Chapter 286: Dream Interpretation

"I need a reason—a reason I must be here." Kraft ran his fingers through his wet hair, entered, and found himself a seat.

He shouldn't have gone out in this weather—at least, he thought he shouldn't have.

About two hours ago, he was still in the overcrowded clinic, seeing his thirty-fourth patient of the morning, counting down to lunchtime.

These days, there's no such thing as appointment registration; the clinic had tried limiting patient numbers through similar methods, but they quickly realized that unverified quotas just handed money to middlemen.

So the situation became this: predicting tomorrow's patient count was harder than predicting the weather. At least weather could actually be predicted, and Kraft had no clue whether his lunch would come in the afternoon or evening.

The clinic's current patients were no longer limited to tuberculosis—they now had to simultaneously screen for digitalis suitability, which was far more difficult.

Compared to tuberculosis, whose symptoms were relatively obvious, even many doctors had no understanding whatsoever of the concept of "heart failure"—not merely limited knowledge, but complete ignorance. After all, this truly required some anatomy to explain the mechanisms behind the symptoms.

Even blood circulation hadn't yet gained absolute dominance in academia; according to the four humors theory, blood gushed forth like a spring from the liver, distributed to every corner of the body, some absorbed and consumed, the rest evaporating through the pores—this could be called the "dispersion theory."

According to this theory, edema occurred when red fluid arrived at its destination but couldn't be fully consumed or dispersed, getting stuck and causing swelling.

So how was it traditionally treated? Simple: since there was too much, just let some out. Thus, the treatment path returned to the familiar bloodletting—indeed, it could be observed that some patients showed improvement after bloodletting.

Don't ask how the person is doing—just ask whether the edema has lessened.

Theory applied to practice, practice validating theory—a closed loop.

Before allowing Dai Wei to prescribe, Kraft needed to correct his already minimal anatomical understanding once more, reshaping it from his own perspective.

As is well known, blood travels within the body starting from the left ventricle, returning to the right ventricle after systemic circulation, then passing through the lungs to return to the left ventricle.

Now, due to various reasons that could take a month to explain, either the right or left ventricle's pumping function has failed—it can't move enough blood, like a river with enormous flow suddenly narrowing.

Water upstream flows too slowly; water behind piles up in the channel, water level rising higher, pressure increasing, eventually causing catastrophic flooding or breach.

In left heart failure, blood is blocked in the lungs, manifesting as coughing up blood-tinged frothy sputum and difficulty breathing; in right heart failure, blood is blocked in the venous system.

The venous system involves far more structures.

All unpaired abdominal organs—including the stomach and intestines—drain their veins into the portal vein, which passes through the liver, then exits via the hepatic vein into the inferior vena cava to return to the heart.

Liver congestion causes hepatomegaly and tenderness; gastrointestinal congestion causes abdominal distension and nausea; limb venous congestion causes edema—all these symptoms, appearing throughout the body, stem from the same cause.

Returning now to the four humors theory, one finds that although its principles are entirely wrong, it somehow stumbled upon part of the truth: blood really is relatively excessive.

And bloodletting, aside from a few wildly absurd cases, mostly removes venous blood, thereby reducing venous volume and, to some extent, relieving pressure.

What Kraft needed to do was redirect Dai Wei's thinking toward his own framework, so Dai Wei could understand why these combined symptoms pointed to heart failure, not some other random mess.

The bad news: Dai Wei was deeply indoctrinated by the four humors theory and needed time to adapt; the good news: he had virtually no anatomical training, making him easy to deceive—he quickly accepted this far more concrete explanation.

He didn't need to know about ion pump inhibition or reflexive vagal excitation slowing heart rate; he only needed to understand that digitalis was a cardiac stimulant that, under normal conditions, enhanced myocardial contractility and slowed the heart rate.

But clinical application was far more complex than a few sentences; Dai Wei needed more time to gradually learn drug contraindications, which involved cardiac auscultation—a whole other set of things that made one's hairline recede.

Only in practice did Kraft realize how extraordinarily difficult it was to fabricate a usage guide without referencing physiology—and even harder to make others accept, understand, and execute it properly.

Just a few days after catching his breath, the professor suddenly realized he had piled up clinical work, drug experiments, and teaching duties—all pending, time vanishing like spent money, always insufficient.

Even his plan to "target the sample" had been indefinitely postponed.

So when Wading invited him to visit Green and have tea, Kraft politely expressed incomprehension—how had they come knocking already, when he hadn't even started?

The Inquisition's invitation was hard to refuse; considering their current and long-term state of extreme sensitivity, Kraft ultimately decided to spare his precious afternoon to meet them and find out what inappropriate understanding they'd developed about his work.

But once seated across from the priest, he realized the matter wasn't so simple.

Green looked utterly drained—not at all like someone who'd just been forced on a few days' leave; his mental state resembled that of someone who'd just crawled out of the Tem River.

Regarding the new drug, after examining the sample, he readily accepted Kraft's explanation, appearing to exhale a sigh of relief, then fell into silence.

The two sat listening to the rain outside for a while, until Green finally spoke:

"You don't look well either. Have you had any unusual dreams recently?"

"No. I've been up half the night writing the drug guide—this very one you insisted I explain." Every second wasted outside reminded Kraft of how long his to-do list was; a hidden urgency never left him.

But from Wading's tone, he'd encountered something unusual—otherwise, why would a priest consult a doctor about dreams? It was like asking a blind man about the path.

Oh, wait—apparently, in this era, dream interpretation was indeed part of a doctor's duties.

"What did you dream about?" For caution's sake, better to ask more.

"Hard to describe." Green propped his head in one hand, tossed a log into the fire, seemingly trying to dispel the room's dampness—but on a rain-soaked day, that heat could only dry the ground beneath their feet.

"Tell me anyway—by instinct."

"Here… no, a place very much like here." He noticed Kraft sitting up straighter, his attitude shifting from slightly impatient to slightly interested.

"And then?"

"Wetness, tapping, vibration." Green struggled to gather the scattered fragments of the dream, but the elements that had left a deep impression were now incoherent when described—like peering through a small hole into memory, finding only the most obvious patches of color.

"Tapping, vibration, outside was strangely dark, but… there was light."

"White light?"

"Yes. White light." Green nodded in confirmation, prompted. "You know about it?"

【I know it all too well!】

Kraft happily obtained the information he wanted—such effortless consultations were rare: "Correct. Experiencing these symptoms after contact with those things is entirely reasonable."

"My advice: find a place very high, very hard to climb, with a view of the sky, and stay there for a month—your church's bell tower would be perfect."

"If you wake up somewhere that feels similar to when you fell asleep, but not quite the same, and confirm you're temporarily safe—immediately—I mean immediately—look at the moon. If everything goes well, you'll wake up."

"Of course, in practice, you might need a doctor nearby to guide you—conveniently, I need more cases." The professor extended his hand confidently. "Here's to another successful collaboration."

The priest hesitantly shook the hand, but wasn't reassured by his confidence: "But… there doesn't seem to be a moon there."

"Huh?"

"It's raining there. Heavy rain."