The originally fragnted stone brick pavent was connected together, forming a complete road segnt, along with the incomplete benches on both sides of the road being restored to their proper neat form.
The sound of waves from afar continued to float through the air in the form of white noise, yet Twin Canyon had vanished like an illusory bubble.
What replaced it was a leisurely small town filled with early twentieth-century European-style buildings.
For Xia Nan himself, he could feel his consciousness gradually drifting away like catkins in the wind, losing control over his own body.
Although his powerful perception ability allowed him to clearly discern the voices of conversation from his teammates nearby, his ntal will seed to have ventured into another world.
A sudden realization dawned in his heart.
It seed that the core of this Secret Realm was akin to those like the Residual Fire Ash Valley Ruins he encountered before.
He no longer resisted, allowing his consciousness to sink.
The pitch-black eyes, gradually losing focus, mirrored the icon of a stethoscope, symbolizing the so-called Doctor Association, on the surface of the suitcase ahead.
...
...
Moving the stethoscope away from the back of the peasant woman in front of him, Mande sat behind his desk in his consulting room, with a pen in hand, scribbling row after row of careless notes on the dical records in a skillful manner as if he had done so countless tis before.
Suddenly, he noticed the frightened expression on the face of the peasant woman in front of him, marked by wrinkles and wearing a coarse patched burlap dress.
The pen’s tip paused involuntarily.
"Scratching off the items written just now, the expensive dications."
Despite working the whole day, he forced a smile at the corners of his mouth and gently said:
"There are no issues; your body is very healthy."
"Just a re cold, pay more attention to rest in the coming days."
Upon hearing this, the peasant woman’s face broke into a relieved smile.
Nodding repeatedly, she thanked him:
"Thank you, thank you, Doctor Mande!"
"Really appreciate it, no wonder everyone says you are a responsible and good doctor!"
"..."
The sound of the peasant woman’s gratitude vanished into the corridor as the door closed.
Mande let out a weary breath, casually putting a copper coin forcibly left on the table by the woman into the drawer.
Turning to glance out the window at the sunset, it was already evening without realizing it.
He stood up, took off his doctor’s uniform, tidied up a bit, and pushed the door to leave the consulting room.
"Have you heard? Old Mark by the port was swept into the sea by the waves during the storm."
"This old bachelor seems not to have a family, not even children; who will take care of the aftermath?"
"Heh, I didn’t say he was dead."
"How could that be!? Given the scale of that storm last month..."
Seeing him walk out of the consulting room, the two caregivers at the front desk fell silent out of respect and greeted him:
"Mister Mande, are you off work?"
"See you tomorrow, Doctor Mande."
Nodding slightly in response, Mande pushed the door open and left.
What t his eyes was a street illuminated by dusk light that felt particularly desolate.
At evening ti, which logically should be the busiest and most lively period of the day, the street was scarce with pedestrians, mostly elderlies, enveloping the entire town in a twilight air akin to the sunset hanging in the sky.
Since graduating from the Royal dical College and officially becoming an Intern mber of the Doctor Association, this was Mande’s second year being assigned to this seaside town nad Hookfish Town.
Compared to the fishern in the town who struggle day and night at sea yet find it difficult to buy even a new piece of clothing for themselves, his life was already quite good.
The job subsidy from the Doctor Association might not be much in big cities, but in Hookfish Town, it allowed him to reside in a two-story detached house on the main street, living a life free of material concerns.
As the only doctor in town with a legitimate work license from the Doctor Association, Mande enjoyed an esteed status among the townsfolk, comparable to that of the mayor or the sheriff.
While walking on the streets, everyone who saw him would nod and smile genuinely, and during holidays, gifts piled up at his doorstep from the locals.
Mande ought to feel content.
But in reality, it was quite the opposite.
Graduating from the Royal dical College, a young man in his early twenties, how could he possibly be satisfied with this life so easy to see through?
He rarely even exercised his main role as a psychiatrist.
Over two years, he beca increasingly skilled at handling ailnts commonly found among coastal residents like arthritis, asthma, and bacterial infections.
After walking for about fifteen minutes on the street, Mande returned to his small dwelling in Hookfish Town.
A simply yet cleanly decorated two-story small building.
According to habit, he first checked the mailbox in front of his door.
His breath caught.
A white envelope, embossed with the seal of the Royal dical College, lay quietly inside.
Suppressing his inner excitent, he quickly extracted the envelope and tucked it into his pocket.
He opened the door and briskly walked inside.
Squatting down, he vigorously rubbed the head of the golden retriever nad March, wagging its tail like a propeller, welcoming him ho at the door.
"Little March, we can soon leave here!"
"Look at how happy you are, haha."
Back ho, Mande could no longer repress his inner joy; his mouth almost reached his ears.
After giving March a couple more scoops of dog food, he excitedly entered the study.
With an arm sweep, the books and papers on the desk were pushed aside; he took a deep breath, and with a look of anticipation and seriousness, gently unfolded the letter in his hand.
...
Dear Doctor Mande:
I have received the "Innovative Treatnt Study on Manic Patients" you submitted in June. Frankly speaking, I am disappointed with it.
I did not see the acun you displayed in your graduation thesis; the sample size of cases is too small, the observations lack depth, and the conclusions could be written by a dical student from a second-rate college.
I understand you have been dissatisfied with your ti in Hookfish Town, but if you wish to return here, truly establish yourself in the dical field, and eventually beco a formal doctor of the association, you need more solid research conclusions rather than these groundless talks.
PS: Karen got engaged last week; her fiancé is an assistant lecturer from the neighboring college. I presu you are aware of this.
Your ntor,
Adonis Pope
...
It’s difficult to articulate the expression on Mande’s face once he finished reading the letter.
It was a look filled with fear for having wasted his once-prized talent due to a numb lifestyle, sha for disappointing his ntor’s expectations, confusion towards work, love, and future life, utterly lost.
The next day, since arriving in Hookfish Town, Mande missed his alarm for the first ti, being nearly two hours late.
Perhaps recognizing the gloom on his face, the two caregivers in the clinic remained as enthusiastic as always, greeting him warmly with no additional reactions.
In the waiting room, several patients had been waiting early.
The first was the wife of the town’s blacksmith, suffering from headaches and insomnia.
Based on the blacksmith’s inco, Mande prescribed two doses of reasonably effective supplents.
The second was the grocery store owner, coughing.
Unable to afford dication, he decided to battle through it with his immune system.
The third was a farm worker by the edge of the town, whose arm was cut by a sickle.
Mande chanically bandaged and prescribed dication, uttering the sa repeated platitudes, while all he could think about was the letter from the ntor last night.
Until the consulting room’s door opened for the fourth ti, a caregiver led a man inside.
Mande looked up, and in his view appeared a stooped, weary-looking middle-aged man.
His temples were gray, his lips downward, having a deanor of accustod patience.
His skin was rough, but rather than the common tan seen in town from long hours in the sun, it was oddly pale, as if soaked in water.
He wore a shirt made of coarse linen, emanating a faint fishy sll.
"Mark, from the port dock."
Seeing the middle-aged man looking a bit bashful, the caregiver took the initiative to introduce him to Mande.
Then turned to leave, closing the door behind.
Mark?
Mande vaguely felt familiar as if he had heard of this na sowhere, yet he instinctively asked:
"Tell , what seems to be the problem with your health?"
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