Chapter 1 (1/2)
June in Xia City meant
the arrival of the rainy season.
Under a heavy,
overcast sky, the pattering rain worked like a massive loom. The drops wove a
steady rhythm, quickly soaking the parched pavement.
Across the slick
pavement, the wheels of a hospital gurney spun rapidly, kicking up a spray of
water. The frantic shouts of the patient’s family and the medical staff echoed
alongside it.
Mu Wan held an
umbrella in one hand and a takeout container of hot congee in the other. Steam
seeped through the cardboard box, chasing away the sterile, gloomy chill of the
bustling hospital lobby.
“I’m here. What floor
are you on?” Mu Wan snapped her umbrella shut and navigated through the crowd
toward the elevators.
Over the phone, Lin
Wei rattled off her floor and room number. Mu Wan acknowledged each one,
glancing up at the digital display. The elevator had just reached the twelfth
floor; it would be a while before it came back down.
The rain outside was
coming down harder now. Rainy days always meant more car accidents. The newly
wheeled-in gurneys carried multiple trauma patients, their bodies caked in
blood and grime.
The groans of the
injured, the wails of their families, and the sharp, urgent commands of the
medical staff blended into a chaotic, tragic clamor that filled the hall.
Lin Wei was still
chattering on the phone. Mu Wan hummed in agreement, her gaze trailing after a
gurney as it was pushed into the large, chaotic emergency ward nearby.
The room was massive,
its heavy double doors propped wide open. People hurried back and forth inside,
while flashes of white coats darted through the crowd like shooting stars.
Mu Wan watched for a
few seconds. The heavy, oppressive atmosphere inside made her uneasy, so she
turned to look back at the elevators. But just as she shifted her gaze, her
eyes locked onto something in the distance.
Amidst the chaos of
the emergency ward, one small corner was eerily still. A man and a woman, both
sporting bandages, stood frozen beside a hospital bed. Lying on it was a young
boy, completely covered in blood and dirt. His eyes were squeezed shut, his skin
a lifeless, ashen gray.
On the opposite side
of the bed stood a doctor and a nurse. They weren’t administering treatment.
The nurse kept her head bowed, her eyes red-rimmed. Beside her, the male doctor
was slightly bent over, gently holding the boy’s bloodied, dirt-caked hand.
The doctor’s face was
striking. He had a strong brow ridge, clear and bright eyes, a straight nose,
and slightly pursed thin lips. He looked like a bamboo leaf washed clean by the
rain—blending into a dense forest, yet distinctly sharp, refined, and
translucent. He carried an otherworldly aura, like a frozen focal point in the
middle of a storm, or a distant mountain standing aloof from the chaos.
Untouched by the mundane world, he was elegantly cold and detached.
As he held the boy’s
hand, a drop or two of bloody water stained the cuff of his white coat, slowly
blooming outward. He paid it no mind. His long, slender fingers enveloped the
boy’s small hand, his gaze lowered and his expression perfectly calm.
The heavy oppression
in Mu Wan’s chest eased slightly. She blinked, suddenly reminded of a specific
memory.
Years ago, in a train
station waiting hall, a passenger had suffered a sudden cardiac arrest. A monk
had held the deceased man’s hand in the exact same way, chanting prayers to
guide his soul.
Death was no stranger
to a hospital. But when the doctor finally released the boy’s hand and pulled
the white sheet up over his face, the agonizing wails of the bandaged couple
shattered the quiet. A sudden chill crept into Mu Wan’s heart.
At that exact moment,
the doctor seemed to sense her staring. He lifted his gaze and looked in her
direction.
His eyes were calm and
unfathomably deep. The brief sweep of his gaze felt like a cool breeze rustling
through a bamboo forest, brushing right past Mu Wan’s heart. She paused, slightly
taken aback, before looking away.
Ding. The elevator arrived at the ground floor. Mu
Wan glanced up at the three characters for “Emergency Room” above the ward
doors and asked Lin Wei a question.
“Do you guys have an
ER upstairs?”
“What ER? What
building are you in?”
“The one right across
from the main hospital entrance.”
“That’s the Emergency
Building! I’m in the Inpatient Ward!”
“...”
By the time Mu Wan
reached Lin Wei’s room, she tucked her umbrella aside. Lin Wei had already set
up the over-bed tray table, waiting eagerly for her meal. She’d had her
appendix removed a couple of days ago and was restricted to a liquid diet.
While Mu Wan was still shooting on location, Lin Wei had been whining over the
phone about how terrible the hospital’s plain porridge tasted. The moment Mu
Wan wrapped up filming and returned to Xia City, she dropped her luggage and
headed straight to Xu’s Porridge Shop to bring her some.
“How are you feeling?
Does it still hurt?” Mu Wan set the bowl and chopsticks in front of Lin Wei,
then pulled up a chair and sat down.
She had just flown
back from Wencheng, where it hadn’t rained, and the weather was still quite hot.
She was dressed simply in a black T-shirt and white shorts. As she sat down,
she crossed her long legs, her posture relaxed and languid.
Mu Wan was a
bottom-tier, Z-list actress. She was exceptionally pretty, with a delicate,
oval face small enough to fit in the palm of a hand. She had a beautifully high
nose bridge, deep red lips, and a petite chin. Her large, dark eyes were clear
and striking, exuding a charming allure without crossing into vulgarity.
Standing at a meter seventy, she had long legs, a slender waist, and perfect
curves. She was slim but healthy, her figure flawlessly proportioned and
beautifully toned.
Her beauty leaned
toward a wild, untamed glamour, reminiscent of the stunning Hong Kong starlets
of the 1980s. Yet, this striking beauty was elevated by an aloof elegance,
giving her an untouchable, high-class aura that kept her from looking common.
“It doesn’t hurt as
long as I don’t pull the stitches,” Lin Wei said, blowing on her porridge
because it was still too hot. After taking a sip, she glanced at Mu Wan, who
was staring out the window, lost in thought.
“What are you thinking
about?” Lin Wei waved her spoon in front of Mu Wan’s face.
The rain outside had
slowed to a drizzle. Large drops gathered on the windowsill and rolled down the
glass, leaving winding trails of water that looked like the doctors rushing
back and forth in the ER.
“While I was waiting
for the elevator, I saw a doctor who seemed to be chanting prayers for a little
boy who just passed away.” Snapping back to reality, Mu Wan told Lin Wei about
the male doctor she had seen in the emergency room.
A doctor’s job was to
save lives and pull people back from the brink of death, while chanting prayers
for the dead was meant for those who had already passed. The two concepts were
completely contradictory. Yet, Lin Wei wasn’t shocked at all. Instead, her eyes
lit up. “Was Dr. Liu super handsome?”
“You know him? He is
quite handsome, actually.” Mu Wan smiled, recalling the doctor’s face. His
features were light and unassuming, yet left a deep impression on
her—especially that brief moment when he looked up and their eyes met.
“Dr. Liu Qianxiu from
the Surgery Department. His nickname is Daoist Liu. He’s the emotional anchor
for all the female staff at Tang’er Hospital.” A few days ago, Lin Wei was rushed to the ER by her studio colleagues, and Dr. Liu Qianxiu treated her.
She had been in
agonizing pain at the time, but it was love at first sight. The moment she
recovered from surgery, she had grabbed the nurses and interrogated them until
she knew everything there was to know about him.
The nickname “Daoist
Liu” was certainly unique. Leaning back in her chair, Mu Wan asked, “Why does
he have a nickname like that?”
“He’s
religious—Taoism, specifically. I heard he takes four days off every month to
retreat to a Taoist temple for meditation. If a patient in the ER can’t be
saved, he’ll chant prayers for their soul. But his personality is incredibly
cold. He barely interacts with anyone, acting like he has zero human desires,
just like an immortal.”
Hearing this, Mu Wan’s
impression of Liu Qianxiu finally solidified. No wonder he carried that
otherworldly, transcendent aura—he was actually a believer.
“I guess that’s just
how Taoist followers are—pure of heart, free of desires, focused entirely on
cultivation and achieving immortality.” Having said that, Mu Wan didn’t press
the subject. Gossiping behind someone’s back wasn’t a good look. She actually
had a pretty good impression of Liu Qianxiu. He felt incredibly clean, as if
his entire being had been washed pure. As a doctor, he fought to save lives; as
a cultivator, he offered prayers for the dead. Whether it actually worked or
not, it brought comfort and peace of mind to the grieving families.
“But the name Liu
Qianxiu sounds a bit familiar,” Mu Wan said, looking at Lin Wei.
“The head of the Liu
family, one of the Four Young Masters of Xia City, is named Liu Qianxiu.” Lin
Wei was always well-informed. She scooped up some porridge with her spoon and
added, “But it’s probably just a coincidence. The head of the Liu family is
swamped with work every day; why would he come to a hospital to be a doctor?
How much money can a doctor even make?”
“Maybe he doesn’t lack
money and just wants to save lives to pursue spiritual redemption?” After Mu
Wan finished speaking, Lin Wei tilted her head and rolled her eyes, giving her
a look that clearly said, Figure it out yourself. Mu Wan just smiled.
Mu Wan stayed with Lin
Wei until the rain finally stopped, then grabbed her umbrella and headed out of
the inpatient building. The rain today had been falling for two days straight,
thoroughly soaking the warm, humid air. The moment she stepped outside, a cool
post-rain breeze swept past, carrying an unexpected chill.
Twilight had settled
over the sky, casting dark shadows. The various hospital buildings were
brightly lit, and the puddles on the ground reflected the glare. Mu Wan stepped
into one, shattering the reflection, then found her car and got in.
The moment she settled
into the driver’s seat, her phone chimed. The screen illuminated her face.
After unlocking it, she saw a transfer notification—her salary for this
drama.
Mu Wan had originally
chosen to attend the Film Academy simply because acting paid well and fast.
Even without fighting for roles or scrambling for the spotlight, playing minor
characters with limited screen time was more than enough to make a living.
She had never known
her father and grew up living in the Mu family estate with her mother. After
her mother passed away and she graduated from high school, Mu Wan moved out.
Now, she was truly on her own, completely alone in the world. She had signed
with a small talent agency and played unnoticed bit parts. She only had herself
to feed.
Honestly, this kind of
life wasn’t bad at all. Not every drama could revolve around the lead; playing
supporting roles was the reality for the vast majority of actors.
She was probably the
most unambitious actor in the entire entertainment industry.
After texting a quick “thank
you” to the company’s accounting department, Mu Wan set her phone aside and
prepared to start the engine.
Edited by Little Kitty on 19/09/20
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