Chapter 667: Ten Years

Ten years later.

The cobblestone streets of Mist Capital’s old district had been repaved. The potholes were filled with new stones, slightly lighter in color than the surroundings, like fresh patches sewn onto a gray, worn-out garment.

The gas street lamps on the street corners had been replaced with electric lights. Wires extended from the direction of the factories, weaving a dense net over the old district. The bakery owner’s wife was still there, though her son had taken over the business.

She sat in a chair behind the counter, wearing reading glasses and knitting, occasionally looking up at customers entering and leaving.

The old bookstore remained.

The wooden door had been repainted, and the hinges replaced with new ones that no longer emitted that long, drawn-out creak.

The wooden sign on the doorframe had also been changed. The lettering was neater, with a simple decorative pattern carved around the edges.

But the words “Old Bookstore” remained unchanged, exactly the same as ten years ago.

Next to the bookstore, a small clinic had been added through expansion.

It was called an expansion, but in reality, they had rented the neighboring building that had stood empty for years, knocked down the dividing wall, and renovated the interior. The clinic’s storefront was modest, with a glass door and a white-and-blue sign outside that read “Noren Clinic.” Below it, in smaller characters: “Specialized in Strange Trauma and Soul Injury.”

At this moment, the clinic door was pushed open from inside.

Eric walked out.

He was taller than ten years ago, with broader shoulders and a straight back.

The youthfulness had completely faded from his face, replaced by the calm steadiness that came from seeing all kinds of injuries and illnesses.

He wore a white lab coat with a pen clipped in the left breast pocket and held a medical record folder in his right hand.

Eric’s hair was shorter than before, revealing a full forehead. His jawline was sharp, carrying a hardness that did not belong to the young. Behind him followed a middle-aged man in a dark blue uniform.

The man’s left arm was suspended in a sling across his chest, the bandage wrapped tightly from shoulder to wrist. There was no blood visible on the surface.

A fresh scar ran across his face, stretching from the tail of his eyebrow to his cheekbone.

“Mr. Collins, come back next Wednesday to have the stitches removed.”

Eric stopped on the steps at the entrance, flipped to the last page of the medical record folder, tore off a slip of paper, and handed it over.

“For changing the dressing, you can do it yourself using the method I taught you last time. But if black patterns appear around the wound, do not handle it yourself. Go immediately to the Association headquarters and find Physician Valentin. Have him contact me.”

The middle-aged man took the slip, folded it, and put it in his pocket.

He moved his suspended arm, flexing his fingers open and closed with satisfaction, then nodded.

“Doctor Eric, your skills are truly impeccable.” The middle-aged man’s voice was rough and hoarse. “The physicians at headquarters studied it for three days and said my soul injury would take at least half a year to recover, with a possibility of permanent aftereffects. You’ve only treated me twice, and I can hardly feel anything now.”

“That’s because you have a strong foundation,” Eric said with a smile. “The Strange within you has been with you for nearly twenty years. Your soul’s resilience is far stronger than an ordinary person’s. I merely helped reconnect the broken parts; the rest healed on its own.”

The middle-aged man’s expression grew somewhat complicated.

“It’s still your skill that’s good,” he said with undeniable certainty. “Other doctors don’t have this ability.”

Eric did not continue the conversation. He simply shook his head slightly, tucked the medical record folder under his arm, and reached out to open the glass door for the man.

The middle-aged man stepped out of the clinic and paused at the bottom of the steps.

His gaze swept across the gray sky of the old district before finally landing on the deep green wooden door beside the clinic.

“Is that person… not here today?” he asked in a lowered voice, jerking his chin toward the bookstore.

Eric followed his gaze and shook his head.

“Teacher’s consultation times are not open to the public. If needed, the Association will make an appointment through official channels.”

The middle-aged man let out an “ah” and asked no more.

He had been receiving treatment here for nearly a month but had never seen the legendary “Doctor Noren” in person.

There were many rumors about that doctor within the Association. Some said he was very old, others claimed he wasn’t a doctor at all but a retired high-ranking spirit medium, and some said he was connected to the incident at the psychiatric hospital back then.

No one could confirm any of it.

He only knew that this young Doctor Eric was that doctor’s student.

And Doctor Eric’s skills had already surpassed the best physicians at Association headquarters by an immeasurable margin.

“See you next Wednesday.” After speaking, the middle-aged man turned and walked toward the alley entrance.

A black Association vehicle was parked there, with the driver already waiting in the seat.

Eric stood at the clinic entrance, watching the man get into the car. He sighed, then turned and walked back into the clinic.

The clinic was not large, but its functional areas were clearly divided.

Pushing open the door behind the consultation room led to a short corridor.

On the left was the treatment room. He walked to the door, pushed it open, placed the medical record folder on the rack behind the door, and began cleaning up the used gauze, cotton balls, and gloves, sorting them into different trash bins.

The surgical instruments were placed into the ultrasonic cleaner, and the start button was pressed.

The small piece of rune sticker personally drawn by Jie Ming that remained on the treatment surface was carefully peeled off with tweezers, affixed to a dedicated preservation board, labeled with the date and patient number, and placed in a drawer.

That was Jie Ming’s handiwork.

After ten years of study, Eric considered himself far superior to any Association physician in “treatment.”

But compared to Jie Ming, he felt he was still crawling while his teacher was already flying.

He couldn’t even clearly explain where exactly Jie Ming surpassed him.

Or rather, Jie Ming’s superiority was an all-around transcendence, not limited to any specific technique.

Understanding of the Strange, insight into the soul, prediction of energy flows…

When handling a complex soul injury case, he needed repeated examinations, careful probing, and gradual advancement.

Jie Ming only needed one glance to know where the problem lay, how to solve it, and how long it would take.

Ten years.

He thought he had come a long way, but every time he saw Jie Ming take action, he would once again confirm one fact: the distance between him and his teacher had not shortened by even a millimeter because of time.

While Eric was immersed in recollection, the doorbell rang.

It came from the wooden door of the neighboring bookstore.

Eric poked his head out of the treatment room and saw through the clinic window that the bookstore door had been pushed open.

A white-haired old man stood at the entrance, carrying a metal case.

It was Harding.

Inside the old bookstore, Jie Ming was half-reclining in the rocking chair as always.

He looked almost unchanged from ten years ago. Every time Harding saw him, he would feel dazed, as if time had not passed at all.

“You’re here.” Jie Ming picked up a teacup from the small table beside the rocking chair, poured a cup of water, and pushed it to the other side of the table.

Harding placed the metal case on the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

His movements were slower than ten years ago; after all, he was no longer young.

His hair was completely white, but he was in good spirits. He had few wrinkles, and his eyes remained sharp.

Harding was now wearing casual clothes.

He had not worn his uniform since the day he retired. It hung in the closet, with its epaulets and badges polished bright.

“This is this quarter’s materials.” Harding patted the metal case. The surface was engraved with the Spirit Medium Association’s emblem and classification markings. “Strange research data from three cities and analysis reports on seventeen newly captured Strange samples. The president asked me to deliver them personally, saying he didn’t trust the regular channels.”

Jie Ming nodded and pushed the case to the side of his chair without opening it to check.

Over the past ten years, every batch of materials and items Harding delivered had been without error.

“I heard Dirk went north?” Jie Ming picked up his own teacup and blew on the hot steam.

Harding also lifted his cup, took a sip, then leaned back in his chair with a somewhat sentimental expression.

It was the look an old friend would have when mentioning a promising younger generation—mixed with pride and concern.

“He left last month. There have been continuous Disaster Grade Strange outbreaks in three northern cities. The Association headquarters dispatched five president-level spirit mediums to provide support. Dirk was one of them.”

“That kid is really something now. His Shadow Serpent has fused with his soul to the seventh layer. Oh, people are calling him Shadow Serpent Dirk these days.”

The corner of Jie Ming’s mouth curved slightly, forming a smile.

He remembered the pale-faced young man whose fingers trembled when they first encountered the shark monster in the abandoned factory ten years ago. Now, he had grown into a high-ranking member of the Spirit Medium Association.

“How about you? How’s your health?” Jie Ming asked.

Harding set down his teacup and raised his right hand, spreading his five fingers before clenching them again.

The movement was slow but steady, without the slightest tremor.

“I had a full check-up last year. The physicians at headquarters said my soul stability is three percentage points higher than before retirement.” There was unconcealed pride in his tone. “I told them it was because I get regular maintenance from Doctor Noren here. Their faces all turned green.”

Jie Ming said nothing and simply poured Harding another cup of water.

The current relatively peaceful situation owed much to that notebook from back then…

No! Strictly speaking, what the professor left behind was far more than just that black notebook.

Ten years ago, after the ruins of the psychiatric hospital were cleared, the Spirit Medium Association excavated underground at the site for several months.

They found a large amount of undestroyed research materials in the collapsed alternate space fragments: box after box of experimental records, data analyses, and Strange sample files.

Those materials were sealed by the Association and then gradually exchanged out by Jie Ming through the cooperative arrangement between both sides.

It was the professor’s entire life’s work.

Decades of research, detailed dissection records of over a hundred Strange, and data from thousands of fusion experiments.

One could say that the technology provided by that wizard back then was merely a catalyst. Before that, the professor had already walked most of the path himself.

Jie Ming spent some time organizing and archiving all the materials, then spent several more years building a complete, repeatable, and verifiable theoretical framework for Strange research on that foundation.

Supported by this theoretical framework, he developed quite a few scattered techniques.

The two most critical ones were an improved sealing technique and a Strange separation technique.

The traditional sealing technique caused the Strange’s power to continuously erode the host’s soul, like water pressure slowly seeping through cracks in a dam. The longer the seal, the deeper the erosion, until one day the dam collapsed.

For spirit mediums, the moment they became one marked the start of their countdown to death.

Jie Ming’s new technique could significantly slow the rate of erosion on the soul.

Spirit mediums who could originally last only ten years could now last thirty, fifty, or even longer.

The second key technique was Strange separation.

Traditional fusion was irreversible. Once a Strange was sealed into the body, it could not be removed unless the spirit medium died and triggered an outbreak. Moreover, damaging the sealing array would cause the Strange to go completely berserk, devouring the host’s soul instantly.

Jie Ming’s separation technique allowed the Strange to be completely “peeled” from the host’s soul when the spirit medium no longer needed its power, without damaging the host’s spiritual core.

The separated Strange could then be resealed, studied, or destroyed.

Thanks to the combination of these two techniques, those spirit mediums who had devoted their lives to the Association could finally enjoy their later years in peace.

It was because of this contribution that Jie Ming’s subsequent research received increasing support from the Spirit Medium Association.

Harding was a beneficiary of both techniques. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

The Storm Eye within him had its erosion rate reduced to one-fifth of the original under Jie Ming’s improved seal.

Last year, just before Dirk headed north, Jie Ming performed the first Strange separation surgery on him, safely extracting the Storm Eye from Harding’s body.

The surgery was a success, and Harding’s soul suffered almost no damage.

He was now an ordinary person—no Strange power, but also no longer racing against death.

“Before Dirk left, he asked me to pass this on to you.” Harding took an envelope from his pocket and placed it on the table. “He said when he returns, please give him a full examination. He feels his fusion with the Shadow Serpent has reached a bottleneck and may need you to adjust the sealing structure.”

Jie Ming picked up the envelope without opening it, simply pinching it to gauge the thickness.

There was something inside—not letter paper, probably some kind of sample or energy imprint.

“Have him come see me directly when he returns.” Jie Ming put the envelope in his pocket.

The two chatted for a while longer—about recent personnel changes in the Association, the progress on the Disaster Grade Strange in the north, and which of the new restaurants in the old district tasted better.

The topics jumped freely in all directions, like two old neighbors chatting idly by a fire in winter.

Half an hour later, Harding checked his watch and stood up.

“It’s getting late. I should go.” He finished the tea in his cup and walked toward the door.

Jie Ming did not see him off, simply nodding from the rocking chair.

Harding pulled open the wooden door and paused at the threshold.

His gaze turned toward the clinic, where through the glass door he saw Eric organizing instruments in the sterilization cabinet.

The young man kept his head lowered, focused as he placed each surgical instrument into the tray with movements as precise as performing an operation.

“That kid Eric has improved a lot,” Harding’s voice lowered. “The physicians’ group at headquarters sent me a report last month. After sending people here to study, their survival rate for treating soul injuries increased by nearly forty percent. Forty percent, and that’s only in half a year.”

Jie Ming said nothing.

“But he still feels he’s far behind you.” Harding turned back and glanced at Jie Ming. “Every time I ask him how he evaluates himself, he says ‘It’s okay, but Teacher does it better.’ I can tell the kid isn’t being modest—he really thinks so.”

“He’s right,” Jie Ming said, lifting his teacup for a sip. His tone was as casual as if commenting on nice weather.

Harding stared at him for a moment, then shook his head with a smile that contained many emotions.

“Fine, you’re the teacher. You have the final say.” He pulled open the door and walked out.

At the alley entrance, the black Association vehicle had already turned around, with the rear door open.

The injured middle-aged man was already seated inside, flipping through a book with his uninjured hand.

Harding walked over, opened the door, and sat in the passenger seat.

The car started, its exhaust pipe emitting a puff of white vapor that trailed faintly through the gray air.

The vehicle rounded the street corner and disappeared into the depths of the old district’s alleys.

Eric stood at the clinic entrance, watching the car’s taillights turn into two blurry red dots in the mist before vanishing.

He turned around and looked toward the bookstore.

Jie Ming had stood up from the rocking chair and was standing at the entrance with his hands in his pockets, also gazing at the departing car.

The grayish-white daylight fell on him, casting a cool-toned halo over his dark coat.

Teacher and disciple met each other’s eyes for a moment.

Jie Ming said nothing and turned back into the bookstore.

Eric followed him inside.

The oil lamp in the bookstore was gone.

An electric light hung from the ceiling, its warm yellow glow softly filling every corner.

There were far more books on the shelves than ten years ago—not just old books, but also newly published professional works on Strange research and soul medicine.

Some book spines bore labels from the Association library; they were “borrowed” from the internal archives by Harding and given to Jie Ming.

Jie Ming sat down in the rocking chair.

Eric stood quietly beside the bookshelf, knowing his teacher had something to say.

“Hang up the closed sign,” Jie Ming’s voice was not loud and his pace unhurried, but every word was clear. “You can proceed with the fifth-round sealing.”

Upon hearing this, Eric’s expression remained calm.

“Yes, Teacher,” he said.

He did not ask if he was ready. He knew his teacher’s personality—such a question would be an insult.

He turned, walked to the entrance, and flipped over the sign on the door that read “Open.”