The weather has changed these past few days, and I'm finding it hard to adjust to the intensity of my new part-time job.
I got caught in the rain and caught a fever... I just woke up.
I'll be feeling better this afternoon and will add an extra 2000 words as compensation.
Strange was awakened by the aroma of tea wafting down the hallway.
He turned over in his half-awake state, and smelled a scent of spices he couldn't name mixed with the aroma of black tea.
My fingers instinctively curled up, a familiar stinging pain shooting up from my knuckles. I opened my eyes and stared blankly at the old chandelier on the ceiling for a while before slowly sitting up.
The morning was quiet. Occasionally, the sound of a motorcycle engine could be heard from the alley outside the window, mixed with the crisp ringing of the copper bells from a small temple in the distance. He changed into the clean clothes he had prepared the night before, moving very slowly, each button a small battle.
The touch in my fingertips was dull and numb, as if I were wearing a thick glove.
After washing up, he opened his bedroom door, intending to knock on the door next door, only to find that the door was ajar.
He hesitated for a moment, but finally pushed the door open and went in. The room was the same as his, the bed was made neatly, and next to the pillow was an open old book with yellowed pages, the words of which he did not recognize.
He left the room and walked down the creaking stairs. In the small restaurant on the first floor of the hotel, the young man from yesterday was sitting by the window, with a pot of tea and two plates of freshly served breakfast in front of him.
He looked like he had been sitting there for a long time, relaxed and quiet, holding a flatbread in his hand and spreading a pale yellow sauce on it.
Strange walked over to him, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
You look much more energetic than yesterday.
Lynn pushed another plate of breakfast in front of Strange. It was a Nepalese breakfast: a few pieces of toasted flatbread, a small dish of curry potatoes, and a steaming cup of milk tea. "Eat up. You need energy to be full."
Strange didn't move. He looked at Lynn, his brow furrowed slightly, clearly having many questions to ask.
"Could you at least tell me your name? And how did you manage to do that yesterday? Why did you help me?"
My name is Lynn.
Lynn picked up her milk tea and took a sip. "I heard you were looking for Kamar-Taj, so I came to check. I did that yesterday just to calm down an overly anxious neurosurgeon."
Strange's lips twitched.
"As for where we're going today... aren't you looking for Kamar-Taj? I'll take you there today."
Strange instinctively clenched his fists. "Can that really heal my hands?"
"That depends on how you define 'cured'."
Lynn looked at his clenched fist, his fingers still trembling slightly uncontrollably. "It's been several months, hasn't it? You've been to many places, consulted many people. You've tried all the conventional and unconventional methods of modern medicine, but nothing has worked, right?"
Strange clenched his trembling hand, his knuckles accentuated by the scars.
He was silent for several seconds, then lowered his voice and said, "There was a patient. He had a spinal cord injury and was supposed to never be able to stand again. He said he was cured at Kamar-Taj. I saw his medical records during his evaluation; he should have been completely paralyzed. But I saw him playing basketball a while ago!"
He looked up at Lynn. "That's why I came."
Lynn stuffed the last bite of the biscuit into his mouth, stood up, took some money from his pocket and put it on the table. "Finished? I'm leaving now."
Strange stood up with him. He had no appetite; his mind was preoccupied with his soon-to-be-healed hands.
As Lynn walked through the winding alleys of the Thamel, his pace was noticeably more hurried than the day before.
Lynn continued walking at a leisurely pace. He neither waited for Strange nor deliberately shook him off.
The entrance to Kamar-Taj is hidden deep within what appears to be an ordinary residential area. A weathered old wooden door is embedded in the middle of a low wall where most of the plaster has peeled away. There are no markings on the door, only a few deep lines worn away by time.
Behind the door was an ordinary corridor, the wooden floor slightly gleaming from being walked on, a few faded thangkas hanging on the walls, and a faint scent of sandalwood incense wafting in the air. At the end of the corridor was a not-so-spacious room with excellent natural light, and the window faced the old tree in the courtyard.
A bald woman in an apricot-yellow robe sat at a low table, holding a ceramic pot and slowly pouring tea into two cups. She looked up at the sound of footsteps, her gaze passing over Strange and landing first on Lynn following behind. A very faint smile appeared on her lips, not quite a compliment.
" Doctor Strange? I am the Ancient One. Please have a seat." The Ancient One gestured to the futon opposite the low table.
Strange stood in the doorway, one hand still on the doorframe, clearly not fully aware of what had happened.
He hadn't expected Kamar-Taj to be just a tea room, a bald woman, and an old, worn-out low table. But he went in anyway and sat down on the cushion. His posture was very upright, a habit ingrained in his bones.
Even after his hands were ruined, he would still subconsciously maintain the posture characteristic of a neurosurgeon, a posture that was somewhere between confidence and arrogance.
The Ancient One pushed a teacup in front of him. The tea was a pale golden color, and steam rose gently in the afternoon light.
"Thank you, but I'm a doctor," Strange said, his tone polite but distant, with a sense of superiority that he probably wasn't even aware of himself.
The Ancient One's fingers paused slightly on the rim of the pottery jar. She raised her eyes to glance at Strange, then at Lynn, who had been standing silently to the side.
He was leaning against the corner of the wall, hands in his pockets, a standard Lynn- esque schadenfreude on his face. The Ancient One looked away, the corners of her mouth deepening slightly.
"Oh? That's definitely not the case now. Isn't that why you came here?" She placed the teapot on the low table, her tone unhurried.
Strange's hand, holding the teacup, froze in mid-air. He looked down at his hands, at the unhealed scars and his fingertips trembling slightly.
"... Yes." His voice was a little lower than before.
He picked up his teacup and took a couple of sips. Strange was clearly not good at small talk and had no intention of continuing to beat around the bush. He put down his teacup, looked up at the Ancient One, and returned to the mode he was more familiar with and comfortable with.
"Did you cure a man named Pangborn? He was paralyzed before."
"I guess so," The Ancient One said.
"You helped him, and now he can move freely. His C7-C8 vertebrae were completely damaged, and there was no way to cure him. How did you do it?" Strange's speech quickened, and he leaned forward slightly.
The Ancient One smiled as she looked at him, gently placing the teacup on the coffee table. The bottom of the cup made a very soft, crisp sound as it struck the wooden tabletop, which was particularly clear in the quiet room.
"I didn't cure him. He can't walk. I just made him believe he can."
Strange's expression froze for a moment.
He looked at the Ancient One, as if trying to confirm whether what he had just heard was a misunderstanding caused by some kind of language barrier. His lips moved slightly, and then his brows slowly furrowed.
"You mean... psychotherapy?" His tone carried a hint of cautious uncertainty.
The Ancient One didn't answer directly. She picked up her teacup, took a sip, then looked up at him, her gaze calm and clear. "After you reconnected the severed nerves, was it you or your body that allowed them to heal on their own?"
Strange straightened his back slightly. It was a familiar question, a return to his domain, a return to the comfort zone where he could answer with his professional terminology and clinical experience. "It's the cells," he said, his tone regaining some of the certainty of a surgeon.
"And the cells are programmed to heal in a specific way."
"Yes." Strange nodded.
The Ancient One put down his teacup, placed his hands folded on his knees, and continued, "What if I told you that you could persuade it to heal in various ways?"
Strange stared at the Ancient One, as if mentally reviewing every known medical term, trying to find one that matched the previous statement. "You mean cell regeneration? This technology is extremely advanced, is that why you've secluded yourself here? To escape external scrutiny? How experimental are your treatments?"
The Ancient One didn't answer immediately. She picked up the teapot, slowly poured another cup of tea, then stood up, walked to Lynn who was leaning against the wall, and handed him the teacup.
Lynn took the teacup, glanced down at it, then looked up at the Ancient One's expression, his amused smile deepening slightly. He said nothing, simply holding the teacup and leaning against the wall.
The Ancient One turned around, walked back to the low table, and sat down again on the futon. She looked at Strange, a very faint smile on her lips.
"Extremely strong."
Strange was clearly not satisfied with this answer. He needed data, he needed a mechanism, he needed an explanation he could understand.
"So you have a way to make nerve cells regenerate and heal themselves?"
"No, Doctor Strange," The Ancient One shook her head, her tone still calm, "I know how to adjust your mental energy to allow your body to heal itself better."
Strange wasn't listening at all. When the Ancient One mentioned "spiritual power," his gaze began to drift towards the window. He walked to the window, turned his back to everyone, put his hands behind his head, and ran his fingers through his messy hair.
The sunlight in the courtyard outside the window was wonderful, and the leaves of the old tree swayed gently in the wind. After several sleepless nights in the cheapest hotel in Kathmandu, he was finally completely broken down by the phrase "spiritual power."
"I came here..."
His voice was hoarse and low, as if he were talking to himself, or perhaps confiding in the old tree outside the window, "I spent my last penny on a one-way ticket. Now I'm sitting here listening to people talk about faith-based healing."
He turned around, looked at the Ancient One, then at Lynn, his eyes slightly reddening.
"Faith healing? I'm not religious, I don't believe in God, I don't believe in anything that hasn't been peer-reviewed. I'm a surgeon! Even if I used to be. I've cut open people's brains, I've reconnected severed blood vessels with my hands, I've helped people stand up again. And now you're telling me I need to heal my body by manipulating spiritual power?"
His voice rose higher and higher, his fingers trembled, and his entire arm shook. The Ancient One didn't speak, but simply stood up and walked to him, her movements light and natural, and gently placed her hand on his chest. Strange's body arched backward abruptly, as if struck in the chest by some invisible force. His eyes widened instantly, his pupils contracted sharply, and then he completely lost control of his body, his soul leaving his body.
Lynn caught Strange the moment he fell. He supported Strange's back with one hand and his shoulder with the other, gently placing him steady in his arms. The Ancient One stood beside him, her hands folded in front of her.
Seeing that Strange had calmed down in his soul form, the Ancient One slightly raised her hand and recalled the soul that had been pushed out of her body back into her body.
Strange's body jerked violently, like a drowning person being pulled from the bottom of the water. He gasped for breath, his legs buckling, and he almost fell again. Lynn steadily supported him, letting him lean on her shoulder for a few seconds to regain his balance. Meanwhile, the Ancient One had already walked back to the low table and picked up her teacup again.
"What's in the tea?" Strange's voice was hoarse and rapid, tinged with a near-hysterical frenzy born from utter upheaval. "Poisonous mushrooms? Pluperidin? Or hallucinogens?"
The Ancient One and Lynn exchanged a glance. The Ancient One's eyes held a subtle hint of reproach, like a helpless "Can't you be reliable for once?" She brought the teacup to her lips, her tone remaining calm.
"Just tea. Oh, and a little honey too."
Strange opened his mouth, clearly having many questions to ask, but each one stuck in his throat, and he couldn't utter a single word.
Lynn dragged a chair over to Strange and placed it securely behind him.
Looking at Strange's face, etched with shock, confusion, anger, and a stubbornness that was slowly crumbling, he suddenly thought of another person who was almost equally stubborn... Tony Stark Lynn sighed softly and muttered to himself, "I showed you a little something yesterday, why are you reacting like this today? Looks like I can't be too gentle with you, just like that stubborn Tony."
A soft, five-colored light shone from his body, spreading from his chest to his fingertips, gentle and luminous.
He raised his hand and gently touched Strange's forehead with his fingertips. Strange was about to ask something when his eyes glazed over, his body slumped into the chair behind him, and he closed his eyes.