[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies":3,"chapter-notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-chapter-12":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","Notes on Kraft Anomalous Studies",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2283490,4467,"Chapter 12: Eleventh Chapter: How Many People Like Strolling Through the Middle Ages?","notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-chapter-12",12,"\u003Cp>Returning to Wenden Harbor was good for both man and horse.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After two full sunny days, the snow began to melt slowly; white receded from the land, revealing dirty patches beneath. The resulting puddles would soon turn the roads into a hell of small mud pits.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If they had left any later, they would have been trapped in hopeless mud, splattered with filth from horse hooves, making them question life itself. You could wear a cloak over your clothes, but you’d have to brace yourself for arriving with half a pound extra weight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Kraft thanked himself for deciding to depart early two days ago. Now, the two were riding on Wenden Harbor’s cobblestone streets, hooves clacking sharply against the stones.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yes, Wenden Harbor had cobblestone roads—at least along several main thoroughfares. As a port city, even if not a major one, it still had to account for traffic. Wagons laden with goods or fish passed daily; the former left deep ruts in dirt roads, the latter dripped water that kept the soil perpetually sludgy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thus, out of pure practical necessity, Wenden Harbor acquired noble cobblestone pavements. By the sea, there was ample sand available to pad and fill gaps, preventing muddy water from pooling beneath loose stones and turning them into “traps” that sprayed sewage when stepped on.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thoughtful designers even built drainage ditches along the roadside and slightly elevated the road’s center into a flat, obtuse triangular cross-section, directing runoff to either side. It might not compare to roads from another world, but here it was among the finest available—and Kraft would not hesitate to praise the designers lavishly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet even this road could not solve the problem Kraft now faced.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I mean, is it possible no one’s out setting up stalls today?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Snow in the road’s center had been cleared away, quietly melting beside the drainage channels. This helped wagons pass easily, but it also displaced the street vendors’ natural habitat. The temperature wasn’t low, but it wasn’t high enough either—not nearly high enough for vending.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wenden Harbor had no antique shops; such upscale markets simply didn’t exist here. If you wanted something strange and old, your first stop was always the roadside stalls. Many of these stalls were side jobs for sailors, selling scattered small items acquired from various places in exchange for a few copper coins to turn into beer at taverns.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fortunately, there was no issue with counterfeiting or artificial aging—no one had the time or skill to apply such tricks to street goods.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Without the stalls, the streets felt empty. At this time, streets hadn’t evolved into the form of residences above and shops below; the sides were mostly pure dwellings. These two- or three-story buildings used half-timbered construction, filling gaps between wooden frames with brick and mortar. The finer ones applied light plaster to the walls, contrasting with the exposed timber frames like a sketch just outlined in pencil.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Compared to the single-story huts of the previous village, these houses were taller and required better load-bearing, making it impractical to hollow out a wall on the ground floor for display. Instead, they relied on horizontal signs to indicate their function. Such signs were few: within sight were only “Tavern,” “Tailor,” and “Bakery”; farther off, another “Tavern.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Never mind—I’ll ask a few ship captains I know. They always have a few mysterious-looking items.” Lain said without blinking, “You go explore on your own. We’ll meet at the academy gate at dusk, then find somewhere to stay together.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Wait, why not take me with you?” Kraft didn’t understand, but Lain had already ridden off down the fork, as if he hadn’t heard.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Under the midday sun, suddenly granted an entire afternoon alone, Kraft halted his horse at the street corner, watching pedestrians and carts pass by, utterly bewildered.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There weren’t many people on the street. A few sailors sang sea shanties, arms slung over each other’s shoulders as they turned into the building with the tavern sign. A wagon loaded with barrels of fish passed by; one barrel held a large fish stuck tail-up, its tail still thrashing. Two men in scholar’s robes used their sleeves to block the spray from the fish’s tail.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Kraft observed it all. The sea shanty was off-key; water droplets traced blue-green lines along the fish’s tail before being flung free; on the brown scholar’s robes, two smudges of diluted ink marked the cuffs. He always felt something was off—especially when alone. Since a certain day, it had been this way.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had become… intensely curious, actively seeking out more details. When riding at speed, he noticed the ornate snow on treetops; he insisted on catching up with his cousin just to chat; on the street, he tracked water droplets and ink spots.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Logically, human attention is limited; focusing on one thing means ignoring many others. Yet his capacity for attention seemed suddenly expanded—he could distribute focus to more things, gathering far more information, useful or not, and he found this behavior deeply engaging.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Like picking up every coin on the ground, like collecting scattered data from an entire book into one volume, like sucking every last drop of marrow from a bone. He derived a strange satisfaction from this behavior.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His wandering thoughts spread further. The sea shanty’s melody should have been higher—it would have sounded more natural. The fish’s tail looked familiar; he’d seen this species before in the harbor, with a sharp snout. The water droplets stretched and deformed midair, flying past the sleeve’s barrier toward its owner’s face…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Damn it!” A curse cut through Kraft’s spiraling thoughts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The two scholars in robes had collided while dodging water droplets; one stumbled forward, landing face-down with his palm on the ground.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Kraft shook his head hard, clearing away the chaotic thoughts, then rode his horse around the scholar arguing with the cart driver.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He wondered if he’d become too sensitive. This uncontrollable fixation on irrelevant details felt like OCD. His other self from the other world had suffered from classic OCD, especially under stress: counting stair steps, washing hands until they wrinkled, repeating three blows of breath over and over.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This half-transmigration might have unconsciously made him too tense. The familiar yet alien body, the merged thought patterns, the unfamiliar environment—all could have overwhelmed his other self with anxiety. But he wasn’t sure. After all, his barely passing psychiatric score clearly wasn’t his own doing—it resembled his teacher’s effort.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Riding along the street, Kraft decided to set these thoughts aside and do something else to clear his mind.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For example, he could look for a shop selling paper, ink, and pens.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Here, Kraft had learned, under Anderson’s instruction and with a bit of pressure from his grandfather, how to write in elaborate cursive script. His other self, however, adored cursive. Though the characters differed, the shared writing method made him eager to test his hand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Compared to another unremarkable trinket, Kraft thought his grandfather and Anderson would prefer something else. A grandson or student returning from a stroll with improved handwriting? That would be pleasing—perhaps even a validation of their teaching.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With this thought in mind, and with no expectation at all for his suddenly vanished cousin Lain, Kraft began searching the streets for paper and ink.\u003C\u002Fp>",1209,"2026-06-20T02:15:55.761Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","7705bc7259701eed0ce9d35a9319de9dfa534529555550fb1d2388cde53c008a","notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-chapter-13","notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-chapter-11",406,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fnotes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-cover.jpg"]