“Chaoyi.” Han Yecheng frowned.
“During work hours, call me Doctor Shen.” Shen Chaoyi’s voice dropped a few degrees, cold.
Everyone had told her to stay away from Yi Qingzhuo. She felt that the irritation in her heart might stem from that.
Shen Chaoyi stood up, holding the medical record. “During work hours, it’s best not to discuss things unrelated to work.” This was said for Han Yecheng, but also for the owners of the gazes that fell upon them.
No one present had expected that the usually dignified and gentle Doctor Shen could have such a side. Even Han Yecheng, who had worked with Shen Chaoyi the longest and was closest to her, was stunned by her words for a long time.
In his memory, Shen Chaoyi had always been extremely good-natured, never putting on a cold face or speaking harshly in public. But just now, she was clearly warning everyone. The cultivation that flowed from her very bones had given everyone the illusion that she would never get angry or cold.
Shen Chaoyi walked out. The people behind her looked at her back, unable to speak for a long time.
Despite the unpleasantness, work still had to be done. During rounds, everyone inevitably went to Yi Qingzhuo’s ward. They exchanged glances, and their gazes all landed on Shen Chaoyi, who was walking at the front.
Shen Chaoyi walked into Yi Qingzhuo’s room without changing her expression. Inside, there were still only Yi Changhuan and Yi Qingzhuo. However, Yi Changhuan was sitting by the bed peeling an apple, while Yi Qingzhuo on the bed was sleeping with earphones on.
Hearing the door open, Yi Qingzhuo opened her eyes before Shen Chaoyi and the others even drew near.
“Doctor Shen.” She took the initiative to greet her, raising her hand to remove the earphones, which weren’t playing any music. She had just felt the outside noise was a bit bothersome, so she put in the earphones, but also found the music noisy, so she didn’t play any.
Shen Chaoyi raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t expected that the person who had been indifferent to her yesterday would take the initiative to greet her today. “Mm, compared to yesterday, do you feel any better today?”
As Yi Qingzhuo moved, the two silver earphones glinted briefly under the light, then were casually placed on the bedside table by Yi Qingzhuo.
“Mm.” Yi Qingzhuo responded almost inaudibly, glancing at Yi Changhuan.
Yi Changhuan’s eyes were filled with the joy of seeing her child teachable.
“…..” Yi Qingzhuo let out a soft snort from her nose.
“Good morning, Doctor Shen. She looks better than yesterday, ate more than yesterday, and can move her hands a bit.” Yi Changhuan stood up to greet Shen Chaoyi. Without waiting for Yi Qingzhuo to answer, she spilled everything.
“Mm, but she still needs plenty of rest.” Shen Chaoyi handed the record sheet in her hand to Chen Ya beside her, then lifted Yi Qingzhuo’s blanket. “Let me see how the wound is doing.”
Yi Qingzhuo took a deep breath and coughed twice. Silently, she acquiesced to Shen Chaoyi’s action.
The fixator was opened. Without that ring of restraint, Yi Qingzhuo felt as if the surgical wound was about to split open. A dense tearing pain assailed her, but she didn’t speak, pressing her lips into a straight line.
“What’s important is to rest quietly. Don’t get too emotional. Keep a happy mood—it’s good for your recovery.” Shen Chaoyi stared at the crisscrossing wounds on Yi Qingzhuo’s snow-white skin.
Many were shallow knife wounds that, after time, had faded. A few had been stitched up, leaving suture marks.
Could she have gotten injured in prison? And so many, so severe wounds.
In Shen Chaoyi’s subconscious, prison was a place of strict discipline and order. Such injuries, like those from gang fights, shouldn’t appear on Yi Qingzhuo.
Shen Chaoyi looked for a long time. Yi Qingzhuo, who had been restraining herself from looking at her, couldn’t help but turn her gaze to her. She was watching very seriously, her soft profile outlined gently, looking so tender.
Shen Chaoyi was bent over, occasionally her fingertips brushing against the skin of the abdomen, sending waves of tingling numbness. Her heart inexplicably pounding wildly, Yi Qingzhuo deliberately raised her voice, “I understand.”
This abrupt answer pulled Shen Chaoyi back from her thoughts. She re-fastened the fixator and covered her with the blanket. Then she straightened up and looked calmly at Yi Qingzhuo.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
As if she had expected it, Shen Chaoyi received Yi Qingzhuo’s thanks and responded with a smile. Instantly, Yi Qingzhuo, having been anticipated, shrank her neck like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. She turned her head away, no longer looking at Shen Chaoyi.
Shen Chaoyi nodded, clearly suppressing a smile. “Rest well.” With those words, Shen Chaoyi led the group to the next ward.
“Alright, alright. You’re a grown adult, and still throwing a tantrum?” Yi Changhuan carefully tucked the blanket around Yi Qingzhuo again, her tone indulgent. This daughter of hers—once her weak spot was hit, she would retreat into her shell like a turtle sensing danger. Turn her head, stay silent, pretend not to hear—that was her three-step routine.
Yi Qingzhuo’s gaze was cold, her voice low. “I’m not throwing a tantrum.”
Yi Changhuan pointed at the ward door. “Still not? Even Doctor Shen could tell.”
“I…” At the mention of Shen Chaoyi, Yi Qingzhuo deflated like a punctured balloon. She grabbed the earphones from the bedside table and shoved them back into her ears, shutting out Yi Changhuan’s gaze and voice.
Yi Changhuan glanced at her sideways, smiled, knowing that Yi Qingzhuo’s earphones had no music playing, and murmured to herself.
“But A Zhuo, you’re already 29, turning 30 next year. You can’t stay with Mom forever.”
“So you still need to try to get along with others. There are sunny types out there, mature men, any kind. Even if you can’t become lovers, you can become friends. And don’t worry about Mom—I haven’t reached the point where my old bones can’t move. You focus on your own matters, I can take care of myself.”
“When you meet someone suitable, don’t be so cold. Talk more. Look, you’re not bad-looking, tall and slim. If you wanted to find someone, what kind couldn’t you find?”
A child’s lifelong matter—a mother always worries about it.
Yi Qingzhuo was too special, always alone. Aside from employees, she didn’t have a single friend she could really talk to.
And now this had happened. Although Yi Qingzhuo didn’t say it, Yi Changhuan could see that the blow to Yi Qingzhuo was quite heavy.
She had almost lost her life, been so severely injured, and the recovery period was so long.
If she kept bottling everything up alone, sooner or later something would happen.
So even if Yi Qingzhuo didn’t want to hear it, Yi Changhuan had to say it.
Having said this, Yi Changhuan glanced at Yi Qingzhuo, who was resting with eyes closed, her features cold and beautiful, her face expressionless.
“You, child. Mom knows you can hear me.” Yi Changhuan tapped the back of Yi Qingzhuo’s hand.
Yi Qingzhuo didn’t move a muscle, seeing through her determination to hear nothing.
Getting no response, Yi Changhuan also knew not to push too hard, so she stopped talking about it.
After a while, the room quieted down, and Yi Qingzhuo seemed to have actually fallen asleep.
Hospital days were monotonous, so monotonous that Yi Qingzhuo’s world was reduced to police, doctors, and Yi Changhuan.
Her body recovered quickly. After about two weeks, she couldn’t stay in bed anymore and began tentatively walking around. With the fixator on and Yi Changhuan supporting her, Yi Qingzhuo gritted through the pain and paced in the ward.
In the monotonous life, lying in bed, Yi Qingzhuo could only stare at the ceiling, her mind replaying the somewhat agonizing and equally monotonous days in prison.
It was as if her life had always been simple—so simple that it was only fighting, treatment, getting hurt again, and more treatment.
Yi Qingzhuo’s life was dark, colorless. She was trapped in her own corner. No one could enter, and she would never leave.
Lately, Yi Changhuan would always bring up the topic of her falling in love, though each time Yi Qingzhuo pretended not to hear. But how could she not know what her mother truly wanted?
She didn’t want to be near men, because all these wounds on her body were caused by men’s fists. The physical pain and the psychological pain made Yi Qingzhuo unable to touch men at all.
She had never been in love. The best days of her youth had been spent in prison. She didn’t know what love tasted like, nor how to be in love. Perhaps being alone was fine too.
Yi Qingzhuo thought this way, but shamefully, deep in her heart, she wished for someone. Someone who could fill the void in her life.
Although she knew this possibility was extremely slim, yet every time she woke from a dream at midnight, when Yi Qingzhuo looked at the desolation outside the window, a blurry figure always appeared before her eyes.
She stood under a streetlamp, backlit. The halo blurred her features, but the hem of her skirt, her collarbone, her slender waist, her thick long hair, her straight, long legs—every detail was so clear.
It was a woman.
She felt she must have seen her in real life, otherwise she wouldn’t remember such clear details.
But how could she remember just that one moment?
The answer seemed almost on the verge of coming out.
But Yi Qingzhuo kept this passage like a locked diary, not letting others discover it, and selectively refraining from digging deeper herself.
It’s enough to keep it in her heart.
