Chapter 374

“Mr. Kraft? What a rare visit—I feel as if I haven’t seen you in ages.”

The cultivator tending the medicine cabinet paused his work, sat down at the table, and poured a cup of hot tea for the visitor, who was rubbing his hands for warmth.

What brings you here? Or has the director finally found time to come down and see patients?

“No, not for the foreseeable future.”

Pulling his cloak tighter, Kraft eagerly sipped the hot tea; the fragrant steam, carrying the scent of herbs and flowers, slid down his throat and spread through his body, slightly easing the chill.

The autumn wind was no joke—especially riding a horse down the mountain path before dawn to reach the clinic felt positively inhumane.

But he had no choice; after assessing the situation here, he had to return by noon to consolidate the medical supply consumption reports from both the clinic and the monastery, then submit them to Lei Mengde for procurement budgeting.

The messenger must deliver the order before month’s end, so suppliers in Dunling and Westmin have time to prepare and deliver the goods before winter arrives; otherwise, rain and snow will drastically increase transportation costs and difficulty.

In the afternoon, a mountain of study tasks awaited him: proper writing, basic arithmetic, usually split evenly between Lei Mengde’s instruction and self-study, occasionally supplemented by Kraft’s medical skill training, continuing until dinner.

After dinner, he’d read a few pages of introductory anatomy, flipping through illustrated sections to clear his mind, then sleep soundly, fully satisfied.

If anyone feels they haven’t seen him in ages, it might not be an illusion.

“I’m here to check on the clinic’s condition—it seems there aren’t many patients?”

“No, it’s just too early; we see four or five patients daily, mostly after noon. Most hope for nothing more than a prayer of blessing, a few receive the simplest herbal tea.”

The cultivator’s description of his current workload was, frankly, enviable.

This post was primarily filled by cultivators with basic medical training, since the Church already performed similar community functions.

But Kraft knew the real reason Kraft trusted them here was that every herb in the cabinet had been proven “ineffective” or “barely effective”—perhaps their greatest use was coloring hot water and adding flavor.

“In fact, they’re quite effective—our patients rarely return with the same complaints, proving the Father still watches over this land.”

【On the contrary】

“You know, if I’d already finished medical statistics, I could clearly point out the logical fallacy here—but I haven’t finished yet.” Kraft drained his teacup, chewed and swallowed the petals, “So all I can say is, most minor illnesses heal on their own, regardless of what we do.”

Perhaps you’re right, but the pills provided by the director truly have miraculous effects—nearly all patients who took them gave excellent feedback.

“You didn’t just hand them out freely, did you?”

“Of course not—strictly following the rules: acute fever, no history of abdominal pain.” The cultivator quickly clarified—he dared not touch Kraft’s most sensitive nerve.

“But the supply is running low—we only give one or two pills per patient, and we’re nearly out. Could we request a replenishment?”

“Almost everyone now knows about this… ‘divine medicine’—even the baron wants to buy a few for backup.”

“It’s unlikely.” Kraft recalled Kraft’s recent schedule—yes, keeping track of this had become part of his job, since he needed to know when Kraft would be available.

“Mr. Kraft has been busy lately—you know how he always is.”

Mornings spent treating two patients, afternoons spent reading.

Honestly, seeing Kraft read a book was rare—everyone who knew him assumed he’d already absorbed all knowledge he deemed necessary, and the rest could never be forced in.

Due to deliberate secrecy, few knew what he was reading; Kraft happened to be one of the “few.”

It was a vast, varied collection—some gifted, some borrowed—containing personal journals, folk customs, missionary reflections, geographical notes; he read whatever he could get his hands on, and read it seriously.

Once, while absorbed in a missionary’s journal, he terrified Lei Mengde, who briefly suspected demonic possession had caused his abnormal behavior.

After that incident, when Lei Mengde accidentally barged in, Kraft became strict about his reading environment: locking his door, refusing all observers, as if opening a book turned him into a highly contagious patient.

So Kraft assumed Kraft would raise the drug usage standards, order the cultivators to stop prescribing for minor fevers or at patients’ requests, rather than spend days producing another batch.

The entire process took about two days: half a day fiddling with instruments and reagents, extracting a pinch of powder from a large vat of soaked willow bark, mixing it evenly with flour and powdered sugar, then pressing out a few bitter, sour, sweet tablets.

There was another possibility: Kraft, in a sudden mood, might decide to teach the entire production process of the “divine medicine” to the new chief night-shift cultivator at the monastery—Kraft—and declare him responsible for future production, with the director only handling final inspections.

But increasing production wouldn’t ease demand—it would only encourage blind pursuit and further abuse, until someone tried using it to solve every problem and inevitably failed catastrophically.

He’d already witnessed this when ether anesthesia first became popular: it birthed a wave of “adventurous surgeons” who wanted to cut into anything—this must never happen again.

“I’ll choose the right moment to convey your request,” the new chief resident nodded reluctantly, acknowledging the clinic’s difficulties, “but until then, use it sparingly.”

“Also, I need the drug consumption logs and patient visit statistics for this period. Thank you.”

“Here they are—plus the forms filled out by the previous shift’s brothers. Take them all.” The cultivator pulled out several sheets, straightened them on the table, “By the way, do you know Dominic and Field? They’ve been doing well here.”

“Of course.” One had stitched a scalp, the other was currently his colleague—too familiar to be anything but.

“I heard Dominic was seriously ill—is he better now?”

“His condition improved significantly after treatment; Mr. Kraft is helping him with rehabilitation—he’ll return to us healthy in due time.” Kraft believed this was inevitable, only a matter of when.

Hearing his companion was safe, the cultivator smiled with relief, “That’s wonderful—many believers remember them fondly and often speak of them.”

“A few days ago, the village stonemason and basket-maker came to me—they wanted to thank the two cultivators for resolving their long-standing feud and clearing up misunderstandings, and wished to personally thank them and give them something.”