Calming his nerves, Qi Min stepped into the hospital.
The place was as busy as ever, bustling with nurses, patients, and their families. In addition to them, a few well-dressed individuals were seated on the corridor benches, chatting among themselves. They didn’t look like they were there for treatment.
Using his peripheral vision, Qi Min observed them for a while. A balding middle-aged doctor emerged from a nearby consulting room, and the group immediately approached him, striking up a conversation.
Qi Min turned his attention away and walked to the registration counter.
Unfortunately, he was told that Doctor Wei’s appointments for the afternoon were fully booked, and he had probably already finished for the day.
This was a problem.
Qi Min had planned to come directly to the hospital for surgery right after finishing his last exam. He still had his patient card in his pocket, and the remaining balance from the fees his mother had paid earlier was more than enough to cover registration. However, Doctor Wei’s admission slip, the examination forms, his bank card, and even his change of clothes were all left in his backpack, sitting by the classroom podium.
Given the chaos at school, Qi Min hadn’t had the chance to retrieve anything.
Outside, the situation remained unclear, but the hospital seemed relatively safe.
His senses, dulled by prolonged exposure to the fog, had sharpened slightly upon reaching the hospital. Unfortunately, this also meant that the constant strain on his left leg was now making itself felt, the sharp pain returning with a vengeance and leaving him trembling.
The steel pins in his bone must have shifted during his frantic sprinting.
Qi Min realized he wouldn’t be able to cover long distances like that again—not unless he wanted to lose the leg entirely.
He decided it was best to get admitted immediately.
In preparation for the late exam schedule and the possibility of missing Doctor Wei, Qi Min had picked up the necessary admission and examination forms in advance. He hadn’t even contacted Doctor Wei before the exam, intending to handle everything himself.
But that one yell from the homeroom teacher had turned his campus life into a battlefield of zombie spiders.
Now, Qi Min had nothing on him but his patient card and the watch on his wrist. Admission required the official forms. Should he register with another doctor to get new ones?
The problem was that whoever issued the admission slip was typically the operating surgeon.
For a procedure like pin removal, the surgeon who performed the initial implantation would be most familiar with the specific fracture and the implanted hardware, which could vary by manufacturer. Changing surgeons mid-process could complicate things.
After some thought, Qi Min headed to the emergency registration window, asking the nurse to assign him to a night-shift surgeon.
Though he felt cornered, he was unexpectedly calm, even relieved.
Just then, someone emerged slowly from the left-hand corridor in front of him.
It was Doctor Wei Wenhua.
Dressed casually in short sleeves and trousers, Doctor Wei looked even more fatigued and haggard than usual. Yet, he was still strikingly handsome.
The moment Qi Min saw him, he instinctively lowered his head.
But as the nurse handed him his ID card and said loudly, “Room 301, first floor!” Qi Min couldn’t avoid responding. He mumbled a reply, pocketed the card, and turned—only to find Doctor Wei standing right behind him.
“Ah!”
Does this man walk without making a sound? And how did he move so fast in just a few seconds?
“Sorry, did I startle you?” Doctor Wei narrowed his eyes, studying him. “Did you hurt yourself again? You’re sweating all over.”
Qi Min hesitated. “I, uh… came in a hurry and forgot my crutch…”
“That’s not what I meant. Weren’t you here for pin removal? Why did you register with Doctor Zhu? He’s also a surgeon, but…”
What kind of eyesight does this guy have? Like an eagle’s?
Realizing he couldn’t bluff his way out, Qi Min sighed and admitted the truth. “I’m not hurt… Uh, it’s like this…”
“I lost the admission and examination forms you gave me. The outpatient nurse said you were off duty, so I registered for the emergency department instead… haha…”
An awkward tension filled the air as Qi Min wiped the sweat from his forehead.
A pack of tissues appeared in front of him. Doctor Wei’s steady voice came from above. “Here. Wipe it off.”
Embarrassed, Qi Min took the tissues, used one to clean his face, and handed the rest back. When he looked up, Doctor Wei was smiling warmly, as if bathed in sunlight.
“I see. Well, whoever issues the admission slip usually performs the surgery. For your pin removal, I’d suggest not switching surgeons mid-process.”
“Follow me. I’ll write you a new one.”
Qi Min hesitated. “Won’t that take up your time? I mean, you’re about to clock out, aren’t you? Maybe I should just—”
Doctor Wei interrupted him with a chuckle, taking the tissues back.
“It’s no trouble. I don’t have any other patients scheduled today. Besides, if you change surgeons now, your post-op recovery might turn out to be a lot more complicated.”
Qi Min said nothing, simply wiping his face again as he followed Doctor Wei.
Qi Min tossed the tissue into a trash bin and followed behind Wei Wenhua.
Since Doctor Wei had already clocked out, his consultation room was likely occupied by the night-shift doctor. Instead, he planned to take Qi Min to his office to write the necessary forms.
Doctors’ offices were typically located in the inpatient wing to facilitate communication with patients. Wei Wenhua led Qi Min through the side door of the ward, passing through a corridor flanked by patient rooms.
Every other room had a glass sliding door leading outside to a covered walkway. This elevated corridor on the second floor had railings, resembling a skybridge.
As Qi Min glanced outside, the layout struck him as familiar. He looked again and realized that this ward was right across from the oncology wing where he had stayed before. The window near the second-floor skybridge across the way was likely part of his former hospital room.
By the time Qi Min arrived at the hospital, it was dinner hour. The first-floor wards were relatively quiet, filled mostly with the soft hum of patients chatting over their meals.
This made the argument erupting from one of the rooms midway down the corridor stand out even more.
A man’s voice bellowed angrily: “My mom was fine before she got admitted! How did she die in just a few weeks? You doctors killed her! The hospital must compensate us!”
The yelling was accompanied by sobs and wails: “Oh, Mother, you died so unjustly!”
Human nature being what it is, even gravely ill patients can’t resist a good spectacle. Several patients and their family members gathered outside the room, forming a semicircle as they gossiped among themselves.
One particularly bold young man, bald-headed and carefree, stood there eating from a lunchbox with evident enjoyment as he watched.
Qi Min thought to himself, This guy’s got a hell of a mindset!
Curiosity got the better of him, and he stopped to take a peek inside.
Through a gap in the crowd, he saw two middle-aged women slumped on the floor by the second bed near the door, sobbing loudly. A short, wiry man stood at the foot of the bed, his back to the room.
Facing him was a doctor in a white coat.
The doctor had a pen tucked into his chest pocket and polished leather shoes on his feet. Thanks to Qi Min’s sharp eyesight, he could read the nameplate on the doctor’s chest: Chief Physician, Oncology Surgery.
The balding doctor, with a noticeable Mediterranean shine to his head, had a few drops of sweat glistening on his brow. As he wiped them away, he spoke calmly and methodically:
“The patient was already in the late stages of cancer when admitted. While chemotherapy did shrink the tumor, the side effects caused her body to deteriorate rapidly. Given her age, she couldn’t handle a second round of chemo. She herself agreed to conservative treatment.”
“Unfortunately, the low immunity caused by the chemo led to complications. Despite our best efforts, she succumbed to heart failure at midday.”
Behind him stood a round-faced nurse who looked vaguely familiar to Qi Min. She chimed in, trying to explain: “Chemotherapy always carries risks, especially for elderly patients…”
“My mother had lung cancer! What does that have to do with her heart? How could she die of heart failure? You doctors are just making excuses for killing her!”
One of the women slumped by the bed suddenly stopped crying and raised her head to join the man’s accusations. Despite her loud wails, her tear glands seemed to have aged along with her, as she hadn’t shed a single tear this entire time.
The other woman, her skin dry and her face showing hesitation and discomfort, avoided eye contact with the onlookers gathered outside the door. Eventually, she turned her head away entirely, pretending to admire the view out the window.
The balding doctor continued patiently, “Chemotherapy drugs often contain cardiotoxic agents, which can damage the heart. Heart failure is not an uncommon outcome for chemo patients. Doctor Gu, the attending physician, is an excellent oncologist with extensive clinical experience…”
As Qi Min leaned in to listen, engrossed, someone tapped him on the shoulder.
Irritated, he swatted the hand away without looking.
Qi Min: “…”
Wei Wenhua: “…”
Qi Min turned his head and let out an awkward laugh. “Haha, got too caught up watching. Didn’t notice, didn’t notice…”
Wei Wenhua played along with a smile of his own.
The two exchanged polite, fake smiles for a moment.
Wei Wenhua was the first to drop the act, a trace of helplessness in his eyes as he said, “Let’s go.”
Qi Min silently reflected on how much of a troublesome patient he was turning out to be.
We’ve only been together a few minutes, and look at Doctor Wei! He’s already got another wrinkle on his forehead because of me!
Feeling a mix of shame and self-reproach, Qi Min couldn’t resist glancing back at the commotion again.
Wei Wenhua: “…”
As they rounded a corner in the hallway, Qi Min heard a loud uproar erupt from the direction of the patient room.
He turned to look, only catching a glimpse of the chaotic crowd.
Are they fighting now?
Aren’t those people Doctor Wei’s colleagues and superiors? Shouldn’t he go and check it out?
Qi Min stole a glance at Wei Wenhua, but the tall figure ahead didn’t even flinch. Maintaining his cool and composed demeanor, Doctor Wei didn’t so much as glance back.
Clearly, the human tendency toward gossip didn’t apply to him.
After another turn, they reached the office area and entered through a glass sliding door.
Unlike the wards, which only had single plastic chairs, the hallways in the office section were lined with integrated benches. These long benches served as convenient resting spots for doctors. Qi Min even spotted one doctor sprawled on a bench under a blanket, fast asleep.
Once the door shut behind them, the noisy clamor faded to a distant murmur.
It was only then that Wei Wenhua finally spoke. “That family refused to let the elderly patient come to the hospital earlier. By the time she was admitted, it was already advanced lung cancer. The old woman paid for chemotherapy out of her own pocket, likely knowing she wouldn’t make it. Apparently, she wrote a will before passing, saying all her assets would be donated. That’s when the family showed up to cause trouble.”
Qi Min murmured an absent-minded “Oh,” his mind drifting.
Almost to himself, he asked, “Heart failure is common in cancer patients?”
Wei Wenhua came to a sudden stop, and Qi Min, not paying attention, nearly bumped into him.
The Author has something to say:
Qi Min: Human nature is all about spectating drama.
Qi Min: Doctor Wei doesn’t spectate drama.
Qi Min (concludes): Doctor Wei isn’t human!
Shang Jingshui: …From the perspective of role-playing personalities, that’s actually correct.
Next Chapter: Major Plot Incoming!
