"What's wrong?"
In the room with only one oil lamp illuminated, the gloomy back repeats the words rarely heard by ordinary people.
Some tiny lights accumulate among the folds of clothes, gather and disperse with the writing movements, scattering in the bitter and unpleasant air.
It is said that writing is closer to dragging aimlessly, drawing some unsatisfactory circle symbols so that consciousness can click through the keywords one by one with the tip of the pen and ponder every detail.
Memory faithfully recounts the content that has been repeated countless times:
"Extraction, hydrolysis, oxidation..."
It seems that in the spiritual hall that can stand forever, even the font fading caused by printing and boring black strokes are vivid in my mind.
But something is missing.
At first he thought that his days were too smooth recently and his tolerance for negative conditions was reduced, which led to his inability to accept the failure caused by uncontrollable random factors.
But after two days of continuous experimentation, he had to admit that something might have been wrong.
There is no place that needs to be strictly controlled from beginning to end of the entire operation process. Extraction can be extracted more, acidification can be acidified, and oxidation can be done by dropping, and no error reason can be found at all.
However, after repeated debugging, the results were never ideal. The only few times that were suspected to have precipitation were very small, so few that it was difficult to separate from impurities.
He reexamined the page from beginning to end until he was convinced that there was no place to hide an undiscovered note, but that only made the gap between each line look suspicious.
Intuition keeps talking in consciousness - something is hidden, a blind spot under a certain eyelid.
It felt like loose and fallen metal parts rolling in my mind, making an irritating and harsh collision sound when it shook.
He had to find the part. A nearly paranoid thought supported the will, from day to night. However, the distance did not seem to be shortened, and the carrots were always hanging in front of the horse's head, driving the thinking to continue to operate in a typical "just a little" way.
Compared to "what is", what should be asked more is "what is going on". What's wrong with memory? There will be no reason for confusion.
Out of habitual vigilance, he walked around for a while, but the world was even more tidy than the new paper that had been ironed and waxed, and did not find any suspicious effects from deeper levels.
This result made him embarrassed himself for a while, and he felt that he could not afford to lose if he did the wrong question.
Fortunately, I didn't mention it to someone in advance, otherwise I would have been embarrassed.
So the situation became like this. Craft, who was about to open the clinic, decided to suffer again, Raymond, locked himself in the laboratory and got into a stubborn state.
Time, precious time, has indeed brought about some progress that is difficult for outsiders to understand. I can feel that I am very close to the target, and only distanced from a piece of paper, I can find its blurry outline. This is also the reason why he is willing to sit here in the middle of the night.
The willow bark in the leaching solution is floating and waiting for further treatment, but there is no time to pay attention to it at this moment.
Following the operation steps, the tip of the pen goes downward and returns to the starting point. The trajectory forms an elliptical ring on the paper, round after circle.
The line gradually shortens, shrinks inward and nests until it stops at the center, breaking through the soaked paper fibers.
The eyes are dry and hazy, but they are focusing at a certain point, attracted by the dense spiral formed by ink lines.
Craft frowned and leaned over, looking at it, unable to recognize anything in the messy strokes. But his intuition was unprecedentedly strong, and something that touched the perception was there.
Compared with memory, this location is the alcohol dosage record in the extraction step, without any special features.
"Um?"
Just as the content was confirmed, the feeling disappeared. To be precise, it disappeared from its original position.
It jumped to the end of the page, a piece that was torn off by the whole piece, and now there are only burrs and tall letter heads.
This is not a difficult task, and you don’t have to search in the wastebasket. The next second he remembered what he left here, and his thoughts on heating time and temperature control. Because there are too many changes, he may need to make a homemade thermometer and be completely abandoned.
Before further thinking, the words in memory lost their appeal again.
It is like a poem with rich artistic conception that has lost its rhyme, and the smooth speeches have inserted improper words, something is pulled out of it, and the same words become dry and tastes like wax.
That feeling did not disappear, but appeared in a new position through some means and appeared in...
【Outside the room】
Craft left the seat silently, walked around the miscellaneous long table bottles and jars, pulled out the sword with his backhand, and put it on the door panel.
There was a sound of needles falling from the corridor away from the patrol route, and there was not even a mouse.
The scene at the location guided by intuition is nowhere to be hidden. It is the arched top of the corridor. It was just cleaned when I moved in a few days ago. The dust on the spider webs in front and behind the arch were wiped out, revealing faded religious paintings.
It felt like it was flowing in the cloud-like lace. I don’t know if the old paint was originally like this, or because it was too long, it looked white and gray, and the patterns outlined with crimson purple strokes were not very natural.
It is not because there are patterns in order to reflect the clouds, but because there are patterns in the clouds.
Once the angle changes, the pattern will be flipped immediately, becoming a deliberately hidden text.
【When the man was looking at him, he was picked up and raised…】
The strokes are concave and convex and undulating on the surface of the bricks and stones, and the hidden text patterns are embedded in stone patterns that are difficult to see in the naked eye. The pieces are closely linked, squeezed and rolled, winding among the clouds, forming long ridges that seem to be unintentionally.
That feeling winds towards the depths of darkness along the paths that are more material than matter in the graphic strokes.
In intuition, it is like a flying bird with phosphorus powder; in the senses, there is nothing moving in the place where it is passed.
The door bolt was lifted up, and Craft quickly slid out of the door.
The stone steps of varying heights, the winding and circling roads are like walking on flat ground under your feet, thrown behind your ears from the front. Instinct even found a strange sense of pleasure in the pursuit.
It can be faster.
Thinking of this, the pace becomes faster and more stable, as if you have eyes to find the most suitable focus point.
When he realized that he had stepped on the window frame, hooked the protruding drip beast into the upper windowsill, and intercepted it in front of the baptized mural of Jeriya.
However, the thing did not follow the normal movement rules, and jumped for a distance in the opposite direction and continued to move.
This unreasonable pursuit has attracted attention. You can hear the patrol team moving closer to this side, running around in the huge and complex corridor, blindly looking for a road outside the wall.
Craft had no time to care about these things, and the sword blade accurately passed through the central slit to split the wooden plug on the back of the door, and then his body rushed into the back of the door.
It was dark and wide. He couldn't remember where it was. The thing was wandering in front of him, like a drop of water melting into a lake, spreading rapidly, expanding from a tiny tiny to as huge as the space that was about to be filled.
The cyclone's instinct sensed the threat, raised his limbs, touched the pain wrapped in layers, and released it.
When consciousness discovers what they are doing, everything can no longer be stopped.
The lights coming from behind lit up a corner of the hall. Among the flying confetti, the hardwood bookshelf slid down, tilting the mountains of corrupt book pages onto the floor.
"Uh, Mr. Craft?" The monk who arrived did not quite understand what was going on here, but a cold sense of alienation flowed through his breath and frozen his feet in place. "You are..."
"It seems like a snake broke in and I didn't catch it."
The owner of the monastery stood in the middle of the darkness and turned around to block the section of the damaged bookshelf.
Uh, I'm busy with work recently and am still writing my graduation thesis, and my condition is relatively sluggish.
(っ*´□`)っ
Chapter completed!