So this time, I wasn't even a firefighter. I was a psychiatrist?
The moment the thought of reading people's expressions occurred to him, Fu Qian seemed to understand the nature of the flames from a different perspective.
According to his earlier deduction, the flames were like a form of pollution affecting Unseen Hill.
If all of Unseen Hill was the manifestation of someone's will, then did that make this Mental Pollution?
What a shame. Treating people and saving lives wasn't his strong suit.
And the difficulty was plain to see. Never mind the patient's condition—he, the doctor, didn't seem to have any way to communicate with them at all.
Wait a minute. Who said he couldn't?
The next moment, Fu Qian recalled his first visit to the Great Hall at the Heart of the Lake: ghosts had surrounded him from every direction, cutting off his escape routes one by one until only a single path remained.
Wasn't that sole "path" a message being conveyed to him?
And after he'd willingly let the ghosts embrace him and further immersed himself in this world, the fate Yuan Fang saw fell into the same general category.
Was this how the patient communicated with him?
It was a little metaphysical, but if using force would only make the condition worse, then communicating with the "patient" and guiding them to cleanse themselves seemed to be the only option.
But that clearly presented a paradox: if he didn't immerse himself in the world, he couldn't communicate with the patient or guide them; if he did, he'd be bound by fate, and the future Yuan Fang saw would inevitably come to pass, dooming the mission to failure.
It felt flawless. Was this the so-called destiny?
Whatever the case, the same principle still applied: as long as