"Other sailors said they saw my floating body on the sea after the storm ended, thinking I was dead, but surprisingly, I still had a breath left."
Mande wasn’t overly concerned about Old Mark’s strange story.
After all, what old sailor who has battled the seas for years hasn’t seen a few strange things?
In contrast, he was more interested in the connection between Mark’s described experiences and his subsequent ntal issues.
Could the near-hallucination experiences this old sailor had when falling into the ocean be the root cause of his later psychological illness?
On this day, until nightfall, Mande pondered this question.
Until he routinely checked the mailbox, then saw the familiar academy stamp on the pristine envelope.
His expression paused involuntarily.
But the expression on his face differed from the excitent and joy three months earlier, turning into an odd anxiety and worry.
Nervously, he walked into the room, ignoring the "clawing" sound of paws scratching the wooden door from outside the courtyard gate, and went straight back to his study.
Sitting at the cluttered wooden desk piled with books, he opened the envelope in his hand.
...
Dear Mande,
What you ntioned in your previous letter about the discovery of what seems to be a new type of ntal illness, combining nurous symptoms, surprised . In fact, I’ve recently been organizing so reports and ca across several similar cases, but they all co from different regional countries, and the identities of the patients vary.
The only commonality is that the patients have either been to, or reside by the sea, and most of them have experiences of falling into the water.
I suspect it’s a group ntal disorder originating from the ocean, but of course, the exact cause needs deeper research.
Coincidentally, I will be going to Clair next week for a conference and, if conditions permit, I’ll detour through your location.
If it’s truly as you say, without exaggeration, then we might collaborate on a paper that could shake the entire academic world.
Looking forward to eting.
Your ntor,
Adonis Pope
...
A lot of information can be gleaned from the letter, but for Mande, only a few points truly made him anxious.
1. The ntor is coming personally;
2. The ntor has nurous case materials he hasn’t seen;
3. The ntor hopes to collaborate with him.
Collaborate?
Mande stared at those two words for a long ti.
In his mind, he pondered which of the records and analyses he had been conducting over the days could be taken by the ntor once he visits.
The answer is all of them.
Old Mark is right there, and once the ntor ets him, everything Mande could acquire will also be available to the ntor, a seasoned professor in psychiatry, and even more thoroughly.
With the ntor’s repute and connections in academia, he could effortlessly turn all this into a paper that "could shake the entire academic world," as he said.
And for , this unknown apprentice doctor treating farrs and blacksmiths in a remote fishing village, whether my na appears in the author’s section of the paper depends solely on his mood.
"No!"
"I won’t allow it!"
A long period without adequate sleep, the bloodshot eyes appeared even redder under the candlelight.
The letter from the ntor was torn to pieces.
Mande only felt a boundless gloom like the arrival of darkness brewing with anger sprouting from the depths of his heart.
He suddenly stood up, knocking over the wooden chair with a cushion below.
He must complete the paper before the ntor arrives and submit it in the safest and fastest way possible to a dical journal in the big city.
No... Considering the ti when the envelope was sent, the ntor will arrive in Hookfish Town at the latest in three days, which is not enough ti!
"I must... must..."
The flickering candlelight in the study was suddenly extinguished by the cold wind seeping indoors from outside the window.
Illusory, vague whispers echoed in his ears, and countless shadows more mysterious than darkness wriggled in his pitch-black sight.
The door was suddenly slamd shut, and urgent footsteps disappeared at the street’s end.
...
...
Three days later.
Hookfish Town, main street.
With the noise of wheels rolling over marble bricks and the snorting of horses, a carriage with the Doctor Association’s emblem printed on its exterior stopped outside a two-story building on the street.
The well-dressed coachman jumped down from the front, jogged to the side of the carriage, and opened the door.
Shiny shoes slowly stepped out, lightly touching the ground.
Adonis nodded in greeting to the coachman who opened the door for him, adjusted his collar slightly, and tipped the hat on his head.
Holding a refined cane in his right hand, and in his left hand, a portable suitcase with the Doctor Association’s stethoscope emblem in dark gold, showing clear signs of use, he headed straight to the front door.
"Knock, knock, knock."
His gaze swept over the weeds in the front yards on either side, and he gently knocked on the door.
Waiting.
No response.
"Knock! Knock! Knock!"
He knocked three more tis, but still no answer.
Adonis frowned slightly, then turned to the nearby window.
Peering through the gap in the curtains inside the window, the living room within appeared particularly cluttered.
His focus quietly intensified, and his dark green vortex-like pupils slightly contracted.
From the transplanted eyes of the Iron Peak giant eagle years ago, he could distinctly capture the fine dust covering the dining table.
Thoughts flickered in his mind.
Adonis returned to the front door.
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