fictional spring

The new doctor seemed to have more advanced medical skills than those I met before. Since he took over the treatment, my body has started to improve.

This kind of change became especially obvious after the Spring Festival that the last doctor said. Not only can I get out of bed and walk around, but I can even occasionally sit in the yard when the sun goes down and look at the scenery that I have long forgotten.

My father and mother were naturally very happy with this improvement, so they wanted to send a large sum of money to the doctor, in order to ask him to stay here for a long time and treat me alone.

But the doctor refused their request, and still only visited once every few days as an ordinary doctor, and was very punctual every time, just like a precision Western clock.

The sun had completely set on the mountain, and the oil lamps were lit on the porch. I sat in the living room, looked at the black-haired doctor who came in with the servant from the entrance of the yard, and waved to him.

I have never seen half a smile on the doctor's face, nor have he shown a relaxed or happy look. He is always expressionless and looks more pessimistic than me, the real patient.

Maybe the word pessimistic is not the right word, because there is no sadness in his eyes either, just endless emptiness... and nothingness.

"How are you feeling today?" the doctor with the medicine box asked me.

"Seems much better."

Because it is Western medicine, the treatment method is also different from that of previous doctors. I also need to receive injections while taking the medicine. I watched the doctor insert the needle into the skin, and the liquid medicine in the syringe gradually decreased.

"Aren't you afraid?" He rarely asked me such a question when he put away the needle.

"Because there is nothing to be afraid of." I said, "Although it is the first time I have seen such a medical tool, it is brought by Mr. Doctor after all. I know that Mr. Doctor is trying very hard to save my life, so a little Not afraid either."

The doctor didn't smile because of my answer, but his face sank because of it.

He's the weirdest guy I've ever met.

Because I can't go out all the year round, I can only stay at home. My parents bought a lot of books to make me feel lonely.Perhaps because the physical flaws were obvious enough, they were filled with other talents.

I discovered this while reading a book—I can easily empathize with other people's moods and thoughts.

And my intuition will also tell me what to say and what to do to best take care of other people's feelings. Every time I do it according to my intuition, other people's responses will be as I expected.

However, when the doctor is around, this talent is completely useless.He was the only one who made me feel overwhelmed too.

I can't see his heart, and I don't know how to respond to him, but for some reason, I always feel that Mr. Doctor really seems to want some answer from me.

But judging by his current reaction, I probably said something wrong again.

I also asked the doctor's age, during his second visit, but instead of telling me directly, he asked, "What age do you think I look?"

The doctor has a pair of very unique eyes, and sometimes the pupils will stand up like a beast, like some kind of dangerous creature dormant in the dark, waiting for the best time to snap up and bite off the neck of its prey.

Being stared at by such eyes, I made a joke: "Just looking at the surface often makes mistakes. Maybe the doctor has lived for hundreds or thousands of years first."

After saying these words, the surrounding air suddenly became icy cold, and a substantial coldness strangled my neck.

I realized right away that I had said the wrong thing.

But after that, the doctor never brought up this topic again, as if the conversation that day had never happened.

It was also after that day that I vaguely noticed something unusual.