Chapter 3: The Mysterious Scales (With gratitude to the Lord of the Alliance, Burning Dawn of the Vaulted Sky)

The days spent recovering from the car accident were bitter and miserable, without a doubt. Especially with the devastating damage to his hands' nerves—enough to plunge the former Stephen into utter despair.

Yet, Stephen possessed an admirable attitude. The severity of his injuries was beyond the reach of modern medicine, but he knew that once his other wounds healed, the life of Doctor Strange would begin anew.

One could only wonder how the original Stephen could have been so unbearable as to drive Christine—a woman as wonderful as she was—away. Then again, few could tolerate a boyfriend so arrogant. He was the sort of man who demanded the world revolve around him; his girlfriend had to be beautiful, cultured, accomplished, and, above all, devoted entirely to him.

In truth, Christine Palmer met almost all his requirements, except for the last. Exceptional women typically had their own careers. In America, anyone qualified to be an ER nurse was hardly mediocre. Unlike nurses in certain other countries, American nurses underwent rigorous training, and even a routine ER nurse possessed extensive medical knowledge. Many, after years as nurses, would pursue medical school themselves.

Compared to the self-important Stephen, who prided himself on saving thousands through research-based medicine, Christine preferred to rescue those in immediate peril. Stephen had once dismissed her work as tending to “drunks and hopeless addicts”—a remark that created a deep rift between them and led to the quiet demise of their relationship. Perhaps they still held some affection for each other, but it was impossible to be together.

Now, Christine cared for Stephen in a state somewhere between friendship and unfulfilled romance.

Watching the movie, Stephen felt nothing, but only after he was truly injured and fully inhabited Doctor Strange’s persona could he understand the agony and despair of losing his hands.

Without his hands, he was not only robbed of his neurosurgeon’s livelihood, even the simplest daily tasks became insurmountable.

Take, for example, using the bathroom.

When Christine produced a hospital urinal, Stephen almost broke down on the spot.

Humiliation!

This was absolute humiliation!

And yet, young Stephen was still rather spirited.

It wasn’t really his fault—before crossing over, he’d been just a single guy. With a pretty nurse like Christine constantly around, if he felt nothing, it would mean something was wrong with him.

Christine planted her hands on her hips. “Hey! Don’t make trouble for me. Deal with it yourself, or I’ll handle it like a nurse would.”

“Wait!” Stephen blurted.

A nurse’s approach was certainly not like those seductive women in nurse outfits you might see online. Suddenly, Stephen recalled something.

Christine explained, “Last time, an idiot ate too many blue pills and ended up in the ER. Guess how I dealt with him?”

Stephen shook his head decisively; he didn’t want to guess.

She picked up a large syringe and demonstrated, “I just stuck it straight in his vein and bled him.”

Ah, a true man knows when to advance and when to retreat.

Young Stephen, retreat well!

Days passed, and Stephen began to recover—except for his hands.

In the original history, Stephen Strange spent all his wealth, sold everything he owned, and underwent countless surgeries to restore the nerves in his hands, even experimental and extremely difficult procedures.

If only he had succeeded—but of course, he failed, as expected. Eventually, even his friends in the medical community refused to take his calls or video chats, unwilling to have his medical case ruin their reputations.

In this life, Stephen did not pursue any additional surgeries.

Did people really think surgery was free?

The original neurosurgeon Stephen was indeed wealthy; after all, this parallel world’s Stephen was quite extraordinary. Even the New York Neurological Association invited him to speak at their banquets.

Before the accident, Stephen drove a Lamborghini Huracan to the event. As a seasoned film buff, Stephen had checked online—top models cost around 4.5 million yuan.

At this point, Stephen wasn’t sure whether he had merged with Doctor Strange’s Stephen Strange, or if this miraculous parallel world had created a Stephen based on Doctor Strange as its template.

After all, he still looked like himself, and his other memories told him that everything seemed to have happened—he was an elite among elites.

Last year, the median annual salary in America was $59,000. Neurosurgeons averaged $580,000. But he, he was a superstar in medicine, earning $6 million last year.

The original Stephen had squandered all his money.

Now that Stephen had become Doctor Strange, he was… resigned.

Surgery was expensive; better to save the money for food than spend it pointlessly.

With money in hand, his heart felt at ease!

Stephen remained calm, but Christine grew anxious. “Stephen, I know your injury is severe, but are you really not going to try at all? To speed up nerve recovery? Maybe use a stent to bridge from the brachial artery to the radial artery? Or… I heard Tokyo has a new technique—they’re cultivating upgraded donor stem cells…”

Stephen was taken aback.

Of course he knew it was a waste—money spent with no effect, more surgery, more pain. But Christine didn’t know that.

“No, Christine. I am the best neurosurgeon in the world. You’ve seen my medical records; we both know how serious my injury is,” Stephen insisted.

“Damn it! I used to worry you’d go extreme, lose your mind. Look at you now! You gave up so easily, without any effort, cleanly and decisively. Are you still the Stephen who never gives up?” Christine challenged.

Stephen was confused. “Come on, wasn’t it you just days ago telling me that even if my hands are ruined, I could be a neurosurgical assistant or do medical research?”

“Yes! That’s right! But I wanted to see you bounce back, not become a walking corpse!”

“How am I fallen?”

“Remember that gunshot patient? Even Nick signed his death certificate, but you didn’t give up, determined he was in suspended animation, and saved him. Where is the Stephen who never trusted authority, who never gave up? Look at you now!”

Stephen was utterly dumbstruck.

He simply couldn’t comprehend her logic. Not long ago she was afraid he wouldn’t accept his disability, constantly comforting him to look forward in life. Now, suddenly, she thought he was too resigned.

Was it easy for him?

As a single man, Stephen truly could not grasp the workings of a woman’s mind. Christine undoubtedly still cared for him. Her earlier comfort was out of fear he’d do something foolish. Now, she realized that the radiant aura once surrounding Stephen was fading.

Such tangled emotions were beyond the understanding of someone who’d never truly been in a relationship.

Just then, the long-absent scales of fate suddenly reappeared in Stephen’s mind.

With a click, the scales adjusted, returning to their perfect balance. Not even a fraction remained out of alignment.