Chapter 395: “Miracle

Many times, experiments can also be seen as a kind of agricultural activity.

The operator piles compost and sows seeds on glassy fields, then waits just the same, living by the weather.

Temperature fluctuations, poor water-heat balance—tiny disturbances can render all effort futile.

And most important, yet easiest to overlook, is the effort previous generations have expended.

Every ordinary seed a farmer sows has undergone hundreds or even thousands of years of natural selection and artificial domestication to become what we see today: plump grains, resistant to shattering.

But lab technicians are not so fortunate; from knowing what is needed to successfully cultivating the target strain, the time and energy cost is incalculable.

“Fortunately, someone else has paid the highest cost for this part.”

Thank the heresy of Westmin, otherwise no one would ever realize: just as death and decay nourish plant growth, the annihilation of certain deep-life forms can spur mold at an incredible speed.

Kraft opened the petri dish, scraped off the vigorous fungal patches crawling toward the rim, and poured the contents into a funnel; pale yellow, transparent liquid dripped slowly through a fine sieve and two layers of gauze.

After emptying the entire lab, the filtrate had accumulated into a substantial half-jar.

Then, slowly drip in dilute sulfuric acid to acidify, reducing the solubility of the target product, preparing for organic extraction.

This step is more complex than making salicylic acid; an overly acidic environment destroys the active components.

Lacking test strips was a problem, but the bowl of purple cabbage reminded him: no strips, but anthocyanins were everywhere in the estate.

This cheap vegetable, still abundant in late autumn, became a natural pH indicator when juiced; the two-day taste-test method was swiftly abandoned—now all that mattered was stopping before the color shifted from purple-red to bright red.

Filter again to remove precipitate, bring out the old friend ether, mix the two, and gently stir and shake.

A hazy sweetness floated in the air; the mind grew slightly dizzy.

Two transparent glimmers shimmered in the bottle, gradually separating over time: impurities sank, while the extract rose, dissolved in the light organic phase.

“We must hurry.” Even as lipid droplets still floated along the boundary, Kraft began his operation, swiftly removing the lower aqueous phase—even if it meant considerable waste.

“Staying too long at this stage weakens the antibacterial effect, for reasons unknown.”

Time is a silent enemy; something in the ether is reacting, slowly eroding the target drop by drop.

Must move fast—fast as saving a life.

It was extracted from water; now it must be returned to water.

Diluted, clarified wood-ash solution, carrying a bitter-clean scent, met the ether; breath-like microbubbles signaled the pH slowly shifting toward the opposite extreme.

Fine salt followed, bringing the solution close to physiological balance.

At this point, that substance had been reborn in water in a relatively stable form.

But it was far from enough—not yet pure.

Charcoal, roasted and boiled, was sprinkled in, swallowing all discoloration, odd odors, and invisible toxins; after it settled, filtered out, and replaced with fresh batches for repeated adsorption and purification.

When the liquid passed through gray-black filter paper for the third time, it differed little from the pure water beside it—only a faint, barely noticeable yellow tint, like weak tea or diluted honeywater, reflecting a soft golden glow.

“Pity.”

“Did we fail?” Kup whispered, he had no objection to trying again, but whether certain deep-life forms had opinions was another matter.

“Not fully successful.”

“But it looks incredibly clean?”

Perhaps the contrast between a murky fungal sludge and this clear medicine was too stark—the final product gave a visual sense of reliability.

Kraft looked regretfully at his creation, drew a small sample, and acted instead of explaining, “Bring me an unmarked rabbit—yes, the one still eating.”

The needle pierced the furry hind leg swiftly—injected, withdrew.

The animal, ignorant of its fate, instinctively struggled a few times, fur bristling, ears erect, then fell still, drawn by food, forgetting the pain.

Under their expectant gazes, the test subject calmly finished half a head of lettuce, its chewing gradually slowing.

Its breathing grew short and irregular; it tried to move but felt as if weighed down, limbs weak, faint sweat seeping beneath its fur, dampening its reddened ears and nose.

Small, involuntary tremors—whether from fright or convulsion—appeared intermittently; it curled up, yet its chest still rose and fell, though its condition was clearly deteriorating.

Placing the back of his hand against its gray-black fur, he faintly felt it was warmer than before.

“I’ve tried many times—rabbits are far more sensitive to drugs than humans; initially, it was instantly lethal.”

“After refining the extraction, the second batch survived much longer; after further refinement with charcoal adsorption and purification, this is what we have now.”

Kraft packed away the pile of glassware, plunged them into the sink, wiped off charcoal stains and purple-red reagent marks with a cloth.

All traces on the table were gone; the air still carried the scent of ether and burning wood ash—bitter and sweet intertwined.

“This is the limit of optimization.” At least, the current limit.

He sat back before the lone yellow petri dish, admiring the nearly two-finger-width clear ring among the colonies, like a halo rising over the mountain peak before dawn.

“Look, this is the proof of efficacy.”

His voice was as quiet as when passing beside a sleeping patient, as if he might disturb the transparent miracle.

Reality proved again: willingness to cross a boundary does not guarantee the success imagined; there is no necessary connection between the two.

The strain quality is high, the process follows theory—but high-purity extraction demands not inspiration or personal miracles, but more reliable solvents and containers, multi-stage purification systems, freeze-drying preservation.

These will be resolved over time, but what is most lacking is time.

“Pity,” he repeated for the umpteenth time, “if only we could move faster.”

“You mean… the priest can’t be saved?”

An inexplicable heaviness rose in his chest; perhaps from spending too much time together, Kup felt he sensed Kraft’s shifting mindset with increasing acuity.

Or perhaps the opposite—Kraft’s thoughts had become more infectious.

Without rhetorical skill, facial gestures, he subtly won agreement.

Emotion and will flowed beyond language, like evaporating ether, seeping into air and blood—accepted with every breath. Like…

【What was it like?】

He couldn’t recall; he gave up thinking— the priest’s condition was clearly more important than random inspiration.

“Oh, no, not at all,” the doctor lifted the precious extract, found cotton cloth and straw, wrapped it layer upon layer.

“Take it—valid for three days; soak the gauze, apply to the wound, change twice daily.

“Combine with willow-bark extract to reduce fever, continue debridement and pus drainage, maintain hydration—there’s still a chance.”

He paused a moment, as if confirming to himself, “We always have a chance.”