Chapter 1: Chapter One: I Am Not a God of Medicine

Blue Star, China, Liaoning Province, Longcheng, New Year’s Eve, 2021.

After finishing the New Year’s greetings calls, he stood by the window, gazing at the distant horizon, listening to the crackling of firecrackers outside.

“Another year gone by—each year worse than the last,” Wang Yan sighed.

At some point, the New Year had lost all meaning; each year was worse than the one before.

In his desolation, a blue light streaked across the distant horizon, illuminating Wang Yan’s face.

In a daze, Wang Yan felt he had dreamed a dream—he couldn’t recall the details, only that he had met many people, done many things, endured countless cycles of rebirth.

He opened his eyes, sensing something strange about his body.

Before he could think further, a flash of blue light appeared before him—a sci-fi-style interface floated into view, along with a flood of information entering his mind.

Wang Yan

Attributes: Strength 6

Agility 7

Constitution 7

Spirit 10

Unallocated points: 3

Storage space: 1m³

The information explained this was a wish-granting system designed to fulfill the wishes of characters in film and television worlds; after completing a wisher’s request, the system awarded rewards.

It also explained the storage space: only items awarded by the system could travel between the two worlds.

Wang Yan accepted the reality calmly—he’d read plenty of novels; this wasn’t new, just another tired trope.

At twenty-eight, Wang Yan was an only child, an ordinary man with an unremarkable appearance. His parents were alive, his life peaceful. After graduating over four years ago, he worked in real estate sales in Lidash City, earning mediocre results—seven to eight thousand a month. He never dreamed of great wealth, but he could barely scrape by. You could say he’d accomplished nothing.

Now, fate had dropped a golden opportunity in his lap—he felt heaven had chosen him for a great mission.

As for any dark thoughts or conspiracies, he didn’t even consider them—if there was a plot, what could he do about it?

He lit a cigarette.

“Hssss… huuuh…”

He took a deep breath, calming himself.

At that moment, the interface displayed a point-allocation prompt.

Wang Yan unhesitatingly chose Spirit.

Mainly because higher Spirit wouldn’t raise his IQ, but it would sharpen his mind, clarify his logic, and massively boost his memory and analytical ability.

Strength and Agility could be improved through Constitution, and Constitution could be trained.

He adjusted the interface—Spirit rose from 10 to 13.

Instantly, he felt an energy surge deep within his soul.

A cool sensation flooded his mind; forgotten memories surfaced. Wang Yan felt euphoric.

“This feels fucking amazing,” Wang Yan said, wearing a smug grin.

How to describe this feeling?

Like that instant of transcendence during a shudder?

Or the sage-like calm after a cigarette?

Impossible to put into words—just feel it yourself.

After the high faded, Wang Yan tested the system’s storage space—pulling items in and out, just like in the novels, utterly miraculous.

At that moment, the interface popped up a message:

“Wang Jia from ‘I Am Not a God of Medicine’ wishes: May Lv Shengyi not commit suicide due to lack of money; may the child grow up safe and healthy.”

Cheng Yong, owner of an Indian oil shop, lived a miserable life—his shop had no customers, his father lay critically ill, and he couldn’t raise the money for surgery. His ex-wife had become pregnant by a rich man and planned to take away his son’s custody. One day, an unexpected visitor, Lv Shengyi, led him to launch a new venture: buying medicine from India to act as a “proxy purchaser.” Though fraught with difficulties, he discovered a business opportunity on this “medicine-buying path” and became the exclusive agent for Indian generic drugs treating chronic myeloid leukemia.

While making money, he befriended several patients and their families; together they built a profitable enterprise, but danger lurked beneath. Cheng Yong’s former brother-in-law was ordered to investigate the source of the counterfeit drugs, while fake drug peddler Zhang Zhanglin and Swiss pharmaceutical rep Ye watched him with predatory eyes. The business gradually turned into a tug-of-war over redemption.

He opened his computer, read the plot summary, and bought a membership to watch the film.

Then he researched further and planned his next steps.

He checked the time—it was already five.

He lay on the bed, opened the system interface, and selected “Travel.”

A flash of blue light—and Wang Yan vanished from the bed.

…

Wang Yan stood outside Shanghai Railway Station, observing his surroundings, listening to the bustling noise around him—he found it all fascinating.

In reality, he’d never been to Shanghai; one moment he was in his northeastern hometown, the next he stood in a Shanghai railway station from over a decade ago—it was truly… amazing.

He reviewed the information the system had implanted in his mind.

His assigned identity was Wang Jia’s elder brother—biological, no wife, parents deceased years ago, leaving only the two siblings.

He had come to Shanghai because he heard his sister Wang Jia had given birth, and her husband had leukemia; his sister had borrowed money to beg for help, and as the only family member left, he came to see her.

The system had fully prepared all identity documents and provided fifty thousand yuan in cash—all stored in the space.

Watching the sunset’s glow, he hoisted a large package filled with local specialties, waved down a taxi, and followed his memory to Wang Jia’s neighborhood.

He bid farewell to the driver, stared at the aging residential complex, asked a few questions, and walked toward Wang Jia’s home.

He double-checked the address—no mistake.

“Bang… bang… bang.”

Wang Yan knocked hard on the iron door.

“Coming, coming!” Moments later, footsteps approached from inside.

The door creaked open, revealing a thin, spectacled man.

Lv Shengyi saw Wang Yan at the door: “Oh! Brother’s here! Come in, come in!”

He stepped aside, slightly reproachful: “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I could’ve picked you up.”

“I’m not lost—why bother you guys?” Wang Yan pushed past him into the apartment.

Inside, Wang Jia heard the commotion and stepped out, crying out: “Big brother!”

She flung herself onto Wang Yan and burst into tears—the birth of her child, her husband’s terminal illness, her fear and helplessness about the future—all poured out in his presence.

Though her brother was a drunkard, gambler, brawler, he had always been good to her—since childhood, he had cared for and protected her.

Now, seeing Wang Yan, she wept uncontrollably.

Wang Yan felt awkward, quickly soothing her—his head throbbed; he’d never faced anything like this.

For Wang Jia, Wang Yan had system-supplied memories—as if he’d lived them himself—but subjectively, he felt some resistance, making him uneasy around her.

“Stop being dramatic—I’m here now. Don’t worry, it’s not that bad. Don’t scare the baby.” After much coaxing, he calmed Wang Jia.

He walked inside, gazing at the infant in the cradle—his heart swelled with affection.

Babies were most adorable at this stage; once they grew up, they’d lose their charm.

Though he had no wife in reality, that didn’t stop Wang Yan from feeling like a doting father.

“Has the baby been named?” Wang Yan asked.

“Shengyi named him Lv Ping.”

Wang Yan mused: “Lv Ping—nice name.”

He played with the baby a while longer, watching little Lv Ping fall into a deep, exhausted sleep—Wang Yan felt utterly content.

Settling in the living room, he turned to the couple: “How’s your condition?”

“Untreatable. Only medication can sustain me. But the drug’s too expensive—thirty-seven thousand per bottle, lasts half a month. Even selling our old apartment would cover only six months. Sigh…” Lv Shengyi sighed.

Lv Shengyi’s parents had passed away a few years ago, leaving behind an apartment. Before falling ill, he lived comfortably in Shanghai—no worries about food or drink.

“I can’t afford it anymore. I can hold on for a while, but I think… I should just give up.”

“No treatment. Don’t burden them. Leave the apartment to Wang Jia and the child. Let me fade away. I just… I’m sorry to them.”

Wang Jia sat silently, wiping tears.

Wang Yan cursed: “What the hell are you talking about? ‘Fade away’? What are you going to do to your widow and orphan? Stop spouting useless nonsense.”

“Thirty-seven thousand domestically—what about abroad? Look elsewhere.”

“Can a man die from holding his pee?”

“In India, the medicine works—and it’s cheap, only two thousand. I’ve had it tested. But you can’t buy it here,” Lv Shengyi replied—still before he’d ever met Cheng Yong.

Wang Yan declared firmly: “See? There’s a way out. Stop moping about death. Fine, I’ll figure something out. How many people have this disease?”

Wang Jia spoke up: “Brother, you’re not thinking of smuggling, are you? Don’t do anything stupid—it’s illegal!”

She knew her brother well—he’d always been trouble-prone and reckless. She feared he’d get himself into more trouble.

“Yeah, brother, don’t do anything illegal—you’ll go to jail,” Lv Shengyi added.

Wang Jia had told him about his brother’s past—he’d listened with dread. Honestly, he was a little afraid of this big brother-in-law.

Of course, they didn’t know the man before them was no longer the same—no longer the impulsive brother they knew.

Whether this brother even existed in the original plot was debatable—Wang Yan could only say the system was incredible.

Come to think of it, the protagonists in the novels he’d read—all ordinary nobodies before their time-travel—became legends in other worlds.

Knowledge, vision, experience, perspective—these weren’t things mere foresight could compensate for. Wang Yan could only say: this felt fucking amazing. After all, he was one of those nobodies too—not an elite, not a winner. Who wouldn’t want to turn their life around?

“Forget it—your life’s almost gone. Why waste time talking nonsense? Wanting to live isn’t wrong.”

“Besides, you’re my only sister—I can’t just watch you and your child suffer.”

“Enough. Don’t worry. Rest well, don’t stress,” Wang Yan declared firmly.

“How much money do you have? I’ve got fifty thousand.” He asked—money made everything easier.

Wang Jia said, “Still not quite.” She was the one in charge at home.

“Alright, tomorrow you give me fifty thousand, I’ll go myself.”

Seeing they were silent, he said, “Enough thinking—go get something to eat. We haven’t eaten yet.”

After eating, they drank a bit of alcohol and carefully went over the situation with Lv Shengyi.

At this point, Wang Yan learned that Lv Shengyi had already begun searching for people who could smuggle, and had already found Zhang Jun, the neighbor of Cheng Yong who ran a guesthouse.

Through careful questioning, he also learned the news about Liu Sihui.

After eating and drinking, since the place was small, Wang Yan fell asleep on the sofa.

Wang Yan was asleep, but the young couple had no heart to sleep.

Watching the child snore peacefully, they whispered to each other all night without sleeping.

The next day, Wang Yan was woken by the child’s crying; his body felt uncomfortable—he’d slept on the sofa all night.

“Cries loud enough,” Wang Yan said helplessly, his good dream shattered.

After breakfast, Wang Jia and Lv Shengyi handed Wang Yan the fifty thousand they’d retrieved early that morning, both faces filled with worry.

“Brother, be careful—India isn’t like our country,” Wang Jia urged anxiously.

“Enough worrying—I’ll be back in three or five days,” Wang Yan said, waving as he left.

He found an internet cafe and stared at the dozen or so bulky desktop computers inside, unable to help but marvel at how fast technology had evolved.

In just over a decade, the pace of technological change was unimaginable—in real life, even a kitchen knife would be hard to replace, long since thrown in the trash.

He searched online for information on Gleevec in India. Though information was already overwhelming, it was still far behind what it would be a decade later; back then, the number of internet users in China was only around forty million, compared to over a billion by 2020—a chasm of difference.

Wang Yan came to the internet cafe mainly to verify whether the real-world information he’d found matched the information in the cinematic world, since the two worlds would naturally differ in their data.

After confirming the information, he went out and bought a cleaver and a dagger, storing them in his space for self-defense.

His identity documents were fully arranged; he bought a ticket to India and set off.