Gift

After leaving Zhao Qi’s room, Yang Cha followed behind her, opening her mouth several times before finally forcing the words out.

“Zhao Qi’s illness doesn’t have a specific cure,” Yang Cha said. “We can only treat it conservatively.”

Hua Yu tilted her head and glanced at her. “I know.”

Yang Cha meant that Hua Yu shouldn’t have made Zhao Qi that promise.

That was exactly the kind of thing doctors were most careful to avoid. For minor illnesses, they wouldn’t dare say it was nothing; for serious ones, they wouldn’t dare say the patient was beyond saving. They always left themselves a little room, just in case that slim margin of possibility came through.

If Zhao Qi didn’t improve, or if something unexpected happened, Hua Yu’s promise today would be enough to spark a fight with her and her family.

“Don’t mention this to anyone else,” Hua Yu said softly. “Zhao Qi will be my patient from now on. If anything happens, contact me immediately.”

Seeing that Hua Yu had made up her mind, Yang Cha said nothing else.

Hua Yu wasn’t deliberately inviting trouble. She had simply remembered the frightened look on Wei Yin’s face, and the memory still left a dull ache in her heart. She couldn’t bear to see her upset.

Wei Yin didn’t know many people. In the hospital, Zhao Qi was the only girl who kept her company and chatted with her. Wei Yin had been frightened to tears even by the suicide of an omega she had only met once; let alone Zhao Qi, who was already her friend.

Even if Wei Yin never said it, Hua Yu knew how much she cared about Zhao Qi.

If anything happened to Zhao Qi, Wei Yin would only be more heartbroken, and she’d lose hope in treatment too.

Besides, their conditions really did have similarities. Taking Zhao Qi under her care was also Hua Yu’s way of developing a better treatment plan.

When she returned to the office, the dean was waiting for her.

“Xiao Hua,” the dean said, turning back toward her. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Hua Yu nodded in acknowledgment and walked over. “Dean. What is it?”

The dean set several files on Hua Yu’s desk. “This is the application you submitted. It’s already been approved. You can start the clinical trial, so you need to hurry up and get your research proposal written. As for research staff, you know how things are here at the hospital. There isn’t a spare team to hand over to you. You’ll still have to rely mainly on yourself.”

Hua Yu already knew all of that. She thanked the dean and said, “Sorry to trouble you to make the trip yourself.”

The dean waved her off and sighed. “No trouble. But there’s one thing—have you picked your trial subjects yet?”

This research was aimed at gland degeneration, including congenital insufficiency and early senescence. Hua Yu was silent for a few seconds before saying, “I’ll recruit from the public.”

“I knew you’d say that,” the dean said, standing up and trying to persuade her earnestly. “The hospital has so many patients, especially in our differentiation department. They’re all long-term cases. There’s no need to look so far away when you have people right here.”

Hua Yu lowered her head. Calm and even, she said, “Patients need treatment. The requirements for participating in a trial are too high. We should still recruit a group of volunteers with milder conditions.”

The dean was displeased. She paced in front of Hua Yu, annoyed enough to go back and forth twice. “If the disease hasn’t progressed, what exactly can you research? Hua Yu, so many people are waiting for you to save them. If you don’t use them for your trial and insist on finding volunteers, why?”

“Dean, I’ll allow Wang Qiyao to participate in the trial,” Hua Yu said without looking up, her tone light. “If she insists.”

Wang Qiyao was a patient the dean had personally brought in. Early senescence, type 4—old before her time, worn down and haggard. Naturally, her family hoped the hospital could make a breakthrough so their child could be the first to benefit from the treatment.

Only then was the dean satisfied. “That’s more like it. She really is suitable.”

Not just Wang Qiyao; many patients whose conditions had already reached the late stage probably wanted to participate in the trial too, just to gain even a little more hope of survival.

The dean and Hua Yu had different philosophies. It wasn’t as though she was only thinking of Wang Qiyao, either. With that in mind, the dean couldn’t help adding, “Not just Yao Yao. I think quite a few of the patients you’ve taken care of are pretty good too. I heard from your department head that there was one malnourished patient admitted to the hospital—what was her name, something Yin? She’s actually very well matched to the content of your trial, she could…”

Hua Yu finished the sentence for her. “Wei Yin. Her name is Wei Yin.”

The dean blinked. “Right, Wei Yin. She’d be quite suitable.”

“She has a genetic issue,” Hua Yu said abruptly. “She would need gene-targeted treatment to be cured.”

The dean chided her, “All gland problems are genetic problems. Your clinical trial is to develop a specific medicine, not to cure everyone outright. Besides, she really is the most suitable candidate…”

“Dean,” Hua Yu interrupted, “don’t you still have a meeting?”

The dean glanced at the time. “More than half an hour left. No rush.”

Even as she said there was no rush, she remembered other matters. “Think about what I said again. Find some time to report back to me.”

“Alright.” Hua Yu stood to see the dean out. “You should go ahead and get busy.”

After the dean left, Hua Yu sat down in her office chair, braced her head in both hands, and closed her eyes for a long while.

Working too long and thinking too much would bring on her old headache.

She quietly waited for the stabbing pain in her temples to pass, then took a deep breath.

She opened the drawer. Inside lay a photo frame.

In it was a girl with a high ponytail, wearing a light blue short-sleeved shirt with a sailor-style collar, tucked into straight-cut white jeans, with a pair of little white sneakers on her feet.

Hua Yu stared at the frame for a long time, like an exhausted traveler who had stumbled upon a clear spring and was greedily drinking in the cool water.

She reached out and traced the picture with her fingertip.

An utterly ordinary university outfit, full of youthful energy.

The person in the photo was smiling with such innocence and beauty. The curve of her small apricot-colored eyes was just right; her gaze was full of fondness and anticipation for the person taking the picture.

What had Wei Yin been thinking when this photo was taken?

Hua Yu realized she could no longer remember.

It seemed Wei Yin had made some new friends, and after adding Hua Yu on WeChat, she had thought Hua Yu’s account was a burner account. Otherwise, why was there nothing in her Moments, not even the most common selfies girls took?

Wei Yin had complained to her that she didn’t like taking selfies. Ever since she was little, it had always been her mother who took pictures of her; from age one to seventeen, there had been one every year.

When Hua Yu heard that, her heart had softened. She borrowed a camera from Xu Ya Qing and secretly waited for Wei Yin on the path after class.

“Wei Yin!”

Wei Yin, hugging her books, turned around. The moment she saw Hua Yu, she broke into a bright smile.

Hua Yu raised the camera.

Click. That moment was frozen forever.

Later, it seemed she had taken many more photos of Wei Yin, but she had never practiced photography and her technique was poor. Wei Yin had chased her around, forcing her to delete quite a few, leaving only a small number behind.

Hua Yu printed out this photo, the one she liked best, and carried it with her. After coming to the hospital, she made a copy and kept it in her office.

Whenever work wore her down to the point that she could barely keep going, she would take it out and look at it.

Wei Yin was the original reason she had wanted to study and solve the problem of gland disorders.

Who wouldn’t cherish their original intention?

Letting Wei Yin participate in the clinical trial meant putting both hope and risk on her shoulders.

Hua Yu did not want Wei Yin to bear any risk at all.

She could allow herself a little selfishness; after she developed mature medicine and technology, she would give them to Wei Yin.

-

The livestream setup was simple: a stand, a fill light, and a microphone. That was all.

Wei Yin was lowering her head to adjust the clay’s viscosity when a broad wash of white light fell over her. She blinked, then turned her head away.

“This is good,” Xu Ya Qing said, adjusting the lighting and staring at Wei Yin through the camera with delight. “I’ve discovered you photograph really well.”

Wei Yin had taut flesh, a small face, and smooth, flowing contours. On camera, she had no bad angle at all; no matter how she was shot, she looked good.

A little self-conscious, Wei Yin lowered her head. “Does a livestream need to show my face?”

She had thought Xu Ya Qing was doing an art stream and would only film her hands at work.

Xu Ya Qing thought for a moment. “Let’s show a bit of your face. Just a little in the upper right corner, so it looks more real. It’s fine—you’re pretty, so appearing on camera suits you.”

“Just me?” Wei Yin glanced at Xu Ya Qing’s easel. “Where are you?”

Xu Ya Qing was hiding behind the camera. “I’m handling operations. You’re the main focus; I’ll show up a little on the side.”

“That won’t do,” Wei Yin said. “This is your account. You need to show your face.”

Xu Ya Qing hesitated, a conflicted look appearing on her face.

Actually, she mainly thought she looked ugly on camera. “Not everyone has a small face like yours. For normal people, their face shape on camera is a disaster, okay?”

“You look good in profile,” Wei Yin said sincerely, looking at her with complete earnestness. “You’re not ugly.”

Xu Ya Qing gave an awkward little laugh, thinking this was the first time anyone had judged her appearance so seriously.

“Fine, then I’ll be beside you.”

Starting the livestream had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Once it was live, Xu Ya Qing stopped paying much attention to it and she and Wei Yin each took a side and began working on their own tasks.

White noise filled the livestream. The two girls busied themselves in the brightly lit warehouse.

One pulled apart a lump of clay and kneaded it into a ball in her palm. As it spun, the clay stretched and flattened, thinned and spread, taking on all sorts of shapes.

The other used the three primary colors to mix every shade she needed. From three colors to more than twenty, she filled the palette, and the rich hues covered the half-finished oil painting on the easel.

The number of viewers gradually climbed. Quite a few of Xu Ya Qing’s friends had followed her studio account, and when they saw she’d gone live, they enthusiastically shared it for her.

Then Hua Yu saw the livestream link in the family group chat.

A livestream?

She clicked in and saw Wei Yin first.

Seeing Wei Yin on the screen, so immersed in what she liked, made Wei Yin happy; naturally, Hua Yu became happy too.

There were several finished petals beside Wei Yin’s hand, round and flat, tapering into a delicate curl at the tips. She was making the flower’s center.

It was impossible to tell what kind of flower it was, so Hua Yu simply sent a fireworks gift in the livestream.

At that moment, Xu Ya Qing set down her brush and checked the comments during a break.

“Thanks to ‘Provincial Hospital Differentiation Department Hua Yu’ for sending…” Halfway through reading it, Xu Ya Qing narrowed her eyes, looking like an old man staring at his phone on the subway. Speechless, she said, “Ahaha, so even doctors are slacking off and watching livestreams, hahaha.”

Then she sent Hua Yu a WeChat message.

[You Imp]: ???

Hua Yu didn’t reply. This was her private account. For a while, the hospital had been making them repost and like certain videos every day and send screenshots, all that performative nonsense. So she had changed the name and had her interns take screenshots for her. Later, she simply forgot to change it back.

Wei Yin had originally been coloring carefully, but when she heard that, she suddenly turned around and trotted over to the phone.

On the screen, Wei Yin’s face gradually enlarged until it filled the whole display.

Her features were small and delicate; over the past few days, she had regained a bit of color, and with the phone’s built-in smoothing effect, she looked especially beautiful, white with a flush of red.

The comments immediately noticed her and began flying by.

[The streamer is so cute, I want to pinch her]

[Ahhh she’s about to kiss the screen!]

[What flower is the clay streamer making? Miss, your hands are so skillful]

Wei Yin looked through the gift list, found Hua Yu’s name, and stared at it for a long time.

Then, in a very small voice, she said, “Thank you for the fireworks.”

Xu Ya Qing: “Tsk.”

Hua Yu had already turned up the volume the moment Wei Yin walked over, so of course she heard what Wei Yin said. The corner of her mouth lifted slightly.

Wei Yin came back to herself, lowered her head, and smiled shyly.

Xu Ya Qing looked at Wei Yin’s increasingly red nape and cut in, “I’m asking you, what flower are you making?”

She gets shy so easily. Hua Yu definitely sent that gift on purpose.

Coming into her livestream just to tease her “employee,” Xu Ya Qing clicked her tongue again. “Please also look at the other comments.”

The comments were all curious about what Wei Yin was making. The petals were a gradient of orange and yellow, rich and elegant, very beautiful, but unlike any common flower.

Wei Yin smiled. “Sunflowers.”

The curve of Hua Yu’s lips slowly flattened.

Wei Yin’s expression as she looked at the flower was very gentle. “It’s a sunflower with some artistic adjustments. Bigger petals would look better. I’ve made it many times before, but I don’t know if this one will turn out.”

“Why make a sunflower?”

Wei Yin said, “Because sunflowers are pretty.”

“Which is prettier, tulips, calla lilies, or roses?” Xu Ya Qing asked with a mischievous grin. “The comments say they want to see you make something else.”

Wei Yin returned to her seat and kept kneading the clay, not the least bit distracted. “I just like sunflowers.”

After saying that, she darted a quick glance at the camera, her voice growing even softer. “And this is for someone.”

Wei Yin didn’t know whether Hua Yu was still in the livestream. This sunflower was meant for her.

After all, Hua Yu had given her two errands to run. No one had ever kept Wei Yin in mind like that; she hadn’t been angry for a long time already.

“I think you should just give it to our top supporter,” Xu Ya Qing said, wicked-faced but kind-hearted, tossing her a way out. “Count it as a fan benefit. And thanks again to the doctor who sent the fireworks, as our top supporter!”

Wei Yin’s eyes lit up. “Okay!”

Xu Ya Qing coughed. “Please have our top supporter send me a private message to claim the gift; first come, first served.”

But until the stream ended, Hua Yu still didn’t come to claim the gift.

Xu Ya Qing sent her a message, but Hua Yu didn’t reply either.

“Maybe she’s busy,” Xu Ya Qing said after putting away the equipment. She walked over and patted Wei Yin on the shoulder. “Stop staring at your phone. Once she’s done with work, she’ll reply.”

Wei Yin tightened her grip on her phone. On the screen was the chat window between her and Hua Yu.

A sunflower that hadn’t yet been sent for firing.

[in]: Dr. Hua, do you like it?

Dr. Hua still hadn’t replied.