Chapter 43: Disaster and Opportunity

The wind and rain clashed and entwined, their voices overlapping and continuous, each syllable of the wind blending seamlessly into the opening of every raindrop’s phrase. When they roared together, all the sounds of the world fell into complete silence.

Fatigue from the late hour crept in, and the mage set down his scroll. Like all those on the island affected by the hurricane, he hid in the shelter, the self-appointed king of this small, man-made realm, exchanging glances with the loyal subjects of tables, chairs, and benches amid the roaring rain.

Lin Bo inspected the Fresnel lens once more, then checked the rotating mechanism on the third floor to ensure everything was secure. The light of this lighthouse might be the only hope of survival for some ships at sea in this moment.

Having tended to his daily duties, the night watchman pressed his hand against the trembling windowpane, seeking to catch its silent speech amid the storm.

Moments later, awakened from a state of near-death, the mage received a new true name.

The hurricane was a great ally to him; its deafening roar could suppress those things usually stubborn and aloof.

He descended to the second floor, gently touching a patch of wall where the plaster had fallen away, revealing ancient stones beneath. The first and second floors of the lighthouse were built from stone and cement, remnants of the old lighthouse, while the brickwork above was reconstructed decades ago.

In ordinary light rain, the stones whispered steadily, their deep, clear voices undiminished even by the pattering rain. Even when struck by metal chisels, the rock’s sonorous tales were never stifled.

But now, even they were silenced under the furious reign of the hurricane. The tropical cyclone gathered the sun’s scorching power over the vast ocean, and once unleashed, it was irresistible.

Seizing this opportunity brought by the hurricane’s arrival, the mage resolved to attune himself to things that rarely fell silent: stones, trees. This was a chance along his path of study.

A new week.

Last night, the torrential rain came and went in fits, the strong winds in bursts. During its rampage, sudden storms would occasionally strike, and people ventured out only in the brief lulls between nature’s fury.

The bakery was closed. Near the docks, only a few tarps and wooden poles lay scattered, abandoned. Shops along the street shut temporarily, and not a single patron was in the White Conch Tavern.

Passersby hurried along the streets, moving swiftly.

The night watchman, umbrella in hand, walked through Stone Tower Town, observing the damage. Islanders were long accustomed to hurricanes; sturdy houses remained standing, no collapses. Water pooled on the roads but mostly drained into gutters and streams, with no flooding for now.

He asked if anyone had been injured last night and urgently required aid; the answer was optimistic—no such cases.

Instead, many invited Lin Bo to share breakfast, though he politely declined.

At the edge of the wood where the mage often ventured, several sturdy trees had been snapped by last night’s fierce winds. Their massive, lush roots, along with thick brown-red soil, were exposed to the air, reminding Lin Bo of crimson fish gills.

Such weather was unsuitable for herb gathering—muddy and slippery ground, wilted medicinal plants—so he only glanced from afar before turning toward the East Cliff Stone Caves.

As expected, the storm’s sudden rain formed runoff at the cave entrance, flooding the courtyard.

Fortunately, the mushroom greenhouse stood on a concrete foundation, untouched by the floodwaters.

Inside the cave, the lights still shone, and the electric heater in the greenhouse radiated warmth. When last night’s storm caused temperatures to plunge, this greenhouse became a rare refuge of warmth.

Lin Bo entered, finding seagulls gathered nearby to shelter from the rain. They perched on the roof, hopped across the concrete floor, and entered and exited through the always-open ventilation windows.

“(In magical language) Hello,” the mage greeted, pausing briefly. He did not speak bird language, and the seagulls did not understand the magical tongue; it was simply a casual greeting.

The gulls responded with mischievous caws. Fresh, bloodied fish bones scattered at their feet. These birds usually fed on the reefs but now gathered near the warm greenhouse, turning the courtyard into a fish market’s stinky mess.

“(Incantation) Birds of flight, carry away the remains.” Lin Bo summoned a spell, infusing his magical words with power.

The seagulls fell silent, grasped the fish bones with their claws, spread their wings like a flock of white bats, darted out of the cave, threw the bones into the sea, then returned.

Pushing open the door into the greenhouse, more seagulls were inside, strutting about boldly, eating the fruiting mushrooms produced by the omnipotent strain, as if they were long-time residents.

Lin Bo checked the electrical equipment; the battery could still support three to four days. He took water mixed with fertilizer from a corner bucket and irrigated the fungal mats.

After another week of growth, the mats had outgrown their initial substrate. Lin Bo added eight wooden boxes around the perimeter for the mycelium to spread comfortably.

Clusters of luxuriant medicinal mushrooms grew abundantly. Even on days of hurricanes, there was no worry about a shortage of herbal materials.

Touching the mycelium with his palm, he heard their murmurs in his ear: “Caretaker... likes... to be well-fed... please share mushrooms with new friends...”

Lin Bo intended to praise their generosity but lacked the magic words, so he simply called them kind. The soft mycelium swayed happily.

“Please eat... mushrooms!”

The mycelium’s threads contracted slightly, as though gathering strength. From a corner sprouted a mushroom shaped like a codfish, about two fingers long. Its form was abstract, resembling a cheap plastic toy, with dull fish eyes emitting an eerie glow.

Lin Bo fell silent, seemingly at a loss for words. It appeared the mushroom’s seagull friends had already brought gifts.

This was the first animal gene absorbed by the omnipotent strain, meaning the genetic library had expanded again.

Recklessly introducing new species could greatly contaminate the gene pool, likely destabilizing the mushroom’s traits. However, through communion with all things, he could direct the mycelium to produce the necessary medicinal mushrooms, so he had no concern.

He plucked the fish-shaped mushroom, which, despite its abstract look, was intricately mimetic—scales, skin, bones, even blood vessels and nerves were remarkably true to form.

Due to nervous reflexes, the codfish mushroom even struggled in the mage’s hand.

With a palm strike, Lin Bo tapped the fish’s head, lulling the restless mushroom into a childlike sleep.

“(True word) Iron.”

He always carried some iron pellets when he went out, stored in a hunter’s ammunition pouch in his coat pocket. Each pellet was about the size of a grape, totaling over a pound.

Using tactile sensing, he focused on one pellet, then commanded it with his true name, drawing it through his pocket and shaping it into a sharp little knife in his hand.

With his other hand, he grasped the fish tail. A flash of silver light cut off the fish’s head. The knife traced along the skin, scales falling like rain, slicing open the belly. Guided by touch, it scraped out the innards.

The discarded parts would be reabsorbed by the fungal mat, eliminating waste.

The iron blade emerged from the fish’s belly, slick with mucus. Under Lin Bo’s control, it stretched into a thin plate, vibrating and humming in the air. The mucus shook off, and soon the iron plate glowed red-hot.

He placed the flayed fish meat on the hot iron, where the fat melted and flowed, proteins denatured by heat, releasing a variety of flavor compounds. A faint wisp of smoke rose.

Limited by the material’s thickness, the iron plate’s heat retention was insufficient; the temperature dropped quickly once the fish was placed on it. Usually in such cases, the fish skin would fail to char and crisp, causing it to stick to the pan.

Fortunately, the iron plate’s rapid vibrations meant contact with the food was frequent but brief, creating an air cushion between them. Even as the plate cooled swiftly, the fish skin did not stick. The final dish—dry-grilled fish on iron plate—looked surprisingly good.

Lin Bo had done this before. He applied magic to all aspects of life.

He had tried casting three spells simultaneously but failed, unable to split his attention three ways. This problem was not easy to solve.

Humans have always been single-minded beings, unlike computer chips that can run multiple cores in parallel. To multitask effectively requires repeated practice for mastery, exceptional talent with great mental strength, or special techniques.

On the comprehensive network’s multi-link trading platform, skills for multitasking exist but are mostly incompatible with purebred humans.

Skills like “Bilateral Brain Control” require multitasking as a prerequisite for learning, not as a result.

Though lacking suitable manuals, research materials were not uncommon. Players try all manner of methods to acquire the ability to divide their focus.

Lin Bo avoided dubious brain modification technologies, instead purchasing basic training materials to study, though he had yet to achieve significant progress.

He took another iron pellet, shaped it into a plate, then another into a fork, and began tasting the dry-grilled fish-shaped mushroom.