After that, my life seemed to slip back into its normal rhythm.

Well, normal only for "me."

I was slowly getting used to this body.

Used to being treated as a girl.

Used to the daily routines.

Every morning, I’d wake early to pick up Huang Yingdie for school.

I paid attention in class, studied hard.

Sometimes I’d joke around with classmates, debating life’s big questions.

Evenings meant visiting my old friend Azure Excellence—grabbing dinner while I was there.

Then off to the taekwondo dojo to train those little rascals.

Back home, I’d tackle homework, browse forums, review lessons, and practice what Card Brother taught me.

Full days. Good days.

I threw myself into textbook reviews—even though I knew the material by heart.

Midterms were coming.

I wanted to surprise Mom and Dad.

That’s how elders are.

People can’t help being ordinary.

Now, parents crave good grades.

Later, when you’re working, they just want you home more often.

Same truth.

I hadn’t seen Mom in so long.

This time, I’d bring her report cards—all perfect scores—as a gift.

After the kidnapping incident, Agent 043 was reassigned by Ouyang Earth.

Card Brother vanished without a trace.

Huang Qinghao stayed quiet.

If not for Huang Yingdie riding pillion on my bike every morning—distracted, scrolling her phone—I’d have thought it all a dream.

Money? Simple.

Over 100,000 yuan sat in my bank account.

If Dad’s finances crumbled, I’d cover it.

"Just won the lottery," I’d say. Easy.

The real problem was the future.

If Mom and Dad’s fate was fixed…

I had to plan for myself.

I refused to relive that tragedy.

…

“I’ll head home now.”

February 24, 2016. Evening.

I stepped out of a hospital room, small backpack on my shoulders.

For over a week, I’d shared dinners with Azure Excellence.

I never knew when he’d leave.

Like my father in my past life—doctors promised six months after diagnosis.

One accident. Gone.

Illness ties deeply to the heart.

Some incurable diseases ignore medicine…

But if a patient suddenly finds peace, grows hopeful?

They might heal.

Other minor ailments turn deadly when sufferers give up, bitter and blaming the world.

Good news: Azure Excellence’s condition stabilized these past days.

His face stayed slightly pale—he blamed anemia.

"Just need rest," he’d say.

“Kid, wait up!”

Azure Excellence’s mother hurried after me as I left.

“Take this… two thousand yuan…”

Her hands trembled reaching for her pocket.

I gently stopped her. “Auntie, you need it more. I can’t accept.”

“No! After all your hard work, you must—”

“Auntie!” I feigned anger. “Keep this up, and I won’t come tomorrow.”

She sighed, tucking the money away.

“Ah… Blue Excellence is blessed to have a friend like you.

But he’s got no luck to enjoy it…”

Tears welled in her eyes.

“His father and I are healthy. Why must our child suffer this inherited illness?

Such a cruel twist of fate…”

“Auntie, trust Excellence. He’s getting better, isn’t he?”

I patted her shoulder like calming a child.

“Use that money to buy him roast duck and sausages.

He loves those.”

“Oh, you sweet child!”

Wrinkles deepened as she smiled.

“Be careful on your way!”

“I will. Tell Excellence to sleep early tonight.

No more phone games.”

Back home, my small apartment felt empty.

Dinner sat untouched on the dining table.

Dad lay asleep on the sofa, exhaustion etched on his face.

Of course.

Caring for Mom while working full-time would tire anyone.

In another life—when I was still a boy—I’d stayed a week in Mom’s hospital room.

I’d slept less than six hours a night.

Patients can spike fevers anytime.

Need pills. New IV bags. Bathroom help.

Mom had held out as long as possible before waking me—

knowing I was still in high school.

Imagine nurses working triple shifts.

No routine.

Enduring patients’ senseless anger.

“Dad?”

I whispered. No response.

Let him sleep. I’d eat, then head to the dojo.

Based on the illness’s progression…

Dad was likely in the early stages.

But how could I convince him to get checked?

At the taekwondo dojo, Zhai Fangning spotted me and lunged for a hug.

I kicked him away.

“You said a new student was coming?”

I’d worn my dobok under my coat—no need to change.

After school, Daning had called:

“A serious student requested you specifically.”

I’d brushed it off—just another fan.

But Daning’s grin now hinted otherwise.

“Yeah! She’s stunningly beautiful…

Uh—not that you’re not pretty, Yi Yao!

I mean… soft, gentle beauty.

Like a painting’s heroine.”

“Act like a coach,” I snapped, nodding at the giggling kids behind him.

“Look what your drooling’s doing.”

“Says the kid who’s barely legal.”

“Want a bruise?”

“Sis! Sis, I’m sorry!”

I never guessed who “the serious student” would be.

“Xiaodie, changed already?”

A girl emerged from the changing room, trailing faint perfume.

Same age as me. Long hair. Delicate features. Snow-pale skin. Long legs.

Under bright lights, her white dobok didn’t look tough—

it hugged her soft curves, making her seem fragile.

“Yi Yao, meet Huang Yingdie,” Daning announced, oblivious to our stiff faces.

“She just transferred from Yucai Dojo. Blue belt. One year training.”

“This is ‘Medicine’ Coach Yi Yao.”

I never cared about titles.

Students called me Yi Yao so often it morphed into “Medicine Coach.”

Poor Xiaodie had fallen for the nickname trap.

“She’s only been training a year,” Daning added.

“Their standards weren’t as strict as ours, so—”

“Don’t worry,” I cut in, eyeing Huang Yingdie’s slight frame.

“Even if she were the mayor’s daughter…

I won’t go easy.”

The girl lifted her head.

Her deep eyes burned with defiance.

“Line up!”

After bowing to the flag and warm-ups,

the dojo’s cruelest test began:

Twenty laps around the training hall.

Impossible for most newcomers.

I wondered how many Huang Yingdie would finish.

“Tell me if you can’t continue,” I said, jogging beside her.

“Your wound just healed. Don’t push too hard.”

She stayed silent.

By lap eight, sweat dotted her forehead.

Lap ten: her breath grew ragged, steps slowing.

Lap fifteen: she shuffled like walking, face flushed,

but kept dragging herself forward.

Lap eighteen: her dobok clung to her, soaked.

I could see the outline of her body beneath the fabric.

Lap nineteen: last to finish, sweat glued her eyelashes together.

It streamed down her cheeks like rain.

*Thud.*

Half a lap left—her knee hit the mat from exhaustion.

I rushed to help. She shoved my hand away.

“Don’t touch me.”

She staggered up, glaring at the waiting students.

Gasping, she rasped:

“Yi Yao… what you can do… I can do too…”

“But you—”

I hesitated, then stepped back.

“Thirty meters left.”

“Mm.”

She wiped her brow and moved.

Those final thirty meters, Huang Yingdie walked under everyone’s stares.

“Yi Yao… why does the newbie seem to hate you?”

Daning sidled over during break.

“How should I know? Ask her.”

I shot him a glare.

“…Actually. Try talking her down?

Pushing this hard isn’t good for her body.”