Chapter 394: The Technological Singularity

Ku Po spent a nearly perfect half-month, as if everything had returned to its beginning—no endless trivial duties disturbed him, no grim-faced academy supervisor crossed his path; only the hearth fire, books, and rare stillness accompanied him.

There was also nothing to worry about on the medical front; after briefly handing over the wound-dressing duties, Ku Po moved half the laboratory to a secluded corner at the very edge of the basin.

It was a building far from water and habitation, part of the estate yet detached from it, its main structure hidden by a hollow in the hills, nearly invisible from afar unless pointed out.

It had once likely been an abandoned granary; its high foundation and mixed brick-stone construction preserved the structure well, greatly accelerating repairs, but it had only recently been put into use.

Burned fields left behind vast stretches of black-gray charred earth, with no crops replanted, yet fences had already been erected, woven with transplanted hawthorn and wild berry bushes to fill the gaps between wooden posts.

Autumn rains stripped away the charred leaves, exposing bare brown-black branches thick with sharp thorns. Sour red fruits fell like drops of blood, decaying and rotting.

The thorny courtyard rejected all visitors. Of course, no normal person would ever wish to visit anyway.

He had not come here for himself, but because the expected accident had finally occurred.

Despite every effort to clean the bandages during each change, infection arrived on the seventh day after surgery, as foretold.

The cause was now unknown—perhaps the hasty suturing introduced pathogens, or the extensive debridement and dressing changes inevitably missed something; the outcome was the same.

One morning during rounds, the old priest suddenly complained of intense swelling and pain at the wound site on his arm; when the bandages were removed, the redness and pus extinguished the last flicker of hope, followed immediately by chills and a sudden spike in body temperature.

It seemed even the Heavenly Father had too many matters to attend to—his gaze could not long remain fixed on any one soul.

He had survived trauma and blood loss, yet a second trial now awaited him. This battle was internal, not external; its danger was no less than that of invisible entanglements.

He had seen many such cases; not everyone succumbed—some had escaped the grasp of disease, but mostly young, strong sailors and laborers, whose reserves of “vitality” were sufficient to sustain the toll.

For an elderly man who had recently suffered massive blood loss, the chance of survival approached zero.

Ku Po futilely attempted cleaning, then sent Yi Feng to the laboratory with a message.

Less than two hours later, Yi Feng returned with a look as if he’d seen a ghost, relaying a brief message:

【Come. Get the medicine.】

Nothing could have been more reassuring. As he set out for the destination, his heart felt no different from that of a saint receiving a divine revelation, going to claim his destined mission.

Yet when he finally stood before the door and unlocked the damp, icy iron latch, unease crept in.

Inside the courtyard, it was not as desolate as it appeared from outside; besides the newly sprouting weeds, there were things growing in the charred earth that clearly did not belong.

Layers of faint circular rings, centered on the building and spreading outward, like giant targets, the outermost ring less than twenty paces from the front gate.

He stopped at the edge of the rings, crouched low, and examined them closely—dense, uniform white dots scattered across the distinctly colored peat soil.

Lower his gaze further, and he saw the slender stalks lifting the white dots: one of the most common local fungi, the waxcap, named for its glossy, oily surface, frequently seen after autumn rains, tolerant of cold.

But waxcaps typically grew in undisturbed forest meadows; composting or tilling soil drove them to extinction, let alone growing in ash.

A troubling memory surged back—he vaguely recalled this location was not far from Vestmin.

After briefly weighing risks and benefits, he forced himself past his discomfort and took his first step into the mushroom ring. Since Yi Feng had said nothing, it must mean the situation was under control—no need to panic.

Crossing several “target rings,” his knowledge of fungi revealed the source of the color contrast.

These rings were clearly not formed at the same time; the outer rings consisted mostly of young caps, their pinhead-like tops sparse but vividly bright as congealed fat, still glistening with translucent mucus.

The closer to the inner rings, the more mature caps appeared, gradually unfolding flat, their color lightening and gloss fading, taking on the standard pale white, waxy texture.

Further inward, grayish-white decaying specimens grew more numerous—their edges cracked and collapsed, losing their waxy sheen; some had already softened and sunk into the soil.

There was no foul odor, only a gentle blend of fruity fragrance and earthy musk.

Their growth resembled a hidden tide pushing outward in successive waves.

As he puzzled over the origin of this fungal tide, something suddenly “leapt” from the building before him.

It was an instinctive sensation, like a whale breaching the ocean surface during a voyage—you need not see it to feel the crushing weight of pure scale from the waves pounding the hull.

The rising mass had not returned empty-handed. Something brought up from “below” was crushed as it crossed the threshold, its desperate remnants erupting into a silent shriek that swept across the barren, charred earth without stirring a single blade of grass.

The white dots erupted from the soil at visible speed; the fungal ring advanced another step toward the fence.

Ku Po pulled his neck into his collar and hurried inside—the autumn chill was too biting.

But the hearth was not lit; Kraft stood before a fully assembled set of instruments, dressed for travel, as if just returned from a hike.

“Perfect. We have enough material. Let’s make it now.”

Petri dishes piled high on shelves, some even placed directly on the table.

Lush greenish growth filled every inch of the containers, with no gaps left, resembling thriving moss but far denser, with a fuzzy, velvety surface.

Recognizing what it was brought even greater shock than the mushroom rings outside.

The laboratory had become a fungal field—and this was unquestionably a bountiful harvest.

“Don’t be surprised,” Kraft said, tightening his mask, lifting a special glass dish like a winemaker admiring his masterpiece.

Inside was not green mold, but densely packed golden-yellow spots; only in several circular regions did the yellow seem to avoid something, curving around it.

“The extract’s inhibition zone test worked—the substance is correct, but still slightly off.”

Following his gaze to the corner, a cage of rabbits sat there; two were motionless, the rest in poor condition.

“The barrier of purity cannot be crossed by magic or miracle—but… it need not be injected. Topical application is better than nothing.”

“Now, get to work.”