After the initial shock, Serena Feng realized she’d lost her composure. She was here to work, not to sightsee—the patient was still waiting for her.
Serena quickly tore her gaze away from the breathtaking scenery, about to apologize to Ninth Royal Uncle, but he didn’t give her the chance. He turned away arrogantly and tossed out, “Take her to see Third Highness,” abandoning her on the spot.
Classic tsundere move from Ninth Royal Uncle!
Serena was baffled, but since she was in the wrong, she didn’t argue. Led by the guards, she arrived at Prince Titus’s wooden recuperation lodge, where the air was thick with the scent of medicine.
The familiar smell made Serena feel, for a split second, as if she were back in a modern hospital. But the antique furnishings in the room snapped her back to reality.
She could never go back—never, ever. Surviving in this world was already a stroke of luck.
“Third Highness.” Serena took the medicine chest from the guard and stepped inside.
“Serena Feng, quick, check my leg!” Prince Titus’s eyes were bloodshot. As soon as Serena entered, he sat up straight, tossed aside the quilt himself before the maids could react—completely losing his usual calm and composure.
“Don’t move, Your Highness.” Serena moved even faster than the maids, striding forward to hold Prince Titus down.
Prince Titus was in bad shape—not physically, but mentally. He was far too tense and anxious. Serena didn’t know what had happened, but she was sure it wasn’t anything good.
“Serena Feng, please, look at my leg—is there still hope?” Prince Titus gripped Serena’s hands tightly, his urgency and trembling showing just how anxious he was.
Serena frowned and yanked her hands free, but Prince Titus switched to clutching her sleeve. Serena glanced down, said nothing, and instead shot a cold glare at the maids in the room: “What happened?”
She was certain something had happened—Prince Titus wouldn’t act like this otherwise. Under Serena’s sharp stare, the maids hurriedly looked away, heads bowed.
Serena knew she wouldn’t get any answers, so she stopped asking. Instead, she turned to gently reassure Prince Titus, signaling for him to let go: “Don’t worry, Your Highness. Let me take a look first—it’ll be fine.” No matter what, calming the patient came first.
“Alright, alright.” Only then did Prince Titus finally let go, though the worry in his eyes didn’t fade one bit.
Serena didn’t waste words. She pulled over a chair, set the surgery chest on it, opened it, and took out gloves and a mask, putting them on. She pinned up her hair and was about to fetch another chair when a clever maid brought one over for her.
“Thank you.” Serena nodded her thanks and began examining Prince Titus’s injured leg. The moment she lifted the quilt, her brow furrowed.
She’d been worried the surgical incision would split, so she’d tied a brace over it—like a knee protector. But now the brace was hanging crookedly on his leg, clearly opened and re-tied by someone with clumsy hands.
The worst kind of patient is the one who won’t listen—the one who insists on doing things their own way.
But since he was a royal prince, Serena forced herself to hold back. With a stern face, she took out scissors and snipped off the ruined brace.
The bandages had been opened too. Although someone tried to rewrap them the same way, they weren’t tight enough—probably afraid to pull too hard. Blood had seeped out of the incision, dotting the bandages in several places, and there was a lot of it.
Serena’s expression grew darker and darker. She hated people who knew nothing yet refused to listen to professionals—always doing things their own way, then expecting someone else to clean up the mess.
“Ser—” Prince Titus started to ask if his leg was alright, but Serena shot him a fierce glare. He shrank back and shut his mouth.
Serena was terrifying like this—a single look could make anyone feel guilty and not dare meet her eyes.
Prince Titus was like a scolded child, sitting obediently without moving or speaking, just staring at Serena with bloodshot eyes as she expertly unwrapped his bandages.
The maids hardly dared to breathe. Inside the room, the only sound was Serena unwrapping the bandages.
Just as Serena expected, Prince Titus’s incision had split open. The worst part was red and swollen, with signs of infection starting to show.
It had only been one day, and Prince Titus had already managed to wreck his own surgical site. Did he think she wasn’t busy enough? Did he not know she had a contest against Su Wan tomorrow?
“Your Highness, let’s not have a repeat of this.” Serena’s tone was sharp, and Prince Titus nodded quickly.
Serena set the bloody bandages aside, grabbed the tweezers, and used a wad of cotton to soak up the blood and fluid from the wound. She didn’t care if Prince Titus minded—her focus was entirely on the task at hand.
Once the blood and fluid were cleaned away, Serena said to Prince Titus, "Second Prince, I need to cut away the necrotic tissue from your wound. It will hurt, so please bear with it."
Serena wasn’t trying to torture Prince Titus by refusing local anesthesia—it was just that too much anesthetic would slow the healing.
“Oh, alright.” Prince Titus stared blankly at his leg, tears glimmering in his eyes.
His leg had finally "grown back." Seeing the incision was nothing like seeing a prosthetic. To Prince Titus, this ugly wound was the most beautiful mark in the world.
He could finally walk again—finally live like a normal person.
Fifteen years. Since his leg was ruined, he hadn’t walked for a full fifteen years. The wound split and bled because, after waking, he was too desperate to see his "leg" and forced the bandages off despite the maids’ protests.
He hadn’t managed to unwrap everything, though. He got so excited that he hurt the incision, and blood started to seep out. The maids tried to stop him, and he got scared and backed down.
Seeing his "grown" leg, and knowing he’d be able to walk normally in three months, Prince Titus was overwhelmed with joy. He had the maids bring wine—he wanted to celebrate with a drink.
The maids said Serena had warned him not to drink while the wound was healing, but in the end they gave in and brought a small jar. The result...
...was exactly what happened now.
“Hold the Second Prince down.” After disinfecting her instruments, Serena motioned for the maids to restrain Prince Titus.
“No need—I promise I won’t move.” Prince Titus raised his hand to stop the maids.
A grown man who couldn’t take a little pain—how shameful would that be?
“I hope you can manage it, Second Prince.” Serena understood a man’s pride. Even if he was only a teenager, in this era he was already considered an adult—comparable to men in their thirties and forties today.
Cutting away necrotic tissue hurts, but it’s bearable—at least not as bad as childbirth. Serena herself had once debrided her own wound and bandaged it without anesthesia, so she trusted the Second Prince’s pain tolerance; his willpower was no weaker than hers.