RISE OF THE MEDICAL DEMON god

“Chen’er… don’t look at me like that.” Madam Lin’s voice trembled as she turned her face away, trying—and failing—to hide how much pain she was in. “Mom just needs a little rest… just a little…” Madam Lin had been ill for a very long time—longer than she ever admitted—as a result of lung cancer. Years earlier, before the illness hollowed her out, she had worked as a nurse at a small clinic in their area. Then, eight years ago, everything changed. The sickness came quietly at first, stealing her strength day by day, until it took over her life completely. “Mom, you can’t even breathe properly.” Lu Chen kept his voice steady, though everything inside him felt like it was cracking. Yet he was only fourteen—far too young to shoulder responsibilities bigger than his years—and still, he stood there straight-backed, stubbornly strong, refusing to let fear bend him. “I’m calling the clinic again,” he said. “They won’t help us.” His mother coughed softly, with a wet, tearing sound. “You know how it is.” “Let me try.” He said as he tightened his fingers around the old landline phone before she could stop him. Outside, rain hammered against the thin windows of their cramped Dongshen apartment. Inside, however, the room smelled of damp walls, disinfectant, and the herbs he boiled every night to help her breathe. Above them, a single flickering bulb cast restless shadows across Madam Lin’s pale face. Lu Chen swallowed hard and dialed the public clinic again. It rang, once, twice... The beeping dragged on—six seconds that felt longer than they should have. Then, the line clicked. A tired nurse answered, “Dongshen Public Clinic.” He spoke into the phone, voice tight. “Please—my mother’s getting worse. She can’t breathe properly, and she’s coughing blood. Can you send someone? Or just… just let her in. Please.” On the other end, the nurse sighed, papers shuffling faintly in the background. Then she said the same words they always said to him. “Beds are full. Come back tomorrow.” At those words, Lu Chen closed his eyes, disappointment crashing down on him. “She might not—” The nurse interrupted. “Next patient, please.” With a click, the line went dead. For a long moment, Lu Chen stared at the receiver, as if he could force it back to life. His hands were shaking—not from fear, but from anger and despair. Slowly, he lifted his head and spoke to his mother. “Mom… I’m calling him.” At his words, Madam Lin’s entire body stiffened. She knew it would be a waste of time—another round of humiliation. “No.” Her voice broke. “Chen’er, don’t—don’t humiliate yourself, he won’t—” Before she could finish, Lu Chen cut in, even though he knew she was right. His jaw tightened. “He will,” he said. “He has to.” He turned his back so she wouldn’t see the tremor dancing in his jaw. Then he dialed the number he had memorized long ago—Qingyang Medical Group’s private line. His father’s line. It rang once. Almost immediately, a smooth, professional female voice answered. “Qingyang Residence. Who is this, please?” Lu Chen swallowed. “It’s… it’s Lu Chen.” His throat tightened. “Please tell my father—it’s urgent. My mom… she needs help.” On the other end, the receiver went silent—as if taking a shallow breath. “Wait.” Seconds passed—then more. Every tick dug into his skin. At last, a voice came through. “Chen?” Lu Qingyang’s voice was unmistakable—deep, polished, and faintly annoyed. “What are you doing calling me at this hour?” his father asked. Lu Chen pressed the phone harder to his ear. “Father… Mom is really sick. The clinic won’t take her. She can’t even breathe properly. Please—please help us, just this once.” There was silence. Then, a soft, melodious voice drifted through the phone. “Qingyang, who is it? Jinghao can’t sleep—he’s crying again.” Lu Chen’s heart sank. He recognized the voice immediately. It was her. His father’s wife. The elegant woman who had replaced his mother in every way that mattered. Almost immediately, Lu Qingyang’s tone transformed—suddenly gentle and warm, the voice of a loving husband. “It’s nothing, darling. I’ll be there in a moment. Check on Jinghao for me.” A small, childish giggle echoed faintly over the line. Jinghao. Lu Chen clenched his fingers around the receiver. He couldn’t blame the boy—Jinghao was only ten. Still, the sound scraped against him, careless and unbothered, as if none of this mattered at all. A perfect family, on the other side of the city. Far from the slums. Far from the woman dying on a squeaking cot. Far from him. When at last his father returned to the call, the warmth in his voice was gone—as if it had never existed. “Chen, listen to me carefully,” Lu Qingyang said. “Your mother and I… we made mistakes long ago. I can’t keep being dragged back into that past.” Lu Chen’s fingers tightened around the phone. He had heard that word—past—all his life. To him, the past was a cramped apartment that smelled of medicine. The past was his mother coughing into rags because hospital bills were luxuries. The past was the night his father left—and never came back. “So you’re saying,” Lu Chen asked quietly, “you won’t help us?” “I’m saying,” Lu Qingyang replied, his voice steady, practiced, “that you need to stop calling me. It puts me in a difficult position. I have responsibilities now. A reputation.” Reputation. Lu Chen almost laughed. Once, when he had still been small enough to cling to his mother’s sleeve, his father had chosen differently. He had chosen a woman with connections, with money, with a family that could lift him higher. Later, the wedding photos appeared in magazines—his father standing tall, successful, respectable. Meanwhile, his real wife was abandoned. Alone with a little child. “But she’s dying,” Lu Chen said. “That is unfortunate,” Lu Qingyang replied, calm as ice. “But you must be realistic. Take her to a clinic when they have space.” “We’ve tried!” The words tore out of Lu Chen before he could stop them. “Please… she won’t last until tomorrow.” His father went silent for a long moment. Then, a tired sigh came from the other end—not grief, not guilt. Just inconvenience. “You’re young,” his father said. “You don’t understand how the world works yet.” With a soft click, the call ended. Just like that, no goodbye. No hesitation. No trace of the man who had once held him as a child. Only the same abandonment that had followed him since he was too little to understand why his father never came home. Lu Chen lowered the phone slowly, the world tilting beneath his feet. His vision blurred—not with tears, but with something darker, a hollow, gnawing emptiness spreading through his stomach. Then, his mother’s weak voice reached him. “Chen’er… come here.” He turned and saw her crying—but quietly. Silently. Like someone who had run out of hope long ago. “I told you…” she whispered. “You can’t depend on him. He left us. We… we only have each other.” Lu Chen sank to his knees beside his mother’s bed and took her trembling hand. “Mom,” he whispered, “I’m going to save you. I’ll study harder. I’ll find a way. I’ll become strong enough to take you anywhere. I promise.” His mother tried to smile. But then, another violent cough tore through her body—blood speckling her lips. “Chen’er…” She reached up with shaking fingers and touched his cheek. “You’re still so young…” Outside, the rain grew louder, crashing against the roof like the world itself was grieving. Across the city, in a sprawling mansion lit by golden chandeliers, Lu Qingyang sat with his beautiful wife. Their son—little Lu Jinghao—laughed as his mother fed him warm soup. They were a picture of comfort, wealth, and happiness. None of them thought about the woman coughing blood in the slums. None of them wondered how the abandoned child was surviving the night. Back in the dim apartment, Lu Chen wiped the blood from his mother’s lips with trembling hands. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He simply clenched his jaw, sat tall, and whispered to himself— “I’ll become strong,” he said quietly. “One day… we won’t need anyone.” It was the first promise he ever made in anger and despair— not out loud, but carved deep into himself.