Chapter 226: The Light of Concealment

From the standpoint of effectiveness, Kraft actually agreed with the idea of assigning personnel to lie in wait.

The hexagonal hall was like some underground transportation hub, a convergence point for numerous passages. If anyone was indeed using these drainage channels for their activities, the probability of them passing through here was 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 reach the tunnel exit.

It was 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 it happened once, it likely happened again; they probably weren't the first to pass through here.

In total darkness, even distant torchlight is easily noticed; if a few people simply waited in the shadows, every moving light source in the hall would be exposed.

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

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

Perhaps they were like people locked in the same room with all doors and windows sealed, occasionally brushing past each other; sooner or later they'd collide, and whoever became aware of the opponent's presence would hold a major advantage.

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

There was truly no room here for outsiders to interfere; Father Green was an experienced professional who usually thought things through thoroughly and didn'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 a torch's light, which tends toward orange-yellow and flickers. Ideally, it would be someone carrying a torch."

The priest flipped through two notebooks for a moment, confirmed no such detail had been recorded—in fact, no one had even thought to note it: "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 hiding something from me—that's unfair." Green studied the professor, who had acted strangely since their first meeting; he sensed the man's constant underlying purpose.

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

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

The monk rose slowly from beside the wall and sat cross-legged on the coffin that served as a table.

Woken from half-sleep, he was dazed; it took a moment for his mind to reboot and understand what Green was asking. "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 until much later."

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

The monk thought carefully, then gave a slight, apologetic shake of his head—as if even a small movement might erase the already faint impression: "It was probably too far away, just a tiny glimmer, almost drowned out by our torchlight. But the waterway ahead wasn't as dark—it let us barely make things out."

"And then? Did the light change?"

"We crept forward quietly, but ahead it quickly grew dark again. We rushed forward so fast we didn't even see how it went dark."

"Alright." It sounded like they'd only caught the tail end of the 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 something that had never been central to his memory—but the result was negligible.

After all, once they caught the heretic, who cared what kind of torch or lamp they carried?

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

Yet the very core of it—the brief, wandering light that had drifted from the hall into the passage—had left no describable impression at all.

"Sorry," he apologized for his oversight, though Green hadn't blamed him. "But I can't say what kind of light it was. Maybe 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 about it, it was more like natural light—sunlight or moonlight. Very faint, colorless, like moonlight on a cloudy night, but even thinner."

As the witness spoke, Green's pen never stopped, tapping lightly against the coffin lid, producing short, telegraph-like clicks.

As he listened further, his writing slowed, then stopped entirely. He simply listened to the vague, subjective description.

Speculation, memory, and metaphor were tangled together—hard 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 over. 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 perceptual error by one person.

Yet 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 added to the page. The supplementary details had turned the brief encounter into something bloated, a dark blot amid the slender, clear, and nearly identical notes—like the vast, dark hall itself, standing out against the featureless passages.

The clue had become a questionable one.

"I think your focus makes sense. Maybe their lantern is unusual—could it involve special glass or something?" 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; asking about this shouldn't be hard. It might help us trace their connections on the surface."

"Try it." Kraft said this without hope.

He felt anxious—his anxiety stemmed from knowledge gained through unspeakable experiences; the more he learned, the more paranoid he became.

These fragmented, shallow understandings made him aware of the world's dangers, yet offered no full picture. Before he found the answer, he could never find peace—even unsure what drove him.

This made him question another issue: Was it right to drag so many people into this? Even if their duties required it, that didn't justify pulling the ignorant into the same murky depths he himself hadn't yet fathomed.

The two continued discussing trivial matters: the need for time in the search, the nature of the light, how the heretics had 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 the vast hexagonal space.

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

"The heretics' trail certainly isn't limited to one place. Missing it isn't the end. I'll check the Academy's equipment procurement channels—there'll likely be leads."

He hoped this would tip the scales toward retreat when the moment came.

"Thank you for your concern. I'll leave the Academy side to you." Green made a circular gesture over his chest, a prayerful sign. 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 protect you."

With a heartfelt blessing, Kraft departed, carrying a mood he couldn't quite name.

Back at the clinic, he checked on the afternoon's patients, then explained bedside to Dai Wei and a group of apprentice assistants, swallowing dinner of reheated bean soup and tasteless bread. When he sat at his desk, he felt, for the first time in a long while, a rare exhaustion.

【Regarding the fact that I go out for morning clinics, work night shifts, teach internally, manage external projects, and have an appointment 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, decorated with turquoise-blue ink, confirmed the banquet was scheduled for tomorrow morning—and no specific time was given. Perhaps he could sleep in a bit.

The location was a suburban estate; the sender, eager to pique interest, promised to display works showcasing the finest contemporary craftsmanship, along with delicate trinkets that would appeal to younger guests.

The invitees included business associates, unfamiliar surnames, and Academy personnel listed by title.

More than a banquet, it felt to Kraft like a product showcase—industry peers, paid experts, all there for free meals and to fill the frame for photos.

He could even bring Yin Feng along—let her wander, sample the food. Good for her mental health.

As he thought this, he felt the letter had a subtly manipulative tone in some non-essential detail.

I recommend the new book by an author I've always admired: The Child of the Stars.

Luo San Guan's I Can See the Status Bar is one of the most hardcore medical novels on Qidian; rare indeed that after success, he boldly tried a new genre.

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

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