Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1175 Alternative Therapies and Cutting-Edge Science (Second Update)

The short-haired man looked quite young, probably not even forty. Lifting the hood of his dark green cloak, Stephen Strange saw a long scar on the man's forehead, tanned from sun and hard work. "Are you looking for Kamar-Taj?" the stranger asked again when Stephen Strange simply nodded blankly. At the same time, he pressed his shoe against the thug's fingers, showing them the pistol hidden behind his cloak, warning them not to speak. "If so, tell me, in English."

As his adrenaline subsided, Stephen Strange's breathing gradually calmed down.

Was this person following him? Did he hear him asking about Kamar-Taj?

Before Stephen Strange could voice his question, the stranger walked on ahead, leaving the wailing thugs behind. Stephen Strange glanced back; the thugs hadn't even bothered to pick up the daggers they'd dropped before scrambling out of the alley, not even bothering to utter a threat. Stephen Strange, clutching his aching arm, followed the stranger for a long time through Kathmandu's winding streets. During this time, Stephen Strange repeatedly tried to ask questions, but the stranger didn't respond—they passed many dilapidated temples before squeezing back into the crowds. Stephen Strange was quite familiar with the stench emanating from the poor and the streets; he even recognized this road. He'd passed through it more than once in the past few days, even lingering in that square, buying local food with his last remaining money, only to return to his hotel and suffer from diarrhea.

Finally, the stranger stopped next to a wooden door in a brick wall.

"Is this the place? Are you sure you're in the right place?" Stephen Strange asked. He glanced back at the temple they had just passed. "That place looks more like... Kamar-Taj."

The Saint looked directly into Stephen Strange's eyes with a stern expression, as if his very nature were as hard as steel. "I've stood in the same position before, asked the same questions, and shown just as little respect… Can I offer you some advice?"

Stephen Strange nodded. He could only nod; it was his sole purpose in coming to Kathmandu.

Forget everything you think you know.

"Okay, I understand," Stephen Strange could only say. "It's all a lie," he thought, "but what can I do? I need an answer, an answer that can heal me, one that I'd agree to even if they said they worship the angels in stockings."

"There really is a 'Panty & Stocking Angel' here." The serious atmosphere that his savior had deliberately created was broken, and he said with a helpless look, "There's a car license plate here, which is like a transparent nightgown."

"What? You can read minds?"

"Go in!"

Stephen Strange, bewildered, was pushed through a door that had somehow been opened, and immediately saw a man who looked remarkably like him. The man wore a robe similar to his savior's and wore the same look of surprise. Before Strange could get a second look, the stranger pushed him further in, across a sculpted, spotless plaza. Unable to resist, he was led into an incense-filled room, the slanting rays of the setting sun filtering through the openwork walls, casting dappled patterns on the wooden floor. "This is the sanctuary of our master, the Ancient One, the Sorcerer Supreme," his savior said. "Keep quiet here."

"The Ancient One?" Stephen Strange was still reeling from the shock. "What's his real name?"

The man simply watched him silently. Ignoring Stephen Strange's questions, his savior took the pistol from his waistband and handed it to a sorcerer in the room. Stephen Strange took a few more steps inside. An older Asian man was sitting in a chair. Stephen Strange nodded to him. "Thank you… oh!" Two women appeared out of nowhere and helped him take off his heavy coat. "Well, this is fine too," he said dazedly, then took a sip of tea. "Thank you, hello!"

A woman in a pale white robe with a shaved head handed him a cup of tea. "Thank you," Stephen Strange said again, then turned to the seated Asian man. "Thank you, Ancient One, for being willing to see me."

"You're welcome." The Supreme Master barely suppressed a triumphant smile.

Stephen Strange looked at his savior with a puzzled expression. "This is the Ancient One," the stranger said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "You've mistaken me for someone else."

"Venerable Mordo, thank you for your hard work," said the Venerable Supreme to Mordo. "Thank you as well, Venerable Hamil. Mr. Strange..."

"It should be Dr. Strange." The overly sweet tea revived the ravenous Stephen Strange, and he emphasized again, "I am the doctor."

"I suppose you're no longer a doctor," the Venerable Master said with a smile. "Isn't that why you're here? How many surgeries have you performed? Seven or eight?"

"How did she know?" A sense of foreboding washed over Stephen Strange; he felt he had fallen into a trap. A trap set by the rehabilitation therapist, Jonathan Pemberton, and some criminal organization. But he didn't choose to turn back; after all, he had spent everything to find Kamar-Taj. "Seven times," Stephen Strange said. "The eighth time, I was rejected."

The Sorcerer Supreme walked to a low table and began brewing tea. Stephen Strange, unable to contain himself, cut to the chase, "Didn't you heal a man named Jonathan Pemberton? He was paralyzed at the time."

“In a way, yes,” the Sorcerer Supreme said. Mordo stood a few feet away, his face cold, staring intently at Stephen Strange, as if afraid he might do something inappropriate that would offend the Master.

"You've enabled him to walk again!"

"Yes," His Holiness replied with a smile.

"That's impossible!" Stephen Strange exclaimed. "How did you heal a complete spinal cord injury caused by damage to the C7 and C8 nerve roots?"

"Oh, I didn't cure him." The Sorcerer Supreme spoke as if Stephen Strange were a fool. "He couldn't walk, I just convinced him he could."

"You're not talking about mind-body healing, are you?" Stephen Strange looked at the Sorcerer Supreme with skepticism. He had seen the footage; Jonathan Pembern's spinal cord injury was extremely severe. He had never believed in alternative therapies like crystal healing, homeopathy, aromatherapy, or bioresonance. Jonathan Pembern's nerve damage was definitely not something that pseudoscience could cure; it could only be completely treated with some advanced technology, such as stem cell cultivation.

"When you reconnect damaged nerves, do you allow them to heal, or does the body allow them to heal?"

"It's cells," Stephen Strange answered the Sorcerer Supreme's question.

"Cells repair themselves in specific ways. What if I told you that the body can be persuaded to repair itself in all sorts of ways?"

"You mean cell regeneration?" Stephen Strange exclaimed excitedly. "That's cutting-edge medical technology. Is that why you work here? Without the oversight of a medical board, without the constraints of scientific ethics." He was eager to visit the laboratory and read research papers on cell regeneration. At this moment, he understood why everyone who told him about it had been evasive. It was because this research violated the current laws of many countries. After all, cell regeneration involves many aspects of stem cell cultivation, and the easiest way to obtain human stem cells is through human fertilized eggs, which inevitably violates the ethical concepts of many people.

"So you've developed a method that allows nerve cells to regenerate on their own?" Stephen Strange eagerly awaited the answer, after all, this was a Nobel Prize-level scientific achievement. "Where has your treatment progressed?"

“No, Mr. Strange,” the Sorcerer Supreme suddenly became serious, “I know how to better guide the mind to heal the body.”

Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)