Chapter 357: Thinking about evil
"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 wrinkles of clothes, gather and disperse with the writing movements, scattering in the bitter and unpleasant air.
It is said to be writing, which is closer to dragging aimlessly, drawing some distorted 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 recounted 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 and boring black strokes caused by printing are vivid in my mind.
But something is missing.
At first he thought that his days were too smooth 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 and review, he had to admit that something might be wrong.
The entire operation process requires no strict control from beginning to end. Extraction can be extracted more, acidified can be acidified, and oxidized can be applied by drops, and there is no error reason at all.
However, after repeated debugging, the results were never ideal. The only few times that were suspected of precipitation were very small, so few that it was difficult to separate from impurities.
He re-examined 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 swayed.
He needs to find the part. Almost a little paranoid thoughts support the will, from day to night. However, the distance did not seem to be shortened, and the carrots were always hung in front of the horse's head, driving thinking to continue to operate in a typical "just a little" way.
Compared with "what is it", what should be asked more is "what is going on". What's wrong with memory? There's no reason to be confused.
Out of habitual vigilance, he walked around for a while, but the world was even more shiny than the new paper that had been ironed out after being waxed, and did not find any suspicious effects from a deeper level.
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.
Luckily, I didn't mention it to someone in advance, otherwise I would be very 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 stubbornness.
Time, precious time, has indeed brought about some progress that is difficult for outsiders to understand. You can feel that you are already very close to your target, and you can find its blurry outline only at a distance of a piece of paper. 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 pen tip goes downward and returns to the starting point again, and the trajectory forms an elliptical ring on the paper, round after circle.
The line gradually shortens, shrinks inwardly and nests until it stops at the center, breaking through the soaked paper fibers.
The eyes were dry and hazy, but they were 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 the intuition is unprecedentedly strong, and there is something that touches perception.
Contrast memory, this position is the alcohol dosage record in the extraction step, without any special features.
"Huh?"
Just as the content was confirmed, that 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. You don’t have to search in the wastebasket. The next second he remembered what he left here. His ideas about heating time and temperature control were completely abandoned because there were too many changes and he might need to make a homemade thermometer.
Before further thinking, the words in memory lost their appeal again. It is like a poem with rich artistic conception that loses its rhyme, and a smooth speech inserts improper words. Something is pulled out of it, and the same words become dry and tastes like chewing wax.
The 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.
The needles fell in the corridor away from the patrol route, and there was not even a mouse.
The scene at the position guided by intuition is nowhere to be hidden. It was 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.
The feeling 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 reading, he was picked up...]
No mistakes, one song, one content, one book, one book, one bar, one book, one bar!
The strokes are concave and undulating along 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 a long ridge that looks like an unintentional one.
That feeling winds towards the depths of darkness along the paths that are more like matter 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.
The door bolt was lifted up, and Craft quickly slid out of the door.
The stone steps of varying heights and winding roads are like walking on flat ground under your feet, thrown behind your ears from the front. Instinct even found a strange feeling of pleasure in the pursuit.
It can be faster.
Thinking of this, the pace will be faster and more stable, as if you have eyes to find the most suitable focus point.
When he realized, 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, 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. They are running around in the huge and complex corridor, blindly looking for a path outside the wall.
Craft had no time to care about these things. The sword blade accurately penetrated through the central slit and split the wooden plug on the back of the door, and then his body rushed into the back of the door.
Dark and wide, he couldn't remember where this 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 Pentium instinct sensed the threat, raised his limbs high, touched the pain wrapped in layers, and released it.
When consciousness finds what he is 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 cut surface 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