Chapter 7: Songs in the Cell

Online novels lied to me!

Other people’s transmigration stories are all about rising to power, military exploits, palace intrigue, angsty romance.

My transmigration is basically a nursing manual.

Chapter one: how to bandage serious wounds?

Chapter two: how to quickly reduce a fever?

Chapter three: how to prevent infection in a damp, dirty environment?

Chapter four: how to feed water and food to a comatose patient?

I’m so busy every day my head spins—open my eyes to change bandages, feed medicine, cool down fever, close my eyes and collapse in exhaustion.

Nursing is really life-draining. The doctor prescribes for ten minutes, but I have to nurse for ten days.

I learned to wrap gauze, learned to clean wounds, even stitched him up a few times with borrowed needle and thread when his wounds split.

I used to go to a tailor if a button popped off—now, I’ve learned sewing by myself.

Life is really unpredictable.

I touched his head.

"I’m not a nurse, don’t know first aid, just relying on common sense. We’re treating a dead horse as if it’s still alive—if I kill you, don’t come haunt me, okay?"

A faint sound came from his chest—could be a hum or a grunt, hard to tell.

The cell is filthy, his leg wounds need strong liquor to disinfect daily. The first time, the pain knocked him out cold.

He sweated from pain, I sweated from worry—hands shaking too much to go on.

He woke up, grabbed my hand, calmly poured the rest of the liquor on his leg, muscles taut like a drawn bow.

I forced a laugh: "Man, I should sing you a hero’s song."

"Oh beautiful for spacious skies~

For amber waves of grain~

Heh, amber waves of grain~

A toast to friends in life and death~

Say go, then go~

With you, I have everything~

Through fire or flood, never look back~"

I sang louder and louder, my chest swelling.

Not to brag, but since kindergarten I was the lead singer in every school show. Back then, I just had a loud, clear voice, learned flute for two years in elementary, learned to read music, spent all my allowance at karaoke with my mom.

My parents thought it was too expensive, so they bit the bullet and installed a karaoke system at home—cheap equipment, but spent a lot on soundproofing.

Other kids did math and English on weekends, I locked myself in for home concerts.

...

At the time, it all felt normal.

Now, it feels like a past life.

I wiped away a few tears, feeling bad.

My voice cracked on the last note, and for a second, I thought I was alone again. Then—

Heard a hoarse voice beside me: "...What song is that?"

I froze.

Sat up with a start.

"Oh my god, you spoke!"

The words felt like a miracle. My hands trembled, heart racing as if someone had just thrown open the cell door and yelled "Surprise!" For the first time in ages, I actually smiled without forcing it. There was someone else in here—someone real, who could hear me, and answer back. My hands shook. I wanted to laugh, or cry, or both. I wasn’t alone. Not anymore.