Over the next few days, Pan Long remained busy writing teaching materials and giving public lectures.
He no longer lectured in the auditorium, though. Instead, his classes were broadcast across all of Zion.
Whenever he began, all of Zion fell quiet. Apart from work too important to stop for even a moment, almost every other task came to a halt.
Nearly everyone in Zion listened in silence. Only when the lecture ended did they return to work.
Such a strange sight could probably happen only in Zion, where people suffering from Psychic Infection made up more than thirty percent of the population.
For years, psionic users from around the world had streamed to Zion because it possessed technology that could ease Psychic Infection. Strictly speaking, Zion as an organization was made up of those people and their families and friends.
But easing Psychic Infection was not the same as curing it.
Zion's technology could only slow the worsening of the infection and lessen the pain when symptoms struck. At best, it was a supportive measure, not a real cure.
In fact, because of Zion's technology, many infected people there were already gravely ill. Outside Zion, they might long since have gone mad, died, or even turned into monsters. Zion was their last hope.
That hope might be no more substantial than a straw grasped by someone drowning. But when life and death hung in the balance, how many could keep themselves from reaching for it?
Perhaps the only question was whether they could grasp it, not whether they wanted to.
Now Pan Long had turned that straw into a piece of driftwood. Perhaps not everyone with Psychic Infection could cure themselves by his method, but many had used it to put their condition on a genuine path toward recovery.
As