Chapter 72

Lu Xiusi finished lunch and left immediately, likely because he felt he hadn’t been helpful—he only ate two portions before hastily taking his leave.

The bill was naturally covered by Kraft. After chatting briefly with the owner, he returned to the attic, picked up the stack of papers, placed them in the sunlight, and marked with arrows the shrinking trend of the pale zones surrounding the blue dot representing Kup.

“Still not quite at ease,” Kraft’s minor obsessive-compulsive tendency flared up. He was the type who always felt he’d messed up his answer sheet after every exam—the more he thought about it, the more it gnawed at him.

His afternoon nap was ruined. He picked up the box, fastened the mask, and stepped out the door, heading toward Salt Tide District.

Finish today’s work today. If he didn’t figure out what this thing truly was, he’d never sleep. It was like a splinter lodged under the skin—not painfully sharp, but the occasional prick made him restless.

To soothe his agitated mind, he set out with the last shred of patience not yet worn down by the tedious investigation.

Years of round-trip travel had made him accustomed to navigating here; narrow, winding alleys no longer slowed him. He dodged beams and leapt over piles of clutter with even greater familiarity than the locals.

Without Lu Xiusi, who could never move quickly enough, Kraft’s pace improved. He followed the map in his mind straight toward his target.

Soon, he reached his destination—the pale zone marked on the map.

After briefly orienting himself, he decided to start by verifying Lu Xiusi’s hypothesis: visit Kup, sacrifice his precious nap, and talk to him—perhaps there was some hidden truth.

In the past, he’d always arrived in this area late, with little opportunity to dig deeper.

Hoping for an honest conversation, Kraft knocked on Kup’s door. It was a small shack, even by Salt Tide District standards; the owner, having lived alone for years, had no desire to expand, leaving rare open spaces on either side—now crammed with junk.

“Knock, knock, knock.”

A restrained knock—three taps, then silence—with clear rhythm. Neighbors had grown used to it over time. If no one answered, a call for the occupant’s name would soon follow.

“Kup, are you home? I’d like to speak with you privately.” Kraft called inside. Many in Salt Tide District had poor hearing; sometimes he had to raise his voice.

He glanced at the sun’s height—it wasn’t quite noon, but not early either. If Kup’s recovery matched others’, he might already be out.

“Kup?” He called again, tentatively.

“Oh, Mr. Kraft?”

The voice came from beside him. The wooden door of the neighboring house opened, and an elderly woman emerged, having heard the noise.

“Looking for Kup?”

“Yes, but it’s nothing urgent,” Kraft gave up knocking, recalling his last visit, and slipped naturally into his home-visit mode. “Has your grandson’s arm stopped hurting?”

Last time, the boy’s father had yanked him out in a hurry, only to realize too late that he’d injured him—the elbow had been aching for a long while, then locked completely stiff.

If handed to one of Salt Tide’s few “semi-medical” types, the standard treatment would’ve been some strange ointment—and the boy’s arm would’ve been ruined.

Luckily, Kraft happened to be returning and heard the story. He recognized it instantly: classic radial head subluxation from forceful pulling—a textbook case for manual reduction.

How could he pass up such an easy case? He pressed, pulled, rotated, and flexed the elbow. Before the boy even registered pain, it vanished. The child stared, bewildered, then moved his arm freely—like a saint from scripture touching a sufferer and healing him instantly.

He couldn’t cure major illnesses, but he could fix this? It gave Kraft a sliver of confidence after years of battling Salt Tide’s endless minor ailments—and won the family’s trust.

At Kraft’s question, the old woman’s wrinkled face broke into a smile. “No, not at all. Thank you so much.”

Kraft had never asked for payment. Out of simple principle—he was here for Kup—she wanted to offer what help she could, so she could ask for aid next time a minor illness struck.

“If you’re in a hurry to find that boy, I can check what he’s up to.”

She led Kraft around a mountain of clutter to the shadowed back of the shack. To Kraft’s surprise, she pushed inward a wooden plank that looked firmly nailed—revealing a gap half a person’s height.

“Huh? How did you know about this?”

“That plank was nailed by my son—for him. Of course that lazybones couldn’t even be bothered to drive the nails in properly.” Her tone dripped with disdain for the neighbor. “Doesn’t lift a finger. Wakes up late too.”

Once she started, she couldn’t stop. She pointed to a dark corner inside—likely his sleeping spot. “Everyone else is getting better, but he still sleeps until noon. I think he’s just used to it—after all, one man eats, the whole house doesn’t starve…”

“Mm,” Kraft replied, already mentally noting the neighbor’s testimony.

“You’ll have to wait a while for him to wake. Watch out for this one—he’s lazy, but clever at slacking off…” She muttered as she returned inside, clearly disliking the neighbor.

“Alright, alright, thank you—this is a huge help.” Now certain Kup was home, Kraft pushed the plank back into place and waited by the door.

Not long after—subjectively less than half an hour—he heard rustling inside. Kraft knocked again.

“Who is it? So early?!” The man inside grumbled as he opened the door, annoyed at being disturbed upon waking. But when he saw who stood before him, his casual demeanor vanished instantly.

“Ah, Mr. Kraft? I didn’t realize it was you.”

“It’s me. May I trouble you for a moment? I have some questions—possibly important ones.” He spoke his usual opening line, but behind the beak mask, his voice was heavier, less warm, more stern and sharp.

The last time Kup felt this way was before the priest, being asked, “Are you guilty?” He’d confessed to stealing half a loaf of bread from a fellow laborer a month prior—and the priest had ordered him to atone by offering sincere donations to the church to avoid hell.

His eyes darted. He stammered out, “Of course.”

“Then I thank you in advance, Kup. This question may relate to the safety of others—people living right around you.” Kraft applied pressure.

He shifted tone. “But generally, addressing problems early prevents serious consequences.”

Kup nodded vigorously. From his expression, Kraft could tell something was wrong—only the scale remained unclear.

“First, I want to ask: could your sense of waking time have been mistaken due to grogginess?”

“I didn’t…” Kup reflexively denied it.

Kraft stepped forward, the beak nearly touching Kup’s forehead, halting his words. “Take your time. Second question: have you had any dreams? Think carefully.”

The red-lensed bird-head tilted slightly, as if adjusting its neck. His height, already significantly taller than Kup’s, added to the pressure.

Kup lowered his gaze—and noticed the gloved left hand resting casually atop a bulge beneath the black robe. He’d heard rumors: this doctor carried a sword. Those who claimed to have seen it boasted it could cleave a man clean through a wooden wall.

“Think again. I have plenty of time today.”

The words were gentle—but the tone carried the weight of: “You don’t have much time left.”

Finally, under pressure, Kup weighed his options and forced out: “Come to think of it… I might have been confused about my waking time.”

“Elaborate,” Kraft nodded. Finally, honesty was emerging.

“At first, I woke earlier—but then… it stabilized. Now I still wake close to noon.” His voice trembled with confusion and fear—he’d seen everyone else improve, yet he remained different, unable to speak of it.

Good lord—he matched the neighbors’ accounts. He’d lied outright from the start. All those erratic early and late wake times? Fabricated. But if he knew something was wrong, why hadn’t he spoken up?

Kup interpreted the silence behind the mask as brewing anger. He rushed to confess: “It’s because I took shortcuts—went back to that well a few times. Not because I don’t trust you… I just thought a little wouldn’t matter…”

“Huh?!” Kraft’s composure shattered. “How is that possible? That well was sealed long ago!”

So this fool, lazy and seeking convenience, had secretly drawn water from the old well. Fearing exposure and blame, he’d stayed silent.

“At first, they forced me to help seal it. I secretly left a gap… then it was completely blocked.” Seeing Kraft’s anger, Kup spilled the rest.

Kraft knew this. He’d first sent several nearby residents to nail boards over it and personally checked. Later, recovered residents had spontaneously piled earth and stones over the poisoned well, turning it into a mound. He never imagined Kup had slipped in during that brief window and drawn water for days.

【Control. Restrain. Don’t rage…】

Kraft forced himself to calm down, suppressing his rising fury, and asked in a relatively steady voice: “Besides you, has anyone else done this?”

“No, only me. I told no one. Used it only three times, when no one was around.” Kup sensed Kraft wasn’t about to strike, so he confessed another long-buried secret.

“Lately… I think I’ve started dreaming. But they’re short. The only one I remember was faintly… in my home…”