All the Female Protagonists Who Have Been Saved Have Become Obsessed [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 20

Zhou Li was definitely unhappy.

The outcome was what she wanted, but the process was far from joyful.

She felt like a circus monkey, with Chunshui holding the whip. While she racked her brain, sleepless, trying to apologize, Chunshui sat back calmly, fishing. If they hadn’t run into each other today, how long would Chunshui have kept her in the dark?

Zhou Li’s eyes showed a layer of grievance.

Beneath her elite facade was a childlike personality.

Chunshui saw her reddened eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses, her bitten lip, and the hurt on her face. Her heart stirred. She reached out, removed Zhou Li’s glasses, and softened her tone. “Why cry? Didn’t I agree to act in the movie?”

Zhou Li felt even more wronged. The words sounded like a dismissive jerk saying, “I did what you wanted, so what’s your problem?”

She exhaled deeply, not wanting to lose face, and forced out, “How dare I be upset? You’re free to do what you want.”

Zhou Li turned, striding into the hospital. This time, she left first, with Chunshui watching.

Chunshui looked at the glasses in her hand, then gazed faintly at the hospital, a soft smile escaping her lips.

She was starting to care about Doctor Zhou’s feelings.

Zhou Li returned to her office, deflated.

Leaning back in her chair, legs propped on the desk, she tilted the chair, balancing on its back legs, rocking like a seesaw. Staring at the ceiling, her expression blank.

“Argh, so annoying!” With a thud, Zhou Li dropped her legs, hands frantically messing up her hair, cheeks puffed like buns. Her lips moved, then her shoulders slumped in defeat.

Zhou Li muttered to herself, “Goal achieved, that’s enough.”

She reassured herself, “We’re not close anyway.”

Her mood stayed low.

Zhou Li sighed. The door was knocked twice. A nurse said, “Doctor Zhou, the patient in 206 is discharging, but you messed up the discharge form.”

Zhou Li patted her cheeks, getting to work.

Standing, she smoothed her hair, instinctively pushing up her glasses, only to realize they’d been taken.

Zhou Li covered her face.

In her earlier emotional state, Chunshui had taken her glasses, and she’d forgotten to ask for them back.

The original host’s prescription was light, the glasses more a shield for her emotions.

She put on her coat. “I’m coming.”

Zhou Li opened the door. Chunshui was at the door, her raised hand looking like she was about to knock. They met at the entrance. Zhou Li stepped back instinctively, feeling weak, then stepped forward.

Chunshui, one hand holding her shawl, held out the other. “Your glasses, Doctor Zhou.”

Her palm held Zhou Li’s glasses.

Zhou Li pursed her lips, took them, saw the lenses were dirty, and slipped them into her pocket.

“Feeling better, Doctor Zhou?” Chunshui observed.

Without glasses, Zhou Li’s emotions were clearer. Her eye corners were red, a faint blush lingering, as if she’d rubbed them.

She looked thoroughly bullied.

Chunshui’s chest felt warm.

Zhou Li sighed, avoiding Chunshui’s gaze, looking behind her. “I’ve got work. Anything else?”

So cold.

Chunshui smiled, stepping aside.

Zhou Li closed the door, her unbuttoned white coat brushing Chunshui’s skirt. Chunshui turned, but she’d vanished around the corridor corner.

Chunshui tightened the slipped shawl, securing it with her arm, a faint smile on her face, eyes deep.

She kind of liked this side of Doctor Zhou.

Chunshui stood, thinking, then chuckled softly, walking slowly to her ward.

Zhou Li pursed her lips, face serious. If not for her red eye corners, no one would’ve guessed her earlier emotions.

She strode to the nurses’ station, tapping the counter. “Which discharge form’s wrong?”

“This one.” The nurse stood, handing it over.

Zhou Li glanced at it—a small error in the medical record’s date. She tucked the form under her arm. The patient in 206, injured on a film set from a stunt wire, had broken ribs and severe facial abrasions. The face was healed, but the ribs needed more time. Since this was a cosmetic hospital, with her face treated, the actress was discharged to recover at home.

Remembering the actress was leaving today, Zhou Li checked on her.

This actress was admitted the same day as Chunshui.

At 206, the door was open, the room being cleaned. The actress and her agent were talking.

Actress: “I don’t want to go back to the set. Cancel this project.”

Agent, pleading: “My dear, you know how many want this role? The director said you can finish in a wheelchair. You’ve shot most of it—quitting now doesn’t make sense, right?”

Actress, angry: “You know how creepy she is! Filming with her, you get hurt out of nowhere. I survived this time, but next time?”

Agent: “It was just an accident.”

“How’s it an accident? I checked the wire with props—it was fine. Then it broke, when she was there! She’s bad luck! Filming with her isn’t acting—it’s risking your life!”

“Pfft! She’s no gentleman! Just a soul-sucking witch!”

“Stealing others’ fame to boost herself!”

“Quiet!” The agent nearly covered her mouth.

The actress grumbled more. Zhou Li vaguely heard she meant Litchi.

Zhou Li frowned, knocked, “Hello, anyone there?”

The agent emerged from the bathroom, relieved to see Zhou Li.

“Doctor Zhou? When’d you get here?”

“Just now.” Zhou Li held up the form. “Your discharge form was wrong. I’m here to fix it and check on her.”

The actress rolled out in an electric wheelchair, still angry, not swayed by her agent. Seeing Zhou Li, she forced a smile. “Doctor Zhou, is my face still off? I see fine marks. Will they show on camera? Can you prescribe more meds?”

Zhou Li smiled. “No more pills, but I can give you a face mask our hospital developed.”

The actress agreed readily.

Zhou Li returned to her office. Chunshui was gone. She paused at the door, glancing involuntarily at where Chunshui had stood.

Snapping back, Zhou Li shook her head, entered.

She fixed the discharge form and sent it to the nurses’ station. The nurse confirmed it was fine and sent it to the ward.

Another patient gone, everyone relaxed.

Zhou Li’s hospital had few inpatients. Many stars came for minor tweaks, leaving right after, or stayed a week for bigger procedures before discharge. New patients came daily, but discharges kept up.

With 206 empty and being cleaned, no new patients yet, things were quiet. Seeing Zhou Li linger, two nurses gossiped softly with her.

“Doctor Zhou, heard about the entertainment industry’s ‘Ghost Fear’?”

Zhou Li didn’t know. Intrigued, she leaned on the counter. “What’s Ghost Fear?”

A nurse whispered, “They say a newbie from the last two or three years, with no real talent, got famous by raising spirits to steal others’ fame. People who work with her get hurt. Several have been injured.”

Zhou Li laughed. “No way. Where’d you hear that? If that worked, the industry would go nuts. Plenty want fame—why just her?”

The nurse pouted. “An online entertainment occult group posted about it. Some stars here for treatments say it too. I think it might be true.”

“Don’t spread that stuff,” Zhou Li said, stretching to tap the nurse. “What’s a medical worker’s duty and ethics? Don’t leak patient privacy.”

The nurse zipped her lips. Zhou Li smiled, returning to her office.

Sitting, she tapped the desk, frowning in thought, still uneasy. She opened her computer, clicked into the occult group the nurse mentioned.

The forum group wasn’t popular but lively, especially under that post.

Zhou Li clicked, her frown deepening.

The post used “Xiao Mei” as a placeholder, listing her recent films and debut works. Nearly every project had injuries. Zhou Li’s eyes lingered on the final note:

A triple-crown actress’s career-defining film was replaced by unknown Xiao Mei, who vanished after an accident, while Xiao Mei debuted at her peak.

A comment below: Debuted at the top, then slid downhill?

The poster replied: Debuts thrive on sacrificed fame.

Zhou Li’s gaze fixed on “sacrificed.” Her heart felt heavy.

“Sacrificed” was for the dead, not the living, as if the poster was saying Chunshui was gone.

Scrolling down, the page hit a 404 error.

Zhou Li froze, refreshed, and was kicked out of the post and group, locked by admins.

She wasn’t surprised. Top stars had PR teams controlling narratives. Bad online buzz got erased from the backend—industry folks called it “muzzling.”

Like unplugging the internet could stop talk.

Zhou Li leaned back, still thinking about what she’d seen, and asked the system, “What do you think? Is there really a ‘raising spirits’ thing? And what’s with the female protagonist’s accident?”

System: “This world has no ghosts or gods. The female protagonist’s accident needs investigation.”

Zhou Li pondered.

As this world’s female protagonist, Chunshui should be favored by the world’s will, succeeding effortlessly. An accident shouldn’t have happened in her life script.

Yet she had an accident, her career nearly ended. If Zhou Li hadn’t been sent by the Fast-Travel Bureau to help, she might’ve faded away.

Zhou Li didn’t want to deal with Chunshui—her anger hadn’t faded—but if her accident was tied to Litchi, she had to act. It was her mission to save Chunshui. What if another incident happened with Litchi?

Zhou Li justified to herself.

It’s not for Chunshui—just the mission!