Chapter 87: Conflict

Zhao Shutong finally couldn’t hold back her laughter. That laugh was filled with relief and emotion as she looked at Ren Queyue, who had practically remade herself for her sake.

“So that’s how it was… Ren Queyue, it seems the names your uncle and aunt gave us really lived up to their meaning.”

“You’re really planning to hang this ‘Missing Moon’ on my ‘Scattered Paulownia Tree’ forever, aren’t you?”

Ren Queyue gazed at Zhao Shutong’s radiant smile, and her taut nerves finally relaxed. She nodded.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Time returned to the present.

Feng Miwan eagerly pressed, “And then? What happened next? Did you two get together?”

A nostalgic smile appeared on Zhao Shutong’s face.

“Yeah, and then we got together. Those university years were probably our happiest, most carefree times.”

“We went to classes together, went home together, and occasionally sneaked off for short trips… Life felt like it was sweetened with honey.”

She paused, her tone gradually sinking.

“But good times didn’t last. After graduation, Yibai,”

She looked toward Xiong Yibai.

“You’re a doctor too, so you know best how grueling the residency period is, especially in the busiest and most exhausting Emergency Department.”

Xiong Yibai nodded in deep understanding. “Sleep is a luxury, and personal time is a fantasy.”

“Exactly.”

Zhao Shutong sighed.

“During that time, she was basically like a dragon that showed its head but never its tail.”

“She’d bail on planned dinners last minute; promised weekend movies got canceled by a single phone call pulling her back to the hospital. Messages often went unanswered for hours, or sank without a trace.”

“I was young back then, with simple ideas. I kept thinking, ‘How busy can it really be? No time to reply to a message or make a call?'”

“I felt like she was just making excuses, that her feelings had faded, and she didn’t want to see me anymore.”

“I argued with her, complained to her. She always explained tiredly—another batch of critical patients that day, involved in some rescue, feet never touching the ground.”

“But I wouldn’t listen. I thought those were just her reasons to push me away.”

Zhao Shutong rubbed her brow.

“The conflicts piled up, fights became routine. Until that one day…”

“I had a bit of a fever that day, feeling awful all over, and emotionally fragile. I messaged her, saying I thought I had a fever and felt terrible, asking if she could try to come back early to keep me company.”

“She was apparently in the middle of a mass casualty rescue from a major traffic accident. The hospital was chaos, victims pouring in one after another.”

“She only hurriedly replied, ‘Got it, trying, can’t leave now, multiple critical cases.'”

“I understood rescues were important, but I was sick, alone in the empty apartment, and desperately wanted her by my side.”

“I waited from afternoon to evening, evening to late night, delirious with fever, and she never came back. No more messages either.”

“Later, I didn’t even know what time it was when I heard the door open. She dragged her nearly broken body home, her face looking worse than mine.”

“All the pent-up grievances, worries, and feverish irritability from the whole day exploded out of me.”

“I yelled at her, ‘Do you even have me in your heart anymore? I was sick, did you know that? Rescue, rescue—you only care about rescues!'”

“She was so exhausted that her eyes could barely stay open as she tried to explain the on-site chaos and urgency—that there were patients in critical condition who couldn’t be left alone.”

“But I wouldn’t hear it. I thought she was just using work as a shield.”

“That night, we fought fiercely, hurling hurtful words. Finally, I cried out, ‘If your patients are more important than me, then go be with your hospital! We’re done!'”

Zhao Shutong’s voice lowered.

“She looked at me then, her eyes full of exhaustion, helplessness, and… a disappointment I couldn’t quite name. She was silent for a long time, then said just one word: ‘Okay.'”

“And that was the end of our relationship.”

After recounting this past event, Zhao Shutong leaned back in her chair and let out a long breath. At that moment, the airport announcement rang out, indicating that boarding for their flight was about to begin.

Feng Miwan and Xiong Yibai fell into a prolonged silence after hearing it all.

Seeing this, Zhao Shutong said, “Alright, let’s board first.”

And so, the three tacitly dropped the topic and boarded with the flow of passengers.

Feng Yuxiao finished his call and came over to Feng Miwan’s side.

“Xiaowan, I’ve already contacted people to investigate what happened during the tire change.”

“I’ll meet up with them right after we land to discuss details. You and Dr. Xiong be careful.”

“I guarantee you, the final stop—Rong City Station—won’t have any more accidents like this.”

Feng Miwan nodded. “Okay, bro, thanks for the hard work. You be careful too.”

Feng Yuxiao pulled out his phone again to reply to messages, only grunting an “Mm.”

On the plane, Feng Miwan and Xiong Yibai’s seats were together, while Zhao Shutong’s was across the aisle a few rows back.

After fastening their seatbelts, Feng Miwan couldn’t help leaning close to Xiong Yibai, lowering her voice.

“Yibai, I still don’t quite get it.”

Xiong Yibai turned her head to look at her. “Don’t get what?”

“Shu Tong and Queyue clearly like each other so much, with such a solid foundation. The reason for breaking up… it doesn’t sound like some major principle issue. How did it lead to a breakup, and why are they still in this awkward state after all these years?”

Feng Miwan frowned, genuinely regretting it for her friends.

Xiong Yibai thought for a moment. “Probably because, in that relationship, Shu Tong expected full attention and response every moment, especially when she needed it.”

“But during residency, Queyue really couldn’t give her what she wanted.”

Feng Miwan still felt it was a shame.

“But Queyue’s residency is over now! Her work pace should be much better than back then, right? Why can’t they just talk it out and get back together?”

Xiong Yibai didn’t answer directly. Instead, she looked at her and made a suggestion.

“Try putting yourself in her shoes. Pretend you’re Shu Tong, and I’m Queyue.”

“You’re sick, feeling awful, and message me to come back early.”

“But I can’t get away, not even time to answer your calls or texts.”

“Try feeling that mood.”

Feng Miwan obediently closed her eyes, trying hard to immerse herself in Zhao Shutong’s role at the time.

She imagined herself feverish and dizzy, alone at home, clutching her phone in anxious disappointment as replies never came.

After a long while, she suddenly opened her eyes and demanded,

“Yeah! Why did you choose the patients over me? Wasn’t I the one who needed you most right then?”