Chapter 5: Chemistry Is My Magic

The Monkey is immune to physical attacks—Journey to the West makes that perfectly clear. But chemical attacks? No way. It’s right there in the book: sucked into the Purple Gold Red Gourd and the Yin-Yang Two Qi Bottle, he nearly turned into mush. I don’t know the exact science behind those two treasures, but I’m sure—it’s a chemical reaction. Somewhere in my memory, I saw the scenes play out—magical objects, swirling mists, the Monkey writhing and shrinking. It was all Hollywood special effects, but the science, the principles, were real enough to me.

The essence of chemistry is breaking old bonds and forming new ones—atoms rearrange, matter changes. The Monkey turning into mush? That’s got to be a chemical process. Just like the transformation of base metals in a cheap high school experiment, only on a cosmic scale. I felt a thrill—a strange, nerdy satisfaction—at seeing chemistry as my weapon of choice.

Plus, the Monkey loves his beer—he gets drunk, so his brain clearly isn’t immune to ethanol’s anesthetic effects. I pictured him at a dive bar, throwing back shots, brawling with the jukebox. Even superheroes have their weaknesses.

Thank you, Mendeleev. Thank you, periodic table of elements. In this demon-infested world, you’ve given me a glimmer of hope. It was like finding your old high school chemistry textbook in a dream, pages dog-eared, formulas scribbled in the margins, offering one last chance.

“Have you ever heard of ‘Immortal Water’?” I asked. My voice dropped, as if I were revealing the secret sauce at the heart of In-N-Out’s menu.

The Boss and Second-in-Command thought for a moment, then shook their heads. “Never heard of it.” They looked at each other, confusion creasing their monstrous faces. One scratched his head, the other twirled his glasses.

“C4H8O3…” I muttered. I drew the letters in the dirt with a stick, the formula as sacred as any Bible verse.

“Worthy brother, is that a spell?”

“It’s not a spell, it’s a molecular formula—hydroxybutyric acid. It powerfully inhibits the human nervous system. If the concentration in the body exceeds 52 micrograms per milliliter, the person will fall into a deep sleep. It acts directly on neurotransmitters, its anesthetic effect is similar to alcohol. To deal with the Monkey, this is the best way I can think of. Most importantly, high-purity hydroxybutyric acid is colorless and tasteless in water—completely undetectable.” I rattled off the explanation like I was back in Chem 302, praying someone was taking notes.

The Boss and Second-in-Command looked at each other. They seemed dazed, trying to follow the thread, but the words washed over them like a foreign language.

“Uh, this…” Their voices trailed off, uncertain. The cave felt smaller, the air thicker.

I ignored their blank looks and continued: “I need a lot of ephedra and limestone, to extract ephedrine and hydrochloric acid, then use that to synthesize bromophenylacetone—the key ingredient for making hydroxybutyric acid. I can’t make it 100% pure here, but with time, 80% purity is possible. So, you need to find out where the preacher and his disciples are, how soon they’ll reach Maple Hollow, and plan accordingly. Also, get me your best craftsmen—I need beakers, crucibles…” I rattled off the supply list like a mad scientist in a late-night infomercial—order now, and we’ll throw in a free set of goggles!

The Boss and Second-in-Command were still staring at me as if petrified. They looked as if they’d bitten into a ghost pepper by accident, eyes wide and streaming. A hush fell over the cave, even the rowdiest little demons quieting down to listen.

“Go!” I clapped my hands. “Get moving!” I tried to sound commanding, like the ringmaster of a traveling circus, and for a moment, they actually looked like they might obey.

The two of them, as if waking from a dream… The little crowd started to shuffle, monster feet scuffing on stone, the gears of the Maple Hollow operation creaking into motion. Somewhere, just beyond the cave, a blue jay called, the morning sun glinting on dew-soaked leaves, as if the world had finally started to notice I was here.

As the monsters scattered to do my bidding, I realized: if this plan failed, I’d be next on the menu.