Chapter 395

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

The operator piles compost and sows seeds on glass-like fields, then waits the same way, living by the weather.

Temperature fluctuations and improper water-heat balance can easily render all effort futile with even minor disturbances.

And most important yet most easily overlooked: the efforts previously expended by predecessors.

Every ordinary seed sown by a farmer once underwent hundreds or even thousands of years of natural selection and artificial domestication to become the plump, non-shattering form we see today.

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

"Fortunately, someone has already paid the highest cost for this part."

Thank the heresy of Westmin, otherwise no one would ever realize: just as death and decay can 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 climbing toward the edge, and poured the contents into a funnel; pale yellow transparent solution dripped slowly through a fine sieve and two layers of gauze.

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

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

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

Lack of test strips was a problem, but the cabbage in the soup bowl 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 quickly abandoned—now all that mattered was stopping just 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 the floating lipid droplets still hovered between the boundaries, Kraft began his operation, swiftly removing the lower aqueous phase—even though this would cause considerable waste.

"If we linger too long here, the antibacterial effect weakens noticeably, for reasons unknown."

Time is a silent enemy; something within 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-cleansing scent, met the ether; breath-like microfoam indicated pH slowly shifting toward the opposite extreme.

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

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

But it was still far from enough—not yet pure.

Charcoal powder, roasted and boiled, was sprinkled in, swallowing all discoloration, odd odors, and invisible toxins; after it settled, it was filtered out, and a fresh batch was added 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 yellow tint remained, like weak tea or diluted honey water, reflecting a soft golden glow.

"Pity."

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

"Not fully successful."

"But it looks incredibly clean?"

Perhaps the contrast from murky fungal sludge to clear medicine was too stark—the finished 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 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 became short and irregular; it tried to move but seemed pinned under weight, 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 worsening.

Placing the back of his hand against the 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 fatal."

"After extraction improvements, 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, soaked them in the sink, wiped off charcoal stains and purple-red reagent marks with a cloth.

All traces on the table were cleared; 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 between the colonies, like a halo rising over the mountaintop 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 imagined success; there is no necessary link between the two.

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

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

"Pity." He repeated it for the umpteenth time, "If only we could move faster."

"Do you mean… the priest can't be saved?"

An inexplicable heaviness rose in his chest; perhaps from spending too much time together, Kup felt his sensitivity to Kraft's shifting mindset growing sharper.

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

Without rhetorical skill, facial expressions, or gestures, he had unconsciously won agreement.

Emotion and will flowed beyond language, like evaporating ether, seeping into air and blood—accepting his thoughts 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, and wrapped it in layer upon layer.

Take it. It's valid for three days. Soak the gauze in it and apply it to the wound, changing it twice daily.

Combine it with willow bark extract to reduce fever, continue debriding and draining pus, and maintain fluid support—there's still a chance.

He paused for a moment, as if confirming it to himself, "We always have a chance."