Whether or not this is true, as Conan Doyle believed, it is the drug that can turn back the clock on youth.

But at least at this moment, everyone's eyes were staring at the test tube in Roald Dahl's hand, either implicitly or explicitly, as if it contained some rare treasure.

But it seems that there is nothing wrong with saying this, even if Roald Dahl's attitude towards this thing is like holding a bottle of moving fruit candy, but for the other three people present, this may be the main purpose of this trip.

"Let me see..."

The man in a lilac velvet tuxedo held his chin with one hand as if he was thinking about something, and his eyes moved back and forth between Daniel Defoe and Gin, as if he was observing something.

"How many drops did you get? Three, or five?"

The latter statement was addressed to Daniel Defoe.

The British sailor was the first to be targeted. He had aged much more than the top leaders of the Black Organization and looked like a living fossil. It was hard to imagine that he could still think clearly now.

"Well, judging from the appearance, it is indeed difficult. You see, this is the consequence of not following my orders." The man put his hands on his hips and complained, as if he was dissatisfied with the two people's previous behavior of harming each other.

The two old men, who were so old that it absolutely exceeded the world record, looked at each other at the same time, saw their current appearance in each other's eyes, and turned their heads away very quickly, but they didn't know who the sound of bones rubbing against each other that made their teeth ache suddenly came from in the room.

"One pill can make you about ten years younger. My personal suggestion is that you take one pill and wait for a while. You can choose to stop at the right age."

The man shook the test tube in his hand, and the small yellow pills suddenly moved more actively.

Conan Doyle had been watching quietly at the side, and his cultivated politeness allowed him to restrain himself. He waited for Roald Dahl to finish speaking before vaguely mentioning something that could be traded.

However, Roald Dahl obviously did not give him such an opportunity. Instead, the man took the initiative to talk to him.

"Mr. Doyle," the man in the top hat turned to the only truly elderly person present, "would you like to try it too? After all, it feels good to be young, doesn't it?"

This was indeed a very attractive suggestion, and immediately the other two people sitting on the sofa looked in this direction with different expressions.

But the old detective showed some extra interest in other things.

"That's a very good suggestion indeed," the old man said slowly, "but perhaps I would prefer to talk to you alone."

"Talk to me in private? Oh, it's a real honor. Before we met, I always thought you were some kind of flying jelly eel with three mouths and magnifying glass eyes. Now it seems that I was blind to your preconceived notions."

The man's tone suddenly became excited, but he had shown some crazy potential before, so no one found it strange. Instead, they were even more unsure about his next move.

[That detective is a bit crazy, he can be rejuvenated, what a great opportunity]

[Not necessarily. There must be some conspiracy behind this kind of benefit.]

[I agree with the previous one. They may not trust Mr. Dahl.]

[Isn't it that no one finds the current atmosphere very delicate? If they could beat Mr. Dale, they would have already taken the opportunity to rob him by now.]

[If Mr. Dahl hadn’t shown off his skills earlier, these people would definitely cause trouble]

[Wait, the current situation, not counting Mr. Dale, is 2 to 1, Gin is in danger/doge]

[By the way, I am really curious about how Mr. Dahl's candy factory produces these things. If it is a supernatural power, it would be too scary.]

[Could it be the god that Mr. Dahl mentioned? I remember that he and Michel Ender, who was active in Japan before, were both members of the Tongyi Brother organization? The one called Wuyouzhixiang?]

[It is the Wuyouzhixiang, yes, I always feel

There is a conspiracy. After all, since they didn't show any signs of conspiracy before, but now they are taking action, it's hard not to suspect that they have other intentions.]

[But it may not be a bad thing? I remember that the little king also killed a lot of ghosts and gods. It was so cool. The dragon and lion in the red temple were really cool.]

Satisfiedly watching the barrage of comments that seemed to be in line with his own guesses, Haiyinsi Suyou turned the red notebook in his hand to the next page.

It was still blank, as if waiting for the same emblem as the previous two pages to fill it.

The Faith value accumulated during this period is more than enough, and now it is time to summon and use the next vest.

Haiyin Temple Suyou took a deep breath and used his faith value to exchange for a chance to draw a lottery with the system. Just like the first time he drew a card, a dazzling light that no one could see lit up in the room without his knowledge, and a pattern gradually emerged on the blank page.

It was a Ugly card. On his painted face was a huge, exaggerated smile that never looked sad, or rather, no one cared whether he felt sad or not.

After connecting his thoughts with the new vest and understanding the ability of this vest and the related background story, a huge smile immediately appeared on Haiyinsi Suyou's mouth. In the next plan, a very important part seemed to be perfectly filled.

In the secluded ward, the conversation between Conan Doyle and Roald Dahl continued, but the thin man who looked like a goat did not immediately accept Conan Doyle's invitation to talk, but did not completely reject it.

"Perhaps if there is a chance, yes, but I'm afraid these two gentlemen can't wait that long. They look like they will die at any moment."

Roald Dahl said this with a beaming face, seemingly in a very good mood. Although no one knew that he was happy because of the gods, for him, there was no need to explore the reasons for his emotions.

"There's a little boy waiting for me to visit. I'm afraid you'll have to distribute these among yourselves."

The man casually threw the test tube on the coffee table in front of the sofa, but due to some kind of balance that had not yet been broken, it seemed that no one was the first person to take the test tube.

And the moment Roald Dahl walked out the door, some invisible balance point was suddenly broken, but no matter how many conflicts there were, they were temporarily shut out by him.

The man hummed an unknown piece of music as Roald Dahl walked briskly deeper into the corridor. The road stretched endlessly in front of him.

This time, his target was the ward where Chuuya Nakahara was.

************

Zhong Yuanzhong didn't know where he was, let alone what he was doing.

It was as if he had temporarily lost all control over his body, just like he had been pressed into a very small space not long ago, and only after struggling hard could he see a glimmer of light, even if it was fleeting.

But more often than not, it was darkness, the irresistible darkness and pressure that made him feel like he was at the bottom of the sea, frightened by endless pressure.

He seemed to be abandoned by something, and rejected by something, but also seemed to be caught by something soft, and held up by something like air gel, so that his reason would not continue to teeter on the edge of collapse.

This feeling of being out of control and instinctively uneasy did not last long, and some vague perception seemed to be slowly returning.

Soon, some hazy white light appeared in front of his eyes, and some fragmentary sounds were transmitted under the action of nerves, which sounded like the light sound of glass bottles colliding with each other. His sense of taste and smell were also slowly returning.

More and more senses attacked him, and the originally empty sensory world even began to become noisy.

He smelled honey, mint, lavender, and perhaps bananas, strawberries, and the lost green tangerine, as well as haze and dust, lilies, matcha, and many more scents that he didn't have time to distinguish.

Nakahara Chuuya suddenly woke up and found himself lying on the bed, and some short Oompa-Loompas were

A steady stream of liquid was poured from the glass bottle into his mouth.

He wanted to leave, but his body did not move as he was commanded.

It was really strange. There was clearly no place where he was restrained, and he could even use his supernatural powers. The quilt moved up an inch because of his attempt, but his body did not move away, as if his subconscious mind rejected such an idea.

And gradually he found that his own consciousness did not seem to be doing so, because these mysterious liquids were replacing his thoughts little by little with their wonderful magic.

'Try it', 'taste it', 'enjoy it'

Someone was speaking in his mind, but the voice sounded like it belonged to Chuuya Nakahara himself.

When the entire bottle of liquid was drunk, Nakahara Chuuya felt that his body had completely broken away from its original shape and turned into Cinderella's pumpkin carriage or something faster and more fantastic, parading across the country.

It was a kind of transparent juice that tasted like soda, but at certain angles it seemed to reflect an indescribable light. But soon Zhong Yuanzhong realized that he had made a lot of mistakes.

It was a legend that even the almighty witch could not replicate, a jade-like liquid that everyone flocked to, a wonderful liquid that he could not describe in words.

He seemed to be strolling in the streets of Thailand in an instant. The scent of mangosteen and durian was diffused in the air. The white flesh of the sugar apple melted in his mouth like ice cream. He suddenly took a big bite of guava.

The next second he was strolling on the streets of Italy, and the freshly-made pizza with only basil leaves, sausage, sauce and cheese added to it immediately occupied all the space in his stomach.

After a while, he came to an American farm again, tasted fresh cranberries, or tasted sterilized whole milk produced in the Great Lakes, and the taste of buttered popcorn was also unforgettable.

…

All kinds of wonderful aromas lingered in his senses, like a grand food baptism, and also peeled off some not-so-good things bit by bit like pulling out threads without the person noticing.

When Zhongyuan Zhongya was able to use his own body freely, the Oompa-Loompa who had been standing beside him disappeared without him noticing.

However, he did not have much time to think about the above, or the effect of the bottle of magical juice he drank had not yet disappeared. He still felt the taste of pickled plums coming from his knee joints, and the smell of watermelon and salt from his elbows.

As he stretched himself and jumped off the bed, the door of the room opened, and the person who walked in was the man he was very familiar with, and one of the reasons why he came to this hellhole - Roald Dahl.

Nakahara Chuuya looked at the man in front of him warily, his body subconsciously taking a defensive posture, but it was not hostile. In a sense, it was more like a desire to fight a strong man.

He was very happy now, extremely happy, and he even relaxed after a while. He shouldn't have any hostility towards the manager of this paradise. It should have been like this.

Countless flavors and emotions almost squeezed out all the bad things, leaving only the thrilling happiness.

"How do you feel?"

He heard the man's voice say this as if it was jumping, but this time his tone seemed to contain something that Zhongyuan Zhongye didn't quite understand or comprehend. It sounded like a smile or something else.

Provocation or testing? Nakahara Chuuya couldn't guess, and felt that these two speculations were so inappropriate here.

He didn't know if it was the effect of the magic juice like the soda he just drank, but his thinking suddenly didn't work very quickly. The world seemed to be covered with a very thin layer of mist. He could see clearly, but there was always a slight sense of haziness that was almost negligible.

Nakahara Chuuya suddenly felt dry in the mouth. He had a desire he had never had before. He wanted to try the strange drink again. This desire even made him forget to answer Roald Dahl's question.

The problem.

This would never happen before, but it didn't seem so rude. Subconsciously, Nakahara Chuuya thought that the question was not directed at him.

And this is indeed the case. What Roald Dahl was asking about during his trip to Haiyin Temple was the black and red gas-liquid mixture that almost completely enveloped the petite Mafia cadre. That was the wild god that he had defeated before.

However, at this moment, the ball of energy that seemed to have consciousness seemed to have completely become part of Nakahara Chuuya. It was completely suppressed by the magic of the rainbow soda and could only tremble weakly.

A satisfied smile appeared on Roald Dahl's lips. His power became even greater with the sacrifice of the Wild God. In the deepest part of the candy factory, there came a roar that only he could hear, like a child who finally burps in satisfaction after a full meal.

"How do you feel?" the man asked again, this time to Nakahara Chuuya.

"Completely fine," the young man with beautiful orange hair answered very energetically, his eyes flickering with a kind of Opal-like brilliance, and his cheeks flushed with excitement, "What did I just drink?"

"You like that one." The man put on his chocolate-colored top hat again and said in a firm tone. He seemed to be convinced that Nakahara Chuuya would fall in love with this drink.

"No one will not love it, no one, my neck is... burp." The young man burped suddenly, he covered his neck with an expression between confusion and clarity.

"Smells like mackerel?" Nakahara Chuuya stood there, talking to himself, and soon his temperament suddenly changed.

The state of muscle relaxation left the young man very quickly, and an angry and alert expression replaced the emptiness and confusion after the ecstasy.

Murderous intent emanated from the port mafia cadre. There was no warmth in the young man's eyes anymore, they were so cold that they were almost murderous.

"What did you do to me?"