Chapter 244

When he woke again, Kraft was glad to see the ceiling and the quiet, twilight light—not anyone's anxious face or the hurried footsteps racing down the hallway.

The entire afternoon had slipped away in deep sleep. He had expected a long dream of struggling against something, of futilely running through endless repeating spaces, but in fact, nothing came—his mind was empty, not a single thought left behind.

His awareness floated like a baby in amniotic fluid, idly twitching its phantom limbs, drifting for a moment—or perhaps a long while—waiting for fragmented memories to rise on their own.

Orange-gold, drowsy light slowly crept across the bedding and cabinets, climbing diagonally up the walls. The bitter, medicinal scent of plants mingled with the smoky aroma of roasted grain drifting from nearby chimneys, spreading through the slightly damp air.

It was nearly dinnertime. The process of emerging from sleep felt unpleasant—not only had his depleted energy not returned, but his headache had worsened.

The missing stretch of time left him with a sense of being abandoned by the world; everything beyond his awareness had moved forward, and instinctively he doubted whether something had slipped out of control.

This unease pushed Kraft to abandon the idea of lying there any longer. He pressed against the tender spot at his temple and slowly sat up.

A jumble of unsorted information flooded his mind: fractured space, banquet dishes, medical representatives, distorted anatomy, gray-white stones, severed limbs, solid black liquid.

Oh right, there was also this.

Kraft looked at the long box beside the bed—smelling of lime powder, tightly bound with rope. Inside was a backup he'd kept before sending off the trophy.

It was best to deal with this as soon as possible—analyze it for the information he needed before decay set in, separate the solid black liquid from the crystals, then burn the biological waste to eliminate potential hazards early.

Following this thread, more troubles surfaced.

Green had demanded to see the stone from the palm afterward, to ensure his trust wasn't being used by the professor for some strange experiments. Given the stereotype of the medical college, this concern was reasonable—or perhaps it wasn't just a stereotype.

If he'd made this request during their meeting, the priest would never have handed such an object to a medical college professor. To make this compromise, he must be among the most open-minded of the progressives.

Kraft fully understood: this couldn't be seen as his personal trophy. They were currently a collective, and both sides had the right to demand knowledge of the sample's whereabouts.

Second was investigating the trigger for the black liquid's solid-liquid phase transition—not exactly a clear line of thought, but certainly not a coherent one either.

At first, he'd speculated whether its melting and solidification related to the heretic's life state, but that didn't hold up.

Judging from the aftermath, it must have happened around the time of the battle—or possibly even while they carried the corpse back in the dark, not noticing, when the entire block of black crystal melted on his wrist and "just right" flowed upward along the arm veins into the superior vena cava, likely heading for the right atrium.

If the process hadn't been interrupted by re-solidification, within minutes it would have circulated once through the lungs and been pumped throughout the body.

So it seemed the condition had appeared briefly, then vanished.

The best approach would be to reproduce each factor present at the time, but some of those attempts were simply too uncontrollable.

And there was a second problem: if the black liquid naturally solidified, how had the stable liquid form ever existed before? It couldn't be that the liquefying condition had been continuously maintained around it.

Thinking about this made his headache worse—and he could expect this pain to last for quite some time.

"Who cares." It was dinnertime now; whatever problems remained were Kraft's to handle after eating.

After a period of mental warm-up, his sluggish mind had reactivated. He rolled out of bed, dressed fully, and went downstairs to the dining room.

Thanks to a positive outlook on rising patient numbers and future income, David's Clinic began expanding outward, purchasing the neighboring house at a premium and converting part of it into a separate space isolated from the wards.

First separated out were the kitchen and dining area, because everyone realized they no longer had time to go out and buy food. They urgently needed a clean place offering convenient, accessible meals.

By the time Kraft arrived, most had just finished their daytime duties and sat at the table sharing food available for self-service.

Though work was busy, there was no overtime—for now. The limitations of lighting made nighttime work inefficient, costly, and increased fire risk. Unless under special circumstances—like rushing to complete medical records for an inspection—no one did it.

By the window, the professor found his attendant and students; their food clearly surpassed the cafeteria's standard, including bread, vegetable soup, a piece of cheese, and ham-like meat.

The extra food came from an old acquaintance. Lecturer Viren from the medical college sat beside them, gently tapping his spoon against the bowl's rim, not touching his food.

"What, not to your taste? It may not match He Guo's chef, but dinner here shouldn't be inedible, right?" Kraft sat down at the empty seat with his plate.

"No, we're waiting for you. Try this cheese—I bought it on my way here, it's quite good." Viren cut off a piece of cheese and spread it on the newcomer's plate with his knife. "It pairs well with the ham."

"Thank you. Next time, feel free to start without me." Kraft speared a slice of ham, sandwiched it with the cheese between bread, and gestured to the students to eat—no need to be formal with Viren.

"Let's talk while we eat." He hadn't had time to speak with them in several days; now was a good chance to resolve everything at once.

Seeing Kraft's calm demeanor, Viren wasn't sure this was the same man from last night. "Professor, your surgery last night was exquisite. Even at the risk of offending colleagues, I must say—I never thought I'd see such skill again in Dunling."

"Especially in identifying the lesion—how did you determine it was a hematoma pressing down, rather than another injury?"

"Mainly because of the location—damage there commonly causes hematomas. Combined with changes in pupil size and the patient's condition, it was still inferable."

A new concept—Viren's curiosity flared as if he'd returned to his student days. "Can you really be certain?"

"Oh, not necessarily."

"Is there a more accurate method?" he asked, ready to pay a price for the answer.

"If there's blood when you open it, it's bleeding. If there's no blood, it's something else." Kraft bit into his crude hamburger—salty with faint fermented cheese flavor, paired with ham. It didn't excite the palate much, but it was better than the nested dishes at the banquet.

"......" This answer crushed Viren's expectations entirely, like swallowing a crudely processed loaf of bread. He drank several sips of vegetable soup to recover.

"So what do you suggest? It's just weighing pros and cons—if you don't act, there's no tomorrow; if you do, there's still a chance. That's still a better choice. If you don't act, he might still have time to write a will and say goodbye to his family; if you do, survival chances are minuscule—how do you choose?"

"......" Viren sank into a moral and logical dilemma.

While he fell silent, Kraft turned to the two nearby, clearing their plates.

One had heavy training, the other was in rapid growth—last night's banquet hadn't affected today's appetite, especially Yifan, who had tasted part of the pigeon and had his ideal image of the main course utterly shattered.

After they swallowed their food, they received a pile of accumulated questions covering everything from study progress to physical health.

"This is Lecturer Viren from Dunling University—he has deep insight into human anatomy and teaching. He'll be collaborating with us for a long time. Kuopu, feel free to ask him questions." Kraft introduced.

"These are my two students, Kuopu and Yifan—both quite bright. Especially Kuopu: though he just started learning anatomy, he's already been my assistant for a long time and knows the procedures well. Having your guidance would be ideal."

As the saying goes, after years of watching, even the water dispenser in the clinic learns to diagnose. Kuopu was that water dispenser—a particularly good-memory one. He didn't know the principles well, but his technique was more standard than most.

"Hello." Kuopu quickly bowed with an awkward motion, confused why he'd suddenly been linked to a lecturer.

"I'm honored." Viren happily agreed—it wasn't a burden; interacting with Kraft's assistant was equivalent to interacting with Kraft's technique.

Once he recovered, he remembered another matter—also about the surgery. "By the way, Professor Kraft, do you know any church people?"

"Just temporary personal collaborations."

"Let me add one thing—you'd better not appear too close to the church. Even if no one openly says anything negative, it may still provoke subtle exclusion from a small group."

Kraft nodded. "I know. It was just an accident."

"And you yourself said there's no absolute certainty. If the surgery succeeds, fine—but if something goes wrong, we might understand your logic, but others won't care." Remembering this, Viren wiped imaginary sweat from his brow.

In postmortem review, if he were in that position, even with a 90% chance of success, he might still hesitate. A church member dying on the operating table? That responsibility would be impossible to clarify.

The surgeon seemed unmoved by these words—even distractedly speared the last untouched slice of ham and gave it to Yifan.

"You are right; looking back, it certainly seems that way. But looking back is one thing, and at the time, there was no time for that, nor should it have been considered."

"Very well, you have your own considerations." What else could be said? One could only assume this professor was young, and that great skill bred boldness.

Yvonne, listening to the two converse, took a bite of ham and suddenly spoke: "Is there anything I can help with?"

"Oh, certainly not." Looking at the girl's stature, Lecturer Weilun smiled kindly, his ideological entanglements greatly diluted. "Professor Kraft, you have a fine student."