Chapter 3368: Miraculous Physician (Part 23)

Ten minutes later, the three were gathered around the pot.

Schiller poured the chopped celery-like herb powder into the pot. Wanda stretched her head to look at the bubbling pot, holding a bottle of bright red potion in her hand, and said, "Is it ready? Should I add more?"

Strange held chopsticks made from broken iron rods, reached into the pot, dipped into the soup base, and said, "Not bad, can add a bit more. Schiller, you taste it."

Schiller poured in a plate of vegetable scraps and said, "You can add as much spice as you want; if you can't eat it, count it as my loss."

Wanda swallowed her saliva, poured in some more red potion, and said, "Okay, okay, this is enough. The fire-burst seeds in this world are much spicier than the chili peppers in our world, and this is still refined fire-burst potion. If you put in too much, it will be too spicy."

Strange tasted it again and said, "Always feel like something is missing? Should we add some salt?"

At this time, Schiller also tasted it and said, "I think it's a lack of sourness. Is there an herb called acetic acid grass?"

Wanda stood up to get it, and soon brought back some herbs with small fruits on the branches. She threw the herbs into the mortar, ground them, and poured them into the pot.

Schiller and Strange tasted the flavor again and gave thumbs up one after another. Schiller brought over the prepared semi-coagulated blood and said, "Believe me, this is definitely not dark cuisine."

"Of course," Wanda said, "It seems only Americans don't eat blood products. I quite like eating black pudding; it has both the smoothness of dessert and the fragrance of meat products."

The two looked at Strange together.

"This is your discrimination against Americans," Strange said. "I can taste it, but my acceptance of fishy smell is very low. If there is a little bit of blood smell, I won't eat it."

"Guaranteed there isn't. My craft of preparing blood curd is unique." Schiller poured the sliced blood curd into the pot, picked up the fresh herbs next to him and threw them into the pot, then said, "It's just that I didn't expect your taste to be so heavy; in my impression, surgeons eat relatively light."

"Because most top surgeons come from wealthy backgrounds and follow the healthy diet of light taste," Strange sneered and said, "When I first entered the industry, I was mocked as a poor ghost with no experience by everyone in the department just because I stood in front of a Mexican stall on the way to work at the hospital and bought a spicy roasted corn."

"They are the ones with no experience," Wanda distributed the brass plates to the two and said, "I bet God also likes spicy roasted corn."

"But is it really okay for us to do this?" Wanda looked at the portrait with some worry.

The current portrait wasn't hung on the wall, but taken down. More importantly, it was placed on the operating table, facing the channel where patients came from.

The eyes of the portrait were still bleeding constantly, but it all flowed into the channel. Even sitting in front of the table, Wanda could vaguely hear the sound of cursing from the other end of the channel.

"What does this count as? Just collecting a little interest first," Schiller said coldly.

Wanda didn't know what kind of grudge he had with the person on the other end of the channel, but she thought it was just some blood, at most a bit dirty, and couldn't cause any big chaos. She didn't pay attention to it.

The three ate hot pot happily.

Wanda and Strange could both eat spicy food because they were both from poor backgrounds, had no habit of eating light, and liked heavy flavors. Schiller also loved spicy food, and the tastes of the three were just consistent.

Strange fished a piece of blood curd from the pot, first smelled it, then carefully took a bite, chewed it in his mouth, and was sucked in a cold breath by the spiciness.

He couldn't help but cover his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "Why is this thing so spicy, spicier than vegetables."

"This is very spicy-absorbing," Schiller said. "Didn't you say last time you wanted to take the air rail to Sichuan to eat hot pot? This is their signature delicacy."

Strange tasted it carefully again and said, "Indeed there is no fishy smell, but there is no taste either, only spiciness."

"Texture, don't you think this slippery texture is great?" Wanda asked. "I even think this way of eating is better than black pudding, especially boiling it for a few seconds less, both tender and slippery."

Schiller patted the table lightly and said, "Too tasteful, lady, I also like eating hot and tender blood."

Eating with people with the same taste is always very happy. The three chatted while eating and spent a pleasant morning.

And the other end of the channel seemed to be in trouble because of the blood. Even though they hadn't treated patients for most of the morning, there was no punishment. The wooden monster didn't come to find trouble again either.

After eating and drinking, Schiller and Strange were both a bit sleepy. Wanda waved her hand and said, "Leave it to me to watch here, you go rest."

Schiller nodded, returned to the lounge one after another with Strange, threw all the remaining ore into the furnace, and let it burn slowly. But they didn't sleep in the bunk beds; Schiller slept in the lower bunk, and Strange slept on the recliner next to the fireplace.

The two who were full and satisfied fell asleep quickly. Perhaps because they didn't sleep last night, they entered the dream exceptionally fast this time.

Schiller returned to the perspective of the little boy. After the doctor wearing the bird-beak mask pulled out one of the little boy's teeth, he finally didn't continue the abuse, but drew some blood with a needle.

Schiller took this opportunity to observe this doctor. Just when the other party raised his hand to draw blood, he discovered that what he was wearing under his black robe was actually a suit.

In other words, this doctor was very likely not a medieval bird-beak doctor, but came from a later era, just deliberately dressed up like this.

Excluding the possibility that he was a role-playing enthusiast, then either he was to cover his identity, or to scare people. Schiller felt it should be both.

Being able to do nothing but watch the plot was too boring for Schiller. He was originally a bit distracted, but suddenly, this little boy hit the mask of the bird-beak doctor who was drawing blood for him with his head.

The bird-beak mask had a long beak in front, which caused the center of gravity of the mask to be forward, and the mask the doctor wore wasn't tied that tightly either. Being hit by the little boy, the mask fell off directly.

Now Schiller was energized. He stared at the face revealed behind the mask, and then was surprised to find that this was actually Dr. Forster.

This doctor, who looked kind and amiable in the portrait, suddenly revealed a ferocious expression. He gritted his teeth and leaned close to the little boy, saying, "You damn bastard! You bad seed who should go to hell! I will make you pay the price for your actions!"

After saying that, he took a scalpel from the side, forcibly pried open the little boy's mouth, and grabbed his tongue.

Schiller immediately knew what he was going to do. He immediately wanted to manipulate the little boy to struggle, but couldn't do it at all. Watching the scalpel get closer and closer to the tongue, Schiller woke up suddenly.

And within one minute before he woke up, the fireplace fire began to flicker continuously, and the color of the flame began to turn white. This proved that the temperature was rising sharply.

The ore that originally had no improvement instantly began to melt, and even completely turned into liquid, leaking along the funnel to the tray Schiller prepared.

The temperature in the room also rose higher and higher, becoming like a scorching summer within tens of seconds. Schiller and Strange were almost woken up by the heat at the same time.

The two discovered the abnormal temperature situation in the room and hurried to push the door to run out. As soon as the lounge door closed, the two looked at each other.

"What the hell? Is your furnace broken?" Strange asked.

"How is that possible," Schiller said. "Temperature rise is a normal phenomenon; otherwise, how can metal ore be refined? Wait, it can start casting soon."

The fireplace fire was still flickering, and it flickered faster and faster. The temperature in the lounge increased to a level that humans simply couldn't accept. However, it seemed that there was no way to conduct it to this side through the wall; only the doorway of the lounge was relatively hot.

Schiller really felt that this was a normal phenomenon, because before the blast furnace was built, the fireplace could burn an adult in minutes. And the blast furnace itself was to increase the flame temperature, so the temperature rise was a normal phenomenon; not rising was a failure.

And the original fireplace had a large opening, which was to transmit the temperature outward to warm the room. But the blast furnace tried to reduce the opening as much as possible to make the internal temperature higher and higher. So there was only a small opening for adding wood at the bottom of the blast furnace.

The fire inside burned more and more vigorously, seeming to be condensing into some kind of monster, but because the opening of the blast furnace was too small, the other party couldn't crawl out no matter what, and was stifled inside, burning hotter and hotter, and the metal smelting became faster and faster.

Schiller didn't care about the situation in the lounge anymore. He walked over to check the portrait. As soon as he took the portrait away, he looked face-to-face with a wooden man who was touching up the eyes of the portrait.

Schiller widened his eyes and immediately turned to find pliers. Although the wooden man had no expression, the panic could be seen from the movement of crawling back quickly.

By the time Schiller brought the pliers over, the wooden man had already run away. The eyes of the portrait were still not finished, and that point was still bleeding.

Schiller threw down the pliers in disappointment, hung the portrait back in place, and placed a beaker under that point. He felt that this kind of blood might be able to sell for some money, at least it could make up for the deficit.

The channel returned to normal, but the few patients sent over next were all stained with blood, and it was clear at a glance that it was the blood flowing out of the portrait. It was estimated that there was no less tossing on that side either.

Seven or eight patients were treated in the afternoon, and Schiller had two more ore culture containers.

By evening, the wood in the fireplace was burned out, and the temperature finally gradually dropped.

When Schiller pushed the door open, there was still a heat wave in the room, but nothing was burned. Only the shiny metal balls in the tray under the blast furnace were telling Schiller that his plan was about to succeed.

Schiller walked over to take out the metal tray and found that all the metal he threw in had been smelted, and the effect was quite excellent, almost without further purification, it could be used directly.

Schiller stuffed more wood into it and threw some ore from the culture dish into the fireplace to burn slowly.

He came to the console and used the clay he got before to make molds. He prepared to use the integral casting method to cast firelocks.

Firelocks are actually the most primitive firearms in the world, dating back to the Yuan Dynasty. This gun has too many shortcomings, but the only advantage is that it is easy to build.

And those shortcomings didn't seem like shortcomings to Schiller. The accuracy of the firelock isn't high enough, which can be understood as a weakened version of a shotgun, but that's compared to modern weapons. As long as this thing is built, it's fast and accurate within ten meters, and one shot can cause serious injury.

And what Schiller manufactured was actually a modern improved version, which still had some accuracy, hitting a few tens of meters was no problem, at least stronger than Stark's little broken revolver.

As for gunpowder, Schiller had also been preparing it for a long time. Not to mention that he almost bought out all the sulfur, saltpeter already existed as a medicinal material, and charcoal was also for sale.

Now he could finally chase the trend of transmigrators and experience the joy of hand-rubbing black powder.

(End of chapter) ===== CHAPTER 3369 =====