Chapter 255: Extra Questions for Evening Self-Study

Someone once said that night is a time suited for thought and solitude, and Yvonne quite agreed with that notion.

The night naturally occluded outside disturbances, stripping away scattered and complex thoughts to bring the mind close to a clean, primal state, making it easier to focus on the matter at hand.

Though it sounds strange, the feeling of temporarily leaving Kraft's side was pleasant. Of course, this wasn't to say the former had any problems; on the contrary, he had always shown considerable care and accommodation.

As a doctor, a professor, and a participant in certain unknown affairs, when one needs to appear in more than three locations simultaneously, balancing multiple identities and corresponding responsibilities, it is hard to imagine how a person could still maintain concern for the thoughts of others and the ability to put themselves in another's shoes.

This was undoubtedly good, very good, yet also heavy. Depending on one's perspective and sensitivity, one could interpret closeness, distance, respect, expectation, or even a kind of pressure from it.

But this did not seem to be purely psychological; Yvonne indeed felt a certain kind of pressure, especially when Kraft was in a state of deep focus, like stepping into an irregular pool centered on him, where something thicker than a gentle breeze exerted uniform pressure that did not act upon the skin.

Judging by others' reactions, this feeling was probably a special case, not entirely real, akin to looking at a highly realistic painting or reading a passage of exquisitely detailed text, receiving second-hand information that had been conveyed very vividly.

Accompanying this were low, chattering whispers repeating syllables that perhaps held meaning, pressed against the back of her ear.

Sometimes she felt she had understood something, but upon careful thought, it vanished like old dreams evaporated by the morning sun, leaving no trace.

On this relatively quiet night, those whispers behind her ear tactfully fell silent for a while, allowing her to calmly open a book and study at her own pace.

It would have been better if she weren't so sleepy.

Quietness does not necessarily bring efficiency; it may also bring weariness.

It must be said that this trend was indeed present; Yvonne began to feel easily fatigued, sliding unconsciously into a hazy state, widening the gap between her and Kup further, a gap that bred more anxiety and pressure.

Self-doubt grew in this fertile soil; physical changes had not yet opened a breakthrough point for the current situation, and some suspicious side effects had already begun to manifest.

Being excluded once again further catalyzed the growth of negative cognition, even though she knew this soft push-out was well-intentioned.

The wax was like the hope of a month ago, melting and deforming until it finally collapsed into a shapeless lump. When the wick, now only a finger-joint long, began to carbonize, Yvonne suddenly realized that in the middle of the night she had read less than half her usual progress, while the drunkard in the tavern diagonally across was already humming a bubbling tune, preparing to disperse.

【I do not understand】

She carried the bronze candlestick to the bedside and blew out the remaining light, feeling sorry for the candle that had wasted its life in vain while she was lost in thought.

Carrying fatigue and a sense of having gained nothing, she burrowed into the bedding, preparing to welcome the coming day.

However, her consciousness had no intention of resting completely; Yvonne felt that a part of her was still active, writhing and shrinking like a cramped muscle, as if it did not fully belong to this body.

But it was ultimately still part of the whole, inescapable and never ceasing. Perhaps the feeling of fatigue stemmed precisely from this endless internal consumption.

Her spirit was already weary, but sleep was still a long way off.

Low, fragmented chattering returned to the edge of her ear, crawling with short legs like tiny insects inside a dry-grass mattress, itching as they moved.

Short, unfamiliar phonemes punctuated her ear canal and throat, narrating content so dim, cold, and bizarre that her consciousness, barefoot, trod upon the surface of a colorless dream, peering through glass at a memory with no blind spots.

She ran along great and small roads composed of fine threads and dust, those roads extending and weaving, stretching toward the distance according to her will.

Like swimming freely in water, no, even freer than that; it was a roaming in some essential form, having shed solidified constraints, capable of merging into any form and becoming any form through an omnipresent medium.

It was the freest consciousness in its own kingdom; even if sometimes some forms entered its kingdom, that did not matter, for those forms would soon become part of the kingdom.

Unsurprisingly, no consciousness would be dissatisfied with such a life.

Until a crack appeared in this kingdom, revealing something behind it that had never been seen and therefore never imagined—a rich world full of color.

So when that fissure issued an invitation, she accepted it without hesitation.

Leaping into it, she felt solid forms, heavy and concrete; before her eyes was pitch black, her hands and feet wrapped in bedding, everything no different from before sleep, yet as if everything had quietly changed.

But the clear-headed fatigue remained unchanged.

Yvonne woke up groggily; the low sounds by her ear had vanished, replaced by strange noises from outside.

It sounded somewhat like someone returning late to their room, but there were no dragging footsteps, nor any subsequent sounds of washing or tidying up.

A gap in the window, not fully closed, let in a low, whistling sound that pierced the night, conveying a meaning unknown to outsiders.

Urgent footsteps climbing the stairs and shouting sent the situation spiraling in an unexpected direction, never to return; these were sounds never heard in the clinic. Yvonne chose to light one candle on the candlestick, shielding the light with her hand, and waited quietly for changes.

She was still in a state of chaos, with fragmented remnants of the dream and fatigue taking turns assaulting her consciousness's reserve.

Soon, those sounds grew louder: the piercing creak of old door hinges, running and jumping, collisions. When the deafening crash of heavy objects falling and wood shattering finally arrived, it became very hard to endure.

Manipulating her body like a marionette, Yvonne put on her boots, got out of bed, picked up the candlestick, and opened the door.

In the corridor, two figures she barely remembered were fighting. Perhaps that was not quite the right description; one side held absolute dominance.

The suddenly appearing light source briefly froze the action; the back of a figure with long arms twisted halfway around, its neck and body unnaturally flexible, allowing the face, previously hidden by an obstruction, to be exposed to the light.

Compared to the person on the ground who was clutching the intruder's leg and shouting something, Yvonne's angle allowed her to see that face more clearly.

Pale, wet, greasy skin clung to asymmetrical, deformed bones, pulling into a malicious expression containing cruelty and satisfaction, perhaps an approximation of a smile. It waited for the collapse of whoever met its gaze, drawing from it something that a twisted soul delighted in seeing.

He did not receive the expected reaction; he saw only a pair of tired, indifferent eyes, and an action that was hard to comprehend.

Perhaps out of a reflexive movement, the girl threw the light source in her hand at him.

The flame extinguished before it was thrown; the dark brown metal reflected light for less than a blink, revealing the identity of that object.

A multi-branched candlestick cast from pure copper, heavy and expensive, typically used as a fixed ornament.

It vanished into the darkness that fell again, losing its trajectory in her field of vision; the whistling of the wind suggested something approaching rapidly, while her thoughts and actions remained stuck at the stage of "can simply brush it aside."

A brief moment was stretched out in her consciousness. First, her outstretched hand touched something, but grasped nothing; it passed through the intercepting palm and fingers as if no object were there at all.

Her ribcage softened like a flail; breathing was forcibly halted and could not be restarted.

The part of the body blocking a path lost sensory feedback, its function and sense of existence disappearing together; intense pain immediately filled the void, and an irresistible force briefly lifted her feet from the ground before slamming them down heavily.