On the third night after the system's activation, Lin Xuan understood two things.
The first: a hospital could swallow any progress if you did not turn it into discipline.
The second: the system had no intention of being kind.
The shift started badly and got worse. A child seizing at intake. Family members arguing over a consent form. An elderly woman who had waited so long at another facility that she arrived already on the edge of respiratory failure. Lin Xuan stayed in motion for hours.
There was no time to think about realms, techniques, or ascension. Only bodies, symptoms, timing, and decisions.
Perhaps that was why, when the system spoke, it did so with the precision of a scalpel entering through an exact opening.
[Observation evaluation available.]
[Condition: respond before deterioration.]
Lin Xuan kept walking while reviewing the room in his mind. Eleven patients in short observation. Four awaiting transfer. Two agitated relatives. At least three professionals close to irritability. Nothing stood out in an obvious way.
Then he saw her.
Not a new case, but one already seen.
A woman in her sixties sat on the edge of a bed with a blanket over her legs. She had been admitted for "general weakness, possible urinary infection, waiting for results." She was not complaining. She was not raising her voice. She did not look alarming. That was exactly why she had been absorbed into the background of the hospital.
Lin Xuan slowed.
Her expression was oddly focused, as if she were spending too much energy on breathing without wanting anyone to notice. A glass of water sat untouched on the bedside table. Her fingers carried the faintest bluish tinge. The rise of her chest was minimal, but subtly uneven.
The blue panel did not give him a diagnosis. It only marked what he was already seeing.
[Mild distal cyanosis]
[Underestimated work of breathing]
[Possible discordance between superficial impression and actual severity]
Lin Xuan stepped closer.
"Ma'am, can you take a deep breath for me?"
She obeyed, and the effort was too visible.
"How long have you felt like this?"
"Since yesterday... but today it's harder," she said.
Lin Xuan took a pulse oximeter and clipped it on. The number was not catastrophic. That made it worse: deceptively acceptable at rest. He asked her to speak a little more and the saturation dropped. Then he listened to her lungs. One side sounded poorer than the other. He checked the chart. There had been a recent period of immobilization due to a leg injury.
The panel brightened.
[High probability of thromboembolic event.]
[Evaluation priority increased.]
A cold clarity settled in him.
Pulmonary embolism, he thought. Or at least enough risk to treat it as one until proven otherwise.
He looked up.
"I need blood gas, urgent labs, immediate physician reassessment, and CT angiography if suspicion holds."
The resident overseeing that section looked at him in irritation.
"She's stable."
"She's compensating."
"You can't order a CT because of 'the way she breathes.'"
Lin Xuan held her gaze.
"I can ask for it because of hidden dyspnea, recent immobilization, desaturation while speaking, and asymmetric auscultatory findings. If I'm wrong, we did one extra test. If I'm right, we got there before she collapses."
The resident hesitated.
Not for long.
Just enough.
And that hesitation was enough for Lin Xuan to know the decision could still be tipped.
"I'll sign it myself if necessary," he added.
That changed the air.
When a physician of similar or slightly higher rank hesitates, a sentence like that forces people to define positions. Either they laugh at you or they take you seriously. This time it was the latter, though unwillingly.
The patient was reassessed, the suspicion was confirmed, and management accelerated before major deterioration.
Hours later, when the immediate danger had been contained, Lin Xuan placed both hands on an empty counter and lowered his head for a moment.
Tension hummed through his forearms.
The system appeared.
[Decisive clinical intervention recorded.]
[Main objective completed: 3/3]
[Rewards granted:]
[Medical EXP +40]
[Observation enhancement: initial unlock]
[Technique acquired: Deep Diagnostic Eyes – initial level]
[Merit Funds credited]
[Additional evaluation available]
Lin Xuan read the line about the technique with total concentration.
Deep Diagnostic Eyes.
It was not just a flashy name. It was confirmation that the system was not merely rewarding effort; it was shaping a path.
"Show me the additional evaluation," he murmured so quietly no one nearby could hear.
The panel shifted.
[Surgical Simulation Field: partial unlock authorized.]
[Access requirement: minimum 40-minute rest period.]
[Warning: accelerated training produces cumulative mental fatigue.]
Lin Xuan looked up just as someone called him from the other side of the room.
He could not go yet.
Not yet.
Two patients still needed reassessment, a note had to be finished, and one relative needed an explanation for why discharge would be delayed until morning.
The hospital would never allow him to enjoy anything at a reasonable hour.
When he finally found a gap, dawn was close.
The minor procedure room was empty. He closed the door, leaned against it for one second, then sank into a chair. He did not fall asleep. He merely loosened the tension in his shoulders a little and closed his eyes.
The system responded immediately.
[Access granted.]
The sensation was abrupt.
He did not fall into darkness this time. He entered a vast silent chamber built from white light and metallic reflections. Rows of surgical tables stretched to either side like a library of possible operations. On an endless wall, translucent anatomies turned slowly: abdomen, thorax, vessels, nerves, planes of dissection.
Lin Xuan stood in that space with his heart beating faster.
A tray of instruments appeared before him.
[Surgical Simulation Field – initial phase]
[Objective: repetitive training of fundamental precision]
[First practice: incision, exposure, layered suture.]
Lin Xuan reached out. The scalpel felt real.
Too real.
A hyperreal anatomical model appeared on the table. It did not look like an image. It looked like a prepared body.
"This is insane," he murmured.
[Unnecessary comment.]
[Begin.]
Lin Xuan inhaled and set the blade.
The first incision was clumsy.
Too deep in one segment, too shallow in another. The exposure was slow. The closure worse. The system did not shout or praise him. It merely displayed errors with humiliating precision.
[Inefficient angle.]
[Irregular hand tension.]
[Field loss.]
[Asymmetric suture.]
He repeated.
And failed again.
He repeated again.
Ten times. Twenty. Thirty.
Time inside the field did not feel the same as outside, or perhaps concentration itself was distorting it. The only thing that mattered was repetition. Cut. Expose. Correct. Suture. Error. Again.
At some point he stopped thinking about how badly he was doing and started thinking only about the movement. The right entry of the blade. The exact finger tension. How to separate without damage. How to close without strangling tissue.
The system's correction lines grew less frequent.
They did not disappear.
But they lessened.
When he finally left the field, he woke in the chair with brutal pain behind his eyes. He pressed a hand to his forehead and breathed slowly.
[Warning: significant mental fatigue.]
[Recommendation: do not repeat access immediately.]
Lin Xuan let out a dry laugh.
"I couldn't even if I wanted to."
He checked the clock. Outside, not even fifty minutes had passed. Inside, it had felt like hours.
He stood carefully. His hands hurt differently. Not worse. More awake.
When he opened the door, Mu Qingli stood on the other side as if about to enter.
She frowned.
"Were you sleeping in here?"
"Resting."
"You look like you fought a ghost."
Lin Xuan almost answered that, in a way, he had.
He did not.
Mu Qingli looked him up and down. Then her attention settled on his hands.
"Why are you looking at them like that?"
Lin Xuan lowered his eyes for a second. His fingers were still the same, but he felt them differently. More aware. More obedient, though still far from what he wanted.
"Because they're still not enough," he said.
Mu Qingli fell silent, surprised by the honesty.
"Most people in this hospital think surviving the shift is enough," she said.
"I don't."
She looked at him for a long moment. Then she stepped aside.
"Then don't die before you get good."
It did not sound gentle. It sounded strangely serious.
Lin Xuan stepped into the hallway.
Another small, clean, official payment had appeared in his account. He did not check it immediately. Neither did he answer Lin Yue's message asking whether she could buy some school materials that week. He only smiled a little and put the phone away.
Because for the first time, even though fatigue was splitting his head open, he felt he was no longer advancing through rage alone.
He was advancing with structure.
With method.
With a direction no longer dependent on a superior's mood or the accident of a shift.
At the large window at the end of the corridor, he stopped.
The rain had ended. Over Yunhe, a pale gray morning was beginning to rise, still without glory. Ambulances, motorcycles, vendors opening, small ordinary people living without knowing anything about realms, systems, or medical destinies.
Lin Xuan placed one hand against the cold glass.
In the corner of his vision, the panel shone once more.
[First technique established.]
[Deep Diagnostic Eyes – initial level]
[Surgical path confirmed.]
[Continue, Lin Xuan.]
He kept his gaze on the city.
He was still weak.
Still easy to ignore.
Still without name, power, or title.
But he was no longer standing still.
And for a man who wanted to reach the top of the medical world, that was enough to begin.