Chapter 374

"Mr. Kup? What a rare visit—I keep having the feeling it's been ages since I last saw you."

The cultivator, who had been organizing the medicine cabinet, set down his tools, sat 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 Dean finally found time to come down and see patients?"

"No, not in the near future."

Pulling his cloak tighter, Kup drank the hot tea in one gulp; 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 downright inhumane.

But he had no choice; after gathering 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.

As for the afternoon, a mountain of study tasks awaited him—standardized 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 flip through a few pages of introductory anatomy, read something visual to clear his mind, then sleep soundly, fully satisfied.

If anyone feels they haven't seen him in a long time, it might not be an illusion.

"I'm here to check on the clinic's condition—it seems there aren't many people?"

"No, it's just too early; we see four to 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 position was rotated among cultivators with basic medical training, since the Church already performed similar functions in the community.

But Kup 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 for the same ailment, 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." Kup 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."

"Maybe you're right, but the pills the Dean provides 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 apply for a replenishment?"

"Almost everyone now knows about this… 'divine medicine'—even the baron wants to buy a small supply as backup."

"It's unlikely." Kup recalled Kraft's recent schedule—yes, keeping track of this had become part of his job, since he needed to know when to find him.

"Mr. Kraft has been busy lately—you know, he's always been like this."

Mornings were spent treating two patients and overseeing their recovery; afternoons were for reading.

Honestly, seeing Kraft read a book was rare—anyone familiar with him would assume all knowledge he deemed necessary was already in his head, and anything unnecessary could never be forced in.

Due to deliberate secrecy, few knew what he was reading; Kup happened to be one of the "few."

They were a vast array of materials—some gifted, some borrowed—containing personal diaries, folk customs, missionary reflections, geographical notes; he read whatever he could get his hands on, and read them seriously.

Once, while he was deeply absorbed in a missionary's reflections, Lei Mengde was so startled he thought some unclean spirit had possessed him, causing 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 Kup suspected Kraft would raise the drug usage standards, order the cultivators to stop prescribing pills for minor low-grade fevers or merely because patients requested them, rather than spend days producing another batch.

The entire process took about two days—half a day spent handling 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 whim, might decide to teach the entire production process of the "divine medicine" to the new chief night duty officer at the monastery—Kup—and declare him responsible for future production, with the Dean only handling final inspections.

But increasing the number of producers 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—the result was a generation of "adventurous surgeons" who wanted to cut into anything; he didn't want to see it happen again.

"I'll choose an appropriate time to convey your request." The new chief resident nodded reluctantly, acknowledging the clinic's difficulties, "Until then, you must 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 duty officers. Take them all." The cultivator pulled out several sheets of paper, straightening 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 time." Kup believed this was inevitable, only a matter of when.

Hearing his companion was safe, the cultivator smiled with relief. "That's wonderful—many believers still 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 the misunderstanding, and wished to personally thank them and give them something."