Interpretation

The retrofitted basement featured walls made of ten centimeter thick steel plates, making it sturdier than the safe in Lynch's home.

Strange patterns were carved into the floor, flickering with a greenish, eerie glow from time to time.

Upon entering, Lynch felt as if he had stepped into a chemistry lab. Four workbenches were neatly arranged, and several reagent cabinets filled with bottles and jars were secured with heavy padlocks. On the stove in the center of the room, beakers and flasks of various sizes were perched atop four gas burners of different dimensions.

Are all pharmacists in this era like this?

Shouldn't they be wearing black robes and pointed hats, stirring a cauldron over a fire while occasionally tossing in a few delicious children, with a stupid looking black cat nearby stealing sips of the potion?

My apologies, I just revealed the age of my past life.

"The things you are describing belong to the Fourth Age. Times have changed, Mr. Detective." Miss Valente tapped Lynch's back with her folding fan. "This is the steam age. Boiling children in a cauldron is too inefficient. Nowadays, we use steam equipment to extract essence from infants directly as an additive. The potion you drank before had some in it."

This young woman has quite a dark sense of humor, befitting someone with a background as a doctor and pharmacist. Lynch's mouth twitched, and he found he could no longer smile. "That is a rather heavy joke to make."

"Mr. Lynch, I never joke about such things, nor can I."

"Hiss... really?"

"Pfft, of course not. Who told you to provoke me by saying I boil children?" The noble lady stuck out her tongue, looking playful. Just as Lynch let out a sigh of relief, he heard her add, "Corpse oil can only be used in specific death potions; it is not meant for drinking unless you want to turn into a zombie. Though, if you are interested in tasting it, I can help you prepare some."

No, are the tastes of you mystics really that unfathomable?

Lynch dared not provoke the resilience of a medical professional any further. He hurried into the laboratory, watching as Miss Valente carefully closed the thick safety door.

"This is my studio. It has been specially treated, so the safety is very high."

"Indeed. With steel plates this thick, it is enough to keep enemies out."

"That is not the point. It is for when an experiment fails, so that the mystery does not cause everyone outside to commit mass suicide, or if I lose control inside, the resulting twisted one cannot break out and slaughter everyone in the house. For a researcher, such a room is quite necessary."

Miss Valente spoke nonchalantly, and surprisingly, Lynch felt nothing upon hearing this. He even began to consider whether he should rent out Mrs. Maggie's fourth floor and retrofit it as a laboratory. After all, he would eventually have to deal with various rituals and other forms of mystery knowledge; it would be better to prepare early.

I will think about it later.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Lynch selected a vacant wall and stuck the documents he held onto it one by one using magnets. As he placed them, he said:

"First of all, this is a very normal behavior. If doing this alone could activate the effects of a mystery document, then Rhine and Norin would already be littered with corpses. So theoretically, this is safe."

Miss Valente leaned against the wall. She did not observe the documents Lynch was posting but simply watched him quietly as he focused on the task. The light in her eyes flickered in sync with the jumping flames of the gas lamps, her gaze as focused as his own.

"The common point among all the deceased is that they died after August 15, '37. This means that starting from August 15, something was born."

"Not discovered, but born?" Miss Valente asked.

"I believe so. If it were existing documents, it would have been impossible for there to be no abnormalities before; it only began to erupt on the 15th."

"Reasonable, but creating a mystery document out of thin air, especially one with such a high level of danger, is likely something they, as ordinary people, could not have accomplished."

"Just like that day at the Archaeological Association when I wanted to record the information on that mirror. But Professor Green mentioned that day that there are other ways to circumvent the restrictions on creating mystery documents. However, there is no such thing as 'innocence due to ignorance' in the mystery world. Once a mystery document is born, it drains the soul of the creator, and the creator often falls into endless madness until they eventually die."

"I understand. That is the cause of death for those few master craftsmen; they all went insane."

At some point, Miss Valente stopped staring at Lynch's face and began focusing on his movements as he organized the documents, earnestly helping him analyze:

"They were subjected to some kind of guidance, unconsciously producing mystery documents according to certain requirements."

Lynch sighed, his hands pausing for a moment. "They were burdened with tasks assigned by the state and commissions from the Rose family. I do not know if these two things, in terms of concepts, could help circumvent the restrictions on mystery documents. According to some stories I have read, acting in the name of the state or using national destiny as a medium can have very special effects. Perhaps they broke through the limitations that way to complete the mystery document, and as a result, the three most critical masters among them went mad and died inexplicably."

Miss Valente added thoughtfully, "And those who followed, whether they were workers, students, professors, or engineering commanders, only suffered mystery erosion after seeing what the seminar had created."

"That should be it. So the first step is to select all the results from the seminar." Lynch pressed the final magnet into place and stepped back two paces to admire his work. "These are the results of that seminar: the overall plan for the Norin-Rhine Railway."

It was not actually a single blueprint, but a planning map pieced together from many sheets. It was indeed compiled onto a single sheet later, but that copy was not recovered.

However, this did not hinder Lynch's work. Subconsciously, he folded the edges of the scattered planning sheets according to their numbering and overlapped them, forming a complete pattern on the wall that included the Bester Tunnel, which cut through the Carlos Mountain Range.

Naturally, however, nothing happened.

"Leave the rest to me. To be honest, my will is quite strong, and with the aid of soul-returning grass, I can look directly at the true forms of some evil gods. Although I am not certain, I should be able to withstand the filth erosion of the mystery document for a short time. I have this confidence, so..."

"Fine. Then I will not look, not think, and not guess." Miss Valente did not hesitate, nodding immediately. "From now on, you look at the documents, and I will only watch you. I will be your safety officer. If you show any abnormalities, I will knock you awake."

As she said this, she pulled the bolt on her folding fan.

???

Wait, what are you going to use to knock me awake?

Watching Miss Valente cover her mouth and giggle, her eyes filled with deep concern, Lynch did not say much more, only tipped his hat and bowed slightly to her.

After breaking this mystery document, we will go back to the apartment for dinner. The dinner at the apartment is already cooked and waiting for me to return.

Smiling to himself, Lynch puffed on his pipe and turned his attention to the documents on the wall. As she had promised, Miss Valente kept her eyes straight, her subtle gaze lingering on Lynch's face.

No, this is not right. Although folding them this way can form a complete pattern, it does not match the situation with Donnie. Those photos did not have fold marks, and he could not have possibly made the photos look like this.

So, just arrange them normally. I should separate them again.

But that is still not right. The photos are smaller than the ordinary patterns. Let me step back a few paces to try. The visual effect from this distance is similar, but there is still no reaction. The direction must be wrong.

Right, those who were polluted and eroded to death later must have seen the complete planning map; it could not have been separated. Donnie's photos were separate, which means that is not the point.

Then what is the point? Is there something I did not see? Invisible ink? I doubt it.

Although he felt it unlikely, Lynch still brought over a basin of water and set it next to the wall. He wanted to take a few sheets down and soak them to see, but after hesitating several times, he gave up on the risk. After all, there was only one copy, and if he ruined it, it would be gone forever.

Lynch sighed, shook his head, and stepped back a few paces, staring blankly into the water basin. The flames of the gas lamp flickered, reflecting specks of light into the basin, which swayed and drew Lynch's gaze.

Lynch subconsciously stared at the light and shadows on the water's surface for a few moments, while also seeing the mirror reflection of those documents in the water.

Hmm?

Interesting. It did not feel like anything when viewed directly, but looking at the reflections, some of the maps in these planning drafts looked very much like strange symbols.

They were a bit like patterns on some totems in archaeology, but more twisted and abstract. Linking them to the past was a bit of a stretch, but once he felt they were similar, the more he looked, the more they seemed like eerie symbols. Could it be that this is... wait, no.

Lynch was just letting his imagination run wild, his thoughts drifting aimlessly. He could not be certain; he had not intended to interpret them, but had simply developed this awareness, and he had not even realized it himself.

However, at that very moment, an unprecedented, excruciating pain struck the center of his forehead, as if a red-hot steel needle had been driven deep into his brain.

Thump-thump, thump-thump. The sound of a heartbeat echoed in his ears, striking his eardrums with every beat, as if knocking against his very heart.

His vision became hazy. Red mist dissipated for no reason, and in an instant, everything around him had fallen into a blur.

Fear, irritability, dizziness, nausea—various sensations eroded Lynch's brain.

At this moment, he finally recalled the experience Mr. Klin had once shared with him while he was still alive.

Interpreting mystery documents is an extremely dangerous act. You do not even need to read them; the moment you realize you have found a method of interpretation, you are actually facing death head-on.

Damn it.