After my rebirth, the first thing I, Ava Welch, did was go from one blood donation van to another, donating blood until I collapsed. Because in my previous life, my fiancé Felix Stevens’ newly recruited female intern Dianne Scott had bound herself to a blood exchange system. Every milliliter of blood she donated would drain from my body. In just one month, she transformed from an ordinary college student into a “blood donation angel,” gaining both fame and fortune. Meanwhile, I was fired from the hospital due to severe anemia that left me unable to perform my duties. When I tried to expose Dianne’s scheme to Felix, he disgustedly broke off our engagement: “It’s bad enough that you’re too cowardly to donate your rare blood type, but now you’re slandering Dianne? And you call yourself a doctor, believing such nonsense!” From then on, every time Dianne donated blood, I would experience heart palpitations and dizziness, sometimes even collapsing on the spot. I sought help from the department doctors, but Felix refused me treatment, claiming “Ava is maliciously wasting medical resources out of jealousy.” Later, to secure early promotion and steal my position, Dianne donated 1000 milliliters of blood during a live news broadcast. I died from hemorrhagic shock due to excessive blood loss. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day Dianne announced she had a rare blood type. ***** “Young people these days really go all out – starting with 500 milliliters for blood donation…” said Finley Wagner, the chief physician of the hematology department at the next table. I hadn’t yet recovered from my daze when everything went black, and I nearly collapsed onto the dining table. But I had just eaten, so it couldn’t be low blood sugar. It wasn’t until I saw Dianne walking over with a smile, holding blood donation souvenirs, that I was certain I had truly been reborn. In my previous life, Dianne had made a big show of announcing she possessed a rare blood type, vowing to contribute to society. Every milliliter of blood she donated silently drained from my body. At this moment, my face was deathly pale, yet I heard her say she planned to donate more blood after finishing her meal. She said, “Just 500 milliliters – I don’t feel a thing. I’ll go donate another 300 milliliters in a bit!” She pretended not to see me, her tone light and cheerful, but every word reached my ears clearly. Finley was so shocked he nearly choked, coughing violently for quite a while before grabbing her arm to dissuade her: “Dianne, I know you young people are enthusiastic, but blood donation is no joke. For a normal person, 400 milliliters every six months is already the limit!” Another doctor nearby also looked worried as he chimed in: “Exactly, you can’t gamble with your health. Don’t let a moment of impulse ruin your body!” But Dianne completely ignored their warnings. To prove her “selfless love,” she barely touched her pasta before rushing back to the blood donation center. Seeing her about to get up, I immediately rushed out of the cafeteria. With this second chance at life, I had to strike back before she could act. I took the afternoon off. Afraid that donating at the hospital would limit the amount, I took a cab directly to the blood donation vans in front of the mall. The plaza had blood donation vans positioned in four directions. As long as I donated at each one before the system uploaded the data, I wouldn’t be discovered. This time, I was determined to figure out exactly what method Dianne had used to push me toward death. But as soon as I got on the blood donation van, I ran into Felix. Seeing me rush over with a pale face, he stepped in front of me first, his voice full of disdain: “Aren’t you the one who treasures your rare blood type the most? What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you saw how much attention I’ve been giving Dianne and came here to donate blood to get my attention?” In my previous life, ever since Dianne was assigned as an intern under Felix, his attitude toward me had taken a sharp turn for the worse. The two of them were inseparable at the hospital, and when I questioned him about it, he said I was being unreasonable. He said, “Dianne is my intern. I have the duty and responsibility to help her familiarize herself with the hospital and improve her professional skills. Ava, how can your mind be so twisted?” Later, when the hospital organized a group blood donation drive, I couldn’t participate due to pneumonia, and Felix misunderstood this as cowardice. Meanwhile, Dianne donated 600 milliliters in one go, becoming the hospital’s headline story. Feeling ashamed, I thought I had misjudged her and even bought nutritional supplements to apologize to her. But from that point on, Dianne seemed to have flipped some kind of switch. She began donating blood frequently, and every time she donated, I felt heart palpitations and dizziness. During several subsequent occasions, I even collapsed directly in the operating room while performing surgery on patients. I underwent countless full-body examinations, but aside from severe anemia, everything else was normal. When I shared my suspicions with Felix, he accused me of being psychologically twisted and maliciously slandering Dianne. Dianne’s blood donation amounts kept increasing, drawing high-level attention from the city. Since she was an intern personally trained by Felix, he absolutely wouldn’t allow any questioning of Dianne’s image. I dragged my weakened body around, begging department doctors to help me uncover the truth, but Felix forbade them from paying attention to me, claiming I was “being unreasonable and wasting medical resources.” Facing public doubts about Dianne’s abnormally high blood donation amounts, she donated 1000 milliliters live on camera to prove her innocence. Amid flowers and applause, I died from excessive blood loss. After my death, Dianne took over my position, became an attending physician, and married Felix that same month. This time, I was determined to find out exactly what Dianne had done to me!
Facing Felix’s mocking expression, I suppressed the discomfort rising within me. “You’re overthinking it. I just want to donate some blood after recovering from pneumonia, to do my part. But you—you’re afraid of blood, so why aren’t you staying in the duty room instead of coming here to make a scene?” Felix’s face instantly turned pale at my words. In my previous life, I never exposed his secret of being a doctor who was afraid of blood, even until my death. I told everyone he couldn’t perform surgeries due to trauma syndrome, and I even used my late father’s connections to keep him in outpatient care, preserving his dignity. I never imagined that instead of being grateful, he would team up with Dianne to destroy me. Felix was left speechless by my sudden attitude, his face flushing red. I pushed past him and walked straight to the staff member. “I’m Rh-negative, and I want to donate 200 milliliters.” Before the staff could respond, a familiar figure approached from the side. “Dr. Welch, I know you’re upset that Felix and I are close, but you really don’t need to donate blood just to get his attention. That’s not love—that’s pity.” Dianne rolled up her sleeves and stepped forward, completely dismissing me. I quickly sat down in the blood donation chair. Since this was a blood exchange system, the blood being drawn was mine, and my body would suffer the loss. I wanted to see if she would become anemic and faint when I lost blood. Dark red blood slowly flowed out, but my gaze remained fixed on Dianne. At that moment, some patients I had previously treated recognized me and praised my kindness, saying I was not only skilled in medicine but also willing to give back through action. Dianne was furious that I had stolen her moment, but she maintained her composure and looked at me with feigned concern. “Dr. Welch, you don’t look well. Having a caring heart is good, but don’t push yourself just for reputation.” I smiled faintly. “It’s only 200 milliliters. Unlike you, who donated 600 milliliters just this morning. You can’t donate again today—if something goes wrong, the hospital can’t take responsibility.” I deliberately mentioned her donation record to get the staff to stop her from donating again, leaving myself an escape route. Sure enough, Dianne panicked. But aside from that, she showed no signs of discomfort. Seeing that the crowd reacted calmly to hearing she had donated 600 milliliters that morning, she immediately waved her hand, demanding the staff continue drawing blood. “I can still donate more. Come draw mine. Dr. Welch is leading by example, so we young people can’t back down. Every milliliter we donate gives patients another chance at life.” With that, she actually picked up a syringe with one hand and began operating it skillfully. I immediately cried out in alarm: “Are you crazy? You donated blood this morning—if something happens, no one at this donation center can escape responsibility! You’re being reckless and dragging others down with you! If you really care about patients, go back and study more cases to improve your professional skills instead of playing games with your body.” My tone was loud and serious, making Dianne look like a clown in comparison—hasty and reckless. The crowd began whispering, and Dianne instinctively looked to Felix for help, but he was worried about more people discovering his fear of blood and pretended not to see her. As my 200 milliliters were nearly finished, Dianne still looked perfectly normal. Feeling unwilling to give up and thinking of the suffering I endured in my previous life, I gritted my teeth and added another 200 milliliters. However, when the donation ended, my face was deathly pale while Dianne’s cheeks remained rosy, showing no signs of anemia. Kind citizens helped me to a nearby café to rest. By then, I was clearly exhausted and quickly grabbed a sandwich to eat. Only after my strength partially returned did I realize that this blood donation was a one-way transfer. In other words, when Dianne donated blood, it was my body’s blood that was lost, but when I donated blood, her body suffered no loss whatsoever. The thought sent chills down my spine. Before I could figure out the truth, I had to prevent Dianne from donating blood again at all costs.
With this thought, I immediately took a taxi back to the hospital. Considering the physical toll of donating blood that morning, I went straight to the nutrition department and got an IV drip to replenish my strength. However, the longer the IV ran, the weaker I felt. Eventually, everything went black and I collapsed in the infusion room. When I woke up, Finley was holding my test results, his expression stern as he criticized me: “Physicians can’t heal themselves. You’re already severely anemic—why are you still competing with young people like Christmas to donate blood? What if you collapse in the operating room? What happens to your patients? How would we explain that?” Hearing those familiar words again, I felt a sharp pain in my chest. In my previous life, it was precisely because I had fainted from anemia in the operating room that the hospital fired me for being unable to perform my duties. And Dianne had effortlessly taken everything that should have been mine. Without bothering to explain to Finley, I immediately got up and rushed to my office, pulling up the blood bank’s donation records. Sure enough, after I left the blood donation center, Dianne had gone to another location and donated 400 milliliters of blood. This was what caused me to collapse while receiving the nutritional IV. What made me break out in a cold sweat was the latest registration information showing Dianne’s name listed third on the waiting list at another donation center. That meant she was still in line to donate blood! Furious, I immediately called Felix: “Felix, control your woman. If she keeps this up and something really happens, you won’t escape responsibility either!” But his mocking voice came through the phone: “Ava, who’s really making a scene here? Dianne just donated blood twice more than you, and you can’t stand it? She’s always looked up to you as her mentor—you’ve really disappointed me. I don’t think our engagement needs to continue!” I was shaking with rage. Just as I was about to argue back, another wave of dizziness hit me. Fighting to stay conscious, I quickly accessed the backend system, flagged Dianne’s name, and synchronized all her donation records across major blood donation websites. The next second, Dianne’s call came through: “Ava Welch, what the hell are you trying to do? Do you know how many people die every day because they can’t get timely blood transfusions due to Rh-negative blood shortages? You’re too cowardly to donate blood yourself—what gives you the right to stop me? You think just because you synchronized my information in the backend, I can’t donate anymore? Dream on!” Dianne on the other end was nearly hysterical, deliberately raising her voice so everyone around would know my identity, even specifically shouting out my full name. I hadn’t expected my backend operation to be discovered so quickly, but at this point, as long as she would stop, I still had a chance. But her next words made me gasp in horror. She said: “Doctor, I want to donate another 600 milliliters!” I was completely stunned. 600 milliliters would be enough to kill me. The fear of impending death washed over me again, and I felt cold all over. I said: “Dianne, I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but every milliliter you donate, my body loses the same amount of blood. We have no grudges between us—why do you insist on killing me?” My chest heaved violently, and I was so weak I could barely speak complete sentences. Before I could finish, I passed out again. Fortunately, this happened at the hospital where I was quickly discovered, which saved my life once more. This time, however, I was sent directly to the ICU. The day I was transferred to a regular ward, I didn’t expect Dianne to visit me. She came in arm-in-arm with Felix, her face full of smugness as she showed off, then hypocritically came over to hug me. She whispered in my ear, her voice dripping with triumph: “Forgot to tell you—my total blood donation has broken the city record. Tomorrow morning, the TV station is coming to the hospital to interview me, and I’ll be donating 1000 milliliters live on the news broadcast! So, Dr. Welch, you have one day left to make your final arrangements.” I was burning with rage but could only lie helplessly in the hospital bed. Despair, defeat, and resentment wrapped around me in layers as tears unconsciously slid down my face. Instinctively, I reached for the antidepressants I always carried in my pocket. However, when I opened my palm and saw that the originally white pills had a layer of pale red powder at the bottom, alarm bells went off in my mind. I immediately contacted a friend in the lab department. It wasn’t until the test results came through on my phone that I finally understood everything.
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