Chapter 59: Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Mansion

The next day, Li Si took Kraft and Lu Xiusi to Elm Street, then left under the pretense of purchasing items from his list.

Before departing, Kraft did not bid him farewell; instead, he had already pulled the beak mask over his head, and from beneath it came an unsettling cough, like someone who’d accidentally inhaled a pinch of secret spice from a roasted fish at Gris’s tavern.

Perhaps because of its proximity to the Salt Tide District, the foul miasma had spread here—after entering this area, Kraft’s cough never truly ceased, making one suspect something invisible to others was irritating his trachea.

Only after Li Si had walked some distance and turned back did Kraft finally stop coughing and wave to signal he need not worry. Lu Xiusi steadied him and urged the man who had just seemed ready to cough out his lungs to wait until another day, but Kraft firmly refused.

“Cough… cough… I’m fine, just choked a bit.” Kraft wiped his face, his hand striking the lens. He did not remove the mask—instead, he tightened it, pressing it more firmly against his face.

This gesture clearly concealed something; only someone as dull as Lu Xiusi might believe it was genuine. Li Si did not know what it meant—he was far removed from the truth, not merely by this mask—so he would have to uncover it himself.

First, go to the market near the harbor and divide the purchase list into parts, entrusting them to friends and acquaintances who understood these items far better than he did.

Li Si himself went to change into a black robe, putting on a new set of clothes he had never worn at the academy, pulling his hat low to conceal his hair. He crossed half the city and, relying on memory, found a quiet street—Professor Karlmann’s house stood on this street.

Yes, he had a bold idea.

Li Si intended to confirm his suspicion firsthand. The Clearing Elixir was something capable of altering the entire course of surgical history—if a man with deep medical knowledge and immense influence steered it astray, the consequences would be incalculable.

Clearly, Kraft and Lu Xiusi were not the ones with ill intent; they clung to hope, believing there might still be room for reversal, perhaps some misunderstanding or twist they had yet to uncover, unwilling to draw a final conclusion.

An outsider sees clearly. Li Si did not care what role Karlmann played—he knew the professor was a crucial link, and he needed to understand the underlying logic.

Not for morality or any other illusory ideal, but because the unknown shrouded in fog drove him to think and pursue—until he found the answer, he could not escape the terror of the hidden truth.

Like being trapped in pitch darkness, hearing unnatural sounds—enduring such uncertainty was immense torment. Lighting a torch to see it clearly was always better than letting it ferment in imagination into the most horrific nightmare.

When he came to his senses, Li Si had already scaled the backyard wall—fear had crushed his last inner struggle.

He had lived through the plague of over a decade ago, witnessing the invisible, unstoppable force sweep across, reaping lives—a memory that had left an indelible mark on his young mind.

If what Kraft said was true, the Clearing Elixir used this way was no different from an artificial plague.

“I need to find out where this thing came from,” Li Si muttered, brushing dust from his hands.

Professor Karlmann’s residence was no secret within the academy; colleagues visited each other regularly. Those who had been around long enough all knew each other’s addresses, and some well-off students visited upon enrollment—much of the academy’s financial operation relied on their donations.

Thinking of this, Li Si snorted. Last time, after Kraft’s surgery, he had wanted to repay the student who provided the spider silk.

He had no idea that since the abdominal surgery gained fame, the expensive and otherwise useless spider silk had been hyped by that merchant family as “rich in vitality,” allowing them to make a fortune in Wenden Harbor.

Slightly distracting himself to ease the tension, Li Si surveyed the abandoned backyard and realized its owner was clearly not someone who cared much for domestic upkeep.

In Wenden Harbor, where rainfall was abundant, it was rare indeed for weeds to grow so poorly in a courtyard.

Since purchasing this house, Professor Karlmann had clearly never bothered with plants—dust covered the yard, leaving only faint outlines of its former state; half-dead weeds and twisted vines sprawled across sand and stones, crunching softly underfoot.

The master of this residence, devoted entirely to scholarship, had never married, nor had there ever been rumors of any romantic or sexual relationship—male or female—and thus no refined, fastidious mistress to soften the living space. As for the professor’s own lifestyle… it could only be described as crude.

He hadn’t even remembered to lock the back door. Li Si gave it a gentle push—it opened easily, and he stepped inside.

The house, long uncleaned, was thick with dust. The air stirred by the opening door sent it swirling through every corner, clinging to the tear film of his eyes, burrowing into his nose, throat, and mouth.

Li Si closed his eyes, pressed a hand to his mouth, and stifled a cough—this place was far more decayed than he remembered from his last visit.

The dim interior offered little visibility; it seemed the professor had remembered to close all shutters before leaving. Li Si half-closed the door behind him and stepped deeper into the house.

The largest space on the first floor was the parlor, where the professor received occasional visitors.

He had forgotten the reason for his last visit here, but remembered the professor brewing barley tea for him beside a tasteless, oversized table—the honey added tasted good, though he wished the table weren’t identical to the one in the academy’s alchemy room.

Now, the table and chairs had been shoved into the corner; the entire main hall had been cleared out, as if preparing for rearrangement, yet no new furniture had arrived—its emptiness felt oppressive, leaving a hollow, unsupported sensation.

Li Si walked back and forth through the dim parlor—the floor was clean, untouched by any debris.

The poor light made him regret not bringing a lantern, but he dared not risk drawing attention by opening the windows. He groped his way toward the stairs in the dim glow—bedroom and study were likely upstairs; if any clues existed, they would be there.

As in most homes, the second floor was divided into several rooms—three doors, plus a ladder leading to the attic.

Li Si pushed open the nearest door—likely Karlmann’s bedroom. Against the wall stood a large bed; before the sunlit window sat a desk with drawers.

The dust here was far thinner, replaced by a faint scent of ink.

As he approached the desk, Li Si suddenly realized he had left footprints—luckily, he had changed shoes before entering.

Several thick books lay open on the desk. Through the sliver of sunlight piercing the window gap, he saw the central volume was one of the most familiar to him: the hand-copied *Human Anatomy*, opened to a page in the “Bones” chapter.

Surrounding the original illustrations were the professor’s own handwritten annotations in small script—research findings from his early years in Wenden Harbor.

Today, research on bone structure had reached near-perfection; many of the added details originated from Karlmann himself. Later editions of the *Human Anatomy*, falsely attributed to the original author Edward, differed subtly from the first edition—Kraft’s copy was one such version.

These achievements were Karlmann’s pride—he believed that, built upon this solid foundation, the temple of anatomy would inevitably be completed, allowing future generations to use his confirmed bony landmarks as coordinates, judging internal structures merely by touch.

But why had the professor suddenly reopened this old book, consulting knowledge he had long mastered? Curiosity drove Li Si closer to examine it.

Beneath the open book lay a corner of yellow paper, its jagged edge torn unevenly—snatched temporarily from some notebook. Li Si had heard artists sometimes did this when inspiration struck, but he had never seen Karlmann act so hastily.

Carefully lifting the book, he pulled out the scrap. The writing on it was no more formal than the paper itself.

Chaotic, swirling letters accompanied rough, unevenly thick sketches—notes hastily scribbled for the writer’s own eyes alone; Li Si had to decipher each blurred, incomplete character.

As he read intermittently, Li Si skipped several incomprehensible terms, but gathered the gist: Karlmann believed muscle-bone connections operated in a way entirely different from established understanding.

“Could this even be possible?”

If true, entire anatomy might face upheaval—its scale rivaling the shift from a century ago’s speculative theories to today’s empirically grounded doctrines.

Current editions of *Human Anatomy* were all verified through secret dissections. Li Si himself had witnessed their accuracy repeatedly—even minor variations in individuals did not undermine the overall validity.

Curiosity over this novel idea made him forget his purpose; his eyes involuntarily continued reading.

Karlmann claimed he had observed a new arrangement of the human locomotor system, one no less efficient than the established model—possibly even more so—and illustrated it below.

Without the text, one might never associate these tangled lines with muscles and bones.

Several straight segments connected end-to-end; one segment, with a small angled bend and rounded end, might indicate the femur—but the femoral neck and head were drawn with excessive abstraction. Had it not been for the unique shape of long bones, Li Si would never have recognized it.

The tangled loops around it—perhaps muscles and tendons—were arranged in patterns he had never seen, violating every known anatomical configuration. As if the creator had never seen a human limb, treating them like ropes or cloth, binding them to the bones in wild, arbitrary ways.

Cyst-like or nodular tissues filled the gaps, occupying spaces in the complex structure—no conceivable body would require such an arrangement.

Outside, two curved lines, dotted with protrusions and spines, outlined the general boundary, leaving one section open—indicating this was only a part of a larger whole.

At first glance, it was chaotic—children’s drawings were neater. Yet upon closer thought, a strange, irrational logic emerged within the chaos, revealing possibilities Li Si had never imagined.

Like an alternative solution to the same problem, it instantly unlocked new thinking—his excitement made him desperate to see the full picture.

He turned the page—its blank backside doused him in cold water. This was merely a rough, impromptu draft—no continuation followed.

Li Si slipped the paper back into place.

“Could the professor have been studying these things recently—and someone else is connected to the Clearing Elixir?”