Chapter 28: Chapter Twenty-Six: Bad News

Kraft’s hand trembled as he held the bottle, nearly flinging it away. He tightened his grip immediately, clutching it firmly to prevent himself from losing control and smashing it.

In terror, he regained his grip on reason. After experiencing things beyond ordinary comprehension, his mind had undergone some unknown transformation, becoming harder to shake.

It couldn’t have its own thoughts—it was merely a tiny amount of liquid, lacking any basis for generating cognition.

This liquid was merely guiding him through some mechanism, not speaking directly. His earlier impulsive thoughts were all composed of preexisting material already in his own mind.

Curiosity about the new thing, the plan for animal experiments, the knowledge that the professor and Lu Xiusi had ingested the diluted solution—these fragments were excavated and pieced together to form a new idea favorable to releasing it from the bottle.

Driven by intense curiosity, his mind completed these thoughts on its own; thus, its “persuasion” provided only the most primitive attraction, leaving everything else to Kraft’s own thinking.

The principle was simple: it was like a scammer calling with an emergency, giving no clear details, only inducing immense anxiety—all the content was imagined by the panicked victim.

A single primal impulse, acting like a lever, had shifted the entire situation, using the target’s subconscious reasons to manipulate them—applicable to all beings.

“This is fascinating,” Kraft raised the small bottle, murmuring in admiration. Though he didn’t know how it influenced his emotions, the mechanism was brilliant.

If it truly were some kind of alien lifeform, it was far more sophisticated than an anglerfish’s lure.

In fact, it had nearly succeeded already: two people had acted irrationally as it intended, allowing it to easily achieve its goal of contacting more organisms.

At least a few rats and two humans had directly contacted the black liquid.

One thing remained unclear: what was the point? Lu Xiusi, at least, showed no obvious abnormalities—so what was it trying to accomplish?

Was it a parasite living in the liquid? A bacterium? A virus? Its sole drive was to spread itself, multiply endlessly, completing meaningless replication.

It had been over a week since Lu Xiusi came into contact with it; physically, he showed no abnormalities. His mental state, however, was too soon to judge.

Was the dose too small? Or did the black liquid simply not cause drastic changes in the short term? Would the rats used in the experiments hold the answer?

Kraft carefully placed the bottle on another table and asked Lu Xiusi, who held the candlestick: “Do you remember any changes in the rats you fed the diluted solution? I mean, besides falling unconscious.”

“None,” Lu Xiusi shook his head. “Fourteen rats total—all dissected by the professor. No long-term observations were made, not even until the final experiment.”

“If you feel any discomfort, please notify me immediately,” Kraft patted Lu Xiusi’s shoulder, then glanced at the bottle on the table. “To be honest, I feel this thing is dangerous. Unless absolutely necessary, we should avoid contact with it.”

Kraft couldn’t explain to Lu Xiusi what he had sensed. When he consciously resisted, the black liquid’s influence couldn’t force extreme actions—especially once distanced, the effect rapidly faded to near imperceptibility.

“Seriously, no joking—let’s stay as far away from it as possible. Don’t you find it strange that you ever considered drinking the diluted solution?” he added. His tone made him seem like a timid old scholar, abandoning a precious opportunity over a trivial risk.

But Kraft knew this was the best choice. For something beyond comprehension, suspected to be alive and prone to spreading, caution could never be excessive.

If not for fear of stirring up trouble, he’d have sealed the cellar door, filled it with earth, and never stepped inside again until the professor returned and understood everything.

This was not something he should touch—like the gift he’d brought back from “beyond the cave,” it belonged to no part of human understanding. The cost of delving too deep was still far beyond what he’d decided he could pay.

He rejected this change. He rejected paying any unknown price. He’d lifted one corner of the great curtain, shaken by what he saw, lacking the courage to face the full picture.

At least for now, he had no sufficient reason to plunge into this murky water.

“Alright, alright,” Lu Xiusi picked up the glass bottle, shook it gently—the black liquid rolled inside, striking the thick walls, then settled quietly at the bottom.

He opened the cabinet door and was about to put the bottle back, but froze the moment he lifted it.

He held the bottle at eye level for several seconds, then placed it back on the table. Beneath the candlelight, he leaned down to the table’s surface, rotating the bottle several times.

Then he said, in disbelief: “It seems a little less?”

“Less?”

“Yes, look at this line,” Lu Xiusi brought the candlestick closer, pointing to a spot near the bottle’s base, making it clearer for Kraft.

There was a faint scratch, lightly made, almost invisible—so much so that Kraft hadn’t noticed it at all earlier.

Lu Xiusi gripped Kraft’s shoulder, urging him to bend down, viewing the line at table height.

“This line was the last one I made the day before the professor left. It should align exactly with the highest liquid level. When I took it out just now, I felt something was off.”

“Are you sure?”

“I thought it might’ve been a perspective issue,” Lu Xiusi’s breathing behind his mask grew heavy and rapid. He adjusted his spectacles, realigned the beak, then leaned down again to confirm.

Indeed, if measured against the scratch, the liquid level was clearly lower—by roughly a quarter of its original height.

The liquid was already so minimal; without the scratch as a reference, memory and instinct alone would make any definitive judgment nearly impossible.

“Could it have evaporated?” Kraft asked. People in this world understood the three states of matter, though they still regarded the mist above a kettle as water vapor, believing it was invisible in daily life because it was too faint.

“No,” Kraft immediately dismissed the idea himself.

He recalled the professor had left only seven days ago, and the experiments had lasted over ten days, each time taking only tiny amounts. The quantity was already so small—if evaporation had been this obvious, it would’ve been noticed long ago.

Considering how little the liquid was to begin with, it might’ve evaporated entirely during the journey to Hegang—there’d be no chance it remained now.

“Evaporated? Unlikely,” Lu Xiusi also rejected the theory. He was deeply puzzled, unable to comprehend how this could have happened.

“Besides the professor and you, could anyone else have come here?” Kraft pressed. This was the most plausible explanation he could think of—if not, then the black liquid had simply escaped on its own.

Lu Xiusi reached into his pocket, where lay the heavy metal lock and its key hanging on the door. His fingers brushed over the cold metal, a comfort.

“That’s impossible. Only you and the professor have the key. Unless someone broke the lock and rehung it exactly as before—but this lock isn’t that easy to tamper with.” Lu Xiusi gave another negative answer.

He’d considered this too. No one in the academy had reason to do it. Secret experiments were normal—most ended in failure. The absence of secrets would’ve been strange. Who would go through so much trouble to find someone else’s secret lab?

As for outsiders—never mind how they’d even get in—suppose someone wandered into this complex by accident, opened the lock, rehung it, and took just a bit of unknown liquid from a tiny bottle?

Could the black liquid have simply walked away on its own? Kraft was baffled. It clearly had no such capability. Could it have lifted the stopper, spilled part of itself, then resealed it?

If it were truly that extraordinary, why would it need to lure organisms into contact with it?

Amid a tangle of questions, Kraft eliminated several possibilities—the entire event now shrouded in sudden fog.

But there was still one possibility left.

“This might sound strange, but since no one else is here, I have to ask: did the professor know you made that scratch?” Kraft asked, his red lenses fixed on Lu Xiusi, waiting for him to say the professor obviously knew.

“…,” Lu Xiusi fell silent—as if thinking, or as if unsure how to answer. But silence itself was the answer.

The atmosphere in the room grew slightly rigid. Professor Karlman should’ve been the last person to be suspect. Kraft had mentioned it casually, never expecting it to be true.

He hesitated, picked up the bottle and set it down again, offering no direct opinion—only revealing what he knew: “I scratched it with a stone fragment, just to estimate future usage. I didn’t tell the professor.”

The situation was unfolding in the direction Kraft least wanted.

Professor Karlman had always conducted experiments alongside Lu Xiusi, entrusting him with all lab records. As the professor’s academic heir, he’d been given complete trust—more than even a biological son might receive.

What reason could have driven him to secretly take a quarter of the black liquid, avoiding Lu Xiusi entirely before leaving?

It couldn’t have been for animal experiments. Those didn’t require secrecy—more people would’ve made them easier.

…

…

The two returned the bottle to the cabinet, left the box of lab records, locked the door, covered it with the box, and left the cellar in silence.

Lu Xiusi seemed downcast, yet patiently explained to Kraft the schedule and location of his lectures, and the exact address of the house the professor had prepared for him. Only after confirming Kraft had no questions did he take his leave.

Kraft thanked him, watching his weary figure vanish at the end of the corridor. He knew what Lu Xiusi was thinking.

The man he saw as a father figure had withheld the complete trust he’d expected. Lu Xiusi was surely wondering whether he’d failed in some way, or hadn’t demonstrated the ability Karlman had hoped for.

This self-doubt might strike him too hard. Whatever the reason, he’d find it unbearable—and it would take him many days to recover.

Kraft didn’t comfort him. He didn’t know how. He still had his own problems to untangle. Karlman’s secrecy was bad news for him too.

The liquid showing strange persuasive tendencies, the twisted, alien characters in the professor’s notes, the missing portion of the sample…

He stood in the corridor, bathed in crimson sunset, drew a deep breath—as if pulling the elongated shadows of the pillars and the dust-dancing beams of light into his lungs.

A faint, familiar yet alien scent lingered in his nose and mouth—an odor that instinctively felt out of place. When he focused on it, it vanished.

Since entering this building, the more he learned, the more obvious it became. It lingered in the spread-out lab records, drifted through the cellar, appeared in every moment of revelation Kraft experienced.

Kraft suddenly snapped awake—he understood why it felt familiar. It was a faint, undeniable signature: indescribable, incomprehensible, something that should not exist.

“Shit!” The alien part of his soul blurted out a curse from his homeland. “It really is bad news.”

He’d encountered something far more intense than this, back in the snowstorm. Now, it was merely an encounter—whether by accident or fate—repeating itself.