Fat

Wilbur opened Hope's door.

"Did you see it?"

Hope didn't answer Wilbur's question first. Instead, he put on a dissatisfied tone and said, "Can you knock first? If you keep doing this every time, it'll be really awkward if I happen to be sitting on the toilet."

He was trying to make a request that a "prisoner" shouldn't raise, but one that was perfectly reasonable for a "family member," to test Wilbur's attitude toward him.

Wilbur hesitated for a moment. "I'll pay attention next time. But I won't wait for your permission to come in—I'll just give you some time to react."

Basic human rights, but no trust?

Only then did he answer Wilbur's question: "I saw it. I opened the door to see what was outside, and it came into my room. But after hearing your shout, it left quickly."

Wilbur nodded, didn't ask further, and left immediately after receiving Hope's affirmative answer.

He looked a bit flustered.

Hope sensed something off from this:

The Transparent Monster suddenly surging out of the room seemed to be a surprise even for Wilbur.

It wasn't impossible that Old Whateley had been the one driving the monsters away before, and Wilbur, just taking over, was a bit nervous.

But the more likely scenario was that this kind of thing had rarely happened before, or never happened at all. Wilbur's panic came from it being unexpected.

If so, what was the cause? Old Whateley's critical illness, Robert's death, the influence of the Wooden Amulet, or something on the Transparent Monster's own side?

Speculation without facts ultimately led nowhere, only helping Hope pass the time.

He picked up the Common Herb Collection again, flipped to the first page, expecting a preface or introduction, but the first page was practical content:

"Human fat..."

Hope closed the book, confirming that the cover read Common Herb Collection, not A Detailed Guide to Pica or Compendium of Evil Potions.

You cultists and your books...

Hope lay back on the bed, emptied his mind, let time flow, and waited for dinner...

...He picked up Common Herb Collection for the third time... Whatever. No matter if the content was grotesque or professional, it was still more interesting than staring at the ceiling.

Fortunately, the content wasn't as twisted as Hope had expected:

"The medicinal value of human fat is essentially negligible. Its historical use for stopping bleeding and healing wounds is as foolish as bloodletting therapy. Its effect as a soul vessel should be real, but the efficacy is poor. Even in emergencies, a combination of fingernails and hair can achieve better results..."

Hope lifted his head, touched his forehead, and felt he needed a moment to recover.

In the first half of this passage, the author sounded like a pioneer of modern medicine, denouncing the ignorance of old-time quacks, looking at past remedies with a calm, rational eye, conducting medical experiments in a scientific way...

Combined with the various technical terms he'd seen earlier, Hope almost thought the author was some world-renowned doctor from the present.

Until that line "as a soul vessel..." the style suddenly shifted.

From a pioneer of modern medicine to a leader of old-time barbers, the sterilized scalpel in hand turning into a pair of pliers for pulling teeth, still stained with the previous customer's blood.

--Those versatile barbers often doubled as doctors, skilled at curing all diseases with bloodletting, or leaving behind rotten teeth while pulling out good ones.

A familiar feeling filled Hope's mind, just like when he'd smelled Star Hemp last night. Some knowledge that didn't belong to Hope was awakening.

Human fat... was once believed to have the power to transmit health and cure disease... some people thought it was sacred... in a certain era, it was a necessary ingredient for healing-related magic potions... at other times, it was also used for, uh, male-female medicine...

The main sources were... executed criminals or soldiers... it was a very poor soul vessel... and as for soul vessels...

Hope was like a champion dancer who had been bedridden with illness for years, now recovered, practicing dance moves alone.

The movements were rusty, but the muscle memory earned through sweat hadn't completely abandoned him. Instead, it opened its arms and gave him a hug, so he wouldn't have to work so hard anymore.

Hope... no, Number One Hope, seemed to have spent a great deal of time on this so-called "herbalism" that mixed science, the supernatural, and ignorant customs.

The knowledge inherited from Number One Hope had many gaps. For example, Hope couldn't remember who exactly "some people" were, nor could he recall anything about "soul vessels."

Hope continued flipping through the book, hoping to find the missing pieces in his mind.

Relying on the remnants of Number One Hope's memory and skipping all the incomprehensible jargon, Hope read smoothly and quickly.

Some gaps in knowledge were indeed filled. For instance, the book detailed how to coat the body with fat to calm the soul, even recording the correlation between the calming effect and the length of certain body parts.

Just as Hope instinctively felt nauseous, the author casually added a line under such a lengthy passage:

"In fact, it has no effect. What is called 'calming the soul' is merely the mad delusion of some primitive tribe's chieftain or shaman."

Hmm... recording everything as meticulously as possible with scholarly rigor, then denying the errors with the same scholarly rigor...

If every chapter was like this, at least half the book would be spent on such recording and denial.

And despite its detail, it offered no answers to the things Hope wanted to know more about.

The author listed items better suited as soul vessels than human fat: a combination of one's own hair and nails, a silver mirror in a dark environment, a stone stained with any animal's blood...

But when it came to the soul vessel itself, the records became vague. Not a single sentence clarified it, not even a "you all know this, no need for me to elaborate."

It was as if the author himself didn't understand.

Given the author's rigorous records on other matters, even if he truly couldn't know the function of a "soul vessel," he should at least have written, "The meaning of 'soul vessel' has been lost."

Hope looked at the handwritten text on the page, all written in pencil.

Pencil... there seemed to be half a pencil in the room...

Hope picked up the pencil, flipped the book back to the cover, and rewrote the title in the blank space.

He had never been exposed to New Federation script before. Being able to write it now was entirely due to this body's muscle memory, so the handwriting was influenced by Number One Hope.

He compared his rewritten title with the original... His own was uglier, but overall about seventy to eighty percent similar.