Past one in the morning, Harano felt like he was back in his high school days, burning the midnight oil, hunched over his desk, frantically copying excerpts from the Barefoot Doctor's Manual on his phone, typing in pinyin—skipping the sayings of great leaders and the parts about medical ethics and noble hearts for now, focusing mainly on the methods for diagnosing and treating illness, and the appended techniques for gathering and preparing medicinal herbs.
As for whether these methods could be adapted to local conditions…
It shouldn't be a big problem—the Barefoot Doctor's Manual really is the blood, sweat, and tears of a generation of medical workers. It was written for the whole country, thoroughly considering different regions and environments, prescribing remedies suited to local realities. For one illness, it would offer over ten different prescriptions, and the herbs were usually easy to find in the area.
Truly convenient, simple, and cheap. Any difficulty that might arise has already had a group of experts wrack their brains and come up with a dozen solutions. All you have to do is pick one you can pull off and follow the book step by step.
Even now, thrown into the Japan Middle Ages, maybe there's some minor "water and soil discomfort," but it doesn't matter. In this era, there's no angry mob of patients' families—if a patient dies, tough luck. As long as you don't kill off all your patients and ruin your reputation, you're fine.
A brand-new "time-traveling Mongolian Doctor" has now risen, and the people of the Japan Middle Ages are in for a treat!
For Harano, playing the part of a "Mongolian Doctor" carried no psychological burden. Given how Japan poisoned the whole world with nuclear wastewater in later times, he figured he was already being pretty ethical by not selling snake oil here. Who could accuse him of not being a decent guy?
Anyone who dared blame him—he'd slap them right in the face. He was no one's punching bag!
He was right in that serene, focused zone, writing at top speed, when suddenly his ears twitched. He caught a faint sound at the doorway. Earlier, he'd scattered some rice grains on the flagstones at the threshold; if you paid attention, that faint crunch underfoot was enough of a warning in the silent night.
So it's come to this. He'd actually started to believe he was helping good people—had almost trusted them…
Harano sighed inwardly. His eyes grew shadowed, already prepared. He immediately locked his phone, blew out the oil lamp, grabbed the wooden basin by his side with one hand, and poured the water from it slowly onto the straw mat covering the clay platform, letting the water trickle down to the earthen floor—this was water Yayoi had brought earlier for washing his face. Since last night, he'd had her leave it behind, just for this moment of self-defense.
The water flowed noiselessly, the room plunged into complete darkness.
A moment later, the straw mat serving as the door was lifted at one corner. A shadow crept in quietly—couldn't make out the size, only the knife glinting faintly in a shaft of moonlight. From the footsteps, there was someone right behind him too.
Harano already had his shoes on—he'd left them nearby for this very reason. Meng Ziqi was hidden in the corner. The electric stick was set to max power—enough to zap a wild boar. As soon as he heard both people clamber onto the clay platform, he jabbed the electric stick straight into the soaked straw mat.
Instantly, lightning crackled in the pitch-dark room. The mat near Harano actually jumped up, making violent crackling noises. The two crawling in the dark, hands and knees on the platform, both grunted, sprang off, toppled to the floor, and, without hesitation, started convulsing.
Perfect—medieval folks didn't come with lightning resistance; they couldn't handle electricity!
Harano strode over, not a second's hesitation, and jabbed each of them again with his electric stick, zapping them both as stiff as dried salted fish, silent and straight, even peeing themselves.
Getting tased is hell—a split second and it feels like your heart doesn't even belong to you anymore, too shocked to yell, let alone control the rest of your body.
As the old-timers in prison say, anyone who can take three zaps without wetting himself is a real man.
Clearly, these two intruders weren't real men—two shocks and they pissed themselves.
The two of them were completely incapacitated, no way they'd recover any time soon. Harano ignored them, face expressionless, and strode straight for the door. But just as he reached the doorway, the straw curtain flicked up and another dark figure darted inside—moving silently, nearly crashing right into him.
This completely blindsided Harano and gave him a jolt. He instinctively shoved out a hand, swinging the electric stick to jab.
The shadow was stunned too. After rushing to sneak in for a backstab, they'd never expected to bump right into someone at the door, head still ducked, and almost got shoved down outright.
But the figure had sharp reflexes. Even with barely any light, they sensed Harano coming at them with something, grunted, and reached to block. Lightning flashed—"snap!"—the zap sent them flying, crashing into the straw curtain and thudding to the floor.
Harano showed no mercy, charging over and delivering a savage kick. His sturdy hiking boots slammed into the small body, the shadow let out a miserable shriek, flew sideways, hit the wall with a thud, bounced off, and fell still.
One more down!
Harano's adrenaline was pumping—what folks call "seeing red." There was a cold ferocity in his eyes, almost like he was back as a kid, facing the drunken, abusive father who habitually beat him, finally fed up enough to fight back. He whipped out a flare gun, flung aside the door curtain, and charged outside.
The world is tough, human nature treacherous—it's like crawling naked through the flames of hell. You come out hardened… or turn to ash.
Who in this world ever gets their way all the time? Isn't it always one damn hurdle after another?
When it's time to go ballistic, you go ballistic. Harano had learned from an early age: giving in, keeping your head down, being weak—those never lead to anything good. He was always ready to go all out!
But unexpectedly, when he strode out into the yard, he saw that the moon was shining bright, night peaceful and calm.