Chapter Forty-Six: My Ophelia

Having dealt with Pierre, it was as if Gong Hao had vanquished the spirit seed lurking within his body in the valley; he had eradicated a great hidden danger. Moreover, with Pierre's death, a massive power and technological vacuum appeared within the Alchemy Fortress.

Heinz now urgently needed an assistant who could truly be of help. Unsurprisingly, Gong Hao became the best candidate—be it because of his relationship with the princess, the significant favor he had just done for Heinz, or purely based on his own abilities and intelligence, he was owed this reward.

Of course, Gong Hao was to take over Andrew’s previous position, just as he had anticipated: from that day on, all servant responsibilities fell to him. Andrew, meanwhile, would step into Pierre’s role, overseeing the apprentices.

Though Heinz did not open access to the highest echelons of alchemy to Gong Hao—as he could not trust him as implicitly as he had trusted Andrew or Pierre—this was already a thousandfold grace for most people.

For someone who had started as a lowly servant, then become an apprentice, and now an assistant, this was an extraordinary achievement by any measure.

Yet for Gong Hao, with Pierre’s secretly hoarded records and Electra’s notebook in his possession, the issue of gaining access to advanced alchemy was already resolved—after Pierre’s death, he openly entered Pierre’s room and took those items.

Now, he needed only to devote himself to the study of spatial magic.

In the deep quiet of night, he secretly researched wind and soul spells, eager to seize every opportunity to grasp the mysteries of magic before Avril departed. Once Klaus left with her, guidance would become difficult to obtain. As for Paget, he simply requested some basic manuals and insights on martial cultivation from the Earth Warrior, intending to study them in the future.

Under Klaus’s tutelage, he could now skillfully cast four basic wind spells and two basic soul spells. Of course, aside from Lancelot, no one knew he could perform magic. Even Lancelot only believed he knew a handful of basic spells—the sort every alchemist was expected to master.

For Gong Hao, there was no inherent good or evil in magic; only the moral choices of its wielder mattered. On this precarious island, even forbidden spells would not give him pause—he would not hesitate to sleep nightly beside undead golems, to brave universal condemnation and be hunted to the ends of the earth.

To his delight, alchemy did indeed boost his magical power noticeably. When he consciously fused his magic into alchemical practice, he could distinctly feel his power grow.

This growth may not have outpaced meditation, but for ordinary people lacking magical talent, it was a real shortcut to becoming a mage. Gong Hao had no natural aptitude for soul magic, but by crafting soul orbs required for flesh golems, he could train his sense for these energies.

Because his main efforts were focused on alchemy, he found that, despite his innate sensitivity to wind elements, his progress in soul spells soon outstripped his advancement in wind magic.

He suspected that, at this rate, he would become a soul mage before ever mastering wind magic—even though his natural affinity for wind far exceeded his soul talents.

Fate, it seemed, enjoyed such ironies; the situation was almost comical.

On the sixth day after Pierre’s death, Avril’s day of departure finally arrived.

Though she had come to understand her feelings for Gong Hao, she had no right to take him away. Pierre’s demise had made Gong Hao even more valuable, and Heinz could not afford to lose another outstanding apprentice and new assistant; neither could the Empire.

The parables, fairy tales, and legends Gong Hao had told her had gradually taught the princess about the complexities of the human heart, imparting many lessons. She no longer lost her temper so easily or acted impulsively—at least, not in Gong Hao’s presence.

On her final night, Avril lay on her bed, with Gong Hao seated close by. Half nestled in his embrace, she listened as he recounted one last story—Hamlet.

Hamlet, a late work of Shakespeare, may not have the fame of Romeo and Juliet, but in terms of artistic value, philosophical depth, and social insight, it surpassed them.

The story itself was simple: a pure-hearted prince seeking vengeance, a scheming usurper king, an innocent, passionate maiden, and a court full of treacherous ministers played out a drama of human tragedy and farce—a tale in which, ultimately, all are destroyed, forming history’s most famous tragedy.

Shakespeare expressed with utmost simplicity the endless cycle of revenge.

He believed forgiveness was a virtue.

“To forgive what others cannot forgive is an act of the highest nobility.”

These are Shakespeare’s own words.

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“To be, or not to be, that is the question.

Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them.
To die, to sleep—
No more—and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: ‘tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished.
To die, to sleep—
To sleep—perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub!
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause—there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th’ oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th’unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?
Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death—
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveler returns—puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.”

In the quiet room, Gong Hao softly recited this centuries-old passage from Hamlet—a classic, thanks to his university days, often used by those introverted students in their attempts at courtship. Gong Hao was no exception; thus, he could now bring it forth. Similarly, he had recited parts of Romeo and Juliet in the little grove. To memorize every line verbatim would have been impossible for him.

“What a tragic and moving love story. Hughie, why do people seek revenge?” Avril asked.

“Because hatred fills their hearts.”

“Then why do people fall in love?”

“Because love fills their hearts as well.”

“Which is stronger—love or hate?”

Gong Hao hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t know. But I do know that love and hate never arise without cause. Everything happens for a reason, though we may not see it.”

Avril pondered this for a while, then cuddled closer to Gong Hao. “I don’t like this story, Hughie. It’s too sad. At least Romeo and Juliet died for love and died together. But Hamlet and Ophelia could not be together. He drove her mad; he caused her death… I hate him. I hate Hamlet. He’s nothing but a revenge-obsessed madman who ignored the preciousness of those who loved him.”

“You’re right, Avril. No one should ever hurt the one they love so deeply. But some things must be done, perhaps differing only in where the line is drawn.”

“Then if you were Hamlet, would you insist on revenge?”

“Hamlet clung to vengeance because Claudius wished to kill him, to remove all future threats, and Hamlet himself hesitated over revenge. If I were Hamlet, for the sake of the woman I loved, I could forgo vengeance against Claudius—so long as he promised never to harm me.”

Avril nodded, only half understanding.

She didn’t realize that the reason Gong Hao told her this story tonight was not to extol forgiveness or advocate mercy.

In the real Hamlet, the prince’s fiancée is not the daughter of Claudius, the man he seeks revenge upon. But in Gong Hao’s retelling, he deliberately made Ophelia the daughter of Claudius, the usurper king, making the story all the more akin to the situation between himself and Avril—though the young princess would not realize this for now.

But one day, she would understand everything.

And that was what Gong Hao truly wished to tell her.

An answer—a preemptive answer, given to Avril.

He did not know why he did this. Subconsciously, he thought he would never fall for this young girl; he had always believed he was using her. Yet deep inside, there lingered a faint unease. So he told this adapted tale, hoping that one day Avril would understand.

Did it mean he cared about her feelings? Gong Hao was not sure.

When the conversation ended, Gong Hao said, “Alright, Avril, it’s time for you to rest. Go to sleep now.”

“Alright,” the little princess replied, reluctantly pulling the covers over herself, tears still shimmering on her cheeks.

Tonight, her tears were shed for Ophelia—a girl innocently sacrificed in a struggle between lover and father.

Early the next morning, Avril returned to the dragon ship.

Before boarding, she wept again. This time, her tears were for the boy she had come to truly love, from whom she was now to be parted.

In that final moment before she boarded, she suddenly threw herself into Gong Hao’s arms and pressed a fierce kiss to his lips.

A wet, burning, passionate kiss, full of a maiden’s tenderness, upon Gong Hao’s mouth.

All those present were so startled that they bowed their heads, not daring to look.

Last year, at their parting, the little princess had awed everyone with her guardian knight.

This year, she declared with her first kiss that her heart now belonged entirely to Hughie Grail.

As she departed, all the servants, warriors, maids, mages, and stewards looked upon Hughie Grail with awe.

Only Gong Hao remained unmoved.

His heart was as steadfast as stone.

Watching the royal ship vanish into the distance, Gong Hao murmured, “Farewell, my Ophelia. This may be our final parting.”