The news that Father Matthew had collapsed due to the peasants' commotion—and that it had provoked the wrath of Count Felix, resulting in punishment for those involved—spread like wildfire. Unsurprisingly, it made the rest of the peasants uneasy, fearing the consequences might ripple out to affect them too.
As for the punished parties themselves, it was even worse.
Though the punishment only involved the suspension of food rations during labor service, to a peasant, losing food was more painful than a beating. Especially an entire month's worth—it stung every time they thought about it.
But that wasn't the only repercussion. They had also left a negative impression on the Count. Their names were now registered on a list of offenders. From this point forward, the Count would likely remember their transgression, and being disliked by one's lord was a terrifying prospect. It could mean losing out on future opportunities. Even if the Count forgot, the stewards—who took their cue from his preferences—would surely treat them poorly. Other villagers might also ostracize them. Life would be tough for them for a long time.
Still, no one dared complain. All they could do was swallow the bitter fruit of their recklessness and wallow in regret.
Then, the next day, a new order was issued from the castle.
Naturally, it was about the very issue that had caused the ruckus: education.
Teachers selected by the castle would begin visiting the villages within the estate each morning to hold classes. Any child between the ages of seven and fifteen, regardless of gender, could attend. Those older could audit the lessons if they had time. Villagers wouldn't need to pay tuition, but they were responsible for the teachers' meals and transportation—and more importantly, for their safety. If any teacher was harmed, the castle would consider the severity of the incident and might revoke the village's right to education altogether.
In other words: if anything happened to the teacher, no one in the village would be allowed to attend school again—no matter who was responsible.
The scope of this initiative included every village within the estate, both serf and freeman alike. Freeman villages were in the minority, but they were included.
When deciding who to include, Wei Wei had hesitated—should they include the freemen who had recently moved to the estate's outskirts? Those villages had grown quickly, especially the first batch who came of their own will. They were different from those who arrived later, lured by the promised benefits.
Felix had a soft spot for those early freemen. "Think of it as a reward," he said. "Let them be included."
Wei Wei had been leaning the same way, though she was concerned other freemen outside the estate might stir up more trouble over it.
Felix dismissed the worry. "The ones who caused trouble have already been punished. Our stance is clear. Anyone else who wants to kick up a fuss should first ask themselves if they can bear the consequences."
Being hated by your lord wasn't something most people could afford—unless they had no intention of staying in Sardinson County.
Wei Wei relented and added the freemen's village to the plan.
The freemen themselves didn't know at first. The announcement didn't list specific village names—only that it applied to villages within the estate. They were initially disappointed, thinking they weren't included.
But a few days later, a teacher from the castle arrived.
At first, they couldn't believe it. But as reality sank in, they rushed to host the teacher properly and prepared a space for classes.
No one looked down on the teacher, despite her young age. Those who had helped with the population census knew how capable the children from the chapel were—why else would so many be jealous?
Not every village got their own teacher. The castle assigned them based on population. Larger villages with more children got one teacher, while smaller ones had to combine two or three nearby villages and hold joint classes. Where the classes were held was up to the villages to negotiate, with the goal being to keep the student-teacher ratio balanced.
For the children chosen as teachers, this was their first time taking on such a role. Many were nervous, doubting their abilities—they weren't the best students, after all, just above average. Could they handle teaching?
"You can do it," Qin encouraged them before they left. "Remember how well you've helped your classmates before?"
Back when Wei Wei began planning for widespread education, she had always intended to use these children. After regular classes, they were organized into rotating study groups, constantly helping and learning from each other. Qin, who had kept close watch, knew these chosen children may not have had the best grades, but they were the best at explaining things. They often helped their struggling peers and had already built up some teaching experience. The castle provided them with textbooks, and as long as they followed the lesson plans, teaching the basics would be easy.
Qin's encouragement calmed their nerves. With more confidence, and teaching tools in hand, they left the castle escorted by soldiers.
Watching them go, Qin smiled, a mix of pride and melancholy on her face.
The children were advancing so quickly that they'd nearly exhausted her knowledge. Her time as their teacher was almost over. Once the new hires arrived, she'd return to Wei Wei's side. After spending so much time together, she couldn't help feeling a little reluctant.
But soon her spirits lifted again. She remembered her ambition—she wanted to be a housekeeper, not a teacher.
Most of the chosen "little teachers" were girls. Teaching suited their temperaments better than boys', but that also meant they faced more danger.
That's why, at first, each child-teacher had a soldier accompany them. Once they got used to their roles, that escort would be replaced by a carriage service. They'd spend half the day teaching in the village, with lunch provided by the locals. Then at 2 p.m., they'd be picked up and taken back to the chapel—no need to sleep or live in the villages, ensuring greater safety.
Wei Wei wasn't being paranoid. Most of these girls were at the age when society expected them to marry. In both serf and freeman villages, cases of men taking advantage of women—then either being forced to marry them or walking away unscathed—were all too common. Castle maids often gossiped about such incidents. And the punishment for such "accidents"? Usually nothing more than some compensation to the girl's family.
In other regions, there were even issues like "right of the first night." But in Sardinson County, everyone knew the old Count had been deeply in love with his late wife, and the new Count had inherited that devotion. He hadn't exercised that feudal "right" even once since taking office. As a result, some lowlifes had grown bold.
Fortunately, that was changing.
Wei Wei loathed such scum. Felix, being a knight, wouldn't tolerate it either. As long as such things reached their ears, the offenders were arrested and investigated immediately. If found guilty, the punishment was execution—no exceptions. After a few examples were made, no one dared push their luck. At most, there was the occasional lewd joke or inappropriate glance.
But after rumors spread of Wei Wei's newfound hobby—castrating pigs—those with perverted thoughts didn't even dare flirt, for fear that she might decide to test her hobby on them.
All in all, the child-teachers' safety was well protected. But precautions were still necessary.
The village houses were all modest huts, so proper classrooms hadn't been built yet. Until then, lessons were held in open fields. Luckily, the weather was mild, and the sun was not too harsh. Aside from straining the teacher's voice, it wasn't much of an issue.
Each teacher received one set of materials: a textbook, a blackboard, and chalk. The blackboard was made of wooden planks painted black and hung from a tree, easily visible from a distance. The chalk was made from lime and water—crude compared to modern chalk, but functional.
The open-air classroom soon filled with children of all ages, plus curious adults hoping to learn or just see what the fuss was about. The crowd packed the field, making the child-teachers nervous again.
Thankfully, the adults kept quiet, and misbehaving youngsters were quickly silenced by scolding parents. When all eyes turned to her, one teacher took a deep breath, picked up the chalk, and wrote the first letter on the board.
The first lesson was shaky, of course. But with practice, they found their rhythm, mimicking the teaching styles of Qin and Father Matthew—clear, simple, and engaging, with the occasional question tossed to the class.
With the Count's recruitment notice still posted, this was a time when people craved knowledge more than ever. Ambitious ones seized the opportunity, while those with no interest in learning watched for a bit, satisfied their curiosity, and left.
Once the crowd thinned, discipline faltered. Older students behaved—they understood this might be their only chance to change their fate. But the younger ones, restless and clueless, couldn't sit still. The class grew noisy.
But before the little teacher could panic, the older students stepped in to quiet the unruly kids. After all, chaos would affect their learning.
The fact that the Count had sent teachers to the peasants—completely free of charge—was unbelievable. But after everything the Count and Countess had done lately, it was also… not surprising.
Still, envy burned in the hearts of those not included.
Unfortunately, this round of benefits didn't cover all of Sardinson County. Outside of the castle estate and nearby areas, even towns like Dingle received nothing. They'd have to find their way.
But the Count's actions had lit a fire. If the churches couldn't accommodate more students, the peasants could hire their teachers.
They didn't need to be exceptional—just capable of teaching reading, writing, and basic arithmetic. Even if students couldn't qualify for the Count's jobs, literacy would make any job easier to get.
Of course, private tutors were out of reach financially. But pooling resources across one or several villages? That was doable. Lately, most families had some savings. If everyone pitched in, they could afford a teacher.
The real challenge? Sardinson didn't have many literate people. Most who could read already had jobs. They wouldn't leave those for a bit of money to teach peasants.
Still, Sardinson was growing fast. More people were moving in. Ask around enough, and they'd find someone literate and willing to teach. Whether they were good teachers… well, that was another matter.
But still—however you looked at it, the peasants' newfound respect for education was a good thing.
That day, one of the maids assigned to care for the alchemist came to see Wei Wei.
"Madam, Master Raymond requests your presence."
Wei Wei remembered the task she had left for him and nodded. Time to visit the alchemy lab.
It was only her second visit since returning from the capital. She'd been far too busy to check in before and had no idea how Raymond's research was going.
But the moment she saw the partially completed item on the table, she knew—he'd done it.
The task she had given Master Raymond had to do with mechanics—not something as groundbreaking as a steam engine, but still significant.
She'd asked him to build a pendulum clock.
Invented over three hundred years later by Dutch physicist Christiaan Huygens, the pendulum clock was known for its stable timekeeping. Powered by a mainspring, its internal mechanism was simple enough—at least in theory. Build the parts according to a blueprint, assemble them, and it worked. But in this era, making those parts was painstaking and required considerable craftsmanship. Sardinson's blacksmiths, until recently, couldn't manage it.
Wei Wei could draw the design but couldn't provide precise measurements. It would take trial and error. The only assistance she could offer was the core principle: the law of the simple pendulum.
So she handed the problem over to Master Raymond. A former math teacher turned alchemist, he had strong calculation skills, a deep understanding of metallurgy, and excellent hands-on ability.
And sure enough, after a month of tinkering, he'd built Sardinson County's first pendulum clock.
It was still technically a prototype—it only had the inner workings so far.
The clock stood a meter tall. Its casing was made of wood, simple and unadorned, with three hands of varying lengths. The second hand moved smoothly in rhythm with the swinging pendulum. Its ticking echoed loudly in the quiet lab.
Wei Wei had arrived just as Master Raymond was doing the final adjustments, gears clicking into place with each swing.
"Just a moment," he greeted her without stopping.
A few minutes later, the clock was complete. He adjusted the time—Wei Wei didn't know how he calibrated it, but it looked accurate.
"I didn't expect you to finish it so quickly," she said in amazement. "When this clock is revealed to the world, your name will be remembered."
But Master Raymond wasn't satisfied. "It's still not good enough. I haven't managed to create the chiming mechanism you described. It can keep time, but not announce it."
"That's already amazing," Wei Wei reassured him. She knew well how much more complicated a chiming clock was—and honestly, she didn't like the idea of one that rang in the dead of night. It was creepy.
"The hard part is crafting some of the smaller components," he said, visibly frustrated. "But I'll keep working on it."
"You don't have to push yourself. This is already incredible," Wei Wei said, impressed. "I didn't think you'd finish it so soon."
Raymond smirked. "It's just some gears and pieces. Nothing I can't handle. If it weren't for how long the grinding took, I'd have finished earlier."
Indeed, hand-grinding each part was time-consuming and slow.
"I'll have it sent out for duplication," she said. "Once we've made copies, I'll return this one to you. After all, it's the original—you should have it."
But Raymond shook his head. "No need. You keep it. Just give me a duplicate later."
His lab wasn't exactly safe. It would be a shame if something happened to the original.
Wei Wei agreed. "I'll store it in the castle. You can retrieve it whenever you want."
Then she added, "The new craftsmen we hired recently are quite skilled. Some even have good reputations. If you need any help making parts, you can work with them."
Now Raymond was intrigued. "Great. I'll talk to them soon."
Letting professionals handle the grinding was more efficient.
After handing over the clock, Raymond suddenly remembered—he hadn't called Wei Wei here just to show it off.
"A few of my old friends wrote to me recently," he said. "They're interested in coming to Sardinson to do research with me."
Of course, that was just an excuse. He knew they just wanted to come work for Felix.
Alchemy required funding. Most alchemists were broke. Raymond had once been in the same boat—burning his salary on experiments until he was fired from his teaching post.
But now, things were different. With Felix and Wei Wei's support, monthly bonuses, and no personal expenses, he'd saved a small fortune. Naturally, he wanted to focus on his research—and he had proudly written to his old friends about the life he now led.
Naturally, they were tempted.
"They might be eccentric," Raymond said, "but they're skilled alchemists. If you're willing to take them in, I promise you won't regret it."
Coming from someone as odd as Raymond, that was saying something.
Wei Wei raised an eyebrow. "Do you think they'll be willing to follow my direction?"
"Of course," he said confidently. "As long as you offer them good terms, no one would turn you down."
Generous patrons were rare—and Wei Wei's assignments had been genuinely fascinating. Raymond was sure his friends would feel the same.
"In that case, go ahead and invite them," Wei Wei said. "We'll discuss terms when they arrive. If we're satisfied with each other, I'll give them the same contract you have."
She paused, then added, "Their backgrounds are clean, I hope? Sardinson's been getting a lot of attention lately. If any of them are problematic, they should stay away."
Raymond stroked his beard and smiled. "Don't worry. I guarantee they're fine."
"Good," Wei Wei said.
She trusted him. Still, she'd have their backgrounds checked—just in case.
With more alchemists arriving, keeping the lab in the castle would be too risky. She didn't want to be blown to bits one day. The safest course was to build a separate facility in a secluded area—one that could be destroyed without hurting anyone.
Time to ask the construction team for help again.
"Oh, by the way," Raymond added. "One of my old friends, Giulio, heard I was doing well here and wants to visit. Would you and the Count be willing to receive him?"
Wei Wei nodded. "Of course."
Raymond beamed. "Great! I was worried you'd find it too troublesome. He tends to travel with quite an entourage—what with being the Pope and all."
"Pope? As in… the actual Pope?"
"Yes, he was elected last year," Raymond said casually. "Though frankly, I don't know why he wanted that job. No one keeps that seat for long these days. Honestly, I worry—"
Wei Wei didn't hear the rest.
She just stood there, stunned.
Why in the world did Raymond—the eccentric alchemist who was once expelled from a school—personally know the Pope?
Even in a kingdom that didn't care much for the Church… he was still the Pope. With a connection like that, even the Royal Academy would have to tread carefully.