In the director’s office.
Director Cui, with her gentle features, poured a cup of this year’s new tea and looked at the two tall young doctors standing before her.
“Jiang Xu,” she began, naming the one on the left first, “I’ve reviewed the case record you submitted. Although the rescue was successful, before the blood test results came back, there was no definitive evidence of organophosphate pesticide poisoning. You shouldn’t have rushed to administer the antidote intravenously.”
Jiang Xu was silent for a moment before replying bluntly, “I trust my judgment.”
Director Cui disagreed. “The expedited blood test results come back quickly, you wouldn’t have had to wait long. Why were you in such a hurry? If the mother hadn’t survived, even if your diagnosis was correct, the patient’s family could still have used that against you.”
The man on the right drawled, “The patient’s family is already inside…”
Cui shot him a glare before turning back to Jiang Xu. “The doctor–patient relationship is already tense these days. Don’t give yourself unnecessary trouble.”
What she said was true. These days, evidence-based medicine is emphasized, and any diagnosis must be supported by sufficient lab and imaging data. That’s why most doctors order a slew of tests when a patient comes in. While diagnosing by experience can save some costs, it often becomes the trigger for doctors being held liable.
Jiang Xu knew she was saying all this for his own good, so he didn’t argue further. He simply said calmly, “Thank you for the reminder, Teacher.”
Having finished with him, Cui shifted her gaze to the one who had been making light of things. She frowned. “Shen Fangyu, button up your coat first.”
“Oh,” Shen replied, lowering his head to fasten the top two buttons of his white coat. He beamed. “All buttoned, Teacher.”
Cui was long immune to his antics, not budging an inch. “You were with Jiang Xu that day. Why didn’t you stop him?”
“I trust Jiang Xu’s judgment,” Shen replied, directly echoing Jiang’s words, “and I trust my own.”
He had almost simultaneously realized that the patient might be suffering from organophosphate poisoning. Therefore, he hadn’t opposed Jiang Xu’s judgment or orders, and was even the first to suggest administering atropine early.
“You two…” Cui’s voice was full of exasperation. “Usually you’re at odds, but in times like this you’re strangely in sync. What, do you need to get tangled up in a lawsuit before you’ll learn your lesson?”
“Calm down, Teacher Cui,” Shen coaxed with a smile. “I definitely won’t dare next time. Jiang Xu won’t either, I’ll guarantee it for him.”
“And what gives you the right to guarantee for me?” Jiang Xu shot him a look.
“So you mean you will do it again next time?” Cui asked Jiang with icy composure.
The best strategy, the thirty-sixth stratagem, was retreat.
“…I’ve taken your words to heart, Teacher,” Jiang said briskly. “I’ll go do my rounds now.”
Seeing Shen following him out, Jiang gave him a sidelong glare and headed straight toward the ward. Today, Zhang Yun’s daughter had been moved from the pediatric ICU to a regular ward; he intended to check on Zhang Yun’s recovery and see how the baby was doing.
“You owe me a few favors now,” Shen said. “Sometimes, you know, it pays to be a bit more tactful.”
“All I see is slick talk, not tact,” Jiang replied without expression. When Shen looked about to argue, Jiang raised a finger to his lips in a shh gesture and pushed open the ward door.
Shen sensibly followed suit and kept quiet. When they entered, Zhang Yun was already awake. She had been out of the ICU for a few days, and seeing her child back at her side had greatly improved her spirits.
Jiang Xu asked a few basic questions, and just as he was about to leave, Zhang Yun called to him, “Dr. Jiang, you saved this child’s life, hold her for a moment.”
“It wasn’t just my doing.” Everyone involved in the rescue had put in effort, and the neonatology team had also worked tirelessly for the baby.
Zhang Yun smiled. “Go on, hold her. Maybe it’ll bring her a bit of good fortune.”
At that, Jiang Xu looked toward the swaddled infant.
Because she had been born prematurely, she was smaller than most babies, her skin flushed red and no longer wrinkled. Her round eyes met his for a moment, and then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
Though he knew that a ten-day-old baby’s smile was usually unconscious, Jiang Xu couldn’t help but mirror it slightly. Babies’ eyes were always pure and clean, softening the heart almost involuntarily.
His profession meant he was adept at holding newborns. They were still so small, their necks undeveloped, so he supported her head, neck, and back with the crook of his left arm, his right hand cradling her waist and hips, creating a safe, snug space in his arms.
“Jiang Xu,” Shen Fangyu suddenly called.
Jiang glanced over. “What is it?” There was still a faint smile on his face.
“Nothing,” Shen looked down, feeling inexplicably self-conscious for some reason he couldn’t name. He covered it with a quip. “So you can smile. I thought your facial muscles were paralyzed.”
Jiang gently set the baby down and gave him a sideways look. “Infants are very sensitive to adult emotions.”
They might not yet understand what smiling or crying meant, but they instinctively drew comfort from a caregiver’s positive emotions.
“I’m sensitive too,” Shen said. “Why don’t you show some concern for your colleague’s mental health?”
“How old are you?” Jiang shot back. “Old enough to be a child’s father, and you still say things like that?”
The moment the words left his mouth, he realized something and fell silent.
“Ahem.” The child’s “father,” Shen Fangyu, had clearly realized it too, and coughed twice in an unconvincing attempt to cover it up.
The atmosphere between them turned a touch awkward, until Zhang Yun broke it. “Dr. Jiang, Dr. Shen, why don’t you name the baby?”
Jiang had never named anyone before, and the suggestion caught him off guard. Seeing his hesitation, Zhang Yun smiled. “It’s all right. If it weren’t for you both, I don’t even know if she’d still be alive. If you give her a name, maybe it’ll bless her with more good fortune.”
“You do it,” Shen encouraged.
Jiang looked again at Zhang Yun, whose kind eyes held an expectant light. He decided not to refuse. Still, this was the first time he’d named someone else’s child, and he was afraid of doing it poorly. He thought hard, his straight brows drawing together, his expression even more serious than during an exam.
After thinking for a moment, he spoke:
“Chenxi,” Jiang Xu said a little hesitantly, “Zhang Chenxi, will that do?” After he said it, he instinctively glanced at Shen Fangyu, as if seeking a bit of reassurance. “I’m not very good at naming… I just thought the meaning behind it is new life.”
Whether it was the words “new life” that touched Zhang Yun, or simply the natural way Jiang Xu placed the surname Zhang before Chenxi, her eyes suddenly reddened. “Zhang Chenxi… that’s nice.” She reached out to take Jiang Xu’s hand. “Thank you, Dr. Jiang.”
“As long as you like it.” Jiang Xu breathed a small sigh of relief, only to hear a quiet chuckle beside him. He turned to see Shen Fangyu pressing a hand to his lips to hide his smile. “You weren’t this nervous holding a scalpel, but giving a name has you breaking a sweat.”
As they left the ward, Shen was still teasing. “If it were our child being born, what name would you give them?”
Jiang Xu’s eyes flickered. He pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen, still no reply from Dr. Kenn. Taking a deep breath, he felt an inexplicable heaviness in his chest.
He didn’t answer, and Shen, sensing his mood, didn’t press. The child between them was both a bond and a landmine, making the two “parents” feel as if they were walking on a tightrope bridge, precariously balancing on something that could collapse at any moment.
“Jiang Xu!” A woman with chestnut-brown hair suddenly called his name from nearby. Jiang’s eyes lit up, and he walked straight over. “Yan Hua?”
The woman, dressed in a white checkered blazer, wore delicate makeup, carried a light coffee-colored leather bag, and held a cup of coffee in her hand. “I was just about to call you, and then I saw you,” Yan Hua said. “It’s been a while.”
“Eh, Fangyu?” Yan Hua noticed Shen Fangyu following behind Jiang Xu. “Since when are you two on such good terms?”
The moment she finished speaking, the two men instinctively put two meters between them, as if afraid someone might not notice they weren’t close.
Yan Hua laughed. “You’re both associate chief physicians now, act a little more mature, will you?”
Shen greeted her with a smile, throwing the blame off himself without hesitation. “It’s not like Jiang Xu’s dislike of me is anything new.”
“And you treat him so pleasantly?” Yan Hua said pointedly, then turned to Jiang Xu. “No time to chat, I’m busy. Where’s the Zhang Yun you mentioned?”
Yan Hua was a lawyer, someone he and Shen had met in university while doing volunteer work for the Women’s Rights Protection Association. That association had originally been founded by a group of college students, and after their initial volunteer work, both Jiang Xu and Shen joined as members and remain so to this day.
After the police explained her husband’s situation to Zhang Yun, Jiang Xu had proactively offered to help by finding a volunteer lawyer from the association to handle her divorce and property division case.
Zhang Yun had been hesitant, but Jiang Xu told her, “I’ve heard about your situation from the police. The association will help you recover your money. I’ll also apply for your medical expenses to be reimbursed from the association’s fund. Legal aid is free, and after you’re discharged, if you need help, the association can assist with short-term employment. You don’t have to worry.”
Every year, each member of the association voluntarily donated money to help women in need.
Members came from all walks of life. Whenever a member encountered a woman they felt needed help, they could submit her information to the association for review. Once her situation was verified, the relevant members would step in with donations or other aid.
If you’re willing to climb out of the mud, we will do everything we can to pull you up.
That had been the founding belief of the association.
So Zhang Yun had nodded resolutely, gripping Jiang Xu’s hand, her voice catching. “Meeting you… it’s the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Looking at the injured woman in the bed, Yan Hua handed her a business card. The title printed there wasn’t “Top Lawyer at a Prestigious Firm,” but “Member, Women’s Rights Protection Group.”
“Trust my professional ability,” Lawyer Yan said. “You’ll never have to see him again in your life.”
Faced with another woman, Yan Hua, Zhang Yun finally broke down, sobbing uncontrollably as she poured out all the pain she had endured over the years. She had suffered under her abusive husband for so long, with countless mediation attempts at the police station, yet nothing ever changed. Every time she brought up divorce, it only led to even more ruthless beatings.
She had thought that both she and the child in her womb would be forced to endure those dark, hopeless days forever, until Jiang Xu made her realize that she could be reborn.
Before leaving Jihua Hospital, Jiang Xu and Shen Fangyu walked Yan Hua to the entrance together.
“You’ve worked hard.”
“This is my duty.” Yan Hua smiled, glancing up at the towering inpatient building. Suddenly, she stretched out her hand, placing it in the middle of the three of them. “Let’s cheer together!”
Shen Fangyu placed his hand on top. Jiang Xu had always resisted this kind of juvenile cheer, curling his fingers slightly as he scanned the bustling crowd around them with reluctance. “There are so many people—”
Before he could finish, Shen grabbed his hand and pressed it onto Yan Hua’s. All three hands pressed down together, just as they had back in their student days, as they called out loudly: “Fight for women!”
It was the slogan of the Women’s Rights Protection Association.
Sure enough, as soon as the words left their mouths, curious glances turned their way. Jiang Xu awkwardly withdrew his hand and shot Shen Fangyu a glare.
“One can’t be young without a bit of recklessness,” Shen said casually. “Let Yan Hua see our great revolutionary camaraderie, so she won’t keep worrying we’ll fight and waste precious medical resources.”
Jiang Xu retorted coolly, “How many years have you been an adult and you’re still calling yourself ‘young’?”
“Haha,” Yan Hua laughed at their exchange. “All right, I’m reassured now.” She said to Shen, “I’ll be off before you provoke Jiang Xu again and you two actually fight.”
Only after watching Yan Hua get into a taxi did Shen turn to Jiang Xu with a smile. “I’m still half a year younger than you.”
“And you seriously count a few months?”
Jiang Xu didn’t bother responding. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his white coat and turned to leave. Just as he was about to step through the inpatient building doors, his phone chimed.
Glancing at the screen, Jiang Xu froze.
“Dr. Kenn replied.”
“What did he say?” Shen’s expression turned serious.
Jiang Xu skimmed through the message quickly, his expression darkening with each line. In silence, he handed the phone to Shen. The short message in English was blunt and insufferably curt:
Dear Mr. Jiang,
I am Dr. Kenn’s assistant. Since our article has not yet been published, unfortunately we cannot provide you with any information at this time. If you wish to seek medical consultation, please contact the hospital secretary to arrange an appointment. As Dr. Kenn is extremely busy, you must book in advance and bring with you a deposit of 200,000 USD when you come to the United States for surgery.
“Well, aren’t they bold with their opening price,” Shen raised an eyebrow. “This is your so-called ‘science knows no borders’? That noble calling to heal the sick and save lives?”
“Two hundred thousand U.S. dollars,” he repeated in an exaggerated tone, “and that’s just the deposit.” His voice took on a mocking edge. “You sure his faith isn’t in banknotes and greenbacks?”
Jiang Xu: “…”
“Get lost.”