wu Qingchen could be achieved, and signified that only a final barrier remained between Wu Qingchen and that ideal objective.

Given the gravity of this exchange, Wu Qingchen’s change in demeanor and tone was only natural.

The crucial conversation was not complicated; the agricultural officer’s questions were not difficult, nor did it take long—perhaps ten minutes in all. Methodically, he inquired about how Wu Qingchen usually grazed goats, fed the hens, drove the oxen, and cared for the livestock. With each answer, the officer grew more attentive.

After a moment, the agricultural officer turned to the priest. “Your Excellency Praya, what are your thoughts?”

“As you see, I am but a priest, unfamiliar with farming and livestock…” Praya shook his head, then gestured to Wu Qingchen. “…However, as someone who knows my pupil and has observed him daily, you may rest assured—Little Los just now spoke only the truth.”

“Of course, I have no doubt of that…” The officer nodded. “Farming and livestock are but worldly chores; familiarity is not essential. That wasn’t my question…”

“Now with so many oxen injured, the village is in dire straits. That wretched herdsman can no longer be employed, and his two sons—rightfully crippled—cannot be trusted. Your student, however, is quite remarkable…” The officer frowned, clearly hesitant. “But Little Los is still so young, with limited experience in animal care… This is… Your Excellency Praya, perhaps you could offer me some advice.”

“Advice…”

Praya pondered briefly, then once more pointed to his student. “Little Los began feeding chickens at six, herding goats at eight, and working the fields at eleven. Would you call that lazy?”

“Of course not; you have a diligent student.”

“Little Los learned to count to fifty in ten days, to one hundred in five more, and in another five mastered addition. You witnessed this yourself—would you call that foolish?”

“Certainly not; you have a clever student.”

“Little Los found your silver coin last night and returned it first thing this morning. Would you call that greedy?”

“Absolutely not; the Lord’s radiance cleanses the soul. You have an honest and trustworthy student.”

“Little Los can heal oxen, enabling the herd—otherwise unable to plow for half a month—to recover quickly. Is that not a blessing?”

“Of course not; this is Ekli Village’s good fortune.”

“In that case, why not write to your cousin—my uncle? Perhaps you can inform our esteemed Baron…” As Praya spoke, a slight smile crossed his lips. “Now, his beloved Ekli Village has one less herdsman and forty injured oxen, yet before you stands a child, young and with little experience, yet diligent, clever, honest, reliable, and capable of healing the wounded oxen—returning a measure of good fortune to the village.”

“You are right, entirely right… This is beyond the authority of any steward or myself. I am merely to report; His Lordship the Baron will judge as he sees fit… Thank you, Your Excellency Praya… But I must apologize—I have no time to speak further…”

Offering an apology, he turned to leave. Praya’s smile lingered as the officer, followed by his three attendants, strode swiftly out of the chapel. Outside, the snorting of horses could be heard, along with the officer’s shouted orders: “Basther, go ahead—quickly! Tell Steward Ifrit to bring the messenger, and… have my parchment and ink ready!”

Moments later, the thundering of hooves—one leading, three following—faded rapidly into the distance.

Inside the chapel, the priest turned his gaze back. Before him, Wu Qingchen stood with mouth agape, fists clenched, head tipped back, his eyes vacant. He drew a deep breath but could not exhale for a long time.

Praya smiled again. “All right, Little Los, don’t overthink. This is only the beginning…”

“Reverend… sir… thank you so much… I… I…” Wu Qingchen’s voice was thick with gratitude, even a trace of choking emotion.

At this moment, his emotion and the astonished joy on his face were not wholly feigned.

Since arriving in the medieval world, Wu Qingchen had, with a mind to use the priest, spent over thirty days drawing close, listening to his teachings again and again, receiving his care repeatedly, and feeling a growing, genuine concern. The scorn he once felt for the local “charlatan,” the disdain for the priest’s ignorance, had long since vanished. Instead, his heart brimmed with genuine gratitude, and his nose tingled with emotion.

“There, there…” The priest gently patted Wu Qingchen’s clean hair. “Los, this is just the beginning. Who knows how things will turn out… For now, the best you can do is heal the wounded oxen. Go on—don’t delay…”

“I understand, I will… And… Reverend…”

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Wu Qingchen continued, “…Teacher, will you teach me more about treating broken bones and missing flesh? The most seriously injured oxen—just stopping the bleeding might not suffice. I thought long and hard last night and still don’t think my methods are enough…”

“The most seriously injured! You have ideas?” Praya drew in a sharp breath, his eyes wide and bright. In the next moment, his voice rang out through the chapel: “Andrei, to my room—quickly! Bring the medical compendium! And prepare parchment and ink!”

Two and a half hours later.

Inside the chapel, in the priest’s bedroom.

Grasping a thin wooden stick, the priest fumbled for a long while before finally dipping it in ink again, adding yet another black spot to his already stained robe.

He paid it no mind, or perhaps never even noticed.

He stared intently at the parchment before him, covered in hasty scrawls and many corrections crudely circled or crossed out without a scraper. His brow was deeply furrowed, veins standing out on his arm, his focus so intense it was as if he were creating a masterpiece.

“…Reverend, thank you for teaching me… It’s almost noon, may I go treat the oxen now?”

“Mm… mm…” The priest barely looked up, replying absently, eyes fixed on the parchment. Only when the quiet closing of a door sounded behind him did he jump up, ran to the door, and flung it open. “What, you’re going to tend the oxen now?”

“Yes… it’s almost noon. The wounds can’t wait too long…”

“The wounds can’t wait? Right, they can’t. Go, quickly—I’ll come too. We’ll go together.”

“Wait…” After only two steps, the priest stopped, glancing back at the low table. “…But I still have things to do. You go ahead… Perhaps I’ll come by later…”

“Wait…”

Wu Qingchen had only taken two steps before the priest stood by his side again. “No, we’ll go together. You’ve learned well, but I’ll feel safer watching over you…”

“Or perhaps not…”

Three steps more, the priest hesitated once again.

“But… this isn’t finished… and… it’s nearly noon… the wounds can’t wait…”

He glanced rapidly from the unfinished parchment on the low table, to the sundial by the door, and back again—over and over, pacing the ten steps of the bedroom, his indecision so palpable it was almost painful to watch.