Ena waited until the recording cylinder had rested overnight before arranging a second playback. The cradle held it level on the archive table. A thin mark showed where yesterday’s pass had stopped. The damaged area lay several degrees beyond it.
“This time we turn more slowly,” she said. “If the sound skips, we stop at once. We do not repeat a damaged phrase just to make it clearer.”
Han stood near the door, watching the lamp and the open route. Bai sat beside Qinghe with a clean copy sheet between them. Yan kept his hands in his lap, though each part of him wanted to reach for the handle.
Ena rotated the cylinder by the smallest motion. The voice of Yun Cang returned, faint but clearer at the slower speed. He said the conversion belonged to the cultivator whose circulation produced the harmful response. The next phrase broke after the word “catalyst.”
Qinghe held the transcript beside the groove number. She marked where the voice stopped, then put her finger beside the words that remained. “This is a description of who bears the reaction. It does not say the reaction is safe for anyone else.”
“The recording says the catalyst translates it,” Yan said. “Does that mean the catalyst changes the result?”
