Chapter 204: Field Research

To enter someone's mindset, you must step into the environment they experience and understand the information they receive.

Karlman spent the first half of his academic life in Dunling, so his understanding of the local area naturally differed from outsiders'; to find those pointed nuances, you must bridge the information gap between them.

At least Kraft thought so—he needed to get closer to the elements mentioned in the records to see more clearly.

"Practice is the sole standard for testing theory. Especially in medicine: one or even several seemingly perfect cases are far from enough—you need repeated, long-term verification." Kraft put on a mask and distributed one to everyone present.

"Even something as simple as a few glass bottles and a short reaction can yield different results—how much more so the human body, a complex system?"

"Let's talk about tuberculosis instead," Viren took the mask and held it in his hand, deliberately ignoring the half-sentence about glass bottles. "Though the academy has no direct cooperation with the outside world, it's undeniable that a significant number of successful clinic operators were once among us."

"This man is half my student—he attended my lectures, graduated, and opened an internal medicine clinic in the New District. When he heard we were interested in tuberculosis, he reached out to us voluntarily."

"Your student-teacher relationship is truly excellent," Kraft sincerely remarked. Back in school, professors who taught specialized courses—even those who were friendly during lectures—usually grew distant after graduation, lacking daily reasons to stay in touch.

It was exceedingly rare for someone to maintain contact with a lecture professor after employment.

"That's true—he was focused on internal medicine back then, failed anatomy every year, and we all knew him. The year before his delayed graduation, it was my turn to evaluate him, and I barely passed him out of pity."

It was an act of mercy—a life saved.

As the carriage jolted, Kup held the box in one arm and pulled the mask's straps behind his ears to secure it.

After a stretch of road brutally unfriendly to vehicles without shock absorbers, the driver's whistle halted the crisp clatter of horseshoes on cobblestones. Viren stepped out first and introduced the tall doctor waiting at the door to Kraft.

"This is Doctor Davy—we also call him Davy the Fifth." The lecturer walked up without hesitation, clapping the doctor on the shoulder, whose face darkened at the nickname. "Davy, let me introduce you to the next decade's new authority in the field: Professor Kraft, member of the Tuberculosis and Rare Diseases Medical Society."

"Hello, it's a great honor," the clinic owner with the famous nickname twitched slightly, extending his hand halfway before freezing, uncertain whether it was appropriate—a reflexive recoil like a student encountering a teacher he hadn't seen in half a year.

Kraft gripped his hand and shook it vigorously several times; the enthusiastic force made Davy wonder if he'd need to relearn orthopedics right then and there.

"Pleased to meet you, Doctor Davy the Fifth. My knowledge of current tuberculosis treatment is also limited—we should learn from each other."

"You're too modest. Also, if you don't mind, please just call me by my name," Davy withdrew his hand, smoothing his hair forward. "This nickname isn't from any noble family tradition—it's just from how long I've been around Professor Viren."

"That must've been tough."

"Who can deny it? I owe my survival without becoming Davy the Sixth entirely to Professor Viren's efforts," Davy chuckled bitterly at himself. Among his classmates, many were talented, but he was likely the only one who left a lasting impression on so many instructors.

He pulled up the wrinkled front of his coat, covering half his face including his nose and mouth. "Please come in—talking outside isn't convenient."

Behind the door painted with a long-beaked bird's head, a familiar yet subtly altered bitter odor flooded the nose—coming from a clay pot simmering over the fire. The herbal decoction had concentrated to the point of smelling like Jiaohu; the masked apprentice, stifling sneezes, added granular substances into the pot.

Ambulatory patients with milder symptoms sat on a wooden bench, waiting for assistants to bottle and mix their medicine, their faces glowing yellow or marked with bright red rashes. From behind the partially screened area came violent coughing accompanied by gagging.

"We separate coughing patients from others. There's no solid evidence yet, but anecdotes suggest this may slow transmission to those nearby."

The group passed through the busy counter and stove area; patients and apprentice assistants bowed and greeted the clinic owner as he passed, giving him the air of a king inspecting his domain. Yet the few individuals behind him made him slightly uneasy.

Several semi-translucent, colored glass bottles stood out prominently on the shelves, their prices seemingly unusual.

When Kraft looked curiously at them, "the Fifth" doctor awkwardly sidestepped to block the price tag and chuckled nervously. "Just some specialty remedies I formulated from experience."

"Please come upstairs—this area is too noisy."

The group was led to Davy's private room on the second floor, where the thick wooden door muffled the noise below. On the wall hung a framed paper document; a walking stick replaced the decorative sword on the rack.

Inside the bookshelf, two dusty volumes of "Human Anatomy" occupied one side, while "Humorism" and a row of obscure pharmacopeias—some even without spines—took up half the space.

Viren glanced at the document and recognized it immediately. "I shouldn't have signed that degree certificate back then."

"Don't say that, teacher—it was so long ago," Davy leaned back in his chair, noticed his posture was unseemly, straightened up, and pulled in his belly. "Let's talk about tuberculosis instead. Why are you suddenly interested in it? There are plenty of patients and treatments, but few actually work—and it's far removed from surgery."

"It won't be for long. A surgical treatment for tuberculosis has already been developed: inflating the chest cavity to compress the lungs, controlling hemoptysis and halting lesion progression. If you've kept up with even the bare minimum needed to pass exams, you should understand." Viren explained the current academic advances to him.

"I think I understand."

"In any case, to facilitate further verification of this treatment, I need more cases and a comparison with traditional methods." This was already part of the goal—even if no harvest came, the time wouldn't be wasted.

"As someone who interacts closely with patients, I believe Doctor Davy has a good grasp of local disease patterns. I'd like to hear what you know about tuberculosis."

"I'm sorry, though I'd love to help, my knowledge is limited—I fear I'd only make myself a laughingstock."

"No, what I want isn't textbook text," Kraft interlaced his fingers, assuming a posture of patient listening. Seeing the sheer volume and variety of patients downstairs, he was certain this was exactly the place he'd been seeking.

"I want to hear what you know about the people—the patients themselves: their homes, jobs, economic status, usual treatments, relationships. Say whatever comes to mind—wherever you start is fine. Or perhaps begin with your clinic's daily operations?"