Patients wanting the doctor’s contact information was perfectly normal.
Especially in dentistry, where treatment often couldn’t be wrapped up in a single short session. Patients had to eat and talk with their mouths, after all, so having the doctor’s phone number—or adding them on WeChat—gave them a sense of security.
Whether the doctor was willing to share was another matter entirely, varying from person to person.
Private hospitals were all about revenue, so they encouraged their doctors to fill their phones with customer contacts. Public hospitals, on the other hand, stuck to protocol and saw it as a hassle—any issues could wait until the patient came back in.
Lin Qimian gave out her info about half the time, depending on the patient’s condition.
For something as straightforward as Xu Yueliang’s wisdom tooth extraction, it was completely unnecessary by her usual standards.
“If there’s any issue, just come back in. Doctor Zhen should have gone over the precautions with you already.” Lin Qimian ignored the QR code in front of her and returned her gaze to the patient chart on the desk, gesturing toward Zhenzhen across from her.
“Right, do you have any other questions?” Zhenzhen chimed in quickly, her smile bright and brimming with enthusiasm as she promptly pulled out her phone. “If…”
Lin Qimian’s eyelid twitched.
She’d picked up on the message, and so had Xu Yueliang, almost simultaneously.
The QR code in her hand shifted direction, veering toward Zhenzhen.
Lin Qimian shot to her feet abruptly, the scrape of her chair cutting off Zhenzhen’s words before they could fully form.
She pointed at Xu Yueliang. “Come with me.”
Xu Yueliang’s eyes widened in surprise.
Lin Qimian strode toward the treatment station and drew the curtain closed with a flick of her hand. “Let me take another look.”
Xu Yueliang parted the curtain and stepped in, her voice small and pitiful. “Doctor, is something wrong with me?”
Lin Qimian slipped on a pair of gloves. “Sit.”
Xu Yueliang sat ramrod straight, not daring to move a muscle.
Lin Qimian leaned in and cradled the side of her face without the incision.
The warmth of her cheek seeped through the rubber, toasty and soft. Lin Qimian’s eyes settled on the other half of her face, pretending to examine it.
“No issues,” she said.
Xu Yueliang let out a long breath, her exhale brushing against the tip of Lin Qimian’s thumb.
Lin Qimian withdrew her hand and turned to remove the gloves. “Keep the cotton ball in for thirty minutes, then spit it out. And try not to talk in the meantime.”
As Lin Qimian turned back, Xu Yueliang raised her finger to her temple, signaling that their telepathic exchange had succeeded.
Remembering that she’d pulled the same gesture with Zhenzhen earlier, Lin Qimian shot her a glance, her expression impassive as she swept the curtain aside and stepped out.
Xu Yueliang was a beat slower. By the time she emerged, Lin Qimian’s phone sat on the corner of the desk, a bright QR code glowing on the screen.
“Add me.” Doctor Lin was scribbling something down, her tone cool and detached, not bothering to look up.
Xu Yueliang scanned it in a flash. After sending the friend request, she whispered a reminder. “Sent.”
Lin Qimian picked up her phone and tapped through the request without a flicker of expression.
Xu Yueliang bowed to her, then to Zhenzhen. “Thank you both, doctors. See you in a week.”
Lin Qimian’s pen didn’t pause. “Less talking.”
Xu Yueliang clapped a hand over her mouth and scurried out of the exam room.
After seeing two more patients, Lin Qimian’s workday was done.
As closing time approached, everyone started to slack off a bit, minds wandering.
Zhenzhen headed off to coordinate the day’s transferred cases with Peng Xiaoshuai, leaving Lin Qimian alone in the empty exam room. She flipped open the book she’d been meaning to finish.
Her phone buzzed—different from the usual message tone.
Lin Qimian glanced over. A vibrant orange notification filled the screen: The streamer you’re following, “Little Moon,” is live now!!! She has a private message just for you…
A private message? What kind of private message?
Lin Qimian tapped the notification. Xu Yueliang had better not have anything to say today.
But the push alert didn’t reveal any real details—probably every streamer sent out generic “private messages” when they went live.
Her phone jumped straight to the Orange Live APP, landing in Little Moon’s live streaming room.
Lin Qimian: “…”
The connection was solid.
Little Moon’s room had a white theme today, with a backdrop of soft lace and feathers.
To the left sat a white flower stand holding a lush pot of snowflake blooms, their branches draping lazily downward in an appealing cascade.
Given the season, the flowers had to be fake.
The girl in front of the camera had her long hair twisted into two low-hanging fishtail braids, adorned with sparkling crystal hairpieces. Feathery wings sprouted from her back, and her face bore full fairy makeup, complete with glitter at the corners of her eyes that caught the light just so—making the tearful patient who’d shown up at their clinic that afternoon for a wisdom tooth pull seem like a complete fabrication.
Lin Qimian couldn’t quite put her finger on her feelings, but she had plenty of justification for them. Even an ordinary doctor facing an ordinary patient who ignored medical advice would feel exactly the same way.
Music played in the live streaming room as Xu Yueliang sat in her chair, swaying gently to the beat.
A colleague passed by the door and glanced inside. Lin Qimian quickly slipped on her earphones.
Viewership was light at this hour—students were in class, workers were on the job.
The stray comments that floated by were nothing but mindless check-ins, so Xu Yueliang stayed quiet.
She swayed like that for nearly ten minutes before a bullet comment appeared: 【Little Moon, why aren’t you talking today?】
Xu Yueliang spotted it and immediately pointed at her own face. The comments picked up, but no one seemed to get her meaning.
She stretched her arm off-screen and grabbed something.
An ice pack wrapped in a towel. She pressed it to her left cheek.
The admin chimed in with an explanation: 【Moon had a tooth pulled today, so she can’t talk. Please be understanding, everyone.】
Xu Yueliang nodded vigorously.
The chat exploded with “hahaha”s. Some noted her face was a little swollen. Others praised her professionalism for streaming right after the procedure. One snide remark cut through: So viewers’ time doesn’t count? We tuned in just to stare at that mug???
Xu Yueliang hammered at her keyboard, firing off replies in the host chat: 【Very sorry, everyone. I want to hit my streaming quota today—no dancing, that’s for sure.】
【Doctor says I should talk less, so gift thanks will have to be text-only.】
【But I’ll share my tooth-pulling tips with you all in a bit.】
Lin Qimian felt a wave of relief. Her finger grazed the gift-send button before pulling back.
The wild spender from that one crazy night was ancient history. She wasn’t some greenhorn anymore, ripe for the fleecing by a pretty streamer.
Lin Qimian tucked her phone away and returned to her book.
The earphones stayed in—for supervision.
Xu Yueliang’s background tunes kept her company through the end of her shift and her drive home.
Not until she stepped into the bathroom for her evening routine did she switch the phone audio to the home Bluetooth speakers.
They were a custom high-end job, built into the walls during the reno. Perfect for tunes while soaking in the tub—the bathroom’s natural reverb made them sing.
Xu Yueliang had solid taste in music. Her pop picks were catchy without being grating.
Lin Qimian turned on the faucet. A faint puff of breath leaked from the speakers.
It was too soft to make out. She started toward the phone for a check when the voice came again.
Xu Yueliang, her tone hushed to a whispery wisp: “Doesn’t hurt.”
Lin Qimian froze. Xu Yueliang went on: “The technique was flawless—over in a flash.”
“Even chatted with me the whole time, but no talking allowed~
“Biu~ brainwave sync.
“Saw the blood and everything. Doc even shaped my tooth root into a heart for me, hehe.”
Must’ve been too close to the mic, with Lin Qimian’s speakers being top-tier—the lilting “hehe” swept past her ear like a caress, leaving a faint itch in her chest.
Xu Yueliang trailed off there. Lin Qimian waited a beat with no follow-up, then resumed filling the tub.
The water crested the ideal level, shimmering under the lights. Lin Qimian shed her last scrap of clothing and stepped in.
Warm currents enveloped her, melting away the day’s weariness.
“The numbing shot’s still got a little kick…” A pause, then Xu Yueliang again. “That’s why it doesn’t hurt much yet.”
“Or maybe the painkillers I popped right away?
“It’s manageable.
“No eating or drinking for two hours.
“Not hungry anyway—not my dinner time.
“Of course I behaved. The doc who yanked it… so pretty~~~”
Lin Qimian: “…”
Xu Yueliang: “Seriously so pretty~~~~”
Lin Qimian’s toes curled against the tub floor. Pretty was pretty—who didn’t call Lin Qimian pretty?—but why stretch it out with all those tildes, dragging longer than the ripples lapping at her skin.
Xu Yueliang: “Mask, glasses, that face shield thingamajig—who knows the name…
“Still obvious she’s pretty~~~ pretty’s pretty~~~
“White coat made her even prettier~~~ back view alone’s a knockout~~~~ tall as hell, long fingers gripping that scalpel so pretty~~~~~~”
Lin Qimian bolted upright, splashing water everywhere as she snatched a bath towel and wrapped it around herself.
Xu Yueliang kept yammering on like a broken wave machine, “pretty-pretty-pretty.” Lin Qimian didn’t even pause for slippers—just padded barefoot out of the bathroom to the phone she’d flung aside.
The phone screen glowed brightly. Xu Yueliang leaned in close to the camera to ensure her voice came through clearly, her face filling the entire display. Her skin was strikingly fair, which only made her vivid Barbie-pink lips stand out even more.
A comment flashed in the chat: [No matter how pretty she is, can she compare to our Moon?]
Xu Yueliang’s eyes crinkled with delight, a shy flush coloring her cheeks at the praise. “Different vibes entirely. I’m the cute type, while the beautiful doctor sister is the cool goddess type~~~~”
Staring at that face and hearing those words, Lin Qimian felt goosebumps prickling across her skin.
She reached to close the stream, but her bath towel slipped free. In her frantic scramble to grab it, her finger slipped—not only did she fail to exit the Live Streaming Room, but she also sent two Rockets.
Xu Yueliang’s voice spiked with joyful surprise. “11, you’re here!!!”
Lin Qimian: “…”
She had been lurking in this Live Streaming Room for nearly two hours. Only spotting her now?
It was as if Xu Yueliang had unlocked some kind of telepathic ability. “I saw you pop in earlier, but you weren’t chatting, so I didn’t say anything. I’ve been feeling off for talking today…”
Lin Qimian thought: You’ve sure been talking plenty.
Xu Yueliang went on. “Does sending those gifts mean you agree with what I said? Hehehe, Doctor Sister really is so…”
Lin Qimian mashed the gift button like mad, unleashing a cascade of Fireworks.
The lavish gifts finally snagged Xu Yueliang’s full attention. She scooted her chair back and jumped up to thank her generous fan.
But the sudden motion must have jostled something, because she clapped a hand over her mouth and let out a massive sneeze.
She froze in place afterward, hand still pressed to her lips, her eyes gone utterly blank.
The chat erupted: “What’s wrong with the streamer?”
Tears welled up in Xu Yueliang’s eyes like a dam bursting. Still covering her mouth, she dashed to the camera and blurted, “Sorry, I think my wound just split open,” before logging off in a hurry.
The screen went dark. Lin Qimian’s account automatically bounced out of the Live Streaming Room.
The clamor vanished in an instant. Lin Qimian clutched her phone, the room’s silence pressing in like a weight.
A split wound wasn’t the scary part. What chilled her was that she seemed to be the trigger.
Unbidden, visions of Xu Yueliang in tears flooded Lin Qimian’s mind: sobbing on the treatment table, weeping while standing, crying mid-sentence, bursting into tears at the slightest shock.
Drenched from head to toe, Lin Qimian felt like she was drowning in those tears.
She quit Orange Live and flipped over to WeChat.
The moment she logged into her sparse alt account—with fewer than ten contacts—a voice call pinged from her newly added friend “Jiaojiao.”
Lin Qimian picked up. “Hello.”
Xu Yueliang’s voice came through thick with muffled sobs, fragile as a startled fawn. “Doctor Lin, wuwuwu, I think my wound split open, wuwuwu—my mouth’s full of blood… it won’t stop…”
Lin Qimian ripped off her bath towel and marched toward the walk-in closet. “Don’t panic. It’s okay. Don’t spit the blood out—swallow it. And don’t lick the wound. Hail a cab to the hospital.”
Her voice stayed cool and even, as if it were truly nothing. “Head straight to my Clinic Room. I’m on shift right now.”
