Chapter 244: Short Rest

When he woke again, Kraft was glad to find 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 struggle or endless, futile running through repeating spaces, but nothing came—his mind was empty, not a single thought lingering.

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

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

It was nearly dinner time. Emerging from sleep felt unpleasant—not restoring his depleted energy, but worsening his headache.

The missing stretch of time left him with a sense of being abandoned by the world; everything beyond his awareness had moved forward, triggering an instinctive suspicion that something had slipped out of control.

This unease pushed Kraft to abandon the idea of lying there 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 fluid.

Oh right—there was that thing too.

Kraft looked at the long box beside the bed, smelling of lime powder, tightly bound with rope. Inside was a precaution he'd kept before handing over the trophy.

He should deal with it as soon as possible—analyze it before decay set in, isolate the solid black fluid 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, ensuring his trust wasn't being exploited by the professor for strange experiments. Given the medical academy's stereotype, this concern was reasonable—or perhaps not just a stereotype.

If Green had made this request during their meeting, the priest would never have handed such an object to a medical academy 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 know the fate of important samples.

Next was investigating the trigger for the black fluid's solid-liquid phase transition—not a clear line of thought, but barely any direction at all.

He'd initially 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 melted just before or after the fight—perhaps even while carrying the corpse back in the dark, unnoticed—when the entire black crystal melted on his forearm and "just right" flowed upward along the vein into the superior vena cava, likely heading for the right atrium.

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

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

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

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

Thinking about this made his headache worse—and he could expect this pain to last for a long time ahead.

"Who cares." It was dinner time now. Whatever was left unresolved would be his problem after eating.

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

Thanks to strong projections of rising patient numbers and future income, Davis Clinic had begun 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, as everyone realized they no longer had time to go out for meals. They urgently needed a clean, accessible place for convenient food.

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

Though work was busy, there was no overtime. Primarily because limited lighting reduced nighttime efficiency, spiked costs, and increased fire risk. Unless under special circumstances—like rushing medical records for an inspection—no one did it.

By the window, the professor found his assistant and students. Their food clearly surpassed the cafeteria's standard: besides bread and vegetable soup, there was a piece of cheese and ham-like meat.

The extra meal came from an old acquaintance. Lecturer Viren of the medical academy 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 Xiguo's chef, but it shouldn't be inedible, right?" Kraft sat down with his tray.

"No, we're waiting for you. Try this cheese—I bought it on the way. It's quite good." Viren cut a slice, spread it on the man's plate with his knife, "It pairs well with the ham."

"Thank you. Next time, you can start without me." Kraft speared a slice of ham, sandwiched it with 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 days; now was a 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, not another injury?"

"Mainly because of the location. Vascular damage there commonly causes hematomas. Combined with pupil changes and symptoms, it's 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.

"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 sandwich—the salty, faintly fermented cheese paired with ham didn't excite the palate, but it was better than the nested dishes at the banquet.

"..." This answer crushed Viren's expectations entirely, like swallowing a poorly kneaded 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 odds 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 Yifeng, who had tasted part of the pigeon, whose idealized vision of the main course was utterly shattered.

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

"This is Lecturer Viren of 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 Yifeng. Both are quite bright. Especially Kuopu—he's just started learning anatomy, but has already been my assistant for a long time, familiar with procedures. 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 many principles, but his technique was more standard than most.

"Hello." Kuopu bowed awkwardly, confused why he'd suddenly been linked to a lecturer.

"I'm honored." Viren gladly accepted. It wasn't a burden—interacting with Kraft's assistant meant interacting with Kraft's skill.

Recovering his breath, he remembered another matter—also about the surgery. "By the way, Professor Kraft, do you know any church personnel?"

"Temporary, personal collaborations."

"Let me add this: don't appear too close to the church. Even if no one says anything openly, it may still provoke subtle exclusion."

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." Thinking of it, Viren wiped imaginary sweat.

In hindsight, if he'd been in that position, even with a 90% chance, he wouldn't have acted. A church member dying on the operating table? That responsibility would be impossible to clarify.

The surgeon showed no reaction to these words—even slipped the last untouched slice of ham onto Yifeng's plate.

"You're right—it looks that way in hindsight. But hindsight is hindsight. At the time, there was no room for such thoughts, and you shouldn't have considered them."

"Alright, you have your reasons." What else could he say? He'd just assume the professor was young, skilled, and bold.

Listening to their conversation, Yifeng bit into a ham slice and suddenly spoke: "Is there anything I can help with?"

"Oh, of course not." Viren smiled kindly at the girl's stature, his philosophical tension easing. "Professor Kraft, you have an excellent student."