Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a sterile glow over rows of gurneys and masked staff moving in carefully choreographed urgency. Amid them, Dr. Lin Yujin stood with a scalpel in hand and shoulders hunched with exhaustion she no longer felt. After all, she had long since taught herself to ignore it.
"Doctor Lin, the patient from the expressway accident coded again! Prep for emergency laparotomy!"
Her gaze flicked to the monitor. Massive internal bleeding. Another high-risk case. She didn't flinch, didn't question, just pulled on another pair of gloves and walked toward the OR.
When you were young, brilliant, and ambitious, you didn't get the luxury of breaking down. If you cracked, you were weak. If you cried, you were unstable. If you rested, you were selfish.
She dedicated her entire youth to studying and learning, determined not to be left behind. Her goal was to secure a bright future in a fast-paced modern world.
She remembered her classmates dropping off one by one: burnout, breakdowns, breakdowns disguised as 'sabbaticals.' But not her. She kept going. Even when the bones in her feet screamed. Even when the coffee in her veins turned cold.
When she arrived at the operating table, they handed her a scalpel, and she went to work.
Her fingers were steady. The blood was warm.
She was still going.
The days passed.
Yujin woke, ate, worked, slept, and did it all over again.
Her work was her only solace.
Every time a patient was wheeled through the double doors of her department, Lin Yujin felt her chest tighten.
Day after day, life blurred into a routine of blood, steel, and sterile lights. The passion she once had for saving lives had long since dulled. She was starting to feel like a machine, no joy, no sorrow, just motion. Lifeless.
The only thing keeping her going was her favorite novel: Path of the World.
It began with a boy named Mo Linyuan, who lost his parents to war at fifteen. Orphaned and broken, he chose the path of cultivation. From there, the story followed his rise from tragedy, slaying demons, mastering mystical arts, making friends and enemies, and gradually ascending toward immortality.
Yujin was captivated. It wasn't just fantasy, it was freedom. A young man who refused to be shackled by fate, fighting tooth and nail to become someone greater.
She knew cultivation didn't exist in the real world. But the story gave her something to hold onto.
As the series went on, though, it started to lose its spark. The plot got repetitive. The stakes blurred. And worst of all, the once-noble journey turned into a smut-filled harem mess. Still, she didn't drop it. Not for him.
Her baby. Mo Linyuan.
She read on, gritting her teeth through the senseless scenes, until the very end. Until that moment, when her favorite character, Xue Renshu, died protecting the protagonist. The only real father or brother figure in Mo Linyuan's life… gone. Not only that the story begin to flop with smut and harem all the way, it wasn't Mo Lianyu; she knew it was occ.
Yujin stared at the screen in disbelief. Her heart clenched. Rage boiled under her skin.
Years had passed while she followed the story. Years without a single break from work. She was the kind of person who didn't know how to stop who didn't even realize she was tired until it was far too late.
Maybe that's why she'd held on so long. Why didn't she fall apart until now?
She glared at the author's name on the screen: Astonished.
"Hah! Yeah, I'm astonished all right," Yujin muttered bitterly. "Astonished you ruined everything."
"What is the reason for giving Mo Lianyuan this hardship. What's the point of making cultivation novel if it's just going to be smut and harem?!"
She threw her phone onto the bed and let out a deep sigh.
It wasn't that she hated her life. Not really. She had worked hard to get here. She was a respected, skilled, and independent woman. She had everything she needed.
Didn't she?
Sure, she had no family. No friends. No lover waiting at home. But did that matter?
She could always make friends, right?
She wasn't lonely. She was just… busy.
She was fine.
Fine.
Right?
It wasn't like she was living a lie.
It wasn't like she didn't recognize herself in the mirror anymore.
It wasn't like she felt hollow every time she woke up to silence.
Right?
A dull throb pulsed at her temples. Her chest began to ache, a familiar, creeping pain, slow and sharp, like the thorny stems of an untamed rose wrapping tighter and tighter around her ribs.
"Maybe I just need some rest…" she murmured, pressing her hand to her chest. "All that nonsense the author's writing is messing with my head…"
But even as she said it, a small part of her knew.
It wasn't the book.
And it wasn't just fatigue.
It was everything.
Yujin lay back on the bed, the sheets cool against her bare legs. The room was dark, save for the light from her phone. She could feel her eyes begin to burn, and she tried to blink away the tears before they spilled.
Suddenly, a call from the hospital
It was an emergency call for a brain surgery.
She answered immediately.
"Dr. Lin, there is a critical patient with a severe intracranial hemorrhage. We need you here immediately."
"I'll be right there."
Yujin's mind cleared. She got up from her bed and quickly washed her face.
"Okay. Let's do this."
She got in her car and rushed to the hospital.
The roads were quiet that night.
Lin Yujin had always found a certain peace in the late hours, when the hospital was behind her, when the city seemed to exhale. The silence of the streets wrapped around her like a blanket, interrupted only by the gentle hum of her car and the rhythm of her thoughts.
She was tired.
Bone-deep, soul-weary tired.
Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel as she drove, headlights cutting through the stillness. She wasn't thinking about anything in particular, just drifting. The next shift. The same routine. The same loneliness.
Then it happened.
A flicker of movement. Headlights. A blur of metal.
She barely had time to react.
The impact was instant and violent. Her car spun, tires screaming. The world outside twisted in a sickening blur. Her head slammed forward, colliding with the steering wheel. Pain shot through her skull, sharp and immediate, followed by a strange weightlessness, as if the world had lost all gravity.
Silence.
Stillness.
A sharp ringing in her ears.
And then… a dull ache radiating through her body.
She couldn't move. Could barely think. Her vision swam in and out of focus. Somewhere far away, she could hear the hiss of steam, the distant sound of someone shouting. But inside the car, it was quiet.
Too quiet.
Her thoughts drifted like smoke.
Is this it?
Is this really how it ends?
Her breathing slowed, shallow and labored. The pain in her chest bloomed—tight and unforgiving. She couldn't tell if it was from the crash or something deeper, something older.
A heart too tired to keep pretending.
Her mind, always sharp, wandered into strange corners.
I hope the next person in my place knows what they're doing.
I hope they don't waste their life the way I did—working until there's nothing left, trying to be perfect, trying to prove something to no one.
I hope they know how to hold a scalpel.
I hope they're better than I.
Her eyes fluttered closed.
"I'm not ready," she whispered. She didn't know if the words came out or stayed trapped in her mind. "Please… not yet."
Darkness wrapped around her slowly, gently.
I just wanted to rest. Not disappear.
Not like this.
.
.
.
.
.
As she began to regain her consciousness, her body felt strangely lighter, flexible, smaller in some places, fuller in others...? Her hair was… longer?
She was lying on a bed softer than anything she remembered, surrounded by sheer red curtains and warm candlelight.
She sat up, and her reflection in the polished bronze mirror met her.
A beautiful woman with delicate red marks painted around her eyes. Lips like rose petals. Skin unblemished. Eyes heavy with a sorrowful teal elegance.
This is not her face. This was not her body.
What happened to her?
Where is she?
Who is she?
Is she dreaming?
This is not the hospital?
....
Am I reincarnated?
'hah? That's dumb,' she thought.
'Maybe I'm in a coma...a dream...'
Suddenly, a wave of memories that's not hers crashed in.
Scented wine. Applause from behind a silk screen. A guqin under pale fingers. Her body dancing with a sword in one hand and ribbons in another. Patrons called her name in admiration. Servants dressing her in silks worth more than houses.
A brothel.
Not the shameful kind...but one known for refined courtesan entertainers of the elite. Skilled in music, tea ceremony, poetry, and performance, this place oozed luxury and refinement. Only the elite could afford to step through its doors: high-ranking clan heirs, powerful sect members, nobles, even royals. And merchants rich enough to rival them.
She collapsed. Flat on the cold tiles.