DCH CH 1
by LinnaceThis Doctor—It Had to Be Him
The finals of the KPL King of Glory Pro League S25 Spring Split had just concluded, and all teams had officially entered the blissful offseason.
Well, at least that’s what all the fans and viewers thought. The players themselves? Not so much.
Lately, streaming platforms had been buzzing with activity.
Because, of course, pro players had to stream too.
As the saying goes: slack at the start of the month, scramble to catch up at the end.
During the summer break, the clubs didn’t manage the players too tightly. Occasionally, teams would schedule a couple of scrims or send out their star players for business events. But for the most part, as long as they hit their contracted streaming hours, the rest of their time was theirs to use freely.
And that’s exactly where the problem started.
IF Team didn’t put any pressure on its players. The team manager gave one simple instruction: “Just hit your streaming quota. The rest of your time is yours.”
With that, he gave a big wave and declared vacation.
As for how IF’s main roster split their time?
Well, let’s just say—Qingyi streamed, and everyone else… rebroadcasted Qingyi’s stream.
While the great comrade Qingyi stayed up all night grinding, living by the noble mantra “If the moon’s not sleeping, I’m not either,” and unintentionally shouldering the entire team’s streaming duty, the model worker even had to humbly fill in whatever role the team lacked.
All in the name of ranking up, of course.
But what Qingyi didn’t expect was that despite all his late nights and overwork, every game still started off like a disaster. It got to the point that he exploded in his stream, mic practically on fire:
“He took my minion wave, I didn’t even hit level two!” Qingyi, playing the ultimate filler mid-laner, tried to keep his cool as he explained his play. “I even pinged retreat! If I walked over at level one, I’d just be feeding!”
But his teammate kept blaming him for not rotating from mid. After a night of nothing but losing streaks in ranked, Qingyi’s temper finally snapped. “What am I supposed to do with a level one Xi Shi?!”
“You ate a pig, didn’t you?” the teammate pressed.
“Even after killing the pig, I need a big one to reach level two! And their level two Lian Po is already on my back—what do you want from me?!” The rage Qingyi had been bottling up all night finally blew. “Seriously, how did you guys even get to the top ranks?! Huh?! You gave up first blood and I didn’t even say anything to you! Big bro!”
Watching Qingyi lose it in-game, the live chat was flooded with hahahaha.
They were all fans, sure—but seeing a pro player getting griefed by bizarre teammates was peak entertainment.
Realizing he might’ve gone too far, Qingyi suddenly softened his tone, afraid of getting a yellow card warning from the league: “Alright, let’s all focus up. We can win this with our comp.”
But of course, things rarely go the way Qingyi hopes.
Barely ten minutes in, the enemy was already pushing into their high ground tower.
Qingyi, wearing an expression of pure pain, spoke to his chat:
“Guys… I’m losing my outer mid tower at seven minutes every single game. If I don’t defend, the tower’s gone. If I do defend, it’s still gone. TAT”
His voice even started to wobble, like he was on the verge of tears.
“And then it’s just straight to losing the inner tower… and next thing you know, I’m defending high ground.”
“But it’s fine! I’m a pro—we thrive on resilience!” he declared, even making a little motivational fist pump for himself. “My tower-defense instincts are kicking in again, fam, let’s go!”
Despite his inspiring tone, their base crystal still exploded—right on cue—with the background noise of his teammates arguing like it was their full-time job.
Qingyi stared at the defeat screen, the light completely gone from his eyes. He silently scrolled through the match history, a long row of MVPs on the losing side, and muttered under his breath,
“Ugh, cursed…”
【That’s it, I officially feel bad for him. LMAO】
【Counting last night’s ranked, this has gotta be thirteen losses in a row.】
【Even I, a humble 8am class peasant, have already gotten up. And you’re telling me our Captain Qingyi hasn’t won a single game??】
【Spread the word—Qingyi, the Thirteen-Loss Legend of One Night.】
“Guys… please, stop. I’m gonna break down. I’m logging off. Let’s fight again tonight.”
As the only member of IF Team who was dutifully streaming, Qingyi had been burning the candle at both ends—pulling all-nighters, waking up early, showing up like a responsible worker bee, and refusing to slack off.
But in the end… he may have overestimated his youthful stamina.
At 8:30 in the morning, with cicadas chirping outside the window, Qingyi finally put his phone down after an exhausting comeback game that had taken every ounce of his mental strength.
He stood up, stretched lazily, and was about to do a few quick warmups before heading to the team cafeteria for breakfast—
Crack.
He was pretty sure he just heard something in his back snap.
Next door, Wu Mian was still groggy when he was jolted awake by the screech of a chair dragging across the floor. A second later, he heard a heavy thud from the room next to his.
Worried something had happened to their captain, Wu Mian scrambled out of bed, fumbling to throw on a shirt. His pants weren’t even fully pulled up as he hopped on one leg, frantically searching for a slipper under the bed.
He burst into Qingyi’s room with his hair still a mess, only to be greeted by this scene—
His ever-mighty, ever-glorious captain was holding his lower back, one hand on the floor, trying and failing to get up. Cold sweat was dripping from his brow, his face tilted slightly upward as he gasped for breath, doing his best to ride out the pain.
Wu Mian’s sleepiness vanished on the spot. He rushed over to help, and after a whole lot of effort, the two of them finally managed to get Qingyi on his feet.
a heads-up. Just go straight in and ask to be added to her list. It’s the Second Hospital right next to your club.”
Qingyi thanked her and ended the call. Wu Mian supported him out the door, hailed a cab, and they made their way to the hospital.
Every major hospital’s outpatient building looked more or less the same—packed with people. Crowds gathered around the registration machines, forming long lines, and there were even scalpers sneaking around offering appointment slots for a price.
Beside the information desk in the main hall was a display board listing all the attending doctors in each department.
Qingyi walked slowly with one hand on his back, shuffling along like a pregnant woman. Wu Mian stayed close, helping him toward the directory.
“Director Jiang…” Wu Mian scanned the names line by line until his eyes lit up. He pointed at one of the photos. “Here! Orthopedics Department, Chief Physician Jiang Xiao.”
Glancing at the doctor’s credentials, Wu Mian nudged Qingyi and said, “Looks impressive. You rich and powerful types really have it good. This kind of doctor? Normal people would have to fight tooth and nail to get an appointment.”
Qingyi didn’t respond. One hand was still rubbing at his aching lower back, while the other was pointing to a different photo next to Dr. Jiang’s.
“I think this doctor looks good.”
As in—good-looking. Just his type.
Wu Mian pushed up his glasses and read the name. “Associate Chief Physician… Lu Jingcheng. Uh, wouldn’t the chief physician be more qualified, though?”
Still staring at the screen, Wu Mian pulled out his phone and refreshed the appointment system. “Also, this Dr. Lu doesn’t have any open slots today either.”
Figures. It was just one of those days. Qingyi let out a cold laugh in his heart.
Lately, in the Orthopedics Department of the Second Hospital, the nurses had been stealing glances at the office and whispering to each other about the new doctor.
Why? Simple. Because he was gorgeous.
Tall, slender, with sharp, elegant features, Dr. Lu somehow made the standard white hospital coat look like a designer long trench coat.
A few pens peeked out of the chest pocket. His work badge hung neatly at the front.
The photo on his badge was taken right after he’d finished his residency training. He’d cleaned up specifically for the picture—expression serious but with a faint upward curve to his lips. His almond-shaped eyes seemed to gaze right through the camera, with a hint of mischief, as if he were silently saying to all the young nurses:
“Bet you can’t resist me, can you?”
Next to the photo was his full name: Lu Jingcheng.
That morning, Dr. Lu was holding his outpatient clinic. A college-aged girl stood in front of him, sobbing and sniffling as she handed over her CT scan. She complained that her lower back hurt so much she couldn’t even sit. She had gone to a massage parlor before, which helped for a few days, but then the pain came right back.
Lu Jingcheng was entering notes into her chart while gently pressing along her lower back, calmly asking about her symptoms.
His expression was focused as he adjusted the white coat over his neatly fitted shirt. He didn’t bother with a tie, and the top two buttons were undone, adding a subtle, disarming elegance to his appearance.
The girl lay on the exam table, and Dr. Lu gently lifted one of her legs. “Does it hurt like this?” he asked softly.
After completing the examination, he helped her sit up and pointed to the scan. “You’ve got a calcified lumbar disc herniation. So, it’s too painful for you to sit for long periods, isn’t it?”
The girl hiccupped through her tears and nodded.
Lu Jingcheng paused for a moment, then asked, “Have you considered surgery?”
The moment she heard that word, the girl let out a wail, her head shaking like a rattle-drum. She stammered that she was still a student, just home for the holidays, and really didn’t want to go under the knife.
Dr. Lu sighed and handed her a tissue. “Then let’s start with conservative treatment.”
He continued typing notes on the computer, looking a little tired but still maintaining his professional tone. “Come in regularly for treatment. We’ll try a non-surgical approach for now.”
The girl stared up at him with wide, teary eyes and asked, “Will it come back again?”
Without looking up, Dr. Lu kept typing as he replied in a steady, reassuring voice, “If you stay active and exercise properly, the chances of it recurring will be much lower.”
His words were calm and clinical, showing no hint of sympathy for her tearful state.
She looked at the photo on his badge, opened her mouth to ask another question—but in the end, said nothing. Holding her scan, she left quietly.
When Qingyi arrived at the waiting area, all the seats were already taken. He looked up at the electronic board, spotting Lu Jingcheng’s name, and couldn’t help feeling once again how cursed his day had been.
But before he could stew in his misery for long, a commotion broke out in the waiting room.
Two men barged in—one clutching his arm, the other a burly guy with a face full of menace. They were shouting and cursing at each other as they stomped into the hall. One of them had blood on his face, and every time he yelled, it looked like the dried blood was about to shake loose.
The young nurse hurried over to stop the two men, who were about to draw their swords again. The man clutching his arm yelled and cursed even louder, fully expressing the pain in his arm and his anger toward the man in front of him.
Qingyi wasn’t far from them. He held his waist, trying to distance himself from the center of the storm.
The man with a face full of flesh couldn’t keep up with the argument, so he reached out and shoved the other man hard on the shoulder. The man stumbled, took a few unsteady steps, and crashed into the innocent young nurse passing behind him.
The poor nurse, holding various bottles of iodine and disinfectant, was knocked off balance and fell forward.
Qingyi looked at the terrified nurse heading straight toward him. The dull pain in his waist left him unable to move. His mind went blank. The man who usually reacted so quickly on the field could only think of two words at this moment—It’s over.
Suddenly, the door to the clinic behind him was pushed open. The man took a long stride, grabbed Qingyi’s arm, and steadied the nurse by her shoulder.
Bottles and jars clattered to the ground, spilling everywhere. The nurse quickly thanked the man and bent down to clean up the mess. The two troublemakers froze, staring blankly at the disarray in front of them.
A cold voice came from behind Qingyi: “What are you doing?”
Qingyi was tightly locked beside the man by his grip on his arm. He glanced at the others around him. He recognized the man—Deputy Chief Orthopedic Physician, Lu Jingcheng.
Lu Jingcheng was tall. Standing in front of several young nurses and two middle-aged men causing a scene, he was almost a full head taller, standing out from the crowd.
Later, Qingyi would tell Lu Jingcheng about this moment: Looking back now, you pulled my arm so hard it really hurt. In those idol dramas, the female lead falls into the arms of the male lead. But me? I got yanked aside by the male lead’s powerful arms.
“Are you alright?” Lu Jingcheng asked softly, lowering his head to check on Qingyi.
Qingyi felt the dull pain in his waist and grimaced as he pressed his hand to it, but still forced a smile for Lu Jingcheng. “I’m fine. Really.”
As Lu Jingcheng turned to reprimand the two men, he didn’t release his grip on Qingyi’s arm.
In his eyes, Qingyi was clearly still pretending to be tough, his body almost collapsing under him, yet still insisting he was okay.
Qingyi wasn’t interested in hearing Dr. Lu lecture about the hospital’s rules. Instead, he found himself looking at the hand still supporting him.
The fingers were so long. Lu Jingcheng’s hands had distinct joints, like carefully carved works of art, with every line smooth and graceful.
They were hands to rival those of a professional athlete.
Qingyi’s own hand, almost involuntarily, tightened around Lu Jingcheng’s.
Lu Jingcheng’s hand shifted slightly, and his voice faltered. He turned to look at Qingyi. Though his face was hidden by a mask, his eyes, beautiful and expressive, silently asked: What’s wrong?
Lu Jingcheng handed Qingyi over to Wumian, who had just arrived. Wumian thanked him and helped Qingyi walk a few steps. But then Qingyi stopped, his voice firm.
“I want to make an appointment with him.”
“Eh?” Wumian was caught off guard. “Who?”
Qingyi pointed backward without hesitation. “Him.”
Perhaps because Qingyi’s gesture was too obvious, Lu Jingcheng, who was about to return to the clinic, paused and turned to look at them. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly under his mask, but his eyes remained unchanged. He lowered his head, turned, and headed back into the clinic.
Wumian came back to his senses. “But he doesn’t have any available slots. Can’t you just go to Director Jiang?”
No.
He didn’t believe it. Today, he would get his way!
Lu Jingcheng. It had to be him.
Ignoring the pain in his waist, Qingyi pushed Wumian’s supporting hand aside.
He glared at Lu Jingcheng, gritted his teeth, endured the pain, and, using all his strength, took a few shaky steps forward. He called out to Lu Jingcheng, who had already entered the clinic office.
“Dr. Lu,” Qingyi staggered forward, following him into the office. His tone was steady, unwavering, and not at all guilty for asking without an appointment. “Can you please add a number?”