It was precisely because Ethan Brooks couldn’t resist the pleas of the patient’s family that he didn’t admit this martial madman to the hospital. Fortunately, the episode happened in the hospital today—if it had happened outside, who knows what kind of trouble it would have caused.

Abraham Lincoln smiled, happy to see things unfold this way. This guy and he didn’t get along very well, and recently the psychiatry department had just received a new attending physician position. The top contenders were him and Ethan Brooks.

From the other’s perspective, he, a master’s graduate, had always been highly valued by Edward Carter, so it was inevitable that jealousy would make him see Abraham Lincoln as a rival. Usually, they could hardly exchange a few words without disagreement.

“Abraham Lincoln, stop him!”

Seeing Abraham Lincoln appear in front of Henry Bennett, even though his face showed the same panic as everyone else, Dr. Ethan Brooks felt a trace of secret delight deep inside.

This patient was burly and broad-waisted, with a patch of black chest hair—at first glance, he looked just like the reincarnation of the legendary Mr. Bennett from Zhen Guanxi.

The corridor was filled with screams. Among psychiatric patients, the most feared are these martial madmen—they really could kill without consequence!

Abraham Lincoln secretly formed a hand seal, preparing to use a little trick, but suddenly froze.

The spiritual energy in his middle dantian was almost depleted, strangely condensed into a bean-sized lump, as immovable as granite, and there was absolutely no spiritual energy in the outside world to draw upon.

He had forgotten that the laws of heaven and earth in the two worlds were completely different.

But Mr. Bennett still charged at Abraham Lincoln like a mad bull, heedless of everything.

……

Section 2: Intimidating Butcher Bennett

All his cultivation in the arts was rendered useless by the change in the world’s laws, becoming nothing but an illusion, and even the holy flame hidden in his bloodline was suppressed and unable to move.

Perhaps he could still try some martial techniques, but Abraham Lincoln had no intention of making a move. Instead, he exhaled and shouted, his tongue thundering like spring: “You scoundrel, halt at once!”

“Y-you, who are you?”

Seeing a young man in a blue scholar’s robe suddenly appear in front of him, even Henry Bennett, who fancied himself the legendary Zhen Guanxi, couldn’t help but be stunned, hesitating in his steps.

Not only Mr. Bennett, but even Dr. Ethan Brooks and the security guards who had caught up felt a sense of temporal dislocation, as if a scholar from the Song Dynasty had come alive into this world.

“Where did this brute come from, daring to defy authority? Wait until I send you to the magistrate with a two-finger-wide warrant—you’ll surely get a beating. Why don’t you retreat at once?”

The elegant young master, facing the crude butcher, used his righteous aura to force this Zhen Guanxi to tremble all over.

The monk Lu Zhishen could only use his fists to teach Henry Bennett a lesson, but in the Song Dynasty, a scholar without the strength to truss a chicken needed only a two-finger-wide warrant.

“Ah, yes, I was out of line, I deserve to die a thousand deaths.”

Henry Bennett instantly lost all his ferocity, no trace of the mad bull from before.

Seeing the security guards still in a daze, Abraham Lincoln flicked his sleeve.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Restrain him—change the chlorpromazine dose to 1 milliliter.”

The security guards rushed forward, subduing the now-docile Mr. Bennett, while the flustered nurses hurried to prepare the sedative again.

The patient’s family all breathed a sigh of relief, and the corridor was soon filled with applause.

Ethan Brooks’s face looked a bit unpleasant—he’d let this guy steal the spotlight again.

He had originally planned to step forward and dryly say thank you, but when he saw the nurses’ admiring and worshipful gazes, he swallowed his thanks, snorted coldly, and retreated to his own office to sulk.

“Mr. Thompson, what a brilliant move!”

“My heart is all aflutter!”

The nurses who had looked at Abraham Lincoln as if seeing a ghost now turned into adoring fangirls, their eyes sparkling. Dr. Thompson was simply so stylish, just like a refined young gentleman from ancient times.

“What’s all this commotion? Get back to work!”

An elderly female doctor, her hair white, sternly dispersed the little troublemakers. Then, sizing up Abraham Lincoln from head to toe, her eyes suddenly widened in disbelief: “You’re—? Abraham Lincoln! It’s working hours now, what on earth are you doing?”

“Heh, Director Cooper, I had a bit too much fun last night, woke up late this morning, and didn’t have time to change!”

Abraham Lincoln gave an awkward smile—he couldn’t exactly say he’d just returned from another world after a dream.

The head of psychiatry, Samuel Cooper, was the supervisor of both Abraham Lincoln and Ethan Brooks. Clearly, a patient had just had an episode.

“Dean Carter is waiting for you. Go change your clothes, quickly.”

Director Cooper had come to urge Abraham Lincoln; Edward Carter was probably already getting impatient.

“Yes, yes!”

Abraham Lincoln immediately rushed to the changing room. Luckily, there was still a set of casual clothes in his personal locker, so he quickly changed. But there was no time to deal with his long hair, so he just tied it up with a hair tie. Although he no longer looked like a scholar in a blue robe, he still retained a unique scholarly elegance.

As he was ushering colleagues from the three eastern provinces and one city of East China into the conference room, Dean Carter saw a long-haired man clutching a file folder hurry in. He was only puzzled for a moment before recognizing him.

“Xiao Li, what’s going on with you?”

It had only been a weekend, and his hair had grown so long—was he trying to make trouble?

“Sorry, I woke up late.”