Chapter 226: The Light of Concealment

From the standpoint of effectiveness, Kraft actually agrees with the idea of sending people to lie in wait.

The hexagonal hall is like some underground transportation hub, a convergence point for numerous passages. If anyone is indeed using these drainage channels for their activities, the probability they'll pass through here is very high.

The team saw a flash of light ahead while exploring the return route and nearing the hall—it lasted only a moment and vanished before they could chase it out of the tunnel entrance.

It's easy to imagine someone carrying a light source walking through the hall, passing near the exit of their tunnel, then entering another passage and disappearing into the branching paths.

If there was one, there will be a second—they're unlikely to have passed here for the first time.

In complete darkness, even distant torches are easily noticed; if a few people simply lie in wait in the dark, every light source moving through the hall will be exposed.

"Not bad, but still depends on time and luck."

"Time, luck, and patience. We'll find that heretic—just a matter of sooner or later." Green felt he was inching closer to his goal.

Perhaps they're like people locked in the same room with all doors and windows shut, occasionally brushing past each other; sooner or later they'll collide, and the side that becomes aware of the opponent's presence will hold a great advantage.

"What worries me most now is whether they've noticed our presence. That's why I had the team extinguish their torches and use only lanterns as we passed through the hall—hopefully it'll help. May the Father bless us."

There's truly no room here for outsiders to interfere; Father Green is an experienced professional who thinks thoroughly in most situations and doesn't need anyone's help.

But he still had some concerns: "Did they notice what kind of light it was?"

"What kind of light?"

"For example, its color, stability—like how a torch's light is close to orange-yellow and flickers slightly." It would be best if it were just someone carrying a torch walking by.

The priest flipped through two notebooks for a moment, confirmed no such note existed—in fact, no one had even thought to record this detail: "Then what kind of light could it have been?"

"For instance… like light filtered through glass—not the color of flame, but purer, steadier, like natural light." Kraft gave an example.

"You're definitely hiding something from me—that's not fair." Green studied the professor, who had acted strangely since their first meeting; he sensed the man's constant sense of purpose.

There was no way to force information out of this fellow, but under their current mutual dependence, he could occasionally glimpse the direction of the other's thoughts through his unusual points of focus.

"Josh, come here for a moment." He waved to a monk resting nearby. "What kind of light did you see?"

The monk shuffled to his feet from beside the wall and sat cross-legged on the coffin serving as a table.

Woken from half-sleep, he was dazed; it took a moment for his mind to reboot and understand what Green wanted to ask. "Oh."

Then nothing more—he remained silent in thought until Green prompted him again, and only then did he speak hesitantly.

"It was just as we were returning to the hall, when the sound of water grew louder—the person at the front said he saw light, very faint. If they hadn't mentioned it, I wouldn't have noticed it until much later."

"So could you tell what color it was? Was it like your torches?" the priest pressed, realizing he'd previously assumed too much.

The monk thought carefully, then gave a slight, apologetic shake of his head—as if a stronger motion might erase the already faint impression from memory: "It was probably too far away, just a tiny bit, almost drowned out by our torchlight. Only the water channel ahead wasn't as dark—it let us barely make things out."

"And then? Did the light change?"

"We whispered and chased after it, but ahead it quickly grew dark again. We rushed forward so hard we didn't even see how it went dark."

"Alright." It sounded like they'd only caught the tail end of that light—or perhaps just a single strand of its tail—"So what do you think it was? A torch?"

"."

The witness recalled again. It was clear he was making an effort to grasp a detail that had never been important to begin with—but the result was barely noticeable.

After all, once you catch the heretic, who cares what kind of torch or lamp they carried?

Yet he didn't give up. In his experience, he felt he should have retained a strong enough impression of the rare highlights amid the tedious search—the muffled footsteps, the dim corridors, the accumulated mud and grime.

Yet the very core of it—the brief light drifting from the hall into the passage—had formed no describable impression at all.

"Sorry. Now that I think about it, it didn't seem like a normal torch." He apologized for his oversight, though Father Green had no intention of blaming him. "But I can't say what kind of light it was. Maybe you should ask others."

"Is there anything similar?" Kraft knew this was overly persistent, but asking was better than not asking.

"I think—I mean, just thinking—it was more like natural light, like sunlight or moonlight. Very faint, no color, like moonlight on a cloudy night, but even thinner."

Throughout the witness's account, Green's pen never stopped; the nib tapped against the coffin lid through the paper, emitting short, telegraph-like clicks.

As he listened further, his recording slowed, then stopped entirely, as he listened to the vague, subjective description.

Speculation, memory, and metaphor were mixed together—impossible to distinguish what was actually seen from what was imagined. This kind of account couldn't even be written down without reorganizing it.

He glanced aside: the professor listened intently, saying nothing.

"Should I ask others?"

"If it won't disturb your rest too much, that would be best."

The monk summoned other eyewitnesses; their accounts confirmed the light from the hall wasn't a case of individual misperception.

But their statements offered nothing substantial—only words like "unclear," "faint," "thin." No one could give a definite description, not even the person at the front who first noticed the change in passage brightness.

No more words were written on the page. The supplementary details surrounding this brief encounter had made it bloated, turning into a dark blot amid the other slender, clear, and similar notes—like that vast hall full of immense darkness against the featureless multitude of passages.

The clue had become a questionable one.

"I think your focus makes sense. Maybe their lantern is unusual—could it be some special glass?" Father Green reviewed his notes, dissatisfied with the vague descriptions.

"Some glassmakers mix substances into glass to give it unusual colors. The Church has worked well with them; I'm sure asking about it won't be hard—it could help us trace their connections on the surface."

"Try it." Kraft said this without hope.

He felt anxious—his anxiety came from knowledge gained through unspeakable experiences; the more he learned, the more prone he became to suspicion.

These fragmented, shallow understandings made him aware of the world's dangers, yet offered no full picture—before grasping the answer, he could never find peace, nor even know what drove him.

This made him question another issue: was it right to drag these people into this matter—even if their duty demanded it, that didn't justify pulling the ignorant into the same murky, uncharted deep water to swim alongside him.

The two continued talking about irrelevant things: the need for time in the search, the nature of the light, how the heretics might have established their base here.

Several times, he wanted to reveal something—but had no way to begin.

It would likely be dismissed as some utterly bizarre, heretical claim, and he himself couldn't interpret this enormous hexagonal space at all.

Before leaving, the professor repeated his earlier warning: "Be careful. Prepare for the worst. If anything unusual happens, prioritize retreat—even if you encounter that light again."

"The heretics' trail certainly isn't limited to one place. Missing this one doesn't matter. I'll check the College's equipment procurement channels—there'll likely be leads."

Hopefully this will add weight to the option of retreat when it matters most.

"Thank you for your concern. I'll leave the College side to you." Green made a circular gesture over his chest, as if in prayer. He could sense genuine worry—but whether the warning would be heeded was uncertain. "I'm not rigid. I know how to handle things."

"May the Father bless you."

Leaving behind heartfelt blessings, Kraft departed, carrying a feeling he couldn't quite describe.

Returning to the clinic, he inspected the patients left over from the afternoon, then gave bedside lectures to David and a group of apprentice assistants, swallowing dinner made of reheated bean soup and tasteless bread. When he sat at his desk, he felt, for once, a long-absent exhaustion of the spirit.

【Regarding the fact that I see patients during the day, work night shifts, teach internally, run external projects, and have social engagements tomorrow morning】

"Sometimes I feel like I've done so much, yet why is there still so much left to do?"

He pulled out the letter sheet adorned with turquoise-blue dye, confirmed the banquet was scheduled for tomorrow morning, and noted it lacked a specific time—perhaps he could sleep in a little before going.

The location was a suburban estate; the letter's sender, seemingly aiming to spark interest, promised to display works representing the finest contemporary craftsmanship, along with delicate trinkets that would appeal to younger guests.

The invitees broadly included business associates, some unfamiliar surnames, and academy personnel listed with their titles.

More than a banquet, this felt to Kraft like a manufacturer's product showcase—with industry peers, seated experts, everyone grabbing free lunch and posing for photos to fill the crowd.

He could even bring Yvonne along, let her wander around, sample delicacies—it would be good for her mental health.

As Kraft thought this, he couldn't shake the feeling that the letter subtly manipulated him on some non-essential point.

Recommending a new book by an author I've always admired: *The Child of the Stars*

Luo Sanguan's *I Can See the Status Bar* is among the most solid medical-themed novels on Qidian; rare indeed that, after success, he boldly ventured into a new genre.

This new book centers on a fictional disease blending medicine and physics, with exceptional quality—I strongly recommend it.

(Found in the sci-fi section—it felt like biting into a bowl of braised beef noodles and discovering real beef inside ⊙▽⊙)