The rain had not stopped for days.
The village of Yong'an lay silent under a sky the color of ashes, its narrow streets flooded with dirty water and fear.
Inside a small wooden clinic, Dr. Li Wei knelt beside a young boy whose body burned with fever. The air stank of sickness — herbs, sweat, and death.
"Hold on, little one," Li Wei whispered, pressing a cool cloth to the boy's forehead. His own hands trembled. His mask — just a strip of cloth — was soaked with moisture. Behind him, two nurses were crying.
"Doctor… you should rest," one said softly. "You've treated hundreds already. The plague—"
Li Wei shook his head. "If I rest, more will die."
He had said those words so many times that they had lost meaning. The medicine was running out. The government had abandoned the countryside. And still he stayed — the poor doctor who refused to leave.
By morning, the child's breathing slowed. Li Wei knew it was over. He sat quietly, holding the boy's cold hand, whispering a prayer.
He did not hear his own coughing grow harsher, deeper — until blood filled his mouth.
He fell to his knees, gasping. Around him, the room spun. The nurses screamed.
"Doctor Li!"
He looked down at his trembling hands, stained red.
So this is it, he thought.
All his years of study, all the lives he had tried to save — and this was how it ended.
As darkness crept in, he felt no fear, only sorrow.
If I could live again, he thought, I would heal them all. Even if it cost me everything.
A voice answered — soft, but vast, echoing inside his dying mind:
"Then heal again, child of mercy. Heal where time itself has forgotten."
The world vanished in white light.
Scene Two: The Madman's Body
When Li Wei opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was smoke — thick, gray, and smelling of burning wood.
His head throbbed. He sat up, blinking at the dim hut around him. Rough wooden walls. Straw roof. The sound of chickens outside.
He looked at his hands — they were different. Older. Scarred.
A cracked bronze mirror beside the bed showed a face that was not his: wild hair, sunken eyes, and a jagged scar down one cheek.
"What… what is this?" he whispered in shock.
The door burst open. A group of peasants stared at him wide-eyed. One woman dropped her basket.
"He's awake!" she shouted. "The madman lives!"
Li Wei blinked. "Madman?"
An old man crossed himself nervously. "Please, sir… don't curse us again. Don't summon spirits."
Li Wei frowned, confused — then noticed something strange.
He could see faint lines of light in the air, flowing through the villagers' bodies like glowing rivers — heartbeats, blood, and life energy itself.
"What is this…?"
He raised a trembling hand — and when he touched a sick man's wrist, the man's breathing steadied, his skin losing its feverish color.
The villagers gasped.
"The madman… healed him?"
Li Wei looked at his glowing hands, eyes wide with wonder and fear.
"I… healed him?" he whispered.
Then, a memory flashed — the voice from the white light:
"Heal where time itself has forgotten."
He stepped outside into the morning sun, watching ancient farmers till the land with oxen, the mountains rising beyond like silent gods.
Realization struck him — this was ancient China.
And somehow, he had been given another chance…
He smiled faintly through his tears.
"Then I'll heal again," he murmured, "in this forgotten world."