Chapter 133: Invitation Letter

Invitation Letter

To the Esteemed Professor Kraft Wu De:

Please forgive us for boldly addressing you by this title, as no other term adequately captures the meaning befitting your status.

You may wonder whether this letter comes from someone mentally confused, making basic errors—but that is not the case. We are fully aware that you serve as a lecturer at Winden Port Academy and operate a clinic in Comfort Harbor.

Early this spring, news of a revolutionary surgical method reached the green woods along the Tem River from the frozen ports of the kingdom's distant north.

From bizarre rumors brought by laypeople, we learned of an astonishing advancement: a physician of extraordinary skill has once again challenged a problem no predecessor ever succeeded in solving.

Since the ancients first became curious about the human body, and up to the completion of the monumental work "Anatomy of the Human Form," scholarly exploration of the abdominal cavity has never ceased.

Increasing knowledge reserves, coupled with frustratingly stagnant practical applications, once plunged this field into an embarrassing stalemate.

Not only were surgical designs problematic, but the insurmountable pain issue ensured abdominal surgery could never be as crude as amputation—something even a barber might attempt by instinct—let alone outperform students who had studied for years.

Scattered reports of abdominal surgery were later proven false, or outright frauds by charlatans. So when news from Winden Port abruptly ceased, we assumed yet another predictable disappointment.

But after months of silence, good tidings returned once more from Comfort Harbor: ships arrived continuously, bringing sailors who had witnessed the miracle and the latest updates. Patients who had kept your handwritten "Condition Notice" all pointed to the artful, flawless sutures, praising the miraculous nature of this new technique.

This convinced even the most stubborn to believe that a miracle substance, capable of breaking the current deadlock, truly exists—allowing surgeons to perform theoretically guided procedures without pain. Decades, even centuries of effort were finally proven not to be a dead end.

Given this breakthrough, the title of lecturer is utterly inadequate for the status of its creator.

To advance our shared endeavor and fulfill the duty bestowed by the Heavenly Father to relieve human suffering, all professors have unanimously agreed: we wish the honor of granting you the title of Honorary Professor at our university, and invite you to the verdant lands beneath Westminburg to share beauty and knowledge together.

Rivers University is a comprehensive institution funded by the Duke of Westmin, featuring multiple colleges including medicine, boasting a long history and academic depth second only to Dunling University, alongside a more open research atmosphere.

At the academic gathering scheduled for this summer, scholars from across the land will gather to share their latest findings and exchange ideas. On this solemn occasion, under the witness of peers, a distinguished figure will bestow upon you this honorary title.

If you can spare the time, your achievement will undoubtedly become the brightest jewel of this grand event.

—Department of Medicine, Rivers University.

……

……

A letter adorned with floral and botanical border patterns, sealed with a three-leaf wax emblem, was delivered into the clinic owner's hands this morning by a well-dressed, sword-carrying middle-aged man.

The letter's contents were undoubtedly good news.

After completing ether production, my prolonged stay in Comfort Harbor was never due to hoarding the technique like a miser, intending to bury it with me—but to accumulate sufficient cases and reputation to promote ether anesthesia with complete readiness.

Of course, I wished to accelerate progress: to recruit staff, establish a hospital prototype, and eventually attract learners who would carry my treatises and clinical experience far and wide. But in reality, I am still struggling with how to control the vaporization of ether in the bottle, battling daily with questions like "Why is this one emptying so fast?" and "Why hasn't that one emptied yet?"

Though it seems some academy with a keen sense has come knocking, it's… surprisingly fast.

Considering the months-long delay in message transmission between the two regions, it's likely that as soon as Kraft completed Lis's intussusception surgery, the first ships carrying rumors southward had already encountered the information filter along the Tem River and drawn attention.

This implies someone on their end has been systematically collecting such reports—otherwise, such precision would be impossible. Are universities in this age really that desperate to host an academic gathering?

"Hello, may I ask who you are…?" Kraft finished reading the letter, pulled out a chair, and invited the man to sit. The messenger had not left after delivering it but remained, waiting for the recipient to finish reading—his demeanor felt unusually solemn.

"I am Martin, a messenger. My duty is only to deliver the letter and guide you." The middle-aged man did not sit, but bowed slightly again—a refined courtesy that made Kraft wonder about his origins.

As a scion of minor nobility, Kraft himself had never developed such awareness; such habits were typically formed in strict, formal, and "noble" environments—either upbringing or employment.

Yes, that exact affectation—the one country upstarts despised most, yet their descendants two generations later adored most.

The local soul felt a silent wave of nausea—this was precisely why Old Wu De never got along with nobles of his own rank.

A messenger who knows the contents of the letter he delivers?

"I'm truly sorry, but as you can see, if I were to host a guest, it would be terribly impolite." Kraft gestured to the cramped clinic, divided by curtains—he was never good at organizing things. The only person with even basic domestic skills was Yin Feng, and she had not yet learned to manage documents or instruments independently.

Moreover, parts of this room are unsuitable for outsiders to see.

He glanced at the curtains: the twisted furniture and instruments had been smashed into fragments and buried in the backyard, but the walls and floor, melted like wax, remained utterly inexplicable.

"No problem. I've rented a room across the street at the inn. Whenever you make your decision, simply send word." The considerate visitor seemed well-prepared, confident Kraft would accept the invitation. Indeed, whether one sought fame or pure scholarship, refusal was nearly impossible.

Even so, before leaving, he added a reassuring note: "The position of Honorary Professor at Rivers University is no mere empty title—it is worth your journey, in both academic and practical terms."

"Thank you for the reminder—I cannot imagine anyone declining." Kraft nodded in agreement.

Kup escorted the messenger out, then returned to Kraft's side. Seeing his mood was good, he asked curiously: "Is this a patient's thank-you letter?"

"No. An academic gathering."

"An academic gathering? What's that?" In Kup's view, Kraft mostly sat alone at his desk, laboring away, then produced stacks of manuscripts thick enough to fill several books, and performed surgical miracles like divine acts—even at the academy.

If that was the case, Kup couldn't understand why anyone would travel such a long water route just to gather and do "academic" work.

"Yes. You can think of it as someone inviting us on a free trip to Westminburg—with meals, banquets, and a full promotional package for the clinic."

"There's such a thing?"