DCH CH 10
by LinnaceThis Doctor is Divine
A professional esports player’s real vacation lasts only the first two weeks of the summer break.
After that, there are all kinds of platform-sponsored cups. Every club silently abides by the same unwritten rule: these cups are essentially publicly broadcasted scrims, and the participants are all players on the roster for the next season.
Last week, Qingyi attended Honor of Kings’ official anime expo event. This week, it was back to regular training.
And whenever Captain Qingyi played games, he had one very peculiar habit—he was obsessed with sour flavors.
The girls at the club had a trend of brewing all sorts of lemon-infused drinks. They’d buy a few lemons, slice them up, and share them—some added passion fruit, some mixed in black tea, and others simply dropped in rock sugar before pouring water.
Qingyi followed suit.
Except he added lemon to his lemon water.
During training, everyone kept a water bottle nearby. The moment Qingyi sat down, he’d “order” his coach to fetch him water—or else he’d “threaten” to kick him out of the training room.
Grumbling, the coach would take his bottle and head out to make Qingyi’s lemon water, slicing an entire lemon into it. After a moment’s hesitation, he’d pull another from the fridge, swiftly chop it up, and toss it in too.
Then his gaze would land on the half-lemon left on the cutting board by someone else. His hand would hover guiltily before he’d glance around, feigning ignorance, and quickly dump it into the bottle. Waste not, want not.
With his conscience now clear, the coach would proceed smoothly—fill it with cold water, screw the cap on, shake it violently, and leave.
By the end of this ritual, the lemons would occupy half the bottle. The lemon water from bubble tea shops had long failed to satisfy Qingyi’s unique palate, and the number of lemons had escalated from one to two—with signs of further increase.
The coach had no doubt that the next step would be Qingyi drinking vinegar straight.
In truth, Captain Qingyi was always serious during training. His so-called “threats” were just banter—in reality, he respected the coaching staff deeply.
Before every scrim, the coach had to review match footage, draft strategies, analyze meta shifts, and study opposing teams’ playstyles. They even had to track the players’ proficiency with current meta heroes to optimize drafts.
With so much on their plate, the captain’s help was essential for monitoring individual performance fluctuations.
Sipping his lemon water, Qingyi briefed the coach on the week’s updates:
“Wenjing went on a massive losing streak in Ranked last week. Broke down multiple times during streams. Got chat-banned for 48 hours after sarcastic team chat. Dropped 58 points. I’ve got him cleaning the training room post-practice now.”
The coach nodded. “Mm.”
“Support’s hard to climb with. Club’s quota takes time. Gujiu’s been sneaking in some ADC games, but his Luba and Da Qiao are back to #1 on the leaderboards.” Qingyi took another sip, unfazed.
“Got it. Tell him to manage his time.”
“Wumian got Aoyin and Goya to national rank. We could develop more comps around that. But his Ranked plays have been overly aggressive lately—needs to watch positioning in scrims.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to the analysts.”
“Xinggui’s mid is still steady. Opposite of Wumian—I think he needs to take more risks sometimes.” A lemon slice slipped into his mouth with the water. Qingyi chewed it calmly and swallowed.
The coach, witnessing this, felt his own mouth flood with sourness and gulped involuntarily. “…Yeah.”
Qingyi drained the last of his lemon water, smacking his lips appreciatively. “That’s it. I’m heading back to the dorm. Squading with the main team tonight. See you tomorrow.”
The coach typed the final note and smiled. “Sure.” Then, after a pause: “You’ve been a huge help lately. I’d be sleepless without you.”
“Planning to move into coaching after retiring?”
Qingyi grinned. “Not really. Just figured I’d help out while I can—since I’ll be busy dating soon. Don’t want anyone saying I slacked off.”
The coach: “…”
You couldn’t even bother making up an excuse.
Qingyi was in exceptionally good spirits today.
The moment coaching duties wrapped up, he grabbed his bottle and hurried back to his room.
Pushing the door open, he was greeted by a gigantic Cai Wenji plushie sprawled across his bed. Calling it a “plushie” felt inadequate—this rotund little healer was wider than his torso. Qingyi’s expression was complicated.
In the corner sat an oversized delivery box.
He grabbed scissors and sliced it open. Inside were two Cai Wenji figurines—one matching the screenshot he’d provided, complete with a meticulously crafted health bar for the crystal.
“Oh? Not bad.”
Picking one up, Qingyi examined it closely. Over the past few days, whenever he recalled that match, every other moment blurred—except this one, looping endlessly in his mind.
Then, on his way to the hospital, he’d picked up a copy of Schopenhauer’s Essays on Art left in his father’s car. A passage had struck him: “Just as painting tears a fleeting instant from the flow of time and fixes it forever, so too does art wrest the ephemeral from mortality.”
That’s why he had the idea to immortalize this moment as a figurine – to capture this significant instant that represented the entire match.
Qingyi carefully placed one figurine in a dust-proof display case, positioning it prominently in his room. His gaze then shifted to the second figurine in the box.
This one was a “cool” version – the little healer Cai Wenji wearing sunglasses, standing on her baby carriage yet somehow exuding an air of supreme confidence.
“Damn, this one’s pretty badass too,” Captain Qingyi murmured as he examined the figurine from all angles. The expression reminded him strangely of Dr. Lu at the anime expo – that same self-assured, proud demeanor radiating effortless coolness.
Good job, Wumian. You really get me.
Qingyi mentally noted to reward Wumian later: “I’ll have him arrange more custom orders in the future.”
Though it made him wonder – why didn’t the official game have a “doctor in white coat” skin for Cai Wenji?
Maybe he should suggest it to the developers.
At 5 PM, when IF team’s first squad gathered for their ranked matches, they couldn’t find Captain Qingyi anywhere.
Gu Jiu squatted outside Qingyi’s room, rolling his eyes dramatically.
Wen Jing executed Plan B – recruiting from the pro players’ group chat. Xing Gui tried calling Qingyi repeatedly with no answer.
Finally, Wumian received a WeChat from His Highness Qingyi: “With so many people in the pro players’ group, finding a top laner should take seconds. Tell those slackers to stop playing Goose Goose Duck.”
“If all else fails, just recruit someone from Goose Goose Duck.”
Wumian responded with a middle finger emoji before yelling to Wen Jing: “Found anyone yet? I’m about to fall asleep here.”
Wen Jing scoured the pro players’ supergroup while Gu Jiu checked his in-game friends list. Ten minutes later, Wen Jing shook his head helplessly: “Nothing. This sucks.”
Xing Gui sighed deeply after hanging up: “Sixteen people for Goose Goose Duck fills up instantly, but we can’t find one top laner for a five-man team.”
“How the mighty have fallen, my friends.”
Gu Jiu corrected: “Actually now they can instantly fill two full games. Please be precise with your wording.”
“My apologies.”
Xing Gui tentatively suggested: “What about… a random teammate? Though if fans post about this online, wouldn’t it be embarrassing?”
“Embarrassing as hell!” Just then, Wen Jing’s eyes lit up. “Wait! Jiuge just came online! Invite her quick!”
“Consider this weight training, boys. If we can win carrying Jiuge, next season’s championship is ours for sure!”
Lu Chengjing rolled her eyes: “…Maybe say that when I’m not in the team?”
“Beautiful Jiuge, I’m sure even you are better than that traitor Qingyi who abandoned us to chase after some girl.”
Lu Chengjing’s ears perked up at the gossip: “Qingyi’s chasing someone?”
Wumian piled on, comforting her: “And failing miserably. You should see him following the guy around like a lost puppy.”
“Serves him right!” Lu Chengjing felt poetic justice had been served. “What kind of person has such bad taste to fall for him?”
Without hesitation, Wumian betrayed Qingyi: “Some doctor at the hospital next door.”
Lu Chengjing laughed harder: “I should ask my brother about this – see if he knows the guy. Maybe get some juicy details.”
Wumian casually asked: “Oh? Your brother works at Second Hospital?”
“Yeah, he’s an orthopedic doctor there.”
Wumian: ???
Meanwhile, at Second Hospital…
Dr. Lu’s expression was grave: “You can’t walk at all now?” He knelt to gently examine the knees of the wheelchair-bound teenager before him.
“How did the swelling get this bad?”
The boy kept his head down silently while his red-eyed mother handed over test results with trembling hands: “We came from Shaoxing… they diagnosed osteosarcoma.”
Dr. Lu’s voice softened further: “How long has the pain lasted?”
“Three to four weeks.” The mother’s voice trembled with despair. “It started after a fall. The first week they said it was a fracture… the second week when it didn’t heal, another fracture diagnosis… then we used pain relief patches…”
The father added: “But the medicine just made the tumor grow faster.”
Throughout this, the boy remained silent, just staring at Dr. Lu with red-rimmed eyes, desperately searching for hope.
Dr. Lu sighed, gently pulling the boy’s pant leg down before returning to his seat to examine the scans. “We need to start treatment immediately. How old are you?”
The boy mumbled: “Thirteen.”
As Dr. Lu began preparing the admission forms, the boy suddenly asked: “Doctor… can my illness be treated?”
Hearing the desperate hope in that young voice, Dr. Lu’s typing slowed as he searched for gentle words. Finally, he just sighed softly: “It’s very complicated now.”
The mother wasn’t naive – when doctors spoke this carefully, it meant real trouble.
Standing behind her son, tears flooded down her face as she turned away, gripping her husband’s arm for support while pressing her other hand tightly over her mouth. Even then, choked sobs escaped between her fingers.
Her husband mechanically patted her back, face frozen in shock, eyes blank with disbelief at this nightmare scenario.
For a moment, the examination room was engulfed in palpable despair.
Dr. Lu offered tissues before crouching to meet the boy’s eyes directly, speaking as gently as possible: “Let’s take this step by step. First we’ll do a biopsy to identify the tumor type, then reduce the swelling with medication…”
Though he said “reduce swelling,” everyone present understood – that meant chemotherapy.
There’s a saying in hospitals: What’s truly frightening isn’t when doctors scare you, but when they comfort you.
Outside the door, Qingyi sat listening to Dr. Lu’s gentle reassurances, feeling his own eyes grow damp.
The esports academy had many teenagers this boy’s age – vibrant youths with boundless futures. Just that morning, Qingyi had played basketball with some trainees. How could this bright young life already be facing its sunset?
Peeking through the door crack, Qingyi watched Dr. Lu – masked so his expression wasn’t visible, but his eyes were infinitely kind as he knelt to speak with the boy. Despite the parents’ emotional outbursts, Dr. Lu patiently explained each next step without a trace of impatience.
This was Dr. Lu the physician – compassionate, dedicated, healing.
Suddenly, Qingyi thought of that badass Cai Wenji figurine from earlier. Now the comparison felt completely wrong.
In this moment, Dr. Lu reminded him more of Renaissance paintings of angels – solemn and sacred.
After one last glance, Qingyi quietly left without disturbing them.