Twenty years a doctor, I’d saved countless lives.

But the last words my wife ever said to me were, "Listen to me. We’re not treating this anymore."

’I’m so useless.’

’This is my area of expertise, yet I couldn’t save her.’

——

——

"Jiang He, wake up..."

"Stop sleeping! Old Xie is calling on you to answer a question!"

His shoulder was shaken violently, and Jiang He’s eyes shot open.

His vision was blurry, a mess of light and shadow... Everything around him was noisy and unfamiliar.

For years after his wife’s passing, he’d often had this kind of dazed feeling.

It was as if his soul had been hollowed out, leaving him unsure of where he was or even what day it was.

He instinctively pushed himself up, using the desk for support.

A balding, middle-aged man stood before him, staring at him with a displeased expression.

"Sleep, sleep, sleep. Is my pathophysiology class that much of a lullaby?"

"Since you’re awake, you can explain the microcirculatory changes in the early stage of shock."

"And while you’re at it, tell us the principles of fluid resuscitation for clinical emergency treatment of hypovolemic shock caused by active hemorrhage."

The large, tiered lecture hall fell silent in an instant.

This was one of the most obscure Chapters in pathophysiology, involving the complex mechanisms of the microcirculatory ischemic and hypoxic stage.

It was impressive enough for a third-year student to have the concepts fully memorized, let alone analyze the first-choice clinical option.

This question was clearly beyond the scope of the curriculum.

It was a classic "better you than me" moment, and everyone else instinctively lowered their heads.

Jiang He stared at the blackboard, his gaze a little unfocused.

’Microcirculation in shock?’

’This kind of basic knowledge was already etched into my very bones; I didn’t even need to think about it... ’

"The early stage of shock is a classic case of sacrificing the pawns to save the king. The body restricts blood flow to the skin to shunt the limited supply to the heart and brain. As long as those two command centers don’t fail, the person can still be saved."

Old Xie was taken aback. That explanation... was both simple and precise.

"As for the principles of fluid resuscitation," Jiang He said, "the clinical first choice is restrictive fluid resuscitation. That’s common sense."

After speaking, he subconsciously reached for the pen in his white coat pocket, only to find nothing there.

He looked down and saw he was wearing a faded T-shirt...

In the classroom.

Old Xie’s face showed his astonishment.

’Restrictive fluid resuscitation? That’s a cutting-edge concept that’s only just started stirring up debate in the international trauma and emergency medicine field this year. How does this kid know about it?’

"...Jiang He!" his deskmate, Chen Hao, whispered. "You’re wrong! The book clearly says rapid volume expansion..."

The surprised stares from those around him intensified Jiang He’s dizziness.

It was too stuffy in here, so stuffy he could barely breathe.

He pushed his chair back and turned to walk towards the rear exit.

Old Xie didn’t snap out of his daze until Jiang He pulled open the back door of the classroom. "Hey? Jiang He! Where are you going?"

Without looking back, Jiang He pulled the door shut behind him.

The hallway was empty, and the September sun was a bit glaring.

He walked to the railing, his hands gripping the rusty iron bars.

He stared down at the students playing soccer on the field below in their colorful T-shirts, his vision gradually coming into focus.

’This place looks so familiar.’

Red brick walls, camphor trees, a pop song faintly drifting from the PA system.

’Is this... Nanshan Medical University?’

’Wait, if I’m not dreaming, and this isn’t some kind of hallucinatory psychosis...’

’If this is Nanshan Medical University, then... what year is it?’

He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a Nokia candy bar phone with peeling paint on its keys.

On the screen, the time and date were displayed: September 26, 2008.

Above that were two unread Monternet text messages:

[Morning & Evening News]: The Shenzhou 7 manned spacecraft has successfully launched, a crucial step forward for China’s space program!

[Finance & Life]: Affected by the Lehman Brothers bankruptcy, the global financial tsunami spreads, with A-shares continuing to fluctuate...

2008.

Jiang He stood frozen in place.

This was the year the fireworks of the Olympic Games had just faded, and "Beijing Welcomes You" was still playing on every street.

This was the year Moutai’s stock price was still under one hundred yuan, and Tencent had not yet become the behemoth it would later be.

This was the year housing prices hadn’t yet skyrocketed to despair-inducing levels.

Most importantly...

’This year, she was still alive.’

Memories from his past life surged through his mind.

Shen Yu was diagnosed with pancreatic ductal adenocarcinoma in the winter of 2014. By the time of diagnosis, it was already in the late stages with liver metastases.

But now, it was 2008.

"There are still over two thousand days until her diagnosis..."

Jiang He murmured under his breath, the confusion in his eyes gradually fading away.

’There’s still time.’

’With this much time, there has to be enough... ’

’I owe her far, far too much.’

In his past life, during the years he spent on his combined master’s and doctoral program, he was dirt poor.

So that he could focus on his research without worry, Shen Yu, who originally had a relaxed job, took on two extra part-time jobs.

That winter, after a failed experiment, he sat dejectedly in their rented room.

Shen Yu came back through the wind and snow, her face red from the cold, but her smile was gentle:

"Dr. Jiang, don’t be discouraged! You’re the most amazing person in my heart! Here, I made your favorite braised pork. Quick, try some!"

That night, as he ate the pork, he clearly saw the new chilblains on her hands.

He only found out later that to improve his quality of life, she had even secretly sold the gold wedding bracelet her mother had left her.

She had spent the best years of her youth with him.

But just as their lives were starting to get better, she left him, all alone.

At this thought, Jiang He’s eyes turned red.

His trembling fingers dialed a number he knew by heart.

Right now, she should still be studying at a Normal University up north.

RING... RING... RING...

After a few rings,

the call connected.

"Hello? Who is this?"

A crisp, bright, and vibrant voice came from the receiver.

There was no torment of illness, no weak gasping for breath—it was the Shen Yu who loved to laugh and joke.

Jiang He opened his mouth, but not a single sound came out.

He just stood there like a wooden post, completely motionless...

"Hello? Can you hear me?"

"Hello? Is the signal bad?"

"Why aren’t you saying anything? If you don’t talk, I’m going to hang up..."

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP...

The call was disconnected.

Jiang He still didn’t move.

Sunlight spilled onto his face.

He had no expression on his face, but tears suddenly burst forth like a broken dam.

There was no sound of crying, only scalding hot liquid pouring madly from his eyes, flowing into his mouth, its taste salty and bitter.

He raised the back of his hand to wipe them away.

But he couldn’t wipe them dry.

The more he wiped, the more they flowed...

He slowly squatted down, burying his head in the crook of his arm.

As he cried, his mind was already running on autopilot, forced to think:

’If I’m going to save her, should I take her to the hospital now? Have it removed directly?’

’No.’

’Shen Yu is completely healthy right now. The CT equipment in ’08 would never be able to detect any precancerous lesions.’

’Without evidence, no doctor would dare to operate.’

’More importantly...’

’Pancreatic cancer is known as the King of Cancers, not just because of how stealthily it develops, but also because of its despairingly high recurrence rate.’

’Even with early resection, the five-year postoperative survival rate is less than 20%.’

’In my last life, Shen Yu died from postoperative recurrence with liver metastases.’

’If I just repeat the same old path, the outcome will still be a slim chance of survival.’

’I have to tackle this from two angles—’

’Within six years, I need to establish a brand-new early screening system, and I also need to improve the current radical resection procedure to minimize the recurrence rate...’

Just then, the classroom’s back door was pushed open.

Chen Hao ran out after him and patted his shoulder. "Jiang He! Are you okay?... Whoa! Holy shit, why are you crying?"

Jiang He wiped his face hard and took a deep breath, a plan already forming in his mind.

When he turned his head back, his eyes were firm and resolute.

"Chen Hao."

"Huh? Wh-what’s up?" Chen Hao was startled by his gaze, feeling as if his buddy had suddenly become a different person.

"The Clinical Pathology Reasoning Competition this semester—has registration closed yet?"

Chen Hao paused for a moment. "N-no, I don’t think so. But isn’t that something only the fourth-year seniors do for fun? It’s all about analyzing difficult and complex cases. If we go, we’ll just be cannon fodder."

"I plan on participating."

"Huh? You... what’s gotten into you? Didn’t you say that competition was a complete waste of time?"

"I’ve changed my mind."

"Why? Just for a few extra credits?"

"To get into the lab."

Chen Hao: "???"

’He understood even less now. Wasn’t college supposed to be about enjoying life? Wouldn’t it be better to be dating someone or surfing the internet? What was the point of running off to a lab?’