Billy, of course, knew exactly what kind of person Strange was. He was not surprised by Strange's refusal, and without the slightest pause, he continued, "There's also a twenty-two-year-old woman with an electronic stimulator implanted in her brain to control schizophrenia. She was struck by lightning."
"Hmm. That sounds interesting. Can you send me the, all right, got it."
Before Strange could finish speaking, a head scan appeared on his car's display.
Strange studied the image. On the left side of the skull, there was a black strip-shaped mark about three centimeters long. It was obviously a foreign object embedded in the brain.
After giving the image a rough look, Strange became even more interested. This happened to be an illness that was both bizarre enough and still within his ability to handle.
But before he could examine it carefully, perhaps because he had been distracted, his hand shifted the steering wheel slightly.
At high speed, however, even the smallest movement of the steering wheel could have enormous consequences.
Unfortunately, just as Strange's sports car drifted right because of that movement, another car happened to be on his right.
The next instant, the front of the sports car collided with the other vehicle. The impact threw Strange's hands off balance, and the steering wheel jerked hard to the right, completely out of control.
As a result, the sports car veered violently to the right, skidded, and began spinning in full circles.
The tires scraped harshly against the pavement, letting out a piercing shriek. Sparks burst out and traced chaotic lines through the rainy night.
At last, the car spun like an out-of-control top, first slamming hard into the guardrail. The deafening sound of twisting metal filled the night, and then the entire vehicle plunged down the hillside.
The sports car kept tumbling. Inside the driver's seat, Strange struggled with all his strength.
The seat belt was strangling him so tightly he could barely breathe. Shattered glass sliced across his face and hands like razor blades, opening countless wounds as warm blood mixed with rainwater and ran down his skin.
Fragments of the dashboard flew everywhere, slamming heavily into his body. Meanwhile, the hands he had always been so proud of twisted into unnatural angles under the impact. The agony shooting through them made his vision go black again and again.
Finally, the battered car crashed into a thick tree with a dull boom and came to a complete stop.
Strange slumped in the seat, his consciousness gradually fading. With great difficulty, he lowered his head and looked at his hands. Those hands that had once held a scalpel with flawless precision now hung limp and powerless, as if they had lost their soul.
The rain kept falling. Cold water poured in through the shattered window, washing over the wreckage inside the car and washing away the last sliver of hope in Strange's heart.
Based on these injuries, Strange judged that there was only one person in the entire medical world who could make him hold a scalpel again.
But the most despairing part was that the person was Strange himself.
Endless despair swallowed him, and he finally passed out.
Through his blurred consciousness, Strange vaguely sensed his body being lifted. Then he seemed to see his colleague Christine looking at him anxiously, telling him to hold on.
He did not know how long he drifted in and out of consciousness. The last thing Strange remembered was that he seemed to have been pushed into an operating room.
When his mind cleared and he opened his eyes again, the smell of disinfectant instantly flooded his nose. At the same time, pain surged through his entire body like a tide and drowned him.
At that moment, a pleasant female voice came from nearby.
"Hey, Strange. It's okay. Everything is going to be all right."
Strange looked to the side. It was Christine, the female colleague he was closest to, and also the woman he cared about.
In the past, no matter how irritated he became, he would never have shown it in front of Christine. After all, she was the woman he liked so much.
But now, Strange no longer had room for such thoughts. The only thing he cared about was what had happened to his hands.
His hands were his pride, and they were also the foundation of his life. It could be said that if he lost his hands, everything he had now would leave him.
Strange tried hard to move his neck. When his unfocused gaze finally landed on his palms, his pupils abruptly shrank to pinpoints. Dense steel pins protruded hideously from beneath his skin like black thorns, and terrifying stitched wounds covered his palms.
"Ah!"
By reflex, he tried to fling his hands away, only to discover that his wrists were firmly locked in metal braces.
The violent movement pulled at his wounds. The steel pins trembled slightly with the twitching of his muscles, and cold sweat instantly soaked his back. He twisted his body like a madman, a muffled roar tearing from his throat, while the metal braces struck the bedrail with an ear-piercing clang.
"What is this?" His voice was hoarse, nearly torn apart, and his trembling question echoed through the ward. "What did they do to me?"
Christine's face filled with unbearable pain, and her voice trembled as she said, "They brought you in by helicopter. It took a long time to find you, but by then, you had already missed the golden window for treating the nerve damage…"
The emotional Strange had no patience to wait for Christine's explanation. He questioned her again.
"What did they do to me?"
After being asked again, Christine's expression became even more pained. She gritted her teeth and said, "Eleven stainless-steel pins were inserted into the bones. Multiple ligaments were torn. The nerves in both hands were severely damaged. The surgery lasted eleven full hours."
Those words forced Strange to completely face reality. Unwilling to accept it, he said, "Look at these fixators. How ugly they are…"
"No one could have done better."
"I could have done better."
The whole room fell silent. That was the most despairing part.
In the field of neurosurgery, there was only one person who could restore Strange to the way he used to be, and that person was himself.
Suddenly, Strange changed from his earlier despair. His entire spirit seemed to reignite.
"No. Not necessarily. I still have a way!"
Christine thought Strange had gone mad from the enormous blow and could not help asking with concern, "Strange, calm down. There's still a chance things can turn around!"
"That's right. There really is a chance, Christine. Do you remember the Sorcerer Supreme? I met him before. He once told me that when I encountered a difficulty I couldn't handle, I could go look for Kamar-Taj!
"That's right. I'm leaving right now to find Kamar-Taj!"
This time, Christine did not refute him.
The existence of the Sorcerer Supreme had already become common knowledge for every citizen on Earth. Naturally, the existence of magic was the same.
These injuries might be incurable for ordinary humans, but Christine had no doubt that to the Sorcerer Supreme, injuries like this might not even count as light wounds.
So Christine's face became firm.
"I'll go with you!"
Strange suddenly felt his throat tighten. At his lowest moment, Christine still had not given up on him.
"Thank you, Christine. Thank you!"
Nepal, Kathmandu.
When the morning mist slowly lifted like a veil, Kathmandu appeared before the world like a mysterious jewel carved by time.
The first golden rays of dawn pierced the clouds and fell over the city's scattered ancient buildings, coating it in a sacred radiance.
Strange and Christine dragged their suitcases down a worn flight of steps. Kathmandu's heat, wrapped in the scent of spices and damp earth, rushed toward them.
After spending some time investigating, they had determined that Kamar-Taj should be somewhere in the Himalayas, and Kathmandu was undoubtedly one of the cities closest to that mountain range.
They believed they should be able to find clues related to Kamar-Taj here.
The two slowly walked out of the airport and into the city itself.
On the streets, crowds surged like waves. Noise, shouting vendors, and the roar of motorcycles wove together into a unique urban symphony.
Christine seemed very happy. She liked traveling, especially now, when she was traveling with the person she liked.
But Strange was in no mood for that. He only wanted to find clues about Kamar-Taj in this city as quickly as possible.
Soon, Strange and Christine searched through the city's ancient temples and ruins, but they found no trace of anything extraordinary.
Just when Strange was extremely disappointed and preparing to search another city, he suddenly noticed a Black man in a black robe among the crowd.
Strange immediately recognized that robe. There was no doubt about it. It was one of the styles worn by the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj.
He broke into a run, trying to stop the Black sorcerer, but no matter how he chased through the crowd, he could not get close to him.
When he finally reached an open area with fewer people, he suddenly froze. To his astonishment, the Black sorcerer in the dark robe had disappeared.
By the time he reacted, he was shocked to discover that he was now in a dim, secluded alley. Christine was gone as well.
Just as he was about to call Christine and ask where she was, several burly thugs with vicious expressions suddenly rushed out from the dark corners and surrounded him.
Greedy light flickered in their eyes, like wolves that had found a helpless lamb.
The thug in the lead had a hideous scar across his face, made even more terrifying by the dim yellow light. The corner of his mouth curled into a cold smile, and he barked in stiff English, "Hand over everything valuable!"
Strange's heart jolted, but he forced himself to stay calm. "Sorry, gentlemen. I don't have any money on me."
Of course, the thugs did not believe him. The leader noticed the watch on Strange's wrist, and greed flashed in his eyes. He ordered, "Give me your watch!"
Strange's face stiffened. This was his favorite watch, the one engraved with Christine's name. There was no way he could hand it over, so he pleaded, "Hey, man, don't do this. This is my last watch. It means a lot to me."
But the gangsters had no pity at all. The lead thug reached out, trying to snatch the watch from him.
When Strange saw this, strength came from somewhere inside him. He abruptly swung his arm and broke free from the thug's grip.
"You can't take this watch!"
His resistance enraged the thugs. They crowded around him, and their punches and kicks rained down on Strange.
Strange could only use his arms to protect his head. Under the barrage of fists and feet, he curled into a ball and groaned in pain.
His heart was full of unwillingness. He had once saved countless lives on the operating table, yet now, in an alley in a foreign country, he was being bullied so helplessly.
Just as Strange sank into despair, a figure appeared like a ghost.
The man wore unusual clothes filled with a mysterious aura, and his eyes carried both resolve and calm.
He stepped forward, his movements agile. With only a few strikes, he beat the thugs into complete defeat, leaving them collapsed on the ground and groaning in pain.
Strange lay on the ground, still shaken. He looked up at his savior, his eyes filled with gratitude and confusion.
This mysterious man was none other than the Black sorcerer he had just seen.
Mordo looked down at Strange, who was curled up in the corner. With a light wave of his hand, Strange's scattered wallet and watch floated back into his palm, the metal watchband making a crisp sound as it brushed against his fingers.
When Mordo handed the watch and wallet back to Strange, Strange asked with hope in his voice, "Who are you?"
Strange struggled to get up, his back still pressed against the wall as he tried to make himself look less pathetic.
Mordo turned and walked toward the mouth of the alley, his cloak raising black ripples behind him.
"Come on. I know what you're looking for. If you want to heal your hands, follow me."
After they walked out of the alley, Christine, who had just arrived, saw Strange's miserable condition and quickly ran to his side.
"Strange, what happened to you?"
But Strange did not look sad at all. Instead, his face was full of excitement.
"Christine, I found it. I found it!"
"Found what?"
"Kamar-Taj!"
Mordo led Strange and Christine through winding turns across the city before finally arriving in front of a magnificent temple.
Just as Strange and Christine thought this grand temple must be the legendary Kamar-Taj, Mordo walked to the old, worn-out door beside it instead.
Strange was extremely confused. In his mind, Kamar-Taj could not possibly be this shabby, much less hidden inside some tiny room. So he asked in confusion, "Here? Are you sure it's here? That temple looks a lot more like the real Kamar-Taj."
Christine was confused too, but she was more polite and did not ask directly.
Mordo smiled and answered, "I once asked the same question. Of course, I wasn't very polite back then either.
"May I give you a piece of advice? Forget everything you think you know."
"O-okay…"
When the door opened, what lay beyond was not the run-down little house Strange and Christine had imagined, but a huge plaza.
This plaza was completely unlike any ordinary plaza. It far surpassed Strange's imagination.
The entire plaza seemed to be held aloft by a frozen galaxy. The ground beneath their feet was paved with translucent glass, and flowing starlight surged within it, as if an entire night sky had been sealed inside.
Countless magical lamps floated around the plaza, decorating its edges. As their pearly light swayed, they reflected flecks of gold drifting through the air.
Everything was breathtakingly beautiful.
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