“Chaoyi, besides being too soft-hearted, what’s the most important thing a doctor must avoid?” Pei Zhoujin opened his teacup again, letting the fragrant steam drift between them.
“Getting too close to a patient, crossing the line that should exist between doctor and patient.”
Pei Zhoujin’s gaze shifted to Yi Qingzhuo, the meaning unmistakable.
Even though this flower nursery felt like retreating deep into the mountains, far from worldly affairs—it was still right next to the hospital. Pei Zhoujin had worked there his whole life, and even after retirement, news still reached his ears first thing.
Shen Chaoyi had started her internship at the hospital while he was still there. Although they hadn’t interacted much, he could tell she was the steady, practical type. Otherwise, his flower nursery wouldn’t be open to just anyone.
“You must know about her history,” Pei Zhoujin continued. “Be careful to keep your distance. Don’t drag yourself into trouble.”
Before Shen Chaoyi could retract her smile, it collided with Pei Zhoujin’s probing gaze.
She was silent for a moment. “She’s not the kind of person the news makes her out to be. At first, I was wary because of her appearance too. But she’s just quiet—actually humble and polite. I’ll keep my distance, don’t worry.”
“Is it her past that makes you sympathize with her?” Pei Zhoujin cut straight to the point.
A woman who wasted the best ten years of her youth in prison because of an abusive father. A woman who stood alone against a pack of wolf-like relatives. A woman without a single friend. Someone who barely even felt pain anymore.
What Shen Chaoyi saw wasn’t her invulnerability, but the softness beneath her steel facade.
Yet when Pei Zhoujin asked, Shen Chaoyi hesitated. Her mind wandered, her eyes hiding emotions she couldn’t name. “Ah… maybe a little.”
Uncertain, she couldn’t even read her own heart.
Her gaze landed on the MP3 player on the table. She’d specially asked a friend to pick it out. When she’d seen Yi Qingzhuo using that outdated model, she’d inexplicably mentioned, during a dinner with friends after work, that she’d recently gotten interested in MP3 players. She’d commissioned a discreet, high-performing one.
She had already lost the professional distance a doctor should maintain.
Yet her heart kept leaning toward her.
Pei Zhoujin noticed her indecision. “Chaoyi, remember: you are a doctor. Your duty is to heal the sick and save lives. If you pour too many personal feelings into the treatment, it will work against you. Wasn’t that the first lesson your teacher should have taught you in medical school?”
“Even though her story deserves sympathy, you must be mindful of boundaries and keep your distance.”
Shen Chaoyi tightened the bag on her lap, her fingers unconsciously tracing light scratches across its surface. With a forced calm, she replied, “I understand. Thank you, Old Dean Pei.”
Pei Zhoujin sighed, stood up, picked up the small trowel by the gazebo, and walked slowly into the flower beds. He bent over to loosen the soil in a small bare patch.
Shen Chaoyi watched Yi Qingzhuo’s direction, her gaze complicated.
“Drink the soup. If it sits too long, it’ll go cold and won’t taste as good.” Yi Qingzhuo had returned at some point and was leaning against the gazebo pillar.
A flicker of light shone in Shen Chaoyi’s eyes. She reached out and unscrewed the insulated cup. The soup inside was still steaming, without a strong fishy smell, and no grease floated on the surface. It looked refreshing.
“Would you like some more?” Shen Chaoyi asked Yi Qingzhuo.
“I’ve had plenty. You drink it.” Yi Qingzhuo didn’t know what Pei Zhoujin had said to Shen Chaoyi, but she had stood there for three minutes while Shen Chaoyi spaced out, looking distracted.
Shen Chaoyi took a sip. The hot soup tingled her taste buds, bringing a brief burn that soon gave way to a savory flavor. The warmth traveled all the way to her stomach. After two more sips, she said, “Auntie has excellent cooking skills.”
“If she heard that, she’d probably be grinning from ear to ear.” Yi Qingzhuo could almost imagine her mother repeating this compliment at least five times tonight before letting her ears rest. Having one’s cooking recognized could dispel the fatigue of spending two or three hours in the kitchen.
Shen Chaoyi smiled softly. “It really is delicious. It’s on par with what my mom makes.”
Wu Huiyi was also quite skilled in the kitchen. After cooking for twenty or thirty years, her dishes were the kind that made the kids miss home when they were away for too long.
Yi Qingzhuo crossed her arms and pinched her earlobe. “Good to know you like it.”
Shen Chaoyi had been working all day and was genuinely hungry. Slowly but steadily, she finished the entire bowl of chicken soup.
Yi Qingzhuo watched silently, unable to take her eyes off the hand holding the insulated cup. Just seeing those hands conjured an image of their owner: “autumn water for spirit, jade for bones.” But the thought that one day that hand might wear a ring symbolizing marriage—that spoiled the beauty. No diamond ring, no matter how stunning, could match Shen Chaoyi.
Yi Qingzhuo caught herself and was startled by such an absurd thought. She lowered her head, forcibly banishing those ideas from her mind.
“I’ll take the cup home, wash it, and bring it back to you tomorrow,” Shen Chaoyi said, closing the lid.
“Mm.” Yi Qingzhuo didn’t look up, just uttered a soft sound.
“After spending some time here, doesn’t your mood feel lighter?” Shen Chaoyi stood up. “It’s really beautiful here.” She had noticed Yi Qingzhuo standing by the daisies for so long earlier.
Yi Qingzhuo raised an eyebrow. “My mood has always been like this. You don’t need to worry that I’ll do something foolish. I value my life. I have more will to survive than anyone. Otherwise, how would I have crawled out of that prison after ten years?”
“So, I’m fine. Better than you think.”
When she said this, her eyes were bright and firm. This surprised Shen Chaoyi, who had been worried about her. Then she smiled. “You misunderstand. That’s not what I meant. I just think you should be happier. If you keep everything bottled up, over time it’ll weigh on your heart and affect your health. As your current doctor, I have to remind you: keeping a cheerful mood helps your recovery.”
Of course, Shen Chaoyi knew Yi Qingzhuo had a strong survival instinct. During that major surgery, even though her body was already so weak, she had pulled through. Honestly, at the time, although Yi Qingzhuo’s heart had resumed beating, Shen Chaoyi thought based on experience that she likely wouldn’t survive the operation.
But she had maintained a faint heartbeat and very low blood pressure throughout the entire surgery, with no major fluctuations in heart rate or blood pressure. Shen Chaoyi was stunned by her powerful will to live.
Yi Qingzhuo gazed at her quietly, watching her smile. Her eyes hid emotions no one could read. “Thank you, Shen Chaoyi. I’ve always wanted to formally thank you.”
Last time, Shen Chaoyi had been in a hurry and hadn’t heard her gratitude.
Shen Chaoyi—her name lived up to its meaning: the morning sun that brings hope.
“You already said it.” Shen Chaoyi’s eyes narrowed slightly at the corners as she smiled. “In the ICU.”
She never thought her own name could sound so pleasant spoken by someone else. The voice was clear and calm, without fluctuation, each syllable crisp and proper.
“Did I?” Yi Qingzhuo searched her memory. She didn’t think she had. Instead, she remembered Shen Chaoyi always standing by her bed during visits, occasionally murmuring a few soft words. But she couldn’t tell who they were for—Yi Qingzhuo couldn’t hear clearly anyway. It was like she was talking to herself.
Shen Chaoyi slung her bag over her shoulder and spoke gently. “Maybe it was when you were still barely conscious. You said thank you. Thanking me.”
Perhaps Yi Qingzhuo didn’t even know Shen Chaoyi was the one listening—she was just being polite, saying thanks out of ingrained courtesy. The same woman others called a cold-blooded murderer constantly uttered words of gratitude, humble and polite. Just now, when facing Pei Zhoujin, Shen Chaoyi had noticed that even with her wound hurting, Yi Qingzhuo sat upright, back straight, proper posture. Her good breeding hid beneath her reticence.
“Mm. Now I’m clear-headed. I know I’ve caused you trouble at work because of me lately.” Yi Qingzhuo stood up straight and followed behind Shen Chaoyi as she prepared to leave.
“Then focus on recovering—that would be the greatest reward for me.” Shen Chaoyi turned back, lifting her eyelids, her thin red lips pressed together. It was a fleeting glance; then she quickly turned away.
In that single second, Yi Qingzhuo’s entire body trembled. Her hands, stuffed in her pockets, suddenly clenched tight. It felt like something had slammed into her heart, sending a fine layer of sweat across her back. As if afraid of being noticed, she quickly lowered her head. Pulling her hat down, letting her long hair shade part of her vision, she hurriedly hid that indescribable secret. Later, when she tried to recall it, she only remembered the strangeness of that second and nothing else—it slipped away like windblown dust.
It wasn’t until much, much later, when Yi Qingzhuo faced her own heart, that she understood.
That second was called attraction. Written down, it was liking.
