The next morning, just as dawn was breaking, Lin Chen was still lost in sleep.
The dream was chaotic. One moment, the interviewer's cold face was telling him, "You don't meet our requirements." The next, his grandmother was lying in bed, calling his name, but no matter how hard he ran, he couldn't reach her bedside—his legs felt like they were filled with lead, every step an enormous effort. Then came the train station announcement, urging him to board, but he didn't know which train to take, his ticket blurring in the wind. He dreamed he was standing on an overpass in the provincial capital, traffic flowing like a river below, wanting to jump but not daring to. He dreamed his parents were standing far away, smiling at him, but no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't catch up. He struggled in his dream, wanting to wake up but unable to—until a crisp mechanical voice pierced his eardrum like a needle—
"Ding! Host conditions detected. Divine Doctor Check-in System activating!"
Lin Chen's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding like a drum.
His first thought was to check his phone—was it an alarm? Was it a voice message from someone? But his phone was charging on the desk, the screen dark, not even an alarm set—he'd been so exhausted last night that he'd collapsed into bed without even remembering to set an alarm. The room was quiet, except for the occasional bird call outside and a rooster crowing in the distance from someone's house. It wasn't fully light yet, a grayish glow leaking through the newspaper-covered window cracks. He pushed himself up from the bed frame, rubbed his temples, wondering if stress had gotten to him and caused an auditory hallucination. He'd been sleeping poorly and thinking too much these past months, sometimes waking up suddenly in the middle of the night, thinking he'd heard his grandmother calling him. But just then, the voice came again—not entering through his ears, but sounding directly in the depths of his mind, each word crystal clear, as if someone was speaking inside his head:
"Divine Doctor Check-in System bound to host: Lin Chen. Current level: First-Rank Medical Apprentice. Reputation: 0. Funds: 0. Host is advised to practice diligently, heal the sick, and level up as soon as possible."
Lin Chen froze.
He slowly turned to look at the mottled earthen wall, the window covered with old newspaper, the peeling paint on the cabinet—everything was as it had always been. But in his consciousness, there was now a translucent interface, as if directly projected into his thoughts, visible whether his eyes were closed or open. On the interface were a few lines of concise text, carrying an undeniable sense of technology:
Host: Lin Chen
Level: First-Rank Medical Apprentice
Reputation: 0
Funds: 0
Below were several gray icons—one looked like a calendar, another like a package, another like a store shelf. Lin Chen stared at those lines of text, his mind completely blank.
System?
He instinctively pinched himself. A clear sensation of pain came from his arm. Not a dream.
"This... this is real?" Lin Chen heard his own voice trembling. He got out of bed, stood barefoot on the cold floor, and pinched his thigh. Still painful. He took a deep breath and tried to "think" about that interface in his mind—the interface immediately enlarged slightly, as if responding to his attention. He "thought" about clicking on the level line, and a description popped up: "First-Rank Medical Apprentice: Entry-level system rank. Allows daily check-ins, acceptance of basic tasks, and use of the basic store. Level advancement requires accumulating reputation points and completing corresponding assessments."
Lin Chen's breathing quickened.
As a veteran web novel enthusiast, he was more than familiar with the word "system." During his college years, after the dormitory lights went out, he would often hide under his blankets reading novels on his phone—transmigration, rebirth, check-ins, lottery draws, counterattack face-slapping—he could recite all the tropes. His roommates laughed at him for being hooked on "power fantasy" stories, and while he said it was just for fun, part of him thought, what if he could have a golden finger too? But those were made up! They were stories written by others! How could something like this actually happen to him? He gripped the corner of his desk, asking himself over and over in his mind: Was he just too tired yesterday and hallucinating? Was his grandmother's illness driving him to a nervous breakdown? Should he go to the county hospital and see a psychiatrist? But that interface remained suspended in his consciousness, clear and stable, even moving slightly with his thoughts. He tried to "turn it off," and the interface faded a bit, like lowering its transparency; when he "thought" about it again, it became clear. He tried to "click" the check-in button, and immediately a prompt appeared: "You haven't checked in today. Check in now?" He hastily canceled—whatever consequences might come from checking in, he hadn't figured that out yet. Figure it out first.
Just then, the mechanical voice sounded again, its tone平稳得没有一丝波澜—perfectly steady without a trace of fluctuation:
"Congratulations, host. Newcomer Gift Pack obtained. Open now?"
Lin Chen's drowsiness had long since vanished. He stared at an invisible point in the air, as if the system were standing there. Open? Don't open? If it was fake, at worst he'd get his hopes up for nothing; if it was real... His fingers clenched and then loosened, and finally he clearly thought in his mind:
"Open."
"Newcomer Gift Pack opened. Rewards distributing..."
Lin Chen held his breath. The next moment, he felt a heat in his forehead, a warm current flowing in from there, like a tiny stream flowing down from his forehead, cheeks, neck, passing through his chest and dantian, then spreading to all four limbs and every part of his body. The feeling was indescribably comfortable, like someone loosening each taut string one by back. He couldn't help but let out a small moan, instinctively closing his eyes. The warm current lasted about a dozen seconds before gradually fading. When he opened his eyes again, his whole body felt much lighter, even the exhaustion from not sleeping well last night had diminished somewhat.
At the same time, the interface in his mind flickered slightly, adding several new icons and text explanations. The previously grayed-out "Check-in" button had lit up, marked with "Check in once daily for random rewards." There were also options like "Tasks" and "Store," some still showing "Insufficient level" or "Insufficient reputation, not yet unlocked." Lin Chen didn't have time to examine them closely before the system prompt sounded again:
"Rewards distributed. Host has obtained: Qi Observation Technique (Mastery). For more rewards, please check in, complete tasks, and visit the store. Host is advised to practice diligently, heal the sick, and level up as soon as possible."
Qi Observation Technique? Lin Chen was stunned. Before he could even ponder what these two words meant, a massive amount of unfamiliar information surged into his mind like a tide—he let out a grunt, grabbing the desk corner to keep from falling. It was an extremely strange experience: it wasn't like someone speaking into his ear, but rather something being directly "written" into his memory. Information about the Qi Observation Technique's origins, principles, usage, taboos... countless images and words surged and settled in his mind, finally resting firmly in the depths of his consciousness, as if he had known it all along since childhood. After the dizziness passed, when he opened his eyes again, he actually felt his way of "seeing" had changed—he couldn't say exactly what was different, but it was as if, if someone stood in front of him now, he could see some kind of "qi" flowing in their body. He shook his head, set aside that matter for now, and continued studying the system.
He tried clicking on "Store" in his mind. The interface was very simple in design, with large categories at the top and a scrolling list below. He clicked on "Medicinal Herbs," the interface switched, showing a list of categories: Medicinal Herbs, Formulas, Acupuncture Techniques, Tools... He randomly clicked into "Medicinal Herbs" and was immediately dazzled. Each medicinal herb had an illustration below—though just simple drawings, they showed the approximate form—along with efficacy descriptions, applicable symptoms, and prices. He tried clicking on "Centennial Ginseng," and the description read "Greatly tonifies primal qi, restores pulse and prevents collapse, strengthens spleen and lungs," with applicable symptoms including "extreme deficiency wanting to collapse, cold limbs and faint pulse, spleen deficiency with poor appetite"—exactly what his grandmother might need. But the price column: Reputation 5000, or Funds 50,000. He sucked in a breath—fifty thousand yuan? He had never seen fifty thousand yuan in his life. He closed the details and continued scrolling. He clicked on "Snow Mountain Reishi" and "Nine-Death Resurrection Grass"—the effects more astonishing, the prices more terrifying. The cheapest item, "Common Qi Tonic Powder," still cost Reputation 500 or Funds 200. He stared at his own column: "Funds 0, Reputation 0," feeling anxious and helpless. But thinking about it differently, at least these things existed. As long as he was willing to earn and save, one day he could get them. Better than having no hope at all. Centennial ginseng, snow mountain reishi, nine-death resurrection grass, blood lotus, dragon's beard root... each had a price below it, some in "funds," some in "reputation," some requiring both. He glanced at his column: Funds 0, Reputation 0. Meaning, right now he couldn't buy anything. But just knowing these things existed was enough to make his heart race. If he could ever actually redeem them, would have a his grandmother's illness cure?
He clicked on "Tasks." The interface displayed: "No tasks in progress. Complete treatments and gain reputation to trigger tasks. Task rewards include reputation points, funds, special items, and more." Lin Chen read it over several times, and a gradually formed outline took shape in his mind: To get stronger and obtain rewards, he had to save people and earn reputation. Isn't that exactly why he studied medicine? It's just that before, he had the education but no opportunity, and now the system has delivered "opportunity" right to his hands.
He sat on the bed for a long time, clicking on everything the interface offered that could be clicked, reading every description that could be read. Check-in was once daily, and he hadn't done it today; the store had many items, but everything was locked behind "funds" and "reputation"; tasks only appeared when triggered. And the Qi Observation Technique from the newcomer gift pack, according to the information that had been poured into his head just now, was a traditional Chinese medicine technique for diagnosing illnesses by observing a person's complexion, breath, and spirit. If it really worked as described, then at least he had one more diagnostic skill. Next, he would test whether this skill actually worked—the first person to examine, of course, was his grandmother.
Lin Chen stood up and pushed open the bedroom door. It was already broad daylight, sparrows were pecking for food in the courtyard, and his grandmother's door was still closed, no sound coming from inside. He clenched his fist, and for the first time, a long-forgotten sense of hope arose in his heart. No matter where this system came from or why it chose him, since it was here, he would seize it. First, cure his grandmother, then climb step by step. He never wanted to be that Lin Chen again—standing at the village entrance with just a few coins in his pocket, even hesitating to buy medicine for his grandmother.
He took a deep breath and walked toward his grandmother's room. In his mind, that translucent interface floated quietly, as if waiting for him to write a new chapter. Passing the kitchen, he glimpsed the half bowl of leftover porridge from last night, already cold, with a skin formed on top. Normally, he would have heated it up for breakfast; but today he had no appetite at all. System, Qi Observation Technique, his grandmother's illness, those unattainable medicinal herbs in the store... countless thoughts swirled in his mind. He pushed open his grandmother's door and walked in quietly. The old woman was still asleep, breathing thin and even. He stood beside the bed, closed his eyes, and tried to mobilize that "instinct" about the Qi Observation Technique in his mind. This time, he would really look at his grandmother—see where the illness was, how much time was left, and how he should proceed.
When Lin Chen walked out of his grandmother's room, he stood in the courtyard for a moment. The morning light was growing brighter, sparrows chirped noisily in the jujube tree, two of them fighting over food. He looked down at his own hands—callused palms, thick knuckles, from carrying cement and wielding a hoe. These hands should have held scalpels and written prescriptions, but now they could only move between construction sites and the kitchen. During his college internship, he had been in the operating room, though only as an observer—but the feeling of standing under the shadowless lamp, holding instruments, he still remembered. He thought he would walk that path after graduating, never imagining he would end up in this situation. But so what? The system arrived, the Qi Observation Technique arrived—from today on, these hands would be used to cure the sick and save lives. He clenched his fist and turned toward the kitchen. First, boil water; when grandmother wakes up, help her wash up; then cook porridge, feed her breakfast; then check in and see what rewards he gets. Step by step, no rush. He suddenly remembered there was also a "Tasks" option in the system, the description reading "Complete treatments and gain reputation to trigger tasks." Meaning, people needed to seek his treatment first. But who would look for a fresh graduate, unlicensed, unexperienced young man for medical treatment? Unless... start from the village. Villagers trust acquaintances and reputation. As long as he cures one person, word will spread. Lin Chen took a deep breath, his mind now made up. After checking in today, getting the herbs, and decocting medicine for grandmother, tomorrow he would walk around the village to see if anyone needed help. Even if it's just headaches, fevers, backaches, leg pains—he would take the cases. Cure someone, that's reputation; even if he fails, at least he tried.