Chapter 53: Chapter Fifty-Two: Li Si

“Kraft, Kraft, are you there?”

Li Si held a stack of medical records and knocked on the professor’s room, now occupied by an interloper; his knuckles struck the thick solid cedar door, producing a dull echo.

A faint echo came from the far end of the corridor, as if another door had been knocked at simultaneously—an invisible visitor walking beside him. The academy’s architecture, modeled after churches, featured long corridors and halls with winding spiral staircases, inheriting the effect of hollow reverberation.

The lights and candles of Saint Simon’s Church burned continuously, with sacred chants never ceasing, naturally echoing in layers, exuding holiness. But within the academy, this effect felt excessive and inappropriate; at dawn or night, when few were around, the shifting echoes seemed to follow, yet turning back revealed only emptiness, creating the opposite atmosphere.

Li Si disliked this atmosphere—it always reminded him of certain ghost stories lurking in his subconscious, especially after late-night autopsies when he walked alone and momentarily lost his way, only to hear echoes behind him and drop his tools in terror.

Aside from necessary lectures, he spent most of his time at the external clinic; unless dissecting with Karlman, he had no desire to linger in the academy. Had Lu Xiusi not been absent for two consecutive days, he would not have come personally in the evening to find him.

There was no reply from behind the door. He hesitated—he knew Kraft was extremely busy, sometimes falling asleep at his desk. If that were truly the case, this was an ill-timed visit.

Just as Li Si was wavering, the door suddenly swung open from within; a brown-haired head emerged—it was Lu Xiusi.

“Professor Li Si?” Lu Xiusi stepped aside, letting Li Si enter, then closed the door behind him. “Come in—you’ve arrived just in time.”

Li Si placed the medical records on the desk. The papers were still scattered, and the man who should have been seated in the chair was nowhere to be seen. He turned to ask about Kraft’s whereabouts, but saw Lu Xiusi locking the door, his expression tense—and he asked the very question Li Si had intended to ask.

“Have you seen Professor Kraft?”

“What?” Li Si was puzzled. If anyone in the academy should know the answer to that question, it was unquestionably Lu Xiusi himself—not Li Si, the lecturer who spent most of his time outside.

He had come merely to deliver the newly formatted medical records, yet had been interrupted the moment he entered; this unexpected question left him baffled.

Coupled with their conversation two days prior, he vaguely suspected what might have happened: “You really went to Salt Tide District?”

“Yes. We confirmed one of the wells there is contaminated, but we don’t know why.”

“And then? Don’t tell me Kraft disappeared inside.” The worst possibility Li Si could imagine was exactly that—but if that were true, there’d be no need to shut the door alone to tell him. From years of dealing with patients, he knew: if they’re this secretive, they haven’t found the key.

The manuscripts on the desk remained unsorted, a half-finished page waiting to be continued, as if the man would walk through the door any moment and resume his work.

“No, of course not—Kraft came out with us. We planned to return before noon today, but it’s already evening…” Lu Xiusi unconsciously rubbed the leather of his beak mask, pacing the room.

Something was off. This description didn’t match his anxious, tense demeanor. Li Si pulled over a chair and sat down, adopting his therapeutic posture—he was certain this boy was holding back half the truth, and that hidden half was significant.

Kraft was always meticulous; he rarely stood someone up. Yet one missed appointment had him this frantic? Who was he trying to fool by making it sound so simple?

He pulled out another chair, gestured for Lu Xiusi to sit, and pressed his shoulders down, taking the nearly ruined beak mask. He wondered: what was going on? What was being hidden—not just from others, but even from himself?

“Lu Xiusi, have I done something wrong? Why do you distrust me so?” Li Si stared into Lu Xiusi’s eyes, holding his gaze as if forcing a patient hiding a venereal history to confess.

“Of course not,” Lu Xiusi denied quickly, averting his eyes—this guilty gesture didn’t escape Li Si’s notice.

“Alright, if you won’t talk, I can’t help you. If Kraft is merely half a day late, I suggest you wait until tomorrow. After all, who doesn’t have an emergency?”

Forcing Lu Xiusi to speak by virtue of his professorial status was impossible—Li Si knew that well. He applied slight pressure, then signaled disinterest; Lu Xiusi’s inner anxiety and need to confide would drive him to seek someone to share it with.

Li Si didn’t rise. He leaned back in his chair, watching Lu Xiusi’s troubled expression. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going. When you see Kraft, remind him I brought the rewritten medical records.”

Lu Xiusi twisted his fingers together, nearly knotting them into a rope, then forced out a few words: “We made some strange discoveries.”

“Hmm?”

“He wouldn’t miss this. We found the problem might be the well—it’s causing nearby residents to wake up later and later.” Now that he’d spoken, Lu Xiusi seemed slightly relieved; keeping this to himself had been unbearable.

“What exactly is the problem? The baker I treated wouldn’t fetch water from Salt Tide District.”

Li Si had a bad feeling—his own case had become a crack through which Kraft had glimpsed something terrible, and by the look of it, something very bad.

“Kraft insists there’s a connection. He… his behavior has been strange.” Lu Xiusi borrowed the phrasing Kraft used to describe Karlman and applied it to Kraft himself—it fit perfectly.

A connection? Li Si’s heart sank. Both cases involved increased sleep duration and difficulty waking. If there was a connection, he immediately recalled Lu Xiusi’s earliest hypothesis—the very one Kraft and he had most strongly rejected.

Lu Xiusi didn’t realize he’d already nearly revealed the entire secret; he was still trying to avoid mentioning black fluid.

He saw Li Si frown, and the direct question slipped out: “Is it Ming? Why Ming?”

Lu Xiusi’s face turned pale with panic—he suddenly realized that once he spoke, he could never hide anything from Li Si.

Seeing his reaction, Li Si knew he’d guessed right. He looked at the towering stack of medical records, drew a sharp breath, and thought of all the Ming surgeries he’d performed—his cases stacked together might be at least three times this pile.

“I don’t know. He just stood by the well for a moment, then suddenly declared it was Ming—and…” Lu Xiusi trailed off. He actually agreed with Kraft’s assessment that the professor had acted strangely, but now he realized Kraft’s own behavior had been equally abnormal.

“What else?” Li Si could no longer sit still. He abandoned his detached persona, leaning forward toward Lu Xiusi.

“You know Kraft has a sword, right? He suddenly swung it backward, as if fighting something—but there was nothing there except a wooden board.”

“Hysteria?”

“Maybe? He was fully conscious, his logic clear.” Recalling it, Lu Xiusi sensed a strange coincidence: rational, awake, yet behaving oddly.

Ambiguous words muddied the entire logic—like Kraft had gone mad at the edge of the Salt Tide well, convinced someone was pouring Ming into it.

“Lu Xiusi, do you know what you’re implying? You’re suggesting Kraft is mentally unstable, and that our strictly controlled Ming has somehow ended up in the Salt Tide well?”

The stack of medical records still sat on the desk, and now this had happened. Li Si felt like a clown performing a comedy for an audience: “Besides the three of us, who else could have touched Ming?”

Lu Xiusi’s gaze flickered away again; he leaned back, putting more distance between them, and denied even more firmly: “No.”

Seeing this, Li Si wanted to punch him. As a doctor, he hated patients who asked for help yet concealed the truth. Years running his clinic had honed his ability to read expressions.

Said “no,” yet wouldn’t meet his eyes—that meant “yes.” Li Si gave up trying to extract more from Lu Xiusi and began analyzing the connections himself.

On the surface, only three people had access to Ming: Kraft, Lu Xiusi, and himself. But he was certain it couldn’t be any of them. Not only Lu Xiusi—Kraft was hiding something from him too.

The original explanation for Ming was a family secret remedy. But Kraft casually admitted there was more than one dose—and yet never claimed it as his own work. It likely didn’t originate from him.

So there was a fourth person—or more. Kraft and Lu Xiusi both knew him, likely well.

That was interesting. Kraft was new here, with few connections; his overlap with Lu Xiusi’s circle was minimal.

Li Si felt he was nearing the truth. He loved this process of peeling away layers—like diagnosing a disease from scattered symptoms.

First, eliminate other lecturers. The only one close to both was himself. Students were possible, but unlikely—this person was someone Lu Xiusi had swiftly and decisively tried to distance himself from during the emergency.

The only person fitting all these conditions, Li Si knew, was Karlman—the professor who had already left.

This was deeper than it seemed.

Li Si stood up, covering his face with his hand as if coughing, but his eyes remained fixed on Lu Xiusi, ensuring he hadn’t noticed Li Si’s realization.

“Do you know where Kraft lives?”

Lu Xiusi was right about one thing: Kraft’s disappearance was abnormal.

Better to stop wasting time with Lu Xiusi and find Kraft himself—to see what he’d discovered. Li Si believed Kraft would give him an answer. Even if he couldn’t find him, that too would be an answer.

“Uh, I remember it was a house provided by the mentor, but I went there—neighbors said no one lived there.” Lu Xiusi looked bewildered; this was his first time searching for Kraft outside the academy—and he’d found nothing.

“Then we’ll ask. I refuse to believe no one saw which direction Kraft came from to the academy.” Li Si pulled Lu Xiusi up; outside, the sun was setting. “Come on—time’s running out.”