The stray dog's barking finally faded into the morning mist as Mason collapsed, utterly spent, onto the cold metal bench of the community clinic.
The lingering effects of the pill receded like a tide, the unbearable, sustained stimulation finally ebbing, the swelling sensation gradually subsiding.
He slumped, drenched in sweat, his legs trembling and weak from the bizarre, all-night sprint—yet, strangely, beneath the muscular fatigue, a peculiar lightness resonated deep within his body.
---
Over the next two days, this "lightness" rapidly evolved into a distinct, increasingly potent physical experience.
It was as if senses long dormant had been abruptly awakened.
On the first morning, Mason awoke naturally before his usual alarm, his mind startlingly clear, devoid of any residual grogginess.
Sunlight through the blinds felt sharper; motes of dust in the air seemed to have defined edges.
He took a deep, experimental breath, and the air flowed with a newfound, profound smoothness deep into his core.
A gentle, warming current seemed to wash through his limbs, leaving them supple, elastic, and full of vitality.
The usual stiffness in his neck, shoulders, and lower back from maintaining long postures was gone, replaced by a flexibility that surprised even him.
---
The change in his vision was the most direct.
The faded small print on a distant café sign, the intricate vein patterns on leaves, even the subtle refraction of light in the air—all appeared with unprecedented clarity.
The world seemed to have its resolution and color saturation dialed up.
---
The most convincing proof came on the second day.
He discovered, quite by accident, that a faint, stubborn, weeks-old bruise on the outside of his left calf had completely vanished.
The skin there was smooth, even-toned, as if the impact had never occurred.
---
Standing before the bathroom mirror, steam fogging the glass but not the healthy glow now visible on his face and the light in his eyes, Mason clenched his fist.
He felt a surge of power—abundant yet not restless—coursing between his sinews.
That absurd "night run" and the pill's residual foundational energy had, by some fluke, performed a deep cleansing and tempering of his body.
The path was correct.
*The Nine Revolutions Divine Alchemy Compendium* was a real, priceless treasure.
And he, Mason, needed to master it, and fast.
---
Time was of the essence.
With only a few days until the Wednesday preview Sophia had mentioned, Mason sequestered himself in his apartment, entering a state of near-obsessive study.
He dissected, pondered, and mentally simulated the compendium's essential techniques for "subtle spiritual energy manipulation," "the gradation of heating intensity," and "the harmony of principal, ministerial, adjuvant, and conductant ingredients."
He tamed that wisp of spiritual energy until it felt like an extension of his own nerves.
With each attempt to channel it into the alchemical furnace, he held his breath, his consciousness completely immersed in sensing the most minute shifts in the medicinal concoction's aura.
---
Failure was still a constant companion—two furnaces yielded charred dregs, one batch's effects were so mild as to be nearly useless.
But late on the night before Wednesday, as dawn approached, eyes bloodshot yet mind hyper-focused on his fourth attempt, the medicinal aroma within the furnace abruptly turned inward, transforming into a mellow, lingering, extraordinary fragrance.
He opened the furnace.
Three pillules, the size of longan fruits, with a warm, beeswax-like luster and a subtle, treasure-like sheen, lay quietly at the bottom.
He took one.
A gentle yet potent warmth, like a spring rain, instantly swept through him, dispelling all fatigue and tension from the sleepless night.
His spirit lifted; an indescribable sense of well-being permeated his entire being.
True "Revitalization Pills" were now a reality.
---
Holding the two remaining perfect pills in his palm, Mason's first thought was of Sophia Rockefeller.
The woman who had pulled him back from the brink and placed the keys to a symbol of freedom and trust into his hand.
It wasn't just gratitude; it was a more complex tether, one even moonlight couldn't fully illuminate.
---
On Wednesday afternoon, before their preview appointment, he arranged to meet her briefly at that secluded Japanese garden tea house in Beverly Hills.
Sophia arrived as promised, in a minimalist pearl-gray dress that made her skin look radiant, though a trace of weariness lingered at the corners of her eyes, hinting at recent, taxing family affairs.
Amidst the steam of tea and the shadows of bamboo, Mason poured her a cup.
He made small talk about the preview and L.A.'s recent weather, trying to keep the atmosphere from feeling too abrupt.
He could see her maintaining her elegance, but the hint of fatigue in her eyes was unmistakable, solidifying his resolve.
---
When the moment felt right, Mason took the simple, warm wooden box from his pocket and gently slid it across the tea table towards her.
"A token... of thanks," he began, his voice slightly lower than usual.
"For before. For everything. Something I tried making myself. It's not valuable, but... it might help you feel a bit more relaxed."
---
Sophia's gaze landed on the box, a flicker of surprise passing through her eyes before her lips curved into a soft smile that eased some of her tiredness.
"A thank you? For what? The car?" she teased, her slender fingers not immediately touching the box, instead studying Mason's slightly awkward yet earnest face with interest.
"This doesn't sound like a common gift. What is it? An Eastern mystery sachet? Or one of your 'ancient recipe candies'?"
---
"Something... of the latter sort," Mason went along, keeping his tone light.
"A concentrated botanical essence. I've tried it myself. Found it helpful for fatigue. You seemed a bit tired lately."
---
Only then did Sophia reach out and open the box.
Two plain, brownish, warm-hued pills lay on dark velvet, emitting a faint, indescribable herbal fragrance, utterly distinct from any artificial scent in her luxurious world.
She picked one up, her fingertips feeling its jade-like, fine texture.
A brief, almost imperceptible hesitation flashed in her eyes—the instinctive wariness of one born into privilege, caution towards any unvetted substance meant for ingestion, and a millisecond assessment of his intent.
---
Mason caught that fleeting doubt.
He completely understood. Anyone would be cautious.
He felt no offense; it was the normal, rational reaction.
"I understand," he said calmly, his voice gentle and open, devoid of any urge to persuade or explain.
"I'd hesitate too."
Reaching out, he took the other pill from the box, placed both back in, gave it a gentle shake, and reopened it.
The two pills inside looked identical.
Meeting Sophia's gaze steadily, Mason randomly selected one and, without hesitation, placed it in his own mouth.
---
It dissolved on contact, instantly transforming into a warm, mellow, sweet flow down his throat.
The familiar comfort spread rapidly, banishing his last traces of weariness, clearing his mind.
---
Sophia watched his every move and expression.
Seeing his utter lack of hesitation, his clear, calm eyes, her last trace of doubt evaporated, replaced by a warm current of being completely trusted and considered.
She even felt a twinge of apology for her earlier hesitation—he had not only considered her feelings but eliminated all her potential concerns in the most direct way.
---
"Silly," she murmured, her smile deepening, carrying a hint of affectionate reproach but mostly moved.
Without waiting for the full effect to manifest on him or for an explanation, she decisively picked up the remaining pill and placed it in her mouth, mirroring his.
---
Just as with him, the pill seemed to come alive on her tongue.
Before she could even think of water, it transformed into that same warm, sweet, refreshing herbal stream, sliding down her throat, leaving a trail of pleasant heat that rapidly diffused through her limbs.
"Mmm..." Sophia couldn't help a soft sigh, her beautiful eyes widening slightly as she registered the wondrous aftertaste and the spreading internal warmth.
"It... dissolved on its own? What a marvelous feeling."
---
Almost simultaneously, the accumulated mental fatigue of recent days dissipated like morning mist under sunlight.
The habitual tightness in her shoulders and neck was gently smoothed away by an unseen force.
A sense of lightness and ease, blooming from within, arose.
Even her breathing seemed clearer.
She looked at Mason in delighted surprise, her eyes now shining brighter than before.
"I feel... so much better. Truly."
---
The two continued their stroll in the serene garden.
Sunlight dappled through bamboo leaves, the atmosphere now more relaxed and harmonious.
Barely ten minutes later, Sophia suddenly stopped, a slight frown creasing her delicate brows, her hand unconsciously moving to her right shoulder blade.
"It's... suddenly a bit itchy here," she said softly, her fingers scratching lightly over the fabric.
It was the site of a faint, whitish scar from a childhood fall from a horse in the family estate, caught on brambles—never truly gone despite the years.
---
The itch intensified, carrying a subtle, prickling sensation, as if new skin was pushing forth underneath.
After a moment's hesitation, Sophia turned her back slightly, pulling down the strap of her dress and the collar of her silk blouse beneath to reveal a small patch of skin.
Mason held his breath.
---
In the clear afternoon light, a miracle unfolded before their eyes.
The two-decade-old, faint scar began to visibly change.
Its edges blurred first, lightening, its color rapidly blending with the surrounding healthy skin.
The slight raised texture smoothed out, the skin's pattern reweaving at an astonishing speed.
In under a minute, the area was left smooth, flawless, and even-toned, as if it had never known injury.
---
Sophia saw the entire process in the small mirror from her clutch.
She whirled around, her eyes wide with utter shock, which then transformed into dazzling, overflowing disbelief and rapturous joy.
"Mason..." Her voice trembled.
Her fingers repeatedly traced the now-perfect skin, then her gaze lifted, burning with an intensity that seemed to pierce through him.
"What... what kind of miracle did you just give me?"
---
That look had completely changed.
Curiosity, fondness, appreciation—all coalesced and sublimated, settling into a profound admiration and inquisitiveness, laced with a fiery intensity.
For the rest of their conversation, her gaze could hardly leave him, her words and demeanor unconsciously revealing a closeness and attention far beyond anything before.
---
Evening descended, city lights twinkling to life.
Mason drove the Nardo Grey RS6 Avant, arriving promptly at Sophia's apartment building.
She appeared, a vision in a midnight blue velvet gown that traced breathtaking curves, her neck and shoulders elegantly exposed.
Any earlier fatigue was replaced by a radiant glow, her eyes bright as stars.
Holding a delicate evening clutch, she gave Mason a knowing, captivating smile as she approached.
---
"It seems the prepayment for 'driver plus escort' was well worth it," she said, sliding into the passenger seat.
As she fastened her seatbelt, her fingers seemed to brush intentionally against the back of his hand, leaving a trace of cool touch and a hint of her perfume's drydown.
"I feel wonderful. Never better."
---
The car glided silently into L.A.'s night traffic.
En route to LACMA, the atmosphere inside was subtle and relaxed.
Sophia occasionally gave directions, but more often spoke softly about the upcoming exhibition, her tone expectant, her gaze frequently lingering on Mason's profile as he drove.
A tacit understanding born of the unspoken and the shock of the recent "miracle" flowed quietly in the enclosed space, tinting the journey with a private hue.
---
One wing of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA) was brilliantly lit that night, open only to a select few bearing gilded invitations.
At the entrance, black-suited security meticulously verified identities.
A murmur of conversation and laughter, scents of perfume and fine fabric, filled the halls.
---
The preview was meticulously staged: a darkened gallery with precise spotlights highlighting ancient paintings, walls of deep velvet blue, sound-absorbing carpets underfoot.
The air held a blend of premium cedar from the frames, the faint tang of aged oil paint, the unique scent of parchment, and the intoxicating aroma of vintage champagne and Burgundy from silver carts.
Delicate canapés sat like miniature artworks on crystal trays, as waiters moved silently.
---
The host for the evening was Sophia's uncle, Robert Rockefeller.
Nearing seventy, he remained tall and imposing in a flawlessly tailored tuxedo, his silver hair impeccably groomed, his demeanor carrying the authority of one long accustomed to command.
He stood before a small panel painting depicting an icy plain, auroras, and a solitary traveler, addressing the gathering of socialites, collecting magnates, and art patrons, a champagne flute in hand.
His voice was resonant, bearing its customary, indisputable air.
---
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this small gathering," he began, raising his glass slightly.
"Tonight, we convene not merely to admire these ancient brushstrokes from the frozen North. We bear witness to a slice of history, partially obscured by the grand currents of mainstream art history, yet one that shines with its own humanistic brilliance and spiritual quest."
---
He moved to another painting, a masterful still life with exquisitely rendered light.
"The fifteenth and sixteenth centuries in Northern Europe were not solely illuminated by the Italian Renaissance. Here, in the Duchy of Burgundy, the Low Countries, the Hanseatic cities, artists too were breaking medieval shackles. But their focus was often not grand myth or religious narrative, but the quiet poetry of secular life, the devout depiction of material detail, the sacred metaphor hidden within the commonplace."
---
His gaze swept the room.
Many nodded, smiles respectful, listening intently to the elder whose influence extended far beyond business into culture and philanthropy.
Robert savored the attention.
"These works, mostly unsigned, obscured by history's dust, or misattributed. Yet the quiet power they hold, their near-obsessive capture of light, their delicate portrayal of the divine in the everyday, form another, hidden path to the Renaissance spirit's core. I have gathered them here, hoping to join you in brushing aside the mist, listening to the whispers of these forgotten masters, rediscovering that era's diverse and profound nature. This is the meaning of tonight's 'Secret Strokes.'"
---
A restrained, appreciative round of applause followed.
Robert acknowledged it with a smile, taking a sip of champagne, a faint flush of wine and pleasure on his cheeks.
Only a very few knew that this publicly dignified, high-art-loving titan privately never ceased his pursuit of youthful companions.
Rumor had it he'd recently acquired a prime Upper East Side apartment for a lover thirty years his junior, an aspiring opera singer, funding her role in a small avant-garde production.
His wife was aware, maintaining a dignified silence.
In these circles, such marriages often began as complex unions of interest.
To preserve vast family fortunes, stock alliances, and social facades, couples reached an unspoken understanding, diverting emotional and physical needs outside the union.
---
Yet, even the best private medical teams, advanced monitoring, and luxurious daily care couldn't truly defy time and years of excessive private life.
Nearly seventy, Robert appeared hale, but beneath the meticulous facade and expensive medications lurked hypertension, high cholesterol, and cardiac vulnerabilities.
---
He set down his glass, preparing to move to the next painting.
As he lifted his foot, the pleasant flush still on his face, catastrophe struck.
---
The color drained from his face, replaced by a terrifying ashen grey, as if all blood had been instantly drained.
One hand clutched desperately at his left chest, knuckles white, the other pawed weakly at the air.
A horrible, wheezing gasp, like a torn bellows, rasped from his throat.
His imposing body swayed violently.
The champagne glass, with its dregs, fell from his grasp, thudding softly on the carpet.
Then, like a felled tree, he toppled straight backward.
---
"Robert!"
"God! Someone help!"
"Doctor! Where's his personal physician?!"
"Oh my god, call an ambulance! Now!"
---
Screams and panic ripped through the refined calm.
Women gasped, men paled, the crowd surged like startled birds.
Some nearby instinctively moved to help but faltered in flustered uncertainty.
---
Robert's personal butler, a stern-faced, grey-haired man, though a flicker of alarm crossed his eyes, years of training took over.
He swiftly pressed a hidden communicator on his sleeve, his voice low and urgent: "Medical team, Gallery One, host critical, full equipment now! Repeat, now!"
Simultaneously, he stepped forward, trying to maintain order and assess Robert.
---
Sophia's face went deathly pale.
With a cry, she pushed through to her uncle's side.
Robert's personal physician rushed from the crowd, heavy emergency kit in hand, knelt, and his expression instantly turned grim.
"Acute myocardial infarction! Oxygen, nitroglycerin sublingual, now! Prep the defibrillator! Contact the hospital, prep for emergency cath lab!"
---
Robert was semi-conscious, breathing shallow and rapid, lips a terrible shade of cyanotic purple.
Every second counted.
An ambulance, even if dispatched immediately, would need time to navigate L.A.'s night traffic.
---
As the doctor worked frantically on initial first aid, the butler urgently urging them on, and the crowd stood helpless, the atmosphere frozen, Mason stepped forward.
From his suit's inner pocket, he produced the familiar small wooden box, opening it to reveal a smooth, warm pill nearly identical to the one he'd given Sophia that afternoon.
"Have him take this. It should stabilize him, buy time."
Mason's voice cut through the clamor, exceptionally clear and calm.
---
Instantly, all eyes shot towards him—shock, rapidly morphing into outright anger and scorn.
The doctor and butler snapped their heads up, their gazes raking over Mason like searchlights—from his well-fitting but clearly not top-tier bespoke suit, to his young, unfamiliar face, so unlike the gathered elite.
The assessment was instantaneous: not one of their circle, not a known medical authority.
---
The butler drew himself up, his stern features hardening with anger and duty.
He stepped forward, harshly reprimanding: "Who are you? What do you think you're doing?! This is hardly the place for your theatrics! Remove that at once!"
---
The personal doctor followed, eyes blazing with fury, voice sharp with urgent anger: "Sir! I'm warning you, step back! This is a critical cardiac event! Any unverified foreign substance could be fatal! You have no idea the responsibility! Security! Where is security?!"
---
Others joined in:
"This is preposterous! Get this lunatic out of here!"
---
Reprimands and curses rained down on Mason like hail.
Under immense pressure, as he began to explain, Sophia stepped decisively in front of him.
Her face was pale with extreme worry, but her eyes were sharp as knives, her voice cutting through the noise with unquestionable authority:
"Everyone, back!"
Her gaze swept the room, finally landing on her critically endangered uncle's face.
She took a deep breath, her tone resolute: "I took this. This afternoon. Uncle Robert, please, trust me. Take it."
---
Her tone carried the unique authority of a Rockefeller family member, backed by the irrefutable confidence of personal experience.
The chaos stilled for a fractured second.
Robert, in his suffocating agony and daze, his fading gaze shifted with difficulty to Sophia, then to the simple, unassuming pill in Mason's hand.
The instinct for survival and trust in his niece's unprecedented, earnest plea made him give an extremely faint nod.
---
Sophia immediately took the pill and, under the furious yet too-slow-to-stop gazes of the doctor and butler, carefully placed it in Robert's mouth.
As before, it dissolved instantly.
An almost suffocating thirty or forty seconds of silence followed, everyone staring at Robert's face.
---
The miracle unfolded.
The terrifying deathly grey on Robert's face visibly receded, the abnormal flush faded, replaced by a more natural hue.
His labored, rapid breathing grew steadily steady, deep, and long.
The hand clutching his chest fell slack.
His tightly furrowed brow slowly relaxed.
In under three minutes, his eyes fluttered open—weak, but clear.
---
"I... feel..." he rasped, his voice hoarse, laden with incredulous shock.
"My chest... the pressure is gone... My hands and feet... they feel warm, stronger?"
He tried moving his fingers, slightly flexing a leg.
---
A collective gasp swept the room!
Astonishment completely swallowed all doubt.
The personal doctor scrambled to re-examine him, listening to his heart, checking his blood pressure.
His expression shifted from suspicion to astonishment, then to utter bewilderment and excitement.
---
When the ambulance arrived, Robert insisted, with the group accompanying him, on returning to the Rockefeller estate for a full workup by his complete medical team rather than going directly to a hospital.
In the top-equipped private medical room, exhaustive examinations continued late into the night.
---
Finally, the personal physician entered the living room, a thick stack of reports in his slightly trembling hands.
Robert, though weary, was now sitting up supported by cushions, his color and spirit utterly transformed.
Sophia, Mason, and a few core family members waited.
---
"This... it completely overturns modern medical understanding..." the doctor began, voice trembling with excitement.
"Mr. Rockefeller's myocardial enzyme markers—CK-MB, troponin—show an abrupt and anomalous drop post-ingestion! EKG shows significant improvement in ST segment elevation. More unbelievably, his lipid profile—total cholesterol, triglycerides, LDL, HDL—all optimized to ideal ranges. Blood pressure stabilized at 118/76 mmHg. Fasting glucose is perfect. Systemic inflammation markers, like hs-CRP, are extremely low..."
He paused, taking a breath.
"Synthesizing all data, his physiological state... the key indicators... it's as if he's returned to his optimal health status from five or six years ago! And comprehensive toxicology and liver/kidney function screens show no adverse reactions or abnormal metabolites!"
---
The room was so quiet one could hear a pin drop.
All eyes fixed once more on Mason, sitting quietly to the side.
The emotions in those gazes had undergone a seismic shift—filled with awe, shock, and a nearly covetous eagerness.
---
Robert Rockefeller, aided by his butler, walked over to Mason.
The man who commanded a vast business empire now regarded him with intensely complex eyes—profound relief at cheating death, deep wariness of the unknown power, and a sharp, decisive recognition of the priceless treasure he'd glimpsed.
---
"Mr. Mason," he said, gripping Mason's hand firmly, his voice low and weighty.
"Words fail to express my gratitude. What you've given me is not just a second chance at life, but... unimaginable vitality."
He paused, his gaze holding Mason's.
"I have a place in Malibu, on the water. Decent views. It's been sitting empty. I insist you accept it. A modest token of my appreciation.
"Also, next week, I'm hosting a dinner at my home. Just some old friends. I'd be honored if you would attend as my guest of honor."
His eyes shifted briefly to Sophia beside Mason, a look of genuine comfort and relief crossing his face.
"Sophia, my dear niece, thank you for bringing someone as extraordinary as Mr. Mason into our lives."
He looked back at Mason, his tone solemn.
"The Rockefeller family, and I personally, will forever remember this debt. In the future, whatever difficulty you face, whatever need you have, please, let me know. The Rockefellers will be your solid backing."
---
Mason offered no false modesty.
He understood, more clearly than anyone, the earth-shattering value of such a pill within any echelon of wealth—and how that value escalated exponentially at the highest tiers.
Consider: if you possessed trillions yet were decrepit with age, counting down your days, at risk of passing away at any moment, and someone offered you a pill that could rapidly restore your aged, weary body to its prime of just a few years prior—it was essentially granting you additional life.
Under such circumstances, would you hesitate to part with a hundred billion?
Or, if you knew with certainty you would die tomorrow, what meaning would the trillions in your hands hold?
Would you give a tenth, or more, for just one more day, one more year?
---
In this top echelon, once news spread, to what insane heights would the price of such a pill soar?
For those at the pinnacle of wealth and power, an extra year, even an extra hour, meant continued dominion over 99.99% of the world's resources, maintaining endless influence and enjoyment.
Life itself was the ultimate, non-negotiable asset.
---
Mason understood this.
He also knew that Sophia's uncle—the man just pulled back from the brink—understood it even more deeply, and was likely, at this very moment, calculating the infinite possibilities this pill represented, far beyond mere "life extension."
---
So Mason accepted the thanks and the promise with calm humility yet firm composure.
Other guests approached, offering concern and congratulations, their words laced with curiosity and respect.
Robert acknowledged them all with appropriate grace, offering no further elaboration.
---
As the crowd thinned, leaving only the core family and Mason, Robert personally saw Mason to the estate's entrance.
After final pleasantries, watching Mason and Sophia depart, Robert, leaning on his butler, walked slowly back into the brightly lit mansion.
His steps were lighter, but his eyes were deep as the sea.
---
Back in his study, having dismissed the staff, Robert stood alone before the massive window, gazing at the estate's nightscape.
He gently touched his chest, where not long ago the agony of death had gripped him, now feeling only a steady, strong heartbeat.
His mind replayed the unassuming pill, Mason's calm face, and those miraculous data on the reports.
---
"Just one pill..." he murmured, his voice barely audible in the spacious study.
"...with such heaven-defying, life-creation effects... That young man is no ordinary person. The secrets and abilities he harbors are likely beyond imagination.
"Someone like that... must be bound to us, at any cost."
---
He knew all too well that for men like him, standing at the apex of wealth and power yet feeling the relentless march of time daily, health and longevity were the rarest, most priceless commodities.
The glimpse Mason had offered was enough to cause an earthquake in the top echelon.
This was not just a life-saving favor; it was a key to unimaginable possibilities.
---
Late that night, Mason drove Sophia back to her apartment.
The car was unusually quiet, filled only with the engine's low hum and their soft breathing.
Once parked, Sophia didn't immediately unbuckle.
She turned in the dim light, her gaze deep and complex, resting on him, swirling with the after-shocks of shock, relief for her uncle, and something else, long-suppressed, fiery, now surging.
---
Then, she leaned over and gave him a tight, lingering hug.
Her body trembled slightly, the scent of her hair filling his senses.
After a long while, she released him but didn't pull far back.
Her cheeks were flushed and lovely in the shadows, her eyes like deep water, or perhaps like fire.
---
"Mason," she whispered, her voice soft yet each word clear, carrying a trembling resolve.
"Today... thank you. For everything."
She paused, as if gathering courage, her long lashes lowering then meeting his gaze directly.
"I think... no, I'm certain. What I've discovered... it's more than just the miracle of that elixir."
---
With that, she leaned in swiftly, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to the corner of his mouth—a warm, soft touch that carried an electric thrill.
Before he could react, she pushed the car door open and, like a startled yet joyous bird, disappeared into the apartment building's lobby light without looking back.
---
Mason sat alone in the car.
The slightly damp touch lingered on his lips, mixed with her fading fragrance, permeating the enclosed space.
He looked towards where she'd vanished, then out at L.A.'s brilliant yet cold, boundless night.
---
The ripple from the pill's miraculous effect, like a boulder dropped into water, was spreading rapidly, beginning to violently churn the world around him.
Wealth, status, the admiring gaze of a beautiful woman—once distant illusions—were now being projected clearly onto the screen of his life by the power originating from that ancient alchemy formula.
And the curtain had been well and truly raised on this upheaval.