Scarlett had already completed formal training and was fully capable of handling rescue work on her own.

But now, she was urgently calling me to take over this hot potato. Something didn't add up.

"Scarlett, you take over for now. My stomach is killing me. I can't step out right now. You're usually so proactive during emergencies anyway. I'm sure you can handle this one on your own."

Reluctantly, Scarlett went ahead with the rescue by herself.

I hid in the men's restroom, gazing out the window.

In the darkness, the lights dotted the paths of the hospital.

I'd been here for over a decade, and I had died here too. Over all these years, I'd worked diligently and had never crossed anyone.

If the medical dispute wasn't something the hospital could control, then the false accusation was downright suspicious.

Who was trying to set me up?

"Dr. Garrison, you need to come now! I can't hold on much longer!"

Scarlett called me for help. She was performing CPR on the patient and had already pushed herself to the point of exhaustion.

In my last life, I had persevered for half an hour because I believed that if the patient was in my hands, it was my responsibility to fight for his life.

Even if I had to use every last ounce of energy, I didn't want to give up on even the smallest chance.

CPR wasn't supposed to last that long, but it was only because I refused to stop that we saw a glimmer of hope for his survival.

After Scarlett's routine efforts, the patient still showed no signs of improvement. It looked like the patient would be declared dead.

At that point, Scarlett had given up.

I came out of the restroom but didn't go straight to the ER.

Instead, I subtly hinted to her. "When a life is at stake, you can't give up, even if there's just a glimmer of hope. If you can't push, switch with someone. If that doesn't work, use the machine."

The hospital had a CPR machine, and Scarlett knew that.

Reluctantly, she hooked the patient up to the machine. With the CPR device and defibrillator working together, the patient's heart rate returned, and he was rushed to surgery for further treatment.

Once the heart rate was restored, the remaining treatment would be straightforward.

In a choice between broken ribs and losing one's life, anyone would choose the former.

When I heard the news that the patient had pulled through, I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief.

To avoid getting dragged into the mess, I made sure to keep myself completely out of the rescue.

But to my surprise, as Scarlett was leaving the ER, she ran into Aidan Palmer, the deputy director of the hospital.

She burst into tears, telling him that I wasn't at my post and nearly caused the patient's death.

Scarlett, with Aidan in tow, barged into my office without even knocking. Clearly, she couldn't be bothered to play nice anymore.

When they came in, I was sitting at my desk, sorting through patient charts.

Scarlett wiped her tears and pointed at me. "Dr. Palmer, look! We're swamped in the ER, yet Dr. Garrison is just sitting here doing nothing. If it weren't for his laziness and negligence, we wouldn't have come so close to a medical accident."

In every previous rescue, patients who had died were only declared dead after confirmation.

But miracles did happen. With a doctor's persistence, some patients who had no vital signs were brought back to life.

We couldn't claim that persistence alone would always save a life. But it was better to exhaust every ounce of our strength than to let a single soul slip away.

My palms were sweating with nervousness, but I stood up and tried to remain calm. I swallowed hard and spoke slowly.

"There's no rule that says doctors can't use the restroom during work hours. While I was in the restroom, you could've asked other doctors for help. Why must you ask me?"

I was only human, not a god. I couldn't be perfect all the time.

"You're my mentor. Of course, I'd come to you with any questions." Scarlett's tone was stiff, and there was a hint of barely concealed resentment in her eyes.

A chilling thought suddenly crossed my mind.

But before I could voice it, I needed to verify something.

Frowning, Aidan started taking passive-aggressive swipes at me.

"Wilder, next time, don't take so long in the restroom. We're fighting for lives in the ER. There's no room for slack. How can you be focused on filing charts right now? Shouldn't this have been done ages ago? If everyone is stuck doing paperwork, who's left to save the patients?"

I bit back my anger and forced myself to answer him calmly, "I'm only working overtime because I didn't finish filing the charts. Besides, I'm not even scheduled for the ER tonight. Dr. York is the one on duty."

Aidan's face flushed with fury at my rebuttal. "What do you mean by that? I'm the deputy director. Can't I even question you? If your efficiency is so low that you have to work overtime just to finish your work, have you considered that you might be the problem?"

My blood was boiling, but no matter how unjust I felt, I couldn't publicly argue with a superior.

The pile of patient charts on my desk was as high as a mountain.

The patient, who was discharged just this morning, had been hospitalized for six months. The printed medical records were 20 inches high. I had to meticulously check every single page and handwrite a case summary.

Any senior doctor would need days to finish this task. But because I volunteered for overtime, Aidan twisted it into an accusation of low work efficiency.

"Dr. Garrison, even if you weren't on duty, the ER was busy. You should have helped out. As a doctor, how can you just stand by while lives are at risk?"

Helping out didn't come with a bonus, so why the hell should I be expected to jump in?

Out of professional ethics, I kept those thoughts to myself.

Even the work I loved began to lose its initial appeal after long, exhausting hours.

I cared about my patients, but I wasn't so sure they appreciated me.

Just like in my last life, I collapsed at the surgery door, almost fainting from low blood sugar. I had given everything to save the patient, only for him to stab me to death afterward.

Any doctor would feel betrayed by that.

When Scarlett heard Aidan's words, she burst into louder sobs.

"I heard Dr. Garrison say before that he's sick of this job. He doesn't even like saving people.

"Once, I happened to walk in on him during rounds. He was standing over a comatose patient, muttering about how the man should just die instead of pointlessly hogging a bed in the ward."

Shaking, she hid behind Aidan.

"Dr. Palmer, I refuse to work under a mentor who is so utterly devoid of humanity. He treats human life like it's disposable. It's terrifying. How can a doctor with no medical ethics and zero professional integrity be allowed to stay on staff at this hospital?"

She wept with bitter, heart-wrenching intensity.

No medical ethics?

If I lacked medical ethics, then Aidan was probably a fake doctor. He had done enough shady things, and I'd seen a few of them with my own eyes.

I couldn't stop myself from letting out a scoff. "If you can provide proof that I ever said those things, then I'll resign."

It was just her word against mine. Scarlett wanted to pull me into her mess, but I crushed that idea before it could start. So, she hadn't had time to fabricate any evidence yet.

Scarlett couldn't produce any recordings, so there was nothing they could do to me.

That gave me more time to search for the truth behind it all.

Scarlett shot me a glare, her eyes filled with hatred and disgust.

"Just you wait. I'll find the evidence."

Her words were so resolute, but I could clearly sense that her hatred wasn't just directed at me.

When she first joined the hospital, she was a bright, innocent young lady. What had happened to her? What had caused this change?

…

The patient sustained six broken ribs this time.

In my last life, he had needed over three months to recover. And the hospital had placed me on administrative leave for exactly three months.

He had assumed I'd fled to avoid compensation.

When I returned to my position, he came to my office, demanding 400 thousand dollars in compensation.

"100 thousand dollars per rib. I'm already cutting you a deal. You'd better pay up."

When I refused, he became enraged and chased me with a knife.

In the end, I was fatally stabbed in the hospital corridor. My blood splattered all over the floor.

I would never forget those dark eyes.

This time, with six ribs broken, he would need at least seven months of recovery.

Before heading home that night, I donned a mask and quietly entered the ward of tonight's emergency patient.

Strangely, all the other patients had family members with them, but this one had none.

I glanced at his name tag and saw his name—Martin Lowell.

I couldn't help but let out a sigh.

This was different from what I imagined. But it didn't matter. Good would always prevail over evil. I'd find a breakthrough eventually.

I went home for some sleep. When I woke up, it was already noon.

My wife, Aleah Webster, had cooked several of my favorite dishes and called me to the table.

Our two children, still in elementary school, sat at the table too.

Looking at their innocent faces made my heart ache.

In my last life, they had lost their father, and Aleah had to raise them alone.

No matter what, I couldn't let myself walk down that path to death again.

I went into the kitchen to help Aleah gather plates and utensils to set the table.

She seemed to remember something. "Wilder, Mom called last night. She said your cousin had another son. The baby took her last name. Mom wants us to visit the hospital. Don't forget to bring a gift for the baby's one-month celebration."

She smiled as she handed me four plates.

Suddenly, it hit me. Siblings didn't necessarily have to take their father's surname.

After finishing the meal in a daze, I headed back to the hospital for my shift.

I changed into my lab coat and went to do my rounds first, just as I always did.

As I stepped off the elevator on Martin's floor, I caught the faint sound of an argument coming from the stairwell.

"You brat, what's so hard about helping your brother?"

A woman in her 60s hurled a lunchbox at Scarlett's head.

"You work at a big hospital, making tens of thousands of dollars a month. How could you not spare some to pay his medical bills? I think you're just selfish, trying to keep the money for yourself!"

Seeing this scene shook me to my core. The pieces of the puzzle started to click into place.

Martin was Scarlett's brother.

But her family was steeped in a deep-rooted preference for sons over daughters, and they had been constantly hounding her for money.

When Martin nearly drank himself to death, he was brought to our hospital.

Scarlett wanted him dead more than anything, but she couldn't let it look too obvious, so she pinned the whole thing on me.

She didn't want to get involved in saving Martin, so she pushed me to do it. She knew if Martin died, her mother would cause a scene at the hospital.

Not only would Scarlett avoid the blame for his death, but she could also dodge her mother's wrath.