Alchemy Principles of Type-Moon World

"Thank you..." Weber clutched the note tightly, looked at Xing Qingqi and Kenneth with gratitude, then turned and left.

After watching Weber leave, Xing Qingyu finally couldn't help himself. He jokingly said to Kenneth, "Kenneth, I suggest you change your hairstyle." Xing Qingyu used the Moon Spirit Marrow Fluid to condense a mirror and pointed it at Kenneth. "Do you know what you look like now?"

Kenneth frowned and glanced at himself in the mirror.

"Like a sparkling lemon hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha..."

"Shut up, you tasteless guy." Kenneth sighed helplessly.

————————————————————————

"Damn it, you Brits can't even make a pancake?" Xing Qingfan looked at the countless messed-up pancakes on the plate in frustration, almost going crazy. "Is the only thing you Brits can make every day is fish and chips and mashed potatoes?"

"S-sorry..." Weber replied in a low voice, his face flushed. He was wearing an apron and holding a spatula in his hand, carefully trying to flip the pancake in the pan.

Xing Qingyu stood aside, arms crossed, brow furrowed as he watched Weber's work. He'd already taught him the technique several times, but Weber couldn't grasp it. Every time he tried to flip the pancake with a spatula, it either broke or stuck to the bottom of the pan, making a mess.

Weber carefully scooped up a corner of the pancake and tried to flip it gently, but the pancake broke into pieces again. Watching this, Xing Qingqi couldn't help but sigh and shook his head.

"I really don't understand," Xing Qingwu said helplessly, "The process is exactly the same, why is it so difficult?"

6 hours later……

Weber took a deep breath and scooped another spoonful of batter into the pan. This time, he controlled the spatula with extreme care, following Xing Qingfeng's instructions, waiting for the edges of the pancake to set. Then, carefully inserting the spatula, he attempted to flip the pancake over. This time, the pancake didn't break, and it flipped perfectly to the other side.

It took him six hours to finally learn how to make pancakes.

Weber wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked at the pile of golden pancakes in front of him, his heart filled with a sense of accomplishment.

"Very good, you will be the second generation of Dongmu Pancake from now on." Xing Qingqi sighed, "The snack cart downstairs is yours, but the name needs to be changed."

"Let me think..." Xing Qingqiu pondered for a moment, "Do you speak French?"

"Huh?" Weber was stunned. He didn't expect the topic to suddenly turn to language.

"Using the British for advertising always seems to be a tough sell," Xing Qingfeng said. "How about this? Learn a few words of French and pretend to be French. Then I'll change the sign on the food cart downstairs to authentic French crepes."

The next day, the citizens of Fuyuki welcomed their crepe vendor back after a week.

The difference is that the sign of the food cart has changed. The original two characters "China" have been covered by a piece of cheap A4 paper, and replaced by the two characters "France", which looks particularly abrupt.

Anyone with normal skills can tell that this is the same Chinese crepe shop that used to be there.

Xing Qingwu was on the side, giving instructions and occasionally helping out with the business. He kept calling him "Pancake II," which meant that no one knew Weber's real name anymore, and they just called him French Pancake II.

——But this name seemed too long, and in the end, customers just called him the Second World.

———————————————————————————————— Quickly arrange the whereabouts of other people in the next two days, and then you can finish this volume.

New author, new book, please vote, comment, and feedback, thank you!

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I recommend this book, it is a fanfiction of zzz and Jackie Chan Adventures. If you are interested, you can try it.

Give the Zero in the Juequ District some Uncle Long shock

Volume 60: Alchemy Apprentice from the Fourth War: . So sad

In the NASA office, white fluorescent light cast a cool glow across a neatly tidy desk. File cabinets were neatly arranged around it, emitting a faint woody aroma. Several photos of space missions hung on the wall, each capturing a glorious moment in human exploration. The room was so quiet that only the sound of their conversation echoed, the soundproof walls blocking out any outside noise.

The man's face was hidden in the shadows of the lamplight, but his eyes were bright and sharp, almost piercing James' heart. His voice was low and powerful, breaking the silence in the room, "Is this true?"

James, the crew commander of the Atlantis space shuttle, sat at his desk, looking a little tired.

"Sir, these photos were taken with my camera." He stretched out his hand and handed a stack of photos to the man.

The man took the photo and examined it carefully. The background was completely black. Due to the poor exposure, the camera had difficulty capturing the stars in the sky, but a vague figure could be seen.

The figure didn't appear to be wearing a spacesuit or any protective gear, simply exposed in space. The man frowned, looking at the photo in confusion. "Didn't they use the Mir camera?"

James sighed, a look of helplessness in his eyes. "It's just the way it is with that camera. The exposure is wrong, and focusing is a real hassle." He pointed to the blurry figure in the photo. "Later, when I tried to film with the Mir camera, I found there was nothing there."

The man frowned and looked at the photo more carefully, his lips pursed into a line.

"It looks like something that seems to be there, but it's not. Has anyone else seen this phenomenon?"

James shook his head, his tone calm and firm, "I am the only one who saw the scene in this photo."

"Didn't you try to get closer and confirm it yourself?" The man raised his head, his sharp eyes seemed to penetrate James' soul. "You didn't even ask other people to confirm it in the cabin?"

"Sir, you have to understand that we are conducting space operations," James replied calmly and slowly, his tone carrying an undeniable firmness. "I must ensure everyone's mental stability."

"Even though you might cause us to miss a fourth-kind encounter... or even miss a new subject?"

"Sir, I don't understand what you're saying." James remained expressionless, his hands folded on the table. "But this is my responsibility as the commander of the Atlantis crew. I'm the most experienced astronaut on this mission with you."

He paused, took a deep breath, and continued, "I must ensure everyone's mental stability to ensure nothing goes wrong while they're carrying out their mission, and to ensure everyone can return safely."

The man stared at him for a long moment before nodding. "A pretty calm assessment." He scanned the photo carefully again and muttered as if to emphasize something, "This doesn't look like a human at all—"

Before he finished speaking, he opened the drawer and put all the photos in it.

"——I also think it's just your eyes that are blurring your vision."

James watched the man's movements, his expression remaining calm. "Then I suggest that space missions be equipped with a psychologist," he said slowly. "You know, space operations are full of uncertainties. We need to ensure everyone's mental health."

"Is this why you were drinking so openly in the cabin?" The man smiled faintly, his eye twitching. "Damn it! Do you know how high your blood alcohol concentration was according to the medical report after you came down?"

"It's just a necessary sedative," James said nonchalantly. "You know, sometimes a little drink can help us stay rational."

"You even wanted to take David along to drink. Do you think the cameras in the cabin are just for show?"

"..."

James lowered his head and was silent for a few seconds.

He knew what the man in front of him meant when he mentioned David at this time. His clenched fists trembled slightly, but he quickly regained his composure.

The man sighed and rubbed his Tailiu Ba acupoint tiredly, with a hint of helplessness and frustration in his tone, "Alas... I don't know why you don't trust me so much..."

He paused and looked at James, a hint of fatigue in his eyes, "Do you mind if I smoke a cigarette?" His voice was low and filled with suppressed emotions.

James raised his head, a complex emotion flashed in his eyes, and then nodded, "...Give me one too."

The man pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and deftly took out two, handing one to James and holding the other between his fingers. He lit the cigarette and took a deep drag. His expression was a little hazy in the smoke. "Listen, I know it's hard to convince you to trust me right now..."

James took the cigarette and the man lit it for him. He also took a deep puff. The spicy stimulation of the tobacco calmed him down a little.

"...But I'm really trying my best to prevent those dirty hands from getting into NASA." Seeing James wanted to say something, the man waved his hand, asking him to wait until he finished. "I know that in your eyes, I'm just a pure politician, or some gilded second-generation rich kid."

James just exhaled a puff of smoke quietly, expressing his emotions with silence.

"But NASA's political value is pretty much gone," the man continued, a hint of resignation and sincerity in his tone. "To be honest, it's completely useless to me."

"I just found a way to transfer here because I like it here." He pulled a Bible from a drawer and gently placed it on the table. "Okay, relax. Trust your judgment. It's just an illusion. If you really feel bad, why not try putting your hand on the Bible?"

James looked at the Bible, a hint of sarcasm and disdain flashed in his eyes, "I forgot that the United States was originally a Puritan country." He pulled the corners of his mouth with a forced smile.

"Space is such an extremely empty place. If you stay there for too long, it's easy to feel helpless." The man smiled reassuringly, smoke rising slowly around his face. "Don't look at me like that. I studied psychology in college."

James stood up, took a deep drag on his cigarette, and then blew a puff of smoke into the Bible. "Take that crap back," he said in a low, firm voice. "I'm not at the point where I need religion to numb my spirit."

The man sighed, stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, and looked at James. "By the way, do you have a backup of these photos?"

James stopped and looked back at the man with a hint of alarm in his eyes, "What do you mean?"

The man smiled slightly, his tone carrying a hint of elusive meaning, "Nothing, just a suggestion."

"One last suggestion—"

He paused and looked at James deeply.

"—I suggest you consider retiring."

"I'm not threatening you or anything. I'm just doing this for your own good. I mean it."

"After coming back from the low gravity of space, I'm still not used to the gravity on the surface. It's sad."

"Yeah, that's really sad."

James was silent for a moment, his fingers gently stroking the seam of his trousers, and finally took a deep puff of his cigarette. Without saying anything else, he turned and left the office.

The man's gaze followed James's back until he disappeared into the doorway, and he didn't look away for a long time. The office door closed gently, making a slight "click" sound, which was particularly abrupt in the silent room.

He suddenly seemed to be awakened, and quickly reached into his suit pocket and pulled out the opened cigarette pack. He took out another cigarette and skillfully held it between his lips.

The lighter between his fingertips made a crisp "click" sound, and the flame danced on the black lighter head. He leaned in and lit the cigarette. He took a deep breath, and the thick smoke slowly exhaled from his mouth and nose, spreading in the air and gradually enveloping the entire room.

The white fluorescent light shone coldly on the man, reflecting the worry in his eyes. He did not stop smoking, but quickly pulled out a second cigarette from the cigarette box and almost immediately connected with the butt of the first cigarette he had just finished.

"Where did this bastard magician come from? Or some bitch-soned fantasy guy...shit." He cursed in a low voice.

The air in the room gradually grew thicker, smoke swirling beneath the ceiling, blurring the surrounding filing cabinets. The space mission photos hanging on the wall seemed shrouded in a thin layer of mist, becoming hazy and indistinct, as if those past glories had become distant and unreal amidst the heaviness of the man's heart.

"Do those sons of bitches even understand what we're competing against? The funding keeps getting less and less year after year, and yet they're all trying to get involved and play some political lottery."

"Damn it..." he muttered, his voice hoarse and almost inaudible. The man's gaze became unfocused, as if he were reminiscing about something, or perhaps contemplating the future. His fingers mechanically repeated the motion of smoking, and the ash had piled up in his ashtray like a small mountain. Occasionally, a few wisps of ash drifted onto the white tabletop, leaving gray traces.

"Fuck you, a bunch of short-sighted bastards." The man mechanically repeated the action of smoking, but found that the lighter between his fingers was out of oil and could not light the fire. He threw the lighter aside, and a flame came out from his fingertips to light the cigarette in his mouth.

He is also a magician, or someone who understands the mysteries.

A man from Nevada, he worked in Area 51 during the Cold War, mainly engaged in the research of extraterrestrial life forms. He even had exchanges with the Heritage Department of the Clock Tower on a daily basis.

Due to the secrecy of his origin, he disguised his identity when he parachuted into NASA, packaging himself as a politician trying to become a technocrat at NASA.

——But he himself is a researcher.

The man understood why James was always wary and even disgusted with him. If he were in James's shoes, he'd have punched him in the face long ago. Those sons of bitches didn't care how important their research and careers were to humanity. Just because they weren't as valuable anymore, they were just tossed into the trash.

Smoke filled the air, gradually shrouding the entire room in a hazy gray. The man's figure became increasingly blurred in the smoke, as if he had merged with the office, becoming part of the environment. His face still wore a deep look of fatigue, his brow furrowed.

If he hadn't used his connections to land in this position, NASA would have been completely reduced to a tool for politicians to select candidates. In fact, the dismantling of related production equipment had already begun, and the latest large-scale space proposals were still not approved.

NASA is no longer of much value to the United States. Men can foresee that the next rise of the so-called "space" in the United States will never be like the current one.

I am afraid that it will become a money-making show for capital and politicians, just like the recently popular concept of "space burial".

Fuck Richard Borow, fuck the Seattle Times, fuck Business Services.

The man mechanically repeated the action of smoking, one cigarette after another, as if it was the only thing he could do. His fingers kept moving back and forth between the cigarette box and his lips, his movements stiff and mechanical, as if he had lost the ability to think.

The room was filled with a strong smell of tobacco, which gradually covered all other smells, even making the air thicker. Every puff of smoke stung his lungs, but he seemed unaware of it, as if only the constantly burning tobacco could temporarily fill the emptiness and anxiety in his heart.

He stared at his desk in silence, his eyes unfocused, his mind wandering to the conversation he had just had with James. The folders on the desk were neatly stacked, every corner was in perfect order, but in his eyes, these neat files seemed like a silent irony.

He pulled the stack of photos from the drawer, his movements somewhat slow and stiff. The surface of the photos shimmered faintly under the fluorescent light, and the dark background and the blurred figures once again came into his sight, bringing with them an inexplicable sense of oppression.

He picked up the Bible that had just been placed on the table and carefully put the photo in it.

This photo is of little value, he thought. For politicians who have access to this level of information, they either already support them or are simply not moved by such things.

Write a report and seal this information into the archives afterwards. The fewer people who know about this, the safer James and the others will be.

Finally, the man stopped smoking, exhaled a long puff, and seemed to relax. He stubbed the cigarette butt in the ashtray and took a deep breath, as if wanting to expel all his troubles. The smoke in the room gradually dissipated, the smell of tobacco still lingering in the air, but he no longer cared about these details.

He tidied up his desk, picked up a pen and paper, and began to write the report. In the end, the only sound in the entire office was the scratching of the pen on the paper.

---------------

James walked out of his office and glanced down the empty corridor. Just then, he noticed two men dressed as reporters approaching him. They were well-dressed, holding recorders and notebooks, looking like professional journalists.

"You must be James," one of them said. His tone, though friendly, carried a hint of nervousness. James's eyes quickly swept between the two men, noticing their stance and posture. Although seemingly casual, they revealed a sense of alertness and tension that came from rigorous training.

"Fuck the reporters," James cursed inwardly. He had served in the military for many years and had a keen sense of those who had received professional training. Although the two people in front of him were disguised as reporters, their physique and posture revealed their true identities.

—Unless they say they are war correspondents.

James still had a faint smile on his face. He knew that exposing the other person's disguise would benefit no one.

"Of course," James agreed, his tone casual. "How about we chat in a nearby cafe?" He nodded slightly, motioning for the other person to follow. The two "reporters" looked at each other, clearly satisfied with James's answer.

The three of them walked side by side out of the building, sunlight streaming down them and illuminating the city streets. James walked in front, followed closely by the two "reporters," maintaining a perfect distance. The streets were bustling with people and cars, but James's attention was completely focused on the two men behind him. Their footsteps were steady and rhythmic, and every movement was a testament to their practice.

Soon, they arrived at a corner café. A small bell hung on the doorway, ringing crisply as they pushed the door open. James chose a table by the window and sat down, his back to the wall. Two "reporters" sat down across from him, putting down their recorders and notebooks and smiling professionally.

"Mr. James," one of them spoke, his tone still calm, but his eyes flashed with a sharpness, "We have some questions to ask you, and we hope you can cooperate."

"Ha, cooperation!" James thought contemptuously in his heart.

James smiled slightly and nodded, signaling the other party to continue. There were not many customers in the cafe, only twos and threes sitting at their respective seats. Waiters shuttled between them, serving coffee and snacks.

"Did you encounter any unusual situations while carrying out the Atlantis mission?" another "reporter" asked with a hint of tentativeness in his tone.

"Hmm... I guess you've been under a lot of psychological pressure." James pondered for a moment and replied, "You know, in a place as vast as space, it's easy to feel helpless if you stay there for too long."

This guy immediately put into practice what he had just heard.