Rising from the Ashes (Andrew) novel Chapter 1360

Someone exclaimed, "My God, I get it now! This guy wasn't clueless when he was slowly picking through the ingredients! He was doing the opposite of what's normal! Dr. Lake and Dr. Bozzelli selected the needed ingredients, but Andrew first picked out what he didn't need, leaving only what he wanted!"

Once someone explained it this way, everyone immediately understood. The entire venue erupted in a chorus of gasps.

Medical experts like Malcolm could not remain seated—they stood up abruptly, their eyes widened in shock.

"About 800 ingredients were all thrown in to brew the Golden Cure at once! Andrew is either completely reckless or truly a freak of nature. His medical skill truly walks the line between madness and genius!"

Mosby let out a roar and rushed directly to Andrew, pointing at his nose in righteous indignation. "If this actually works, I'll quit medicine for good and hand over my title as a medical master to you!"

Thomas, equally shaken, shouted from his station, "Andrew, what you're brewing isn't the Golden Cure—it's a damn stew! At best, you'll end up with a pot of foul sludge. At worst, you'll poison everyone who drinks it!"

Andrew rolled his eyes. "If you don't understand what I'm doing, then stop flapping your gums and distracting me."

Without another word, he shoved Mosby and the two old examiners out of his way, stepping back to focus on the cauldron. He carefully managed the heat, occasionally plunging his hands directly into the boiling concoction to stir it, completely unfazed by the blistering temperatures.

After all, Andrew had brewed this very elixir countless times as a child, toughening his body through a relentless regimen. This was second nature to him.

Before long, the pot let out a low, rolling boil, and Andrew cut the fire, lifting the cauldron off the heat. Thick steam billowed upward, masking the color of the liquid within, its dense, swirling vapor making it impossible to see the broth beneath.

Mosby crossed his arms, his sneer deepening. "What a joke. That's nothing but swill—even pigs wouldn't touch it."

With veins pulsing on their foreheads, Preston and Clifford shouted over the rising clamor, "You brat! Those 800 herbs were rare, expensive materials! If you've ruined them, you'll pay every last coin in compensation!"