Chapter 324: The Consultation

The laboratory at the Orchard Outpost base was certainly well-equipped, but its space was simply too small.

It was so small that it could barely accommodate the most basic workstations and cultivation tanks, utterly failing to meet her ever-expanding experimental needs.

Especially the Cloud-White Currant. Projects requiring mass sample cultivation and selection dragged on with pitiful efficiency, hampered by the few cultivation devices currently at the base.

And the cleanup squad’s primary task was still dealing with Anomalies; they had no surplus energy to undertake a massive expansion of the base just for her individual experimental needs.

Moreover, having to personally handle all the uncomplicated cultivation and recording work was truly a waste of high-level resources!

Her time should be spent on matters only she could do.

If she could acquire an existing team with mature cultivation techniques, complete facilities and space, and all it would cost was some greenbacks that only held meaning in this Fragment World… why not?

The thought had barely circled twice in her mind before a plan took shape.

But today, she still needed to take Miss Anomaly for her psychoanalysis; she couldn’t be in two places at once. The only one who could handle this task was…

Pandora subtly tilted her head and glanced at Elsa behind her.

At precisely the same moment, Elsa lowered her head slightly. Their eyes met.

No words were needed, no extra gestures. With the tacit understanding cultivated over time and their hearts connected, a flicker of comprehension already surfaced in Elsa’s deep, tranquil eyes.

Ding—

The elevator happened to slow down, the grinding of gears becoming deep and sluggish. The needle on the floor indicator came to a steady halt at ‘21’.

“Floor 21. Watch your step.”

The operator pulled back the brass lever, and the outer wooden folding door and the inner brass accordion gate slid open to the sides in sequence, producing a soft sound of metal friction.

The two researchers who had been grumbling in low voices let out sighs, ended their conversation, and stepped out of the elevator.

But unlike usual, an extra person exited along with them.

The elevator doors closed again, the gate latch re-engaged, and the car continued its upward climb, carrying Pandora and Miss Anomaly to a higher floor.

In the corridor, the two researchers had barely walked a few steps when they sensed something amiss.

Footsteps behind them, following unhurriedly.

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They stopped, turned around, and were somewhat surprised to find a calm-looking lady in a deep crimson dress quietly standing behind them.

Her face was expressionless, her deep eyes revealing no emotion, yet she exuded an inexplicable, undeniable pressure.

“Ma’am, who might you be?” the bespectacled researcher asked with a hint of confusion.

Elsa dispensed with pleasantries. She produced a finely crafted business card and handed it over.

Snow-white cardstock, gold-foiled lettering, with extremely fine embossed patterns on the edges.

“Elsa. Asset Appraiser, Investment Specialist of the New Horizons Exploration Fund.”

“Regarding the difficulties your laboratory is currently facing, I happened to overhear a little in the elevator just now. I believe it is necessary for me to meet your manager, or your principal person in charge.”

She paused briefly, her tone still devoid of ripples. “Perhaps, there is a possibility of cooperation.”

The two researchers were stunned. They instinctively took the exquisitely textured business card and looked down at it.

The clean sans-serif typeface and the rather stylishly designed fund logo on the card radiated undeniable professionalism, reflecting the strength behind the woman before them.

They subconsciously turned to look at each other, and in each other’s tired, dulled eyes, they caught a glimmer of incredulous hope.

Could their work… perhaps… be saved?

………………

On the other side, the elevator ascended one more floor, reaching the 22nd.

As the accordion gate opened, an atmosphere completely different from downstairs washed over them. It was stillness. A deliberately cultivated stillness, yet not an unpleasant one.

The décor of the psychoanalyst’s suite could be felt from the moment one stepped out of the elevator.

The corridor was carpeted with a heavy rug, its pattern intricate and deep, its colors a weave of dark red and ink-gold, swallowing footsteps so thoroughly that even the sound of shoe soles meeting the ground became indistinct.

The wallpaper was a deep green, bearing dense, intricate Victorian-style vine patterns that gleamed with a somber luster under the light.

Along the walls, wall sconces were hung every few paces.

Their frosted glass shades emitted a soft, yellowed glow, the light deliberately dimmed to illuminate only parts of the walls and carpet, leaving most of the corridor shrouded in an ambiguous, suggestive shadow.

This simple manipulation of light and shadow created a private, slightly oppressive space of psychological suggestion.

It was as if it completely shut out the clamor of the outside world, the city’s noise, and all the sharp edges of reality from this floor entirely.

Not far ahead was a small walnut reception desk. The receptionist behind it was a middle-aged woman in a dark dress, her expression gentle but restrained.

After verifying the appointment, she spoke softly, deliberately keeping her voice very low: “Good morning, Ms. Douglas. The Doctor is waiting inside; you are his first client today.”

She rose, stepped around the desk, and walked almost soundlessly across the heavy carpet, guiding Pandora and the anomalous girl toward the thick oak door at the end of the corridor.

The door panel was thick, its surface dark-grained. The receptionist knocked softly twice, then pushed the door open a crack and stepped aside to let them pass.

Without hesitation, Pandora took the girl’s hand, crossed the threshold, and pushed open the door.

………………

The door closed silently behind them. Consciousness spread slowly, like a drop of ink falling into clear water.

Boundaries blurred, the outlines of things began to dissolve. Sounds receded, and light became uncertain.

Miss K’s mind drifted. The sensation was like being gently roused from a very deep sleep, or like unconsciously walking from one room into another.

When her gaze refocused—what she saw were rows of desks and chairs, exceedingly common in the classrooms of Ashford Heights Modern High School.

The wooden desktops were scratched and scarred by countless generations of students. The chair backs slanted slightly, their cushions somewhat sunken.

Beyond the latticed windows lay a drowsy golden dusk. The slanting sun cast regular patterns of light and shadow through the panes onto the floor.

Tiny dust motes drifted in the air, strolling gently in the sunbeams.

Miss K yawned absentmindedly. A groggy sensation after a nap weighed heavily upon her, like a thin layer of cotton wadding wrapped around her thoughts, making them move half a beat slower than usual.