Chapter 38: The Legendary Figure

Kraft experienced the busiest month of his life.

His former life—teaching one lecture in the morning and writing two pages in the afternoon—underwent a violent, unstoppable shift, spiraling out of control.

His daily teaching load jumped immediately from one lecture to two: one on Human Anatomy, and another on General Surgery in preparation for operations, attended by other lecturers.

This change triggered a cascade of domino effects.

He had to carve time out of his original anatomy review schedule to desperately devise ways to simplify surgical content into something he could teach.

The first major hurdle was asepsis—he needed to carefully consider how to explain it.

The most direct approach was: “I believe invisible, microscopic organisms surround us,” a simple, effective summary of the concept of microbes.

This raised another problem: after explaining it, he had to prove his claim, requiring a microscope.

High-quality glass had only just become available in Dunling; the most feasible option now was to buy two transparent natural crystals and have someone polish and assemble them—but no one knew if they’d even work. No hope in the short term.

As for instruments, he also needed a setup to perform distillation and obtain purer, concentrated alcohol for skin disinfection.

The countless demands stemming from a single simple surgery left him physically and mentally exhausted; most issues couldn’t be addressed between teaching and preparation.

This was merely the academic side of things—worse still, he found himself becoming part of the medical academy’s outrageous rumors, and in some sense, temporarily lost the permanent meal ticket he’d just gained and barely enjoyed.

Three days after completing the surgery, as soon as he stepped into the tavern, Griss welcomed him enthusiastically.

The man loudly greeted Kraft, announcing to the entire room that this outstanding doctor had saved his daughter’s life, and declared that all drinks in the house were free that day.

Those from other academies had only heard rumors of a medical lecturer daring to open living bodies for treatment—now they all knew what he looked like: the blond young medical lecturer was Kraft.

Kraft’s golden hair, identical to Ryan’s, was especially distinctive, and combined with his youth, word spread quickly across academies; every time he entered a tavern, students from other schools recognized him.

These curious students stared at him as if he were a rare creature; the bolder ones approached his table to ask bizarre questions.

After several lunches like this, Kraft could no longer endure the atmosphere—he began changing out of his black robe daily and ate at taverns farther from the academy.

He quickly realized that in this era of scarce entertainment, a slightly shocking sensational story spread far faster than he imagined, especially when a tavern owner vouched for it.

That month alone, he’d heard at least seven versions of the story in five different taverns—none matched reality.

The least fantastical version claimed Kraft came from an ancient family that had studied medicine long before the Kingdom of Nos existed. He doubted his grandfather would appreciate this rumor.

The most absurd version claimed Kraft had made a pact with demons to devise such horrifying treatments. Kraft listened as the drunken drunkard shouted, and as he left, he kicked the stool out from under the man’s backside.

These rumors were exhausting in every way, but fame did bring one benefit—he now had patients coming to him.

Half a month had passed since Lis’s observation period began, and Lu Xiusi had completed a full month. After repeated “No Abnormality” entries in daily checks, Kraft’s confidence grew steadily.

Thanks to his rising reputation, someone actually came to the academy seeking help. Most cases of indigestion went to Luo Moluo; Kraft selected three cases he needed.

His original plan was to extend the observation period by another half-month, but patients had now arrived, and diagnoses were complete.

Under the pressure of “not saving equals death,” Kraft performed three more surgeries, further improving conditions: switching surgical materials to finer cotton cloth, and having everyone on and off the table wear boiled linen caps, masks, and gowns.

Under these conditions, he allowed a limited number of non-surgical personnel to observe.

He didn’t want to use finer, denser fabric—he was limited by cost. Wendeng Port lay far north; the climate was not just unsuitable for cotton cultivation—it was utterly irrelevant.

All cotton products arrived by sea, and even as surgical supplies, costs were already far from optimistic.

Unfortunately, despite every precaution under limited conditions, one case still developed a surgical incision infection—luckily, it didn’t spread into the abdominal cavity; post-op speculation suggested either a lack of proper wound disinfectant or contamination during dressing changes.

This incident served as a wake-up call; Kraft drafted an operational protocol overnight and posted it on the wall, forbidding anyone who hadn’t memorized it from touching patients. The alcohol distillation issue was now officially on the agenda.

Li Si was optimistic about the current situation and suggested extending these protocols and “Chengming” to amputation surgeries—he had named the diluted solution.

“Chengming”—the name sounded decent. Li Si said he chose it because the solution resembled clear water, appearing miraculous.

Kraft and Lu Xiusi felt guilty but didn’t reveal it was nearly pure water; they accepted the name. Publicly, it was declared a new drug developed by the medical academy—the claim of a family secret remedy was abandoned.

Amputation surgery was Li Si’s specialty; he ran his own clinic outside the academy, and business was good. In a port town, people inevitably injured themselves during dangerous tasks, then patched up wounds hastily and returned to work to save money.

Frequent exposure to seawater, severe bacterial infections, unknown powders caked onto wounds—all rapidly deteriorated to the point requiring swift amputation, so he never lacked patients.

Yet as a lecturer specializing in anatomy, his vast knowledge rarely helped amid patients’ screams—he could only act within minutes. “Chengming” gave him hope.

After repeatedly failing to persuade Kraft, Li Si lured him to his clinic under the pretext that “new surgical methods for amputations required guidance,” observed several procedures, and successfully secured the right to use Chengming.

Kraft strictly limited his dosage, permitting use only in severe amputations after careful evaluation, requiring detailed patient records, scheduled follow-ups, and home visits for those who missed checkups. Lu Xiusi would review his written reports.

But the truth proved: once something is no longer fully under your control, it will inevitably develop in unexpected ways.

Within half a month, Li Si had used nearly half a cup of the diluted solution he was given; when he came to ask for more, Lu Xiusi brought twenty-three patient records.

Indeed, all were severe cases—milder ones had already rotted several fingers, described as “blackened, foul-smelling, numb.” Kraft had no grounds to accuse Li Si of abusing Chengming.

The quantity far exceeded his expectations.

But the stack of papers was far thinner than he’d expected.

Kraft flipped through them quickly and found only twelve had five-day follow-up records, and of those, only three had ten-day follow-ups.

Of the remaining eleven, home visits located two patients; the rest, he didn’t even have their details—after five days, no one knew if they were alive or dead.

Kraft didn’t get angry—he was too exhausted to feel anger. Being a legendary figure wasn’t easy; every day now, he juggled doubled teaching and writing duties, plus patients seeking help, many of whom arrived with absurd demands fueled by wild rumors.

“Master Li, I need an explanation,” Kraft said, lifting his head from the pile of papers, weary, staring at the two men standing awkwardly before him.

This demeanor made Li Si, who expected a scolding, even more uneasy. If Kraft had yelled, he might have felt better—but Kraft’s exhaustion made him feel deeply guilty.

The kind-hearted Lu Xiusi stepped forward to explain.

“It’s like this—we’ve never had experience like this before. We assumed follow-ups would be like those for intussusception surgery, where parents always bring children back, or addresses are as easy to find as Lis’s.” He glanced cautiously at Kraft, whose hand was turning the next page of the file.

“And?” Kraft nodded, signaling him to continue.

“At first, we performed several amputations—on dockworkers and sailors—and told them to return in five days for free follow-ups.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“But only one sailor and one dockworker returned. When we went to the port to find the sailors, we discovered a problem.” Seeing Kraft wasn’t angry, Lu Xiusi spoke more fluently: “Most ships don’t stay here long enough, so…”

The reason was valid—Kraft had assumed too much. He admitted it promptly: “My mistake. The follow-up period is too long.”

“But not this few, surely?”

“Well, here’s the thing,” Li Si continued after Lu Xiusi: “Later, we improved—we asked for detailed addresses, and they gave them to us.”

“So why only two home visits?” Kraft gave up thinking, waiting for his explanation.

“Two issues. Some dockworkers have no fixed homes—they live temporarily where they find work, then leave after finishing. We couldn’t find them after five days.”

“The other group has families and fixed residences, but their neighborhoods differ from the streets we usually visit.” Li Si admitted his failure with deep disappointment: “Have you ever been to Salt Tide District? It’s filthy and chaotic—residents themselves can’t even describe their locations accurately; outsiders get lost like in a maze.”

“Their work is unstable, they have no spare money, and taking a day off for a follow-up…”

“Knock knock knock.” A knock interrupted Li Si’s lament.

“Master Kraft, are you here? Someone’s looking for you.”

“I’m coming,” Kraft said, struggling to rise from his seat, wondering what strange patient or relative awaited him now.

“I’ll draft a new plan—I’ll have it ready for you by tomorrow if I have time.”