Sorcerer’s Handbook

“If you want more people to come to you for treatment, shouldn’t you make a bit more effort in your appearance?”

In the treatment room, Ashe looked at the medic wearing a crow mask with a bit of confusion. “Dressed like that, it’s good enough if people don’t suspect you of robbing preachers, yet they come to you for treatment? Or is this some meaningless tradition?”

“It’s a tradition, and it’s meaningful,” the medic replied. “Think about it, if… just if… something went wrong with your treatment, and you woke up to find some parts missing, would you dare attack me after seeing my appearance?”

“Not really.”

“That’s the point.”

The two looked at each other, and Ashe had an epiphany: “So the terrifying attire and the eerie environment of the treatment room are all tools to improve the doctor-patient relationship… Wait, does this mean there’s a high chance of you messing up the treatment?”

“It’s not a very high chance, just a little bit possible…” The medic spoke ambiguously, even avoiding Ashe’s gaze, suggesting that ‘a little bit possible’ might be as likely as something happening in the Milky Way.

Ashe commented, “This kind of service attitude won’t do. You probably don’t have many patients on the outside, right? And you’ve even been criticized by patients for not providing adequate treatment, so you had no choice but to hide in the prison and farm experience on us prisoners who can’t complain, correct?”

The medic hung her head in shame, clearly struck by Ashe’s words, and defended herself in a low voice, “I clearly cured them, but they still complained everywhere, and some issues were not even related to me; they caused them themselves… I merely provided the most basic secure treatment, yet they had so many demands…”

The medic seemed to crumble before Ashe, venting her frustrations as if he were a trash can. To Ashe, her story seemed like she got what she deserved: in an era where most medics would charge a consultation fee, she didn’t ask for any money and was even willing to make house calls, only to be criticized for not providing good enough treatment, which led to her inability to make it in the city and forced her to seek out Experience Babies in prison.

After listening, Ashe thought for a moment and asked, “Do you know what your flaw is?”

“I know, it’s that my skills aren’t sharp enough…”

“It’s that you don’t speak forcefully enough!”

“Huh?” The medic lifted her head, confusion evident behind the crow mask.

“You speak timidly and without confidence; patients will definitely trouble you after any medical incident, and they’ll take advantage of you even if you don’t charge them,” Ashe instructed. “Let me teach you, when you say you may not be able to cure a disease, speak loudly and stand up straight, with an attitude of confidence and pride.”

“And that’s just the first step. The second step is that you need to find the patients’ faults. If a patient is good-looking, tell them they lead a too dissolute life. If a patient is ugly, tell them they lack a sex life. If a patient is thin, say they’re malnourished. If a patient is overweight, say they have an excess of nutrition. There’s always a criticism that fits. No one is perfect, and you can definitely find something to press the patients on.”

“As long as you follow these two steps, you’ll establish your authority and suppress the patients’ status, creating an atmosphere of ‘You should be grateful that I’m willing to treat you.’ Even if there are issues with the treatment, not only will the patients not blame you, they might even make excuses for you.”

The Medic asked, “Does this really work?”

“Absolutely!” Ashe nodded emphatically. “This is the result of my years of personal experience!”

Ashe was all too familiar with these workplace PUA tactics: first, finding faults like picking bones out of an egg to suppress the other party, then releasing one’s goodwill to make the other party as grateful as if they were suffering from Stockholm syndrome. Fresh college graduates were almost helpless against these maneuvers.

Using such forbidden tactics in the workplace should, of course, be condemned, but as the saying goes, weapons are neither inherently good nor evil; it depends on the intention behind their use. Considering that the Medic was willing to provide free medical services, even if there might be some side effects, Ashe felt that she deserved to have an easier path in her occupation.

“So you know what to do now?”

“What should I do?”

“From now on, after any surgery, you need to tell the patient: I’ve done my best!”

“I’ve done my best.”

“Louder, I can’t hear you!”

“I’VE DONE MY BEST!” The Medic said, clenching her fist.

Ashe nodded in satisfaction: “You’ll figure out the rest in time. I need to go eat now…”

The Medic pondered deeply. As Ashe got his shoes on and was ready to leave, she suddenly stopped him and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want plastic surgery? Look in the mirror; don’t you feel that by walking out in public like this, you’re actually being disrespectful to others?”

Ashe was taken aback, his eyes filled with the gratification of a teachable moment—good grief, she’s using the skill she just learned on her teacher already!?

If she joined our company, she would be at least team leader level!

“It’s not that I get hurt without comparison, but compared to your crow-ugly face, I suddenly feel rather handsome. Maybe next time, if I ever feel I’ve become ugly, I’ll come to you for plastic surgery,” Ashe replied noncommittally.

“I’m not ugly, you’re the ugly one!” The Medic was so angry she almost wanted to take off her Crow Mask, but as she touched it, footsteps were heard upstairs.

She suddenly remembered something, “Oh right, Ashe, take this.”

Ashe was handed a Nameplate with 【222】 inscribed on it.

“What’s this?”

The Medic explained, “It’s my ID card, remember to carry it with you at all times, even when you’re sleeping, so everyone knows you’re one of mine.”

Ashe blinked, “So what Race are you, GG or MM? Although I’m quite easy-going, if your terms exceed my limits, I’m going to ask for more money…”

“If you don’t get plastic surgery, you’re definitely going to scare people into challenging you to a Deathmatch several times. By carrying my ID card, if you get beaten to a pulp, I will have the priority to treat you. And if your face gets messed up, I can help you with plastic surgery on the side.” The Medic pushed him out the door: “Now off you go, the restaurant is about to close…”

Ashe thought for a moment, slipped the Nameplate into his pocket, then suddenly asked, “By the way, could you cut an apple for me next time I come?”

The Medic was taken aback: “Sure.”

There, goal achieved.

Don’t think Ashe is just being trivial; this is his Workplace networking secret—getting others to do a small, seemingly insignificant favor is a shortcut to building rapport. The feeling of being needed is a high-level emotional need, and it was by using this tactic that Ashe got the most votes in the ‘Top Ten Employees’ poll, earning an extra six months’ worth of bonuses.

“Let’s have a meal together when you’re free. I’ll be off now,” Ashe said. “See you next time, [222]… almost forgot, thank you.”

“If you really want to thank me, let me give you plastic surgery—”

“Next time, definitely next time!”

After Ashe left, the Medic continued organizing tools in the Treatment room.

Suddenly, another door opened, and a tall Medic walked in, looking sternly at the Medic and said, “Why are you still here?”

The Medic glanced at his badge, which read [176].

Indeed, not only did the Death row inmates not know who was who among the Medics, but the Medics themselves also didn’t know each other’s identities. Apart from in their own dormitory, Medics were required to wear the Crow Mask in all public settings, identified only by their Nameplate.

“A patient just woke up, which delayed me a little. I gave him my Nameplate, so I’ve booked his future treatments.”

“You didn’t chat with him, did you?”

The tall Medic’s tone became more serious.

“You know that communicating with Prisoners is against the rules, and our identities must be kept strictly confidential. If news of our Rituals here gets out, the Human Rights Association will dismantle the council…”

“I know,” the Medic under the Crow Mask stuck out her tongue playfully.

“Then hurry back to your room. The 11-inch Blood Magic Thesis is due before the weekend, don’t forget,” the tall Medic said seriously. “Don’t think that just because you have a little Talent, you can be lazy. Without the team leader’s permission, you wouldn’t even have the right to be here…”

In the past, the Medic would have been anxious and self-reflective in the face of criticism from a senior, but after talking with Ashe, the Medic suddenly had a thought.

‘Is the senior intentionally criticizing my imperfections to establish his authority and suppress my status? The fact that I got in here through the team leader’s care is something I can’t change, and it has nothing to do with my skills. He can always criticize me based on that.’

Listening to the tall Medic’s unconstructive speech, the Medic found herself increasingly missing Ashe’s pleasant talk.

Come to think of it, Ashe’s recovery ability seemed to be much stronger than that of an average Martial Sorcerer. The feeling during treatment was genuinely pleasant…

The Medic found herself wishing that Ashe would be beaten to near death soon.

Footnote:

1. GG or MM: It’s an old internet slang from 20 years ago. Nowadays, when it’s used, it almost doesn’t feel like internet slang anymore. It means “boy or girl”.