Reunion

“Dr. Hua, the patient in Bed 41 isn’t cooperating with treatment. She wants to be discharged.”

After a four-hour major surgery, Hua Yu had only just stepped out of the operating room when a young nurse blocked her path, chart in hand.

Hua Yu closed her eyes. Fine lashes cast a delicate shadow over her lids; fatigue flickered across her cool, striking face as she said softly, “Whose patient?”

“Dr. Liu’s. Her daughter has a fever, so she took the day off.”

Liu Cong was one of the doctors under her. Hua Yu took the chart and flipped straight to the lab results; under the corridor’s white fluorescent lights, the report was a sea of red.

“Her condition is very poor. She doesn’t meet discharge standards,” Hua Yu said, snapping the chart shut with one hand. “No discharge.”

The nurse mumbled, “But she’s insisting on leaving. She even signed a liability waiver.”

Hua Yu turned to go. “With numbers like these, she’ll be readmitted within seven days at most. It’s pointless.”

“But she doesn’t have any money left to pay.”

Hua Yu stopped.

The hospital wasn’t a charity; if fees weren’t paid, treatment would be cut off. That was a rule no one could change.

Half a minute later, Hua Yu said evenly, “I’ll report it to the director.”

Twenty minutes later, after a full day and night of overtime, Hua Yu, who had thought she could finally get off work, found herself standing in the director’s office being lectured.

“We don’t recommend discharge under these circumstances,” the director said, slipping on his reading glasses and squinting. “But refusal to pay is also a problem. Confirm it with the patient again; if there’s really no other way, then let her leave.”

Having known that would be the outcome, Hua Yu answered coolly. As she was about to leave, she heard the director pull out a notebook to make a note, his tone regretful: “May 7th, patient Wei Yin, female, 26, severe anemia leading to gland atrophy, actively requested discharge…”

Wei Yin?

It was as if a switch had been flipped in a dust-covered memory. Hua Yu turned back; her cold, beautiful features tightened in a dazed blur. Then she snatched the chart.

“Wei Yin… ID number… it’s her. How could it be her?”

Her grip tightened on the report. She turned and ran toward the ward.

—

“Why am I getting an IV again today? Aren’t we supposed to be handling my discharge?”

In the ward, Wei Yin sat in a daze, extending her hand and staring at the needle entering her vein. The liquid seeped coldly into her blood, bringing a steady pricking pain with it.

She had a harmless-looking oval face, with the last trace of baby fat just barely still there. Her small crescent-shaped eyes were a deep amber, and when she tilted her head to look at someone, she looked especially obedient.

The nurse avoided her gaze as she bent over to insert the needle, stammering, “There aren’t any discharge slots today.”

Wei Yin blinked and thought for a couple of seconds about what a “discharge slot” even was. She still didn’t understand. “Do you need a slot to be discharged too?”

The nurse nodded frantically. “Yes, just like admission!”

“Admission is because beds are tight,” Wei Yin said slowly. She wasn’t stupid, though, and the explanation still sounded suspicious. “Then why is discharge different?”

“Why else?” The nurse felt a pang of guilt for lying to such a serious, proper-looking person and hurried away. “Just get your IV first. We’ll talk when a slot opens.”

The nurse left, leaving her a large bottle of fluid. Wei Yin leaned against the headboard and stared blankly at the bundled belongings beside the bed.

Three days ago, Wei Yin had fainted on the way to buy groceries for her employer. He was a middle-aged beta in his forties, rich but eccentric. He only ate the tender heart of each vegetable sprout, and it had to be freshly picked within two hours. Wei Yin had to make three trips a day to the market.

After learning about her condition, the employer unilaterally paid her salary for the month and told her not to come to work anymore.

Wei Yin pinched the loose thread on the cuff of her hospital gown, looped it once around her fingertip, then tugged it free. Aimlessly, she thought that everyone was right: an “overly delicate and weak” little omega without any pheromones like her was someone no one wanted. She went to serve others and ended up serving herself straight into the hospital.

“Didn’t the nurse tell you not to move around while you’re on an IV?”

A cool voice sounded; at some point, a doctor had entered the ward.

The doctor’s voice was very pleasant, like a mountain stream of melted snow in summer, striking over mineral-rich stone.

Her tone, however, was less pleasant; it carried an unsparing note of disapproval. Wei Yin lowered her head on reflex, like a child who had done something wrong, flattening both hands against her sides. Even her ears seemed to fold back a little.

“Sorry.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the white coat approaching.

The person was very tall; standing beside her, she nearly blocked out all the sunlight. Wei Yin lowered her head even more, thinking the nurse had only blocked two-thirds of the light. This one was probably at least 5'7"...

In her field of vision, a pale, slender hand appeared over the white bedsheet.

Wei Yin moved her arm, but before she could react, her wrist was caught.

The other person’s fingertips were cool; they pinched the joint and kneaded it once. The cold, stiff muscles instantly came alive, as if a frozen lake had been broken open by spring rain and the blood inside had begun to flow again.

Wei Yin looked at her arm in surprise. Her constitution was weak; she rarely had such a clear, warming sensation.

“Your veins are thinner than average. If you move around carelessly, the needle will slip; you need to be more careful next time.” The doctor’s voice drifted down lightly from above Wei Yin’s head.

Wei Yin blinked and stared at her loosened wrist, thinking that this doctor was amazing. But she still felt guilty and didn’t dare lift her head to look at her.

Before long, the doctor turned and left, leaving Wei Yin alone in the ward again.

Wei Yin sniffed. The air smelled of air freshener, but there was also a faint trace of pheromone mixed in. It smelled very good, though she couldn’t tell what it was.

The level of pheromones was linked to health. Her glands had not developed properly; she had been frail since childhood. Although she was an omega, she was one who could hardly secrete pheromones and was not easily in heat. No company was willing to hire her, so she could only work hard and couldn’t keep staying in the hospital.

Once everyone had left, Wei Yin quietly pulled out the IV needle, avoided the cameras, and slipped out along the wall.

Just as she reached the corridor, that cool voice sounded again.

“Patients may not discharge themselves without permission.”

Wei Yin jumped in fright and froze in place.

It was the same doctor from before. She hadn’t gone far; she stood three steps away from Wei Yin, her tone unreadable. “Wei Yin, what are you doing?”

Deflated, Wei Yin lowered her head and turned back. “Going to the bathroom.”

“There’s a bathroom in the ward.” The doctor took a step toward her, and the pressure followed like a shadow. “And where you were heading was the staircase.”

Wei Yin didn’t dare look up. Her fingers twisted together anxiously. Lying made her skin crawl, and after holding it in for a long time, she could only squeeze out, “I didn’t discharge myself. I told you people so many times…”

The doctor cut straight in: “Back to your room.”

Her words were interrupted; the courage Wei Yin had barely gathered popped like a punctured balloon and drifted off into the sky.

Wei Yin stared at her toes without speaking. She was a little angry, a little confused; more than anything, she simply refused to move.

Hua Yu stepped closer. Without even lowering her head, she could see the crown of Wei Yin’s hair, a small round swirl, soft and fluffy, just like the girl herself; inconspicuous, quietly existing, and just as quietly withering away.

“Do you know how bad your numbers are?” Hua Yu held the report in front of Wei Yin. From the moment she saw her, an anger she couldn’t suppress had been building in her chest. “If you walk out of the hospital today, tomorrow or the day after, within seven days at most you’ll faint again. Next time, you may not be so lucky.”

Wei Yin knew she meant that next time, there might not be any kind stranger to send her to the hospital and even pay part of her medical bills.

“I’ll try not to run around,” Wei Yin answered quietly.

“You still want to run around?” Hua Yu frowned in disbelief. “If you faint again next time, I guarantee you won’t have enough time for resuscitation.”

That finally frightened Wei Yin. Trembling, she took the report with shaking fingers and suddenly felt like crying.

“Back to your room,” Hua Yu said coldly. “We need to talk about your medical expenses.”

Wei Yin’s emotions were forced back down. Eyes red, she sniffled and followed the doctor back to the room without a word.

Only then did she finally look up at the doctor in front of her.

That one glance made her freeze for two seconds.

The white coat was too light in color and too loose in cut; on an ordinary person, it would have looked bulky, but on her it had a different effect. Maybe it was because she was taller than most people, with long limbs and a straight back; it suited her far too well.

From the moment Wei Yin entered the room to the moment she lay down on the bed, the doctor had kept her head lowered, writing something. It wasn’t until Wei Yin, physically exhausted, secretly started yawning that she finally spoke.

Hua Yu looked up. “If you’re sleepy, go ahead and sleep. We can talk after you wake up.”

Wei Yin’s sleepy eyes widened. “You…”

She suddenly saw the doctor’s beautiful face. Just like the impression her figure gave from behind, it was stunning.

The doctor seemed to be partly mixed-race; her features were sharp and refined, giving structure to the whole face. Her eyes were a cool cobalt blue, mysterious and elegant, reminding one of a high-mountain lake; a striking, cool beauty.

What surprised Wei Yin even more was that the face felt familiar, as if she had seen it before, yet she couldn’t for the life of her remember where.

But that was normal. Her memory was incomplete, and in life she often ran into moments when she felt some thing, some event, or some person was oddly familiar. Most of the time, it was just an illusion.

The doctor’s expression seemed to hold many emotions, but when Wei Yin tried to look deeper, she could see nothing at all; she only felt as if a trace of sadness had flashed through those beautiful eyes.

For a long while, the two of them simply looked at each other in silence. Neither spoke.

“From now on, I’m your attending physician. Just call me Dr. Hua. If you’re not sleepy, then let’s talk about your treatment plan.” Hua Yu was the first to break the silence.

Wei Yin nodded, then seemed to remember something and hurriedly said, “I put all my balance into the inpatient account. It’s only enough for today’s hospital fees.”

“That’s not urgent.” Hua Yu took out a thick stack of densely written documents and explained softly, “I helped you apply for the hospital’s assistance program. Ninety percent of your medical fees can be waived.”

Wei Yin reacted a little slowly. After thinking for a while, she asked earnestly, “The hospital… is it going to cut me open?”

Otherwise, she truly couldn’t think of any reason the hospital would spend money to support a low-level omega like her.

Cut her open?

Hua Yu’s motion of flipping through the papers froze midair. Her expression shifted for a long moment, from surprise to confusion, then from confusion to deadpan resignation. In the end, she couldn’t hold it in and let out a helpless smile.

Across from her, Wei Yin stared at Hua Yu’s smiling face and, before she knew it, looked completely dazed.