Chapter 1

The Secret of the Godly Hands Surgeon

    ‘Chen Luxian’ was the number one surgeon at Shanghai Hospital, one of the top three hospitals in China. It goes without saying that his skills were extraordinary; otherwise, how could someone as young as 32 be recognized as the country’s top doctor?

    When it came to his medical expertise, it was unparalleled. Even prominent ministers queued up for his surgeries. Hospital staff often came up with peculiar nicknames for him, such as “God’s Favorite,” “Earthly Angel,” “Microwave Guy,” or “Genius Prodigy.”

     Naturally, each nickname had an extraordinary story behind it.

    The nickname “God’s Favorite” was coined by the hospital director, inspired by Chen Luxian’s exceptional talent, good looks—handsome enough to be a leading actor—and his enviable wealth. No one knew exactly which wealthy family he belonged to, but his daily rotation of Rolex watches provided a clear hint.

    Just looking at his looks, abilities, and wealth, how could anyone not believe he was truly God’s favorite?

    The titles “Earthly Angel” and “Microwave Guy” stemmed from a particular incident when a mother and daughter had been violently attacked. The mother suffered a stab wound to her liver and was losing blood rapidly. To make matters worse, the hospital’s blood supply was insufficient. Dr. Chen, who had just finished his shift and was about to head home, overheard the emergency room nurses discussing the critical situation. With the patient losing so much blood and the delay in reaching the hospital, the surgery would be too risky without adequate blood reserves.

    Their benevolent Dr. Chen noticed the patient’s young daughter, no older than 12, crying by the emergency room doors. He comforted the girl and ultimately donated his own blood to save her mother.

    It was indeed a stroke of luck for the patient. After Dr. Chen’s donation, two other generous individuals also stepped forward to donate blood, ensuring the mother’s survival. However, the challenges didn’t end there. The family was impoverished, and after two days in the hospital, the mother insisted on going home. The young daughter, despite understanding the situation, was helpless. When they first arrived at the hospital, the girl was already bruised and battered. In the end, Dr. Chen covered their medical expenses himself and contacted a welfare foundation to provide ongoing support for the mother and daughter.

    As for the title “Genius Prodigy,” it was freshly earned in connection with a new resident doctor in the emergency department named Song Wei.

     Dr. Song constantly found ways to provoke Dr. Chen. No one knew why, nor did anyone understand his motives. Ironically, Dr. Song’s direct supervisor was none other than Dr. Chen himself.

    Eventually, the gossip-loving nurses uncovered the reason: Dr. Chen and Dr. Song had attended the same middle school. Back then, Dr. Chen’s brilliance allowed him to skip grades, entering medical school at the astonishing age of 15. This revelation explained why Dr. Chen was already a senior medical professor at the age of 32.

    For someone of the same age and academic background, having to call Dr. Chen “Boss” or “Professor” must have been unbearable for Dr. Song. So, he seized every opportunity to harass and mock Dr. Chen. Worse still, Dr. Song was the grandson of the hospital’s owner. His poor behavior, such as arriving late for shifts or bullying his supervisor, went over-looked.

    Dr. Chen, on the other hand, didn’t so much as glance at Dr. Song. It was unclear whether he even acknowledged his existence. No matter how often Dr. Song tried to provoke him, Dr. Chen remained unfazed. The gossiping nurses speculated: some said Dr. Chen was too talented to bother with such trivialities; others believed his wealth made him indifferent even if he was fired. No one could truly fathom Dr. Chen’s thoughts.

    As for Chen Luxian’s true feelings toward Dr. Song, it was ‘Utter nonsense’. To him, Dr. Song’s antics were like the childish tantrums of a sore loser, unworthy of his time. Because if Dr. Chen did care, Dr. Song would never have the same easy life again…

    Dr. Song’s harassment of his superior continued until one fateful incident that forever changed the lives of both Dr. Chen and Dr. Song.

    In three days, Dr. Chen was scheduled to perform a major surgery for a minister—a figure with significant connections in the medical field. Rumors had it that if this surgery were successful, Dr. Chen might become the youngest director in the hospital's history.

    But there was no way Dr. Song would allow that. Driven by jealousy, Dr. Song, the grandson of the hospital owner, crossed ethical and moral boundaries by hiring someone on a motorcycle to injure Dr. Chen in a hit-and-run. The accident left Dr. Chen with a fractured arm, rendering him unable to perform the surgery.

    Then, the fallout was beyond anything Dr. Song could have foreseen. His enviousness had caused unimaginable damage.

    Dr. Chen’s inability to operate deeply angered the minister, who then withdrew all financial support and connections from the hospital. The hospital chairman, Dr. Song’s grandfather, was so furious that he suffered a heart attack. Upon ordering a thorough investigation of the CCTV footage, the chairman discovered that Dr. Song was the culprit. The incident nearly cost Dr. Song his inheritance, and it was only his father’s pleading that spared him from being entirely disowned.

    As for Dr. Chen, his attending orthopedic specialist felt both heartbroken and sympathetic toward him. The hospital mourned the loss of its shining star.

    “Xiao Chen, your X-ray results show that your injury isn’t severe. With a cast, you’ll recover fully in about two months, but…” said Dr. Zhang, the best orthopedic specialist in the hospital. However, before he could finish, Dr. Chen interjected.

    “I won’t be able to hold a scalpel again, right?”

    “Sigh. You know that once a bone is broken, it’s never the same again. To the average person, the difference might be negligible, but for a surgeon like you, whose every move could mean life or death for a patient, it’s a significant issue. What a waste, Xiao Chen... You’re incredibly talented. It’s such a pity.”

    “It’s okay. If I can’t be a doctor, I’ll just do something else. Thank you for everything, Dr. Zhang. I won’t trouble you any further,” Dr. Chen replied in a relaxed tone, not seeing any problem in wasting the knowledge he had learned over ten years.

    “Alright. Make sure to come back in two months to have the cast removed.”

    “I will,” Dr. Chen replied with a small bow before leaving the examination room.

    After leaving, Dr. Chen returned to his room, heading straight to the bedside drawer. From it, he retrieved a white envelope labeled “Resignation.”

    He sat on the edge of the bed, leaned back, and muttered to himself, “It’s time, isn’t it? I was planning to stay for a few more months, but this is fine. I’ll get to rest a little sooner.” He then sighed, recalling an event from four months ago.

    “Dr. Chen, you have leukemia.”

     “How much time do I have left?”

     “At least six months, maybe a year at most.”

     “You should consider resigning and resting. With proper treatment, you might have a chance, but you won’t be able to continue as a doctor.”

     “It’s fine. I’ve made my decision.”

    ...

    The next day, Shanghai Hospital lost its top surgical professor. Dr. Chen left behind only his resignation letter. His belongings vanished from the staff quarters, and he departed without saying goodbye to anyone.

    At a luxurious condominium in downtown Shanghai, Chen Luxian was unpacking items he had brought back from the hospital. Nearby, his assistant, dressed in a suit and tie, wearing eyeglasses, stood with his head bowed, holding a folder.

    “Young Master, after your accident, the boss had us investigate the culprit. We’ve confirmed it was Dr. Song’s doing. The boss wants to know how you’d like to handle this. Moving forward, would you prefer to take over one of the family’s subsidiary companies or begin learning the core aspects of the business from him?” the assistant asked respectfully.

    “Leave him be,” Dr. Chen replied indifferently. “As for work, tell my dad I’ll need two months for my arm to fully recover. For now, I’d like some time off. Starting today, you won’t need to check in on me for the next two months. But if I go three days without contacting you, then you can come find me.”

    “Uh…”

     “Do you understand?”

     “Yes, absolutely.”

     “Well then, please excuse me,” the assistant said, giving a small bow before leaving.

    Once the assistant was gone, Dr. Chen took the medication prescribed by his attending physician and scrolled through his phone, looking at the countdown calendar he had set for himself.

    Just two more months. Let me take it easy—eating, sleeping, and idling away the days.

    And so, Dr. Chen practically became a recluse, akin to a dried salted fish. He bathed every three days, ate when he woke up, and spent the rest of his time watching movies, binging series, and gaming. Apart from sleeping, he did little else in his 24-hour days.

    His latest obsession, however, turned out to be reading novels—so intensely that his eyes were practically glued to the pages.

    At first, Chen Luxian read standard romantic novels. But over time, his tastes shifted toward mafia-themed stories. Why? Because the ultimate secret of this “godly hands” doctor was that he was the cherished son of Chen Mu, a powerful mafia boss. Chen Mu’s influence spanned in many illegal fields, with legitimate ventures in hotels, real estate, restaurants, and large shopping centers—all under the Chen family’s control.

    Of course, those were merely the public-facing aspects of the Chen family business. Behind the scenes? Let’s just say no one in the family had clean hands. Blood had been spilled by everyone.

    Except for Chen Luxian, whose hands had only ever been stained with patients’ blood. By skipping grades and entering university early, Chen Luxian had sidestepped the family’s initiation process, which required members to take on missions starting at age eighteen. Having entered medical school at fifteen, he lived away from home in dorms. Chen Mu, deeply doting on his beloved son, never forced him to pick up a gun. How could he deny his favorite child’s wishes? Ultimately, Chen Mu let him chart his own path.

    That’s not to say Chen Luxian wasn’t trained like the rest of the family. He learned self-defense, marksmanship, and even assassination techniques. But he never used those skills recklessly.

    On his eighteenth birthday, Chen Mu gave Luxian a gift no one else in the family had ever received: the freedom to live his life however he wanted. Was this a favoritism?

    To his siblings, it might have seemed so. But not to Luxian.

    When Chen Luxian was thirteen, he witnessed his father kill his one and only childhood friend, Zhang Ru. He stood helplessly as his friend’s life slipped away before his eyes, unable to intervene. He couldn’t understand why his father had done it. When he cried, his father locked him up. He sobbed until he couldn’t shed another tear. Eventually, Chen Mu released him. That day, Luxian vowed he would never live like his father—a man who could kill even his most trusted confidant and live a life of loneliness.

    Luxian never even asked why his father had killed Zhang Ru. He already knew it. Zhang Ru had been his weakness—the one person who had made his childhood feel normal. But in the Chen family, weaknesses were unacceptable. His father eliminated Zhang Ru for this reason, and Luxian understood it. He didn’t harbor hatred toward his father; he simply couldn’t coexist with someone like him.

    On that day, Luxian told his father, “If I can leave this place on my own before taking on the family’s mission at eighteen, you’ll have no right to dictate my life.”

    Chen Mu agreed, thinking a thirteen-year-old child couldn’t possibly succeed. However, he was wrong.

    Two years later, at fifteen, Chen Luxian was accepted into medical school and requested to live in the dorms. On his eighteenth birthday, instead of a gun, he received a doctor’s gown—a symbol of the life he chose for himself.

    To his credit, Chen Mu honored his promise and let his son become a doctor.

    Chen Mu once asked Luxian why he wanted to be a doctor.

    “If I can take lives, I can also save them,” was Luxian’s reply.

    Chen Mu understood this sentiment well. After all, he had raised Luxian like the rest of his children, ensuring he had the skills to carry out family missions. Luxian was capable of taking lives but chose not to—not out of mercy, but because he didn’t want to be controlled.

    He chose to become a doctor because he didn’t want to lose anyone important to him again, like Zhang Ru. What he desired was the power to decide—whether to save a life or end it.

    …

    When Luxian read mafia-themed novels, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Seriously? Not every mafia member had to be brutal-looking, with menacing facial hair. Some stories even featured deranged psychopaths who delighted in torturing women in their bedrooms. Feeling disgusted, he completely shifted his reading preferences to something entirely different—Chinese historical BL novels, a genre immensely popular among young readers. Whether it was transmigration, time travel, reincarnation, childhood romance, rivalries-turned-love, or even tales of gods and immortals, this genre captivated him like nothing else. It quickly became his favorite, far surpassing his interest in movies or gaming.

    Luxian would even fantasize, wondering if he might get a chance to transmigrate like the characters in his beloved novels after he died. If such a thing were possible, it would certainly be an exciting twist to his existence.

    And so, Chen Luxian spent his final days immersed in his novels—reading until his last breath.