Traditional Chinese Medicine doctor Gao-Yuan

“Gao-Yuan.”

“Here.”

“Go on in. Have a good talk with your family. Strive for a positive reform.”

The door creaked open.

A gaunt figure shuffled in. The hands and ankles that peeked through the frayed fabric were little more than skin stretched over bone, and his cheeks were hollow, sunken deep into his face. His eyes had long lost their luster, devoid of any life, moving only occasionally, as if out of habit.

Gao-Yuan moved slowly toward the table, settling into the chair without a sound.

The guard secured his hands to the iron ring bolted to the table, and Gao-Yuan sat there, his gaze fixed and vacant, staring ahead at the iron bars before him.

Not long after, another man entered. He leaned heavily on a wooden cane, his belly protruding, his face swollen and tinged with an unnatural flush. Every few steps, he would gasp for air, as if each breath took more effort than the last. This short walk of barely a dozen meters seemed like a torturous journey for him.

Gao-Yuan’s lifeless eyes twitched. He looked his visitor up and down, his parched, skeletal face tightening imperceptibly.

The man, however, kept his head bowed, refusing to meet Gao-Yuan’s gaze.

Frowning, Gao-Yuan turned to the guard. “Can I examine my brother’s condition?”

The guard took a long look at the visitor, clearly ill, and nodded. “As before, any diagnosis and prescription need to be filed.”

Gao-Yuan turned his eyes back to his brother.

Gao Jun finally made his way to the seat opposite, collapsing into it with laboring breaths.

“How did your rheumatic heart disease get this bad?” Gao-Yuan asked, his voice flat but tinged with worry.

But Gao Jun ignored him. With no expression, he lifted his head. and waited until his breath evened out before speaking coldly, “I’m here to inform you of something.”

A knot tightened in Gao-Yuan's chest.

“Mother’s gone.”

Three simple words, and the world seemed to fall silent, frozen for what felt like an eternity.

In that moment, Gao-Yuan’s mind went blank. Everything around him became hazy and indistinct, as if he couldn’t comprehend why he was here, in this place, at this time.

“What?” Gao-Yuan muttered, his voice barely audible.

Gao Jun had already lost interest. He pushed himself up from the chair, gripped his wooden cane, and began his unsteady journey toward the door.

Gao-Yuan watched him leave, his lips trembling, words caught in his throat. He wanted to call out, but all he could muster were incoherent. desperate sounds. “Ah…”

Gao Jun paused at the doorway, never turning around. He simply said, with cold detachment, “If only you never existed...”

Gao-Yuan’s body frozen, as if time itself had halted. And then everything went black, as if the last sliver of light had been extinguished.

“Gao-Yuan! Gao-Yuan! Someone, help!”

…

On a train.

Zhang Yuancai sat smoking, though this particular cigarette seemed to burn awkwardly in his hand. There was something strange about the young man next to him.

This young man knew his name and called him with such familiarity, but Zhang Yuancai couldn’t recall ever meeting him. What was more unsettling was the boy’s odd behavior. He’d stand up, sit down, and gaze out the window, then back at the carriage. He pinched his thigh, slapped his face, and borrowed newspapers from other passengers only to glance at the date and then return them, seemingly disinterested in the actual news.

Returning to his seat, the young man started muttering to himself, words incomprehensible but often featuring the word “Mother.” If he hadn't called him by his name, Zhang Yuan might have called the traffic police.

After a long while, as the train neared its destination, Zhang Yuancai licked a piece of paper, sprinkled a bit of tobacco, and deftly rolled himself another cigarette. The young man seemed to have calmed down, at least no longer muttering nonsense.

“Hey, kid,” Zhang Yuancai finally decided to break the silence. “What’s your name?”

The young man kept his head down, fingers entwined tightly. “Gao-Yuan.”

“Gao-Yuan…” The name stirred something in Zhang Yuancai’s memory. “How do you know my name?”

Slowly, Gao-Yuan turned to look at him, studying the face that seemed far younger than he remembered. “You’re in charge of purchasing and distributing medicinal herbs for our county. I know you.”

“Oh, a fellow townsman!” Zhang Yuancai laughed, suddenly understanding. “No wonder your name sounded familiar. But why were you acting? so strange? Talking about coming back, calling out for your mom... What’s going on with you?”

Gao-Yuan stared blankly at him, forcing a weak smile. “I… miss home.”

“Ah, so you’re just back from somewhere? You got your introduction letter?” Zhang Yuancai asked.

Gao-Yuan reached into his bag, pulling out the letter, his hands trembling slightly as he stared at it.

Seeing the letter, Zhang Yuancai’s wariness faded, and curiosity took its place. “Which village are you from, anyway?”

“Zhang-Zhuang,” Gao-Yuan replied.

“Which team? Who’s your dad?” Zhang Yuancai's eyes widened. “I’m from Zhang-Zhuang too!”

Gao-Yuan lowered his gaze; his eyes clouded with thought. “Of course I know. You’re famous in our village.”

Embarrassed but pleased, Zhang Yuancai waved his hand dismissively and took a puff of his cigarette.

After a pause, Gao-Yuan asked, “Uncle Yuancai, how’s your family? Is the old lady still well?”

The smile vanished from Zhang Yuancai’s face. “It’s kind of you to ask, but my mother’s been ill for a while. We even took her to a big hospital in the city, but she didn’t improve. When we brought her back to the county, she got worse. Just got a telegram urging me to return... I have no idea what’s happened.”

Gao-Yuan bowed his head. Yes, the timeline matched.

In the previous timeline, he had taken this exact train. Upon returning, he joined the village clinic but soon encountered Zhang Yuancai, who stormed in and accused the doctors of prescribing the wrong treatment and hastening his mother’s death. The fallout was severe, nearly destroying Gao-Yuan’s livelihood.

Gao-Yuan remained silent, his head bowed. Inside, his heart churned, wrestling with disbelief. How had he returned? Why is this impossible? unscientific journey back a decade, back to this train, back to the beginning? And yet every detail confirmed it—he was truly here, ten years younger, with a chance to rewrite his fate.

Gazing out at his reflection in the window, he stared into his own eyes. Younger, but with a weight far beyond his years.

“Uncle Yuancai,” he said suddenly, “I’ll go back with you. I want to examine your mother.”

“You? Examine?” Zhang Yuancai squinted, confused. “What do you mean? What do you do?”

Gao-Yuan met his gaze, unflinching. “I am a doctor.”