The Socially Anxious Little Miracle Doctor - Chapter 1

It was my fifth year inside this novel.

When I found a bloodied figure collapsed on my way home for the fourth time, I knew that I, Lin Youwei, had been called up for plot-device duty yet again. And again. And again.

Setting down the food I’d just bought, I sighed, resigned myself to my fate, grabbed the man’s legs, and started dragging him toward the bamboo grove.

Why drag him?

Well, every lead in this book was over 190 centimeters tall. And I refused to admit I was short. I simply wasn’t that tall!

By the time I’d finally settled the great hulking man somewhere, I was sweating. I wiped my forehead, then pushed back his disheveled hair to reveal his face.

Halfway through, I caught sight of brows and eyes as fine as distant mountains—and froze.

I hadn’t expected to pick up him this time!

Gu Cisheng, born with a sword heart!

After a moment’s stunned silence, I worked out where we were in the timeline and felt strangely dazed.

I hadn’t realized we’d reached this part of the plot already.

The novel I’d fallen into was called The Wind Stirs. It followed an ensemble of young heroes.

And I was its classic supporting plot device: the little miracle doctor.

You know the kind. An unlucky fool who inherited her unreliable, perpetually wandering master’s entire medical legacy at a ridiculously young age.

In this book, I was basically a walking emergency service.

Whenever someone in the main cast got hurt, I was guaranteed to turn up.

Unfortunately, as was practically compulsory in stories about hot-blooded young heroes, this lot had energy to burn and insisted on challenging experts far above their own level. They got injured with astonishing frequency.

Then, more often than not, they’d appear on my route home at death’s door.

Back when we first met, the very same Gu Cisheng now lying in my bed had held his Frostsnow Sword to my neck and threatened me.

“If you can’t save my friend, I’ll kill you!”

My mouth had twitched behind my veiled hat.

If I hadn’t known his character and understood he was only trying to scare me, I might have stopped being a fan right then and there!

With a helpless sigh, I got up, found the veiled hat I’d left unused for ages, put it on, and prepared to get quietly to work.

…

Once the water was hot, I took a pair of scissors and cut away Gu Cisheng’s bloody outer clothes, inch by inch.

The blood had glued the fabric to his skin. Tugging it free inevitably pulled at his wounds, drawing muffled groans from him even in his sleep.

Looking at the injuries that went deep enough to expose bone, I couldn’t help knitting my brows.

That old bastard had really gone for the kill!

In the original novel, this was the part where Gu Cisheng, Lin Zixiu, Jiang Zhou, and the rest of the main cast went to Shura Island.

I couldn’t remember why they’d gone.

The leads always found some excuse to court death. It wasn’t as if they were actually going to die, after all.

But I did remember the island’s boss: a rotten old man called Demon Lord Wangliang.

His cultivation techniques were monstrously sinister, and even working together, the heroes had fought him for a long time before finally cutting him down.

Gu Cisheng had come off worst.

According to the book, he’d forced a breakthrough all by himself to buy his friends time, then overpowered Wangliang, who was three whole major realms above him.

He’d killed the old bastard, but a palm strike had sent him over a cliff. His fate had remained unknown until, fortunately, a miracle doctor’s disciple saved him.

Yes. That disciple was me.

Personally, I would’ve liked to know how falling off a cliff landed him on the perfectly flat road I took home.

But I doubted I’d find an answer however hard I racked my brains.

Maybe the author hadn’t known either. Perhaps that was why he’d glossed over it.

Hah. Lesson learned. Once I retired from medicine, I’d write novels like that too!

Anyway, Wangliang really had meant to kill him.

These injuries were much worse than anything Gu Cisheng or his brothers had brought me before.

By the time I’d painstakingly cut off his outer clothes, sweating all over, the medicinal bath I’d prepared was nearly cold.

I looked at the devastatingly handsome, rather pale face I’d wiped clean, then at the faint outline of muscle beneath his inner robe.

I swallowed and recited the mind-clearing sutra I’d made up for myself.

…Didn’t do a damn thing.

I gritted my teeth, shut my eyes, steeled myself, and ripped off the last of his inner robe in one go.

Such boldness! Such a crisp sound of tearing fabric! I was every bit as dashing as one of those domineering CEOs.

So dashing I couldn’t help giving myself a mental wolf whistle.

Unfortunately, Gu Cisheng was far too big for someone whose growth spurt had died halfway through.

Half carrying and half dragging him, I finally managed to haul him into the medicinal pool.

I dropped onto the ledge beside it, panting so hard I temporarily lost all interest in admiring the view. Without thinking, I reached into the water to free him from the rest of his clothes.

My hand had barely gone a few inches down when a long-fingered hand clamped around my wrist.

I went blank. Before my brain could catch up, he yanked me, hand and all, straight into the steaming pool.

Water splashed everywhere.

I choked on a mouthful of it and flailed like a helpless duck.

After what felt like ages, my collar tightened around my neck, and someone hauled me up by the back of it.

Instinctively, I grabbed the first thing I could find.

“Cough—cough—”

Once I could breathe and think again, I realized someone was lightly supporting my waist. That was the only reason I could stand.

With the difference in our sizes, it looked very much as if he had me in his arms.

The hand I’d thrown out for support was resting on the muscles before me, blurred by the steam. The whole thing had an unfortunate air of coy encouragement.

My other hand was still firmly in his grip.

My brow twitched. I had a bad feeling about this.

With nowhere left to hide, I forced myself to look up and met his burning gaze.

That jade-carved face was framed by dark brows, his eyes narrowed as he studied me.

…