The path from the compound to the supply store was bitterly cold, wind whipping through the withered leaves and stinging her face.
Jiang Mian clutched the extremely precious “Great Unity” note of this era tightly in her hand, tucking it inside her coat, neck hunched against the wind as she trudged forward.
With no one around, the mask of the “timid little bride” finally slipped.
In its place was a weariness and nonchalance far beyond her years.
[Ugh, this awful weather… if only I could order delivery.]
She sighed, eyes sweeping the gray, dusty street. Her thoughts drifted back two days ago.
Back then, she had been the youngest chief physician of traditional medicine in a top-tier 21st-century hospital, famously known as “Jiang the Needle.”
For promotions, for saving lives, she had spent over twenty hours straight in the operating room, completing ten high-difficulty surgeries.
When the last surgery was finished, her heart suddenly seized, and she plunged into endless darkness.
When she opened her eyes again, the air was filled with deafening gongs and her sister Jiang Yan’s hysterical screams.
The unlucky original owner of this body had died from sheer shock, and she had just inherited it.
[If it were the old workaholic me, suddenly thrown into this 70s scarcity, I’d have cracked instantly.]
She kicked a stone on the path, lips curling into a self-mocking smile.
[But now… I just want to lie flat. If Heaven’s giving me a redo, I’m not crazy enough to struggle again.]
At the wedding, she had accepted the reality of her transmigration in three seconds flat and immediately drafted her grand master plan: “Let the husband survive until I hoard the money, then happily live as a widow.”
[The only problem is… I need him alive until I finish counting the cash.]
She touched her wrist. There was a faint red mark only she could see—her family jade pendant from the previous life, now acting as a spatial medium.
Her mobile pharmacy and billions in resources were all there—her confidence.
[Earlier, when he left the house, Huo Jingchuan’s face was pale, his brow darkened—that’s the drain of long-term pain. And that reflexive grip on the bedsheet… classic phantom limb pain.]
[I’m a doctor. Even if I want to laze around, I can’t let this ‘long-term ATM’ suffer to death. Looks like I’ll have to show some skill tonight.]
As for how to explain it…
She dug through the original owner’s memories—her deceased grandfather had been a barefoot doctor traveling the streets.
[Perfect! I’ll just say I learned a folk remedy from Grandpa. No witnesses, no disputes.]
Resolute, she picked up her purchases and quickened her pace.
But when she pushed open the compound door and stepped into the main room, a wave of foreboding hit her.
The house was eerily silent, only the wind rattling the windowpanes.
“Brother Jingchuan?” she called softly. No response.
A professional instinct jolted through her.
Bad.
She dropped the vegetable basket, barely bothering to hide the piece of fatty meat, and dashed to the bedroom.
The dim room reeked of blood and sweat.
Huo Jingchuan was curled on the bed, his usually handsome, stern face ghostly pale, strands of sweat-soaked hair clinging to his forehead.
He bit his lip until it bled, hands clenching the broken leg, fingernails digging deep, veins bulging.
His body convulsed violently in extreme pain, like a bow drawn to its limit, ready to snap.
He was in agony, almost unconscious, oblivious to Jiang Mian’s entrance.
Jiang Mian’s expression changed instantly.
The “timid little bride” act, the teasing, the scheming—all gone.
In its place was the cold precision and life-or-death calm she had wielded in ERs.
[Damn! This flare-up came too fast!]
She rushed to the bedside, grabbing his wrist.
The pulse under her fingers was tight and sharp, a sign of extreme pain—left unchecked, he could go into shock!
Huo Jingchuan, sensing a presence in the haze of agony, instinctively swung his other hand in a sharp arc with a beastly growl:
“Get… away from me!!”
If it landed, Jiang Mian’s tiny frame would have flown.
But she didn’t flinch.
Her reflexes were lightning-fast.
She shifted her body, dodging the blow while seizing the offending wrist with a precise press.
“Don’t move unless you want to die!”
Her voice was cold, commanding, undeniable.
Not the soft, tearful bride, but an officer issuing orders, suffused with an irresistible authority.
For a moment, Huo Jingchuan’s foggy mind froze.
Who… was commanding him?
Before he could react, Jiang Mian had already produced a worn leather needle pouch from her spatial pocket. With a “swish,” she opened it. Silver acupuncture needles glinted in the dim light.
Though Huo Jingchuan’s vision blurred from pain, his body reacted instinctively.
“You… what are you doing…”
“Shut up!”
Jiang Mian’s face was stern as she efficiently rolled down his pants, speaking with unwavering certainty:
“My grandfather was a famous barefoot doctor. I grew up under him. No certificate, but I can handle your pain. If you want to remain a bedridden cripple, keep struggling.”
Her tone was frighteningly forceful, half-truths blending seamlessly with authority.
Huo Jingchuan paused, instinctively easing his resistance.
That instant, Jiang Mian’s inner monologue crashed into his mind like a storm:
[Damn! Pulse chaotic! Liver fire flaring, triggering old neuropathic pain. If she’d been half an hour later, he’d go insane from pain!]
[Huo Jingchuan, hang in there! You dying is fine, but don’t ruin my big plan!]
[My long-term ATM, my automatic cash dispenser, my five-insurance-and-one-fund! If you die now, and the benefits aren’t even released, my widowhood is ridiculously unfair!]
[The money isn’t even warm yet! Absolutely cannot let you die! Even the King of Hell has to step aside for me!]
Huo Jingchuan: “…”
Even in agony, hearing this “touching” declaration nearly suffocated him with rage.
So… she’s saving me for the money?
Before he could process, Jiang Mian’s gaze hardened.
“Swish!”
A silver needle flew, piercing his Baihui point atop the head with surgical precision, followed by the Anmian point behind the ear.
The speed and steadiness of her technique were nothing like a simple village girl.
Jiang Mian was a master steeped in decades of medicine.
As the needles sank, a strange tingling spread instantly.
Huo Jingchuan felt his brain, about to explode, pause.
The maddening pain persisted, but the urge to destroy everything was suppressed.
His consciousness cleared, yet his body was soft and immobile, as if blocked by invisible pressure points.
He blinked at the focused woman before him, sweat beading her forehead, eyes no longer timid but blazing with confidence and precision.
This was… Jiang Mian?