The Almighty Martial Arts System

Jiang Fei waited outside the hospital room, flipping through a newspaper and stretching his legs. When Nurse Jia Ling arrived with breakfast, he took the tray and headed back inside.

As soon as he opened the door, he saw Bai Ruoxi stretching drowsily, her eyes fluttering open. Spotting Jiang Fei entering with the food, she froze for a second before scrambling out of bed in alarm.

“You’re out of bed already? Does your wound not hurt anymore? And you went to get breakfast yourself?!”

Jiang Fei set the tray down with a grin. “It still stings a little, but it’s nothing serious. I can manage light activity now. That secret ointment I had them apply yesterday wasn’t for nothing.”

Bai Ruoxi hurried over to inspect his injury, only relaxing once she confirmed he could move without trouble. She then turned to freshen up.

“Since when did your medical skills get this good? Back in college, you barely scraped by—even failed a few classes, didn’t you? And you specialized in ophthalmology! How’d you suddenly become some miracle doctor?” She eyed him skeptically, still unconvinced by his so-called “genius” reputation.

Jiang Fei shot her a look. “People change, Bai Ruoxi. Or did all that time abroad teach you nothing?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You’ve always been full of hot air. Sure, people can improve, but not this fast. Medical expertise doesn’t just appear overnight.”

Irked by her disbelief, Jiang Fei thrust the newspaper at her. “Read today’s front page. Then we’ll see who’s exaggerating.”

Assuming it was more tabloid gossip about him and pop star Qiao Yiyi, Bai Ruoxi scoffed. “What now? Another scandal? Maybe you should quit medicine and join the entertainment industry—wait, Huaxi Metropolitan Daily? Since when do they cover celebrity fluff?”

“Just read it.”

The article, penned by journalist Li Fei—who had interviewed Jiang Fei twice before—recapped his recent feats: outmatching Chengdu’s top physicians and delivering a piano performance that rivaled world-class musicians.

Minutes later, Bai Ruoxi lowered the paper, stunned. “…Is any of this true?”

Jiang Fei took a leisurely bite of breakfast. “About 50%.”

“Only half? Figures. I knew that ‘piano virtuoso’ bit was nonsense. You could barely play guitar decently before.” She set the paper aside, though inwardly, she was impressed. Even if exaggerated, winning over 40,000 fans at a concert wasn’t nothing.

Then Jiang Fei smirked. “Correction: the article only covered half of what I can do. Medicine and music are just the start. You’ll see.”

Bai Ruoxi studied him. She knew his tells—when he was bluffing or, like now, dead serious.

If this was real, it explained the swarm of women around him lately. But how had he transformed so drastically?

A bigger headache loomed: how to keep such a dazzling man to herself. Stars couldn’t be hidden; their light always drew moths.

…

Three days later, Jiang Fei was discharged—his recovery so unnervingly swift that the staff hailed him as a medical marvel.

Bai Ruoxi, now staying in China for good, juggled paperwork between hospital visits. Meanwhile, Jiang Fei’s room became a revolving door of women:

Xia Xiaozhi, Xu Jing, and Tan Yuan, his eager summer-break protegees, dropped by once.
Qiao Yiyi and Ye Yuanyuan made brief appearances.
The trickiest was Lin Moli, who tactfully texted ahead to avoid Bai Ruoxi.

Caught between Bai Ruoxi’s sacrifices and Lin Moli’s quiet devotion (not to mention their near-consummated moment in the villa), Jiang Fei waffled, paralyzed by guilt.

Su Nan, the stockings-loving neighbor, was simpler. Their flirtation stayed casual, though her daughter Tongtong’s whisper nearly wrecked him:

“Uncle Jiang, why do you have two girlfriends? Boys are only supposed to have one.”

Jiang Fei coughed. “Kids shouldn’t ask grown-up questions.”

As they left the hospital, one last figure blocked the exit: Cui Xiuping, grandson of the legendary Dr. Cui, dressed like a Republican-era scholar.