Prologue: Mother does not trust doctors

On the wall of the hospital Zhu Zhewei worked in, there was a hanging sign where his mother had painted a proverb in elegant black calligraphy.

"Superior doctors prevent disease. Mediocre doctors treat the disease before it is evident. Inferior doctors treat the full-blown disease."

However, while this was hung as an art display by the staff of the hospital due to its artist, Zhu Zhewei himself would rather it not have been put up at all. Only respect for his mother kept him from requesting the board to remove it entirely.

As a physician specializing in the treating of severe, life-threatening illnesses, he much preferred a different quote from the Yellow Emperor's medical text: "It is understood that even though treatment methods are different, all can succeed in healing a condition. This is dependent on the ability of the doctor to consider all variables and select the proper principle of treatment."

Of course, this was much harder to paint prettily on a canvas for the hall, so it was just left to rot in his heart.

It was, however, Zhu Zhewei's chief philosophy in life: so long as my patients are cured, it does not matter how. Whether they found relief in herbs and teas and diets, or through physical exercise, or through acupuncture and meditation, or through pharmaceuticals - he was willing to try any and all variety of treatment to improve the lives of his patients.

As such, he was very popular with older, well-respected families, who primarily relied on traditional medicine. If they had a family member fall sick with a disease their usual methods could not touch, they did not want to go to a doctor that told them firmly to leave off their preferred practice. Zhu Zhewei was ideal, as he would slowly ease them into new treatment plans, helping them realize what they could and could not rely on for treatment, but never dismissing their beliefs.

"Medicine is poison, and poison is medicine," he would remind them. "Even if it works for you, each body is unique. What heals one might harm another."

It was because of this gentle way of coercing people that he'd managed to open the minds of many patients' families to new, innovative ways of treatment, even if they were ones they'd not have considered before.

As for where he learned this method of gently leading around a stubborn horse, it comes back to the same plaque hanging from the wall.

His medical education was pushed and funded by his mother from childhood. The Zhu family were well-off, to a degree, but a major stake of their investments went into the sector of private health. His mother's goal had been to guide Zhu Zhewei into becoming a master physician, skyrocketing their private hospital into demand as people with life-threatening ailments clambered to be treated by him.

The only issue…

His mother didn't trust doctors!

The stubborn woman refused to see a doctor for any reason. Each morning she woke and brewed tea with herbs mixed in for longevity, and would sit and sip it slowly, back straight, eyes lightly shut, as part of a meditative practice. If she woke one day and found her chest were tight, eyes watery, nose runny-...Well, she would just add different herbs to her tea! Who needed a doctor? She was fine!

Zhu Zhewei had spent his entire education fussing over her. The more he learned about diseases and medicine, the more he wished his mother would consider his advice on medical matters. However, even on days where her body felt so weak and feverish she could hardly stand, she would insist that it would go away of its own volition, as part of the body's natural cycle.

Often times, he'd resorted to the desperate measure of making her tea for her, so that he could add his own medicinal mixes into the brew. While this would work, it also had the side effect of worsening her conviction that any medicine made in a lab was a waste of her time and money.

If it's a waste of money, why do you own so many hospitals?!

Of course, he wouldn't ask such a question. He knew the response he'd get - a gentle, dismissive wave a hand, and her insisting, "Not everyone has a strong body. Of course some people need hospitals."

By the time Zhu Zhewei finished his education and assumed a hospital post, he'd already long since decided: a cure is a cure. His job was to ease the pains of life and death, not to force pills down people's throats and pray he wasn't bitten.

In this way, he fulfilled his mother's wish: their hospital was, indeed, very popular. However, the primary clients were desperate people, dying of illness, who were coming to him as a last resort, unable to put off visiting a hospital any longer.

He treated late stage cancers, failing organs, rare diseases, and other such severe cases every day, from the moment he entered the building, to long after he'd left, phone constantly being set off by nervous medical assistants inquiring about turning symptoms.

At this time, he had just answered such a call, and heard that one of his most high risk patients - a young girl with a severe congenital heart disease - had started displaying odd behavior, talking unusually as her eyes flickered blankly around the room. Anxious, he'd quickly come back, and had the staff escort him to her room.

As had been relayed to him, the girl's eyes were fixed, unseeing, at a spot somewhere between her bed and the ceiling. A moment later, her mouth moved, speaking in a soft monotone, "....System activating."

Zhu Zhewei's eyebrows knit together, and he headed over to check the girl's pulse. However, the same instant he did, the heart monitor began to act strangely. The beeps of a steady heartbeat turned into an unusual beat - not a heart failure, or a flatline, but something like a rhythm.

"What is that?" the nurse at his side questioned nervously, reaching out to touch his sleeve.

Zhu Zhewei gently shook her off and moved forward to investigate the malfunctioning machine. One hand still on the girl's pulse point, the other reached out to touch the controls of the machine, trying to see if some setting had been altered.

He had barely laid his fingers against the switch when he felt it: a strong jolt, passing through the machine, through his body, toward the girl. It vibrated his very bones, making his hair stand on end and filling his mouth and nose with the scent and taste of hot metal, teeth snapping together so sharply he would have feared they'd crack if he could spare the thought for it.

The machine's rhythm sharply intensified, filling his mind until there was no room for thought, until the world around him abruptly went black.