Conan: When Shinjiu and Maolilan swap bodies

This step completely crossed the boundary of the so-called "safe distance".

There was less than an arm's length between them, and Qingze's cold aura and oppressive presence were almost overwhelming.

He lowered his head slightly, the shadow of his hat brim shifting upwards, revealing his scarlet eyes completely to the cold light. There was no doubt in them, only a sharp and certainty that seemed to have already dissected and seen through everything.

"You wouldn't be planning to experiment on me with that outlandish 'consciousness field transfer' from your paper, would you?"

Qingze's voice was soft, yet every word was like a knife, precisely slicing through the core that the other party was trying to hide.

"In your theoretical model, using your so-called 'frequency correction' and 'tuning,' do you first need to adjust the oscillation frequency of the 'source consciousness' to a specific state that is easy to couple or decouple? To create the necessary preconditions for that so-called 'transfer'?"

"..."

Dr. Peyton's lips pressed into a pale line, and his gaze behind his glasses momentarily shifted—an instinctive reaction when his secrets were laid bare and he was completely exposed.

He couldn't refute it, because what Qingze described was the most crucial and taboo part of his theory.

That was the idea he put forward in that article, the reason why that gentleman took a liking to it and sponsored it, and it was also the great achievement he pursued in his life!

Seeing the doctor remain silent, Qingze suddenly chuckled softly.

The laughter was short, dry, devoid of any joy, only a desolate mockery.

With that laugh, the chilling, murderous aura emanating from him receded abruptly like a receding tide.

Why not just say it directly?

He tilted his head, his tone carrying an almost languid, indifferent indifference.

His gaze fell on Dr. Payton's slightly sweaty forehead, then shifted away, his voice so soft it was almost a soliloquy:

"Is it really necessary to beat around the bush like this, talking about 'treatment' and 'controlling the condition'?"

He used the tip of his tongue to press the almost melted sugar cube between his teeth and gently crushed it.

The faint cracking sound was exceptionally clear in the silence.

"Just say it's for your sake, sir, and I'll cooperate."

Kuroba Toichi watched the monitor quietly, the cold light from the screen on the wall in front of him casting flickering shadows on his sharply defined face.

His deep gaze fell on Qingze's pale, calm, and even somewhat empty face.

Will they cooperate on their own?

If he were cooperative, why would Dr. Peyton need to modify and control his consciousness?

The idea of ​​shifting consciousness is a far more distant and illusory concept than returning to youth.

He never intended for the so-called consciousness transfer to succeed.

This was just to give that old guy some hope, and to sharpen this sharp knife until it was easy to use and obedient.

……

Qingze glanced at the ubiquitous surveillance cameras in the laboratory, his face expressionless. He then slowly took out a piece of candy from his pocket, unwrapped it, and put it in his mouth.

Upon hearing Qingze say he would cooperate, Dr. Payton froze, like a machine that had suddenly lost power, his gray pupils behind his glasses momentarily losing focus.

Koniak... is willing to cooperate?

It wasn't resistance, it wasn't a threat, it wasn't negotiating, but rather such direct, even absurdly calm... cooperation?

Immediately, an immense surge of ecstasy coursed through his spine like a high-voltage current, washing away all the fear and cold sweat from just moments before.

His scholarly face, which usually maintained a rational and restrained demeanor, suddenly shone with a pure and intense light of excitement.

His lips curled up uncontrollably, deep lines appeared at the corners of his eyes, and even his breathing became rapid.

"Great! This is really...great!"

He was almost muttering to himself, his voice trembling slightly with excitement, his hands unconsciously rubbing together in front of him, as if he desperately needed to do something to release his surging emotions.

The look in his eyes when he looked at Qingze was no longer the caution he showed when facing a dangerous experimental subject, but rather the gaze of an artist staring at a blank canvas about to be painted, filled with a desire for creation and breakthrough.

"Consciousness field transfer... is my ultimate vision!"

He spoke eagerly, his words flowing like pent-up lava, each syllable brimming with burning excitement.

"But to achieve this, the prerequisites are extremely stringent! The most crucial and fundamental one is—synchronous consciousness!"

"Two independent consciousnesses must reach a highly specific neural oscillation frequency, and then, through a harmonic interferometer, a critical state similar to 'quantum decoherence' must be created—"

"Theoretically, this can temporarily weaken the strong connection between consciousness and the original body, making it possible for the consciousness field to achieve targeted migration!"

His eyes shone terrifyingly bright under the cold white light, burning with the fiery passion of a solitary researcher who had spent his life trekking through desolate lands, finally catching sight of the lighthouse on the other side—a mixture of piety, ambition, and madness.

"Is it that simple?" Qingze raised an eyebrow, his tone carrying a hint of genuine surprise, as well as a cold, playful tone.

Such a scientific fanatic, imprisoned by a single obsession for too long, likely has a distorted and deformed mental world.

He loosened his grip slightly, and the other party eagerly revealed all the hidden treasures without reservation.

His multiple mind-swaps with Lan before this were probably caused by the frequency waves emitted by that harmonic interferometer.

They relied on emotional resonance to restore their physical health, which unintentionally aligned with the principle of "consciousness resonance," achieving frequency resonance and allowing everything to return to its original state.

"No, no, no! It's definitely not simple! On the contrary, it's incredibly difficult!"

Dr. Payton shook his head sharply at Qingze's dismissive tone, correcting him with a voice that rose even higher in emphasis:

"Synchronized consciousness is an almost impossible coincidence in nature! Just as no two snowflakes in the world are exactly the same, it is even more impossible for two people's consciousnesses to resonate on the exact same frequency from birth!"

"Those are unique 'fingerprints' belonging to each soul!"

Qingze nodded, looking like he understood.

"So, the first step is to modify the frequency of consciousness?"

Upon hearing this, Dr. Peyton's excitement intensified. He was delighted that Koniak had grasped the core of the problem so quickly, saving him a great deal of time and effort in explaining the basics.

"That's right!"

He affirmed it almost in a solemn tone, as if announcing a major discovery, then his tone became somewhat coaxing and urgent, trying to further dispel any possible concerns the other party might have.

"So I'm not deceiving you, Koniak. This consciousness retracing pod can indeed regulate your extreme emotional fluctuations to some extent, which is essentially adjusting your consciousness frequency."

"This is a necessary step toward a great experiment, and it will be beneficial to you, to me, and to that gentleman's vision."

Qingze gave a cryptic laugh.

"Let's begin then."

Let him experience what is called consciousness retracing.

Chapter 532 Ah, Gin~ This is what living is all about.

Qingze lay down in the consciousness retracing pod.

Previously, it was always Ran Mouri who was lying down, but this was the first time he had actually done it.

But whether it's to experience the feeling or to completely resolve the impact of the swap, he has to lie down this time.

The cool electrode pads were pressed against the scalp, and the screen next to them displayed various incomprehensible frequency data. All the research assistants in the lab had gathered around.

The humming sound of the instrument starting up came from deep underground. It was low at first, but then quickly intensified, becoming a heavy, ubiquitous resonance that pressed directly into the eardrum and inside the skull.

Immediately afterwards, a fine and continuous tingling sensation came from the electrode contact points on the scalp, as if a weak current was trying to pry open the gaps in the skull and drill into the deep folds of the mind.

A vast, gentle yet irresistible drowsiness, like a black tide, enveloped him from all directions, gradually dragging his conscious mind downwards.

The light at the edge of my vision began to blur and swirl, eventually sinking into a deepening chaos.

“The previous guidance was too conservative, and the emotional anchor was not deep enough. This time, we skipped the flat range and directly targeted the core waveband where memory encoding is strongest and emotional intensity is highest.”

Dr. Payton stared intently at the changing waveforms on the screen, his fingers rapidly adjusting the control panel, his emotions unusually heightened.

Qingze's life was divided into many stages, but the dividing line at the age of sixteen was etched into his flesh and blood by the complete collapse of hope.

Before he turned sixteen, even in the giant meat grinder of the organization, he could still maintain a precarious balance like a juggler dancing on the edge of a knife, and even secretly plan for a bleak future.

He learned exquisite disguise and insight from Vermouth, honed his killing skills and ruthlessness under Gin's command, and like a squirrel hoarding food for winter, he gradually and secretly prepared an escape route for himself.

Forging a clean identity, stockpiling hard currency like gold and cash, learning every skill that might be needed for self-defense or escape in the future...

But when he was 16, all those plans and intentions for the future were thrown into the trash.

March 6th, 9:07 AM.

At that time, his body was in an unstable period of forced drug modification, and he often experienced phantom pain, sensory hypersensitivity, and confusion. His mind was also in a state of alternation between numbness and sharp pain.

For some unknown reason, he completely lost his sense of taste that morning.

Along with all the possibilities it embodied regarding "taste," "enjoyment," and "comfort," it was completely erased from his perception of the world.

Food glides across the tongue, leaving only texture and temperature, devoid of any sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, or salty notes.

The world has lost a crucial layer of color, becoming gray, flat, and lifeless.

Life suddenly plunged into a dark, deep sea. A viscous, suffocating sense of nothingness pressed in from all sides.

Everything has lost its meaning.

The salty, cold sea wind howled as he lay on his back in the salty water, his body rising and falling with the waves like a piece of driftwood adrift on the current.

He stared into the dark, starless night sky, which resembled the dome of a giant tomb, his pupils filled with an empty void.

His chest was still rising and falling slightly, but his breath had already ceased, like a corpse that had just been washed ashore by the tide.

Just as the seawater was about to cover my mouth and nose—

Buzz... Buzz...

The phone, specially waterproofed, vibrated in my pocket, its screen emitting a hazy light underwater.

The vibration pierced through the icy seawater and his numb body. He mechanically pulled out his phone, the screen illuminating his wet, deathly pale face.

Caller ID: Gin.

"Koniak, the mission..."

These two words seemed to have struck a certain point, and a roar suddenly exploded out, overwhelming the roar of the waves.

"Mission! Mission! Do your mother's mission!!!"

He threw it forcefully, and the phone fell into the deep sea.

The wind howled sharply in my ears, and the roar of the engine vibrated through my bones.

Like a black beast breaking free of its shackles, a heavy motorcycle sped along the empty night road, its headlights slicing through the darkness, heading straight for one of the organization's bases.

The guards at the gate only had time to catch a glimpse of a blurry silver figure and a blinding beam of headlights.

"Stop! Identity verification—"

boom!

The gunshot rang out, the guard's shouts ceased abruptly, blood bloomed between his brows, and he fell backward.

boom!boom!

The second shot, the third shot...

The gunshots were not frequent, but they were unusually steady, precise, and ruthless; each shot was accompanied by the sudden extinguishing of a life.

The muzzle flash briefly illuminated a face that was too young, yet cold and lifeless.

Blood splattered on the cement floor, blooming into dark red flowers, mingling with the smell of gunpowder to create a sweet, pungent stench of death.

He threw away the empty pistol and drew a long, slender tactical straight knife with a gleaming blade from behind his back.

"Koniak! Are you insane?!"

Realizing that someone was organizing a massacre, the armed men quickly surrounded the boy, pointing their guns at him, who was dripping wet, their faces filled with fear and disbelief.

The boy tilted his head and a smile bloomed on his face.

His smile was unusually gentle, even with a touch of shyness, which contrasted sharply with his murderous aura.

"What are you doing? Killing you all?"

He spoke softly, his tone almost gentle.

The moment he finished speaking, he moved.

His figure moved with ghostly speed, leaving a trail of afterimages as he crashed directly into the densest part of the crowd.