Chapter 93: Conversation

“Can you two help me find the paper marked with the downstream of Tem? It should be on that table.” The person hunched over the desk put down his pen, straightened his back, and stretched his neck.

A faint crack echoed from his spine; the ache reminded him that if he kept this up, herniated discs wouldn’t be far off.

Father Adrian lay on a recliner beside him; his condition didn’t allow prolonged sitting or standing—he had to rest after writing half a page.

Over these past few days, he’d repeatedly contacted several friends he knew in the ore trade, and their friends’ friends, spending nights shuttling between taverns in the harbor district with Kraft—he was utterly exhausted.

A string of snoring bubbles rose from behind his cheek; clearly, he wouldn’t be any help for now.

Most of the work still fell to Kraft: turning the casual chatter into usable information wasn’t easy.

The ideal information would be: “A certain mine exists in a certain place, operating from a certain year until a few years later.”

But the reality was usually: “It seems,” “Maybe,” “I heard,” “Someone said,” there was a change in supply at some procurement point.

Not only were the locations and times vague, but the reliability was highly questionable—normal people didn’t have Kraft’s memory; cognitive bias was perfectly normal.

So after recording and summarizing the information, he still had to categorize each item, filing them separately by region—but after struggling for a while, the priest gave up entirely, willing only to handle the first step: summarization.

Kraft was overwhelmed; during a brief break, he finally noticed the two idle people in the room and tried to recruit them.

Zero Point Reading Network

The two, one tall and one small, obediently left their chairs, walked to the desk, and silently refrained from touching anything, staring intently at the neatly stacked papers.

They looked at each other, waiting for the other to demonstrate what to do—then quickly realized neither had been hired for this task.

“Sorry,” the shy one broke the silence first; Yin Feng lowered his head and whispered, “I don’t understand.”

“Me neither, me neither,” Kup had long accepted his place. At first, he’d been excited, thinking Kraft had given him this opportunity because he had exceptional talent, that he could become a hero’s loyal follower in some old tale.

First, seasickness had crushed him; then he realized what he could do was too far removed from Kraft’s daily work, and there was no real role for him as a bodyguard.

His only function, perhaps, was as a large decorative pendant—signaling he had status and background, essentially equivalent to the Medical Academy badge on a black robe, replacing it during casual outings.

“My fault.” He’d been so busy he’d lost his sense—after years in the academy’s ivory tower, he assumed everyone around him was like Lu Xiusi or Li Siton. Traditionally, the only people directly attached to him as his “team” were followers like Kup.

The academy had spoiled him—everywhere were people eager to handle his affairs, making him overlook one crucial fact: proper followers were cultivated within one’s own household.

Not to mention Kup—even Yin Feng, starting at this age, was already a bit late; now he could only try to make up for lost time.

“Bring the chairs over. We need to talk.” The organizing was nearly done; Kraft found the record of the downstream tributary himself and fitted the final piece into the river transport route from the coast to Tem.

“Don’t be formal—the Wood family has never had strict etiquette traditions, and I haven’t inherited the title yet.”

Turning a page of records, Kraft assumed a posture of casual conversation while reading, signaling this wasn’t a formal discussion.

“I’m sure you’ve both noticed a small problem.” It wasn’t small—medicine, as a discipline often tied to statistics, would inevitably bring more such scenes; without assistants, he’d eventually work himself to death.

“So I’ll try to teach you some things—at least enough to recognize common terms. Further development depends on your own willingness. Have you thought about what you’d like to do?”

He quickly scanned a page, matching it to the map, flipping to the next to hide the fact that even he had no clear plan. He’d taken them on only because every bit of help counted, with no future strategy—his only hope was their words might spark some inspiration.

The faintly relaxed atmosphere turned serious at once. It had come suddenly—said to be casual talk, yet it felt like standing at a crossroads of life.

Amid the priest’s snoring, Kraft finished reading the northern coastal route; the two still hadn’t answered.

So this was how it felt when no one answered a teacher’s question? He suddenly felt more sympathy for teachers who called on students—better to be awkward together than alone.

“Kup, stop staring at Yin Feng. You’ve followed me for at least two months—afraid I’ll charge you tuition? Just speak up. I can teach you medicine if you want.”

“No no no, Mr. Kraft, that’s not what I meant.” Kup quickly denied it—he didn’t think Kraft would charge him tuition, nor did he believe he had the talent to tackle content even academy members struggled with.

At this moment, he had to give an answer. He knew he had strength, decent enough in the harbor: “I want to learn how to use weapons.”

“Fine. Starting tomorrow, train with me. I’ll let you try various weapons and pick one that suits you.” Kraft agreed readily—Kup’s choice was unsurprising.

It was a mandatory skill for nearly all followers, and the most viable path upward for ordinary people—a clear success story stood right beside him.

“The Woods are a martial noble family. I think my grandfather would like you.”

Kup had set a good precedent; Kraft turned to Yin Feng, waiting. He flipped through several more pages without pressing, holding no great expectations.

He’d already prepared to give basic education first, then let her choose—youth had dual effects: it limited perspective but also increased malleability.

Perhaps Kraft’s swift acceptance of Kup gave Yin Feng courage; as he finished marking the river mouth area and dipped his brush in ink, she finally gathered her nerve.

“Before I choose, can I ask a question?”

“Of course. You can ask anytime—even after choosing, you can change your mind, but the time spent is yours alone.” Asking questions was good—it showed at least some thought; Kraft welcomed this trend.

Under his expectant gaze, Yin Feng gripped her sleeve and asked a question Kup found slightly offensive: “If you’d arrived sooner, could you have saved my father?”

“No.” Kraft answered faster than Kup expected; he felt no shame in admitting inability. No one here could wrest a life back from the Heavenly Father once stroke and pneumoconiosis had taken hold—cerebrovascular issues were hard to treat even in this world’s era of spiritual souls.

“Then how good a doctor would it take to cure him?” Yin Feng asked again. Kup covered his face—he knew Kraft’s skill was exceptional, and such people were usually arrogant; how could you ask like that?

Kraft paused his pen on the map, fell silent. Just as the two grew tense, he rested his chin on his hand and spoke in a tone Kup had never heard before: “Perhaps doctors a few hundred years from now might have a chance?”

“And even then, it wouldn’t be easy—you’d need timely intervention at the moment of onset.” He added a condition.

“But you must understand—they didn’t magically emerge from stones after centuries of waiting. They benefited from centuries of accumulated progress, including what we’re doing now.”

“Then I want to study medicine.”

“Good choice. But it won’t be easy—you must prepare for great hardship.” Kraft smiled, rolled up the map, and ended today’s talk. “And you’ll have to join us for morning exercises from now on.”

“Because we’ll be facing some mountain trails ahead.”