Chapter 14
At six in the morning, Wen Yan’s body clock, precise as a wound spring, woke her from light sleep right on time.
Beside her, Jin Zijin was still asleep.
The woman was lying on her side, half her face buried in the soft pillow. Her thick lashes cast a faint shadow under her eyes, and her breathing was long and even.
Wen Yan stared at her for a few seconds before very slowly lifting the edge of the blanket.
She stepped barefoot onto the cool floor and slipped out of the master bedroom as quietly as if she were fleeing a crime scene.
The first-floor living room was quiet and empty; beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sky was still a dark blue-gray.
She instinctively headed for the glass door leading to the garden, but just as her hand touched the cold metal handle, a draft of bitter cold slipped through the crack and raised fine goosebumps on the bare skin of her forearm.
When she pushed the door open, the wind hit her face like a blade.
Wen Yan looked up. The lawn, green only yesterday, was now covered in a thin layer of silver frost. Under the faint glow of the garden lamps, it gleamed with a sharp, biting light.
The surface of the artificial lake in the distance had also frozen into patterns like ice crystals.
A cold front had moved in without a sound; winter had really arrived.
She stood quietly in the doorway, the piercing chill seeping through her thin loungewear.
The struggle between reason and habit lasted only three seconds before she shut the door with a soft thud.
The glass door closed quickly, the latch giving a faint click.
Forget it. She’d stay inside today.
Wen Yan turned and headed for the glass conservatory connected to the living room.
The climate control system kept the humidity and temperature comfortable, and the plants stretched their broad leaves in the dim early light.
She stopped in front of a relatively open patch of pothos vines, let her shoulders loosen, her elbows fall naturally at her sides, and slowly took her stance.
After two sets of punches, a thin sheen of sweat had already formed on her body, and her muscles and joints were fully warmed up.
She let out a breath when she finished, and by the time she headed for the kitchen, faint sounds and the smell of food were already drifting out.
Aunt Liu and another helper were busy at the counter. When they saw Wen Yan come in, both looked a little surprised.
Aunt Liu wiped her hands and asked with a smile, “Good morning, Miss Wen. Why are you up so early?”
“Good morning, Aunt Liu.” Wen Yan nodded and glanced at the ingredients spread across the counter. “Can I help with breakfast today? I want to make some congee.”
Aunt Liu immediately waved both hands. “Oh, no need, no need. We’ll handle it. You should go rest.”
“I’m fine,” Wen Yan said, seeing that plain white congee was already simmering on the stove. She rolled up her sleeves, revealing her smooth, well-defined forearms. “I can make boat congee. Does Zijin like it?”
Last night, when Jin Zijin had mistaken her for the one cooking, that offhand line—“So today it’s my wife cooking?”—had carried such obvious anticipation that Wen Yan had heard it clearly.
And on top of that, there was yesterday’s impulsive recklessness; either way, she should show some response.
Jin Zijin had made it very clear that she intended to take this marriage seriously, and Wen Yan couldn’t keep acting so ungrateful.
The moment Aunt Liu heard that she was cooking for Jin Zijin, she not only didn’t stop her; she immediately said, “Miss likes boat congee best. If Madam makes it herself, she’ll definitely be very happy.”
Wen Yan washed her hands and began preparing the shrimp, fish slices, and dried scallops. Her movements weren’t flashy, but they were extremely quick and precise.
She deveined the shrimp, sliced the fish, and soaked the scallops; every step was orderly, like a surgical procedure.
The ginger was cut into threads as fine as silk, the peanuts fried to the perfect crispness, and the fried dough sticks were cut into neat sections.
Aunt Liu watched from the side and couldn’t help praising her. “Madam’s hands are beautiful.”
Wen Yan only gave a quiet “Mm” and focused on the clay pot as the rice slowly split into white blossoms and turned to congee.
Heat, ingredient order, seasoning timing—she handled all of it perfectly.
The fragrance of the congee gradually spread, rich and sweet.
Just then, faint footsteps came from the stairway.
Wen Yan looked back and saw Jin Zijin leaning against the kitchen doorway in a velvet robe.
She hadn’t put on makeup after waking; her face had a lazy pallor to it.
Her long hair was loosely gathered over one shoulder, and her gaze rested on Wen Yan’s apron-clad back with the dazedness of someone only just awake, mixed with undisguised surprise.
“Why are you in the kitchen?” Jin Zijin walked in, her voice still a little hoarse. “Didn’t you go work out?”
Wen Yan had just started to speak when Aunt Liu beat her to it, smiling as she answered, “Miss, you don’t know this, but Miss Wen is really thoughtful toward you. She got up especially early to make your favorite boat congee!”
“Come, come, it’s just done. Hurry and try it!”
Jin Zijin glanced at her helplessly, though there was little force in her tone. “Aunt Liu, she has a name. It’s Wen Yan, or Miss Wen. Don’t keep calling her ‘Madam.’ We don’t do that in this house.”
Aunt Liu pretended not to hear her and briskly ladled a small bowl.
The congee was snowy white, topped with pink shrimp, pearly fish slices, golden fried dough sticks, and chopped scallions. Steam rose from it. “Miss’s ‘Madam’ is her Madam, so of course I should call her ‘Madam’! Hurry and taste our Madam’s cooking!”
Jin Zijin: “……”
She took the porcelain bowl, the warmth seeping through the walls into her fingertips, and looked up at Wen Yan.
Wen Yan was quietly untying her apron, the tips of her ears seeming a little red.
Jin Zijin’s lips curved slightly. She lowered her head, scooped up a spoonful, blew on it, and put it into her mouth.
The congee base was silky smooth, the rice fragrance pure; the sweetness of the seafood blended perfectly, while the crisp aroma of fried dough and peanuts added layers, and the ginger cut the fishiness while deepening the flavor. Everything was just right.
She paused, took another bite, then looked up, brightness flickering in her eyes. “It’s very good.”
The shoulders Wen Yan had held tense the whole time finally relaxed, almost imperceptibly. “I’m glad you like it.”
They brought breakfast to the dining room together.
There were elegant bone-china dishes, a few refreshing side plates, and, at the center, that large pot of steaming boat congee.
After sitting down, Jin Zijin continued eating at an unhurried pace while asking casually, “Do you cook often? Your skills don’t look like those of a beginner.”
Wen Yan shook her head. “Not often.”
“When I was in school, I got tired of the cafeteria food. There was a senior who would occasionally cook for us, and I learned a little from her.”
“A senior?” Jin Zijin’s spoon paused slightly. She looked up. “The one who took care of you when your hand was injured?”
“Mm.” Wen Yan nodded, not noticing the subtle shift in her tone.
Jin Zijin lowered her lashes and gently stirred the congee in her bowl. “Looks like you learned quite a lot from her.”
Only then did Wen Yan catch a trace of something odd and look up at Jin Zijin.
The other woman was focused on her congee, her thick lashes hiding her expression.
Wen Yan thought for a moment, then added, “Just cooking. She was very good to students like us.”
“Oh.” Jin Zijin gave a light reply, her tone flat. “Do you still keep in touch now?”
Wen Yan shook her head. “She later went abroad as a visiting scholar, so we lost touch. We only send greetings on holidays sometimes.”
Jin Zijin said nothing more and kept eating.
But Wen Yan could clearly feel the faint, barely noticeable tension at the table ease.
——————
After breakfast, the Maybach Cullinan drove steadily toward Jinghua Hospital.
Inside the car, Wen Yan looked at the scenery outside the window rushing backward and chose her words carefully. “Zijin, I’m going to Peking University to cover a class tomorrow.”
“It’s too far to go back and forth from home; the commute takes three hours. I might not come back tonight and may stay in the apartment near the school.”
Jin Zijin was looking down at the schedule her assistant had sent to her tablet. At that, she raised her head, slightly surprised. “You also teach classes?”
“Mm.” Wen Yan explained, “Our hospital and Peking University’s medical school have a long-term research and teaching partnership.”
Because she fit the image requirements, she’d also been assigned an undergraduate elective, Sports System Injuries and Rehabilitation, once a week, four hours each session.
She paused, thinking of the black sea of young faces in those tiered lecture halls and the endless questions afterward, and let out a soft sigh. “I don’t really like teaching; it’s pretty draining.”
Besides teaching, she also took part in several projects at the affiliated orthopedic research institute, where she handled clinical data analysis and part of the experimental design; every week, she had fixed blocks of time in the lab and conference room.
She didn’t say all that, but Jin Zijin could guess.
Jin Zijin nodded to show she understood. “All right. Make sure you rest.”
As she spoke, she suddenly held out a hand toward Wen Yan. “Give me your hand.”
Wen Yan instinctively extended her right hand.
Jin Zijin lightly tapped the back of it. “Left hand.”
Only then did Wen Yan switch and offer her left hand.
Jin Zijin took her wrist, and with the other hand pulled a dark blue velvet box from somewhere behind her.
With a soft click, the lid opened.
Inside lay a watch.
The dial was a deep brown enamel, inlaid with slender Roman numerals, and the leather strap was a rich dark brown.
The design was classical and understated, without extra diamonds or complicated functions, yet the craftsmanship was obviously exquisite.
Wen Yan froze.
Jin Zijin had already taken out the watch, undone the clasp, and naturally fastened it around Wen Yan’s wrist.
Click—the buckle closed, fitting perfectly a finger’s width below the raised bone of her wrist.
The size was somehow exact.
“It takes time to custom-make a ring,” Jin Zijin said casually as she adjusted the strap. “But you should have something decent to wear first.”
She lifted her eyes to Wen Yan. “Doctors can wear watches, right? When they’re not in the operating room.”
Wen Yan lowered her head and looked at the warm sheen of the watch on her wrist; her throat tightened a little. “Yes.”
“Then wear it properly.” Jin Zijin’s fingers brushed the edge of the case, her tone gentle but still carrying the edge of an order. “Don’t take it off unless you’re in the operating room.”
That floating, dreamlike feeling wrapped around Wen Yan’s heart again.
She lifted her wrist and studied it in the light from the window.
The dial glowed with a delicate, lustrous sheen, as if time itself had solidified. “Why did you suddenly think of giving me this? Because I made you breakfast today?”
Jin Zijin leaned back in her seat and looked at Wen Yan’s slender wrist, a faint smile crossing her lips. “Half and half.”
“What’s the other half?”
Jin Zijin was silent for a moment. Then she reached out, her fingertips lightly tracing the clear bones and pale blue veins at Wen Yan’s wrist. “The other half…”
“When I look at your wrist, I just want to put something on it. A watch, a bracelet, or something else.” Her voice dropped slightly. “A ring, a chain bracelet, anything.”
Just wanting to put something on you and properly keep you in place.
“But you’re a doctor.” She withdrew her hand, her tone returning to normal. “Too flashy isn’t appropriate. After thinking it over, a watch is the best fit.”
“Do you like it?”
Wen Yan rubbed the cool watch case with her thumb and nodded. Her voice was slightly dry. “I like it.”
After a pause, she added softly, “It’s just that it feels a little… unreal.”
“Mm?”
Wen Yan lifted her eyes to Jin Zijin.
The woman’s face, in the shifting light of the car, was so beautiful it seemed almost unreal.
“It feels like playing house,” Wen Yan admitted, a little dazed. “Everything is going too smoothly, too sweetly.”
“Jin Zijin, are you real? Am I still asleep?”
Jin Zijin froze, then laughed.
She leaned forward all at once and pinched Wen Yan’s cheek—not too lightly, not too hard. “Does it hurt?”
Wen Yan felt the mild sting and answered honestly, “Not much. Want to pinch me again?”
Jin Zijin laughed out loud and turned the pinch into a gentle caress over the spot she’d just touched. “Idiot.”
Wen Yan laughed too, her smile tinged with embarrassment. “I just feel like I’ve been walking on clouds these past few days. I’m nervous, but I’m also really happy.”
Jin Zijin’s smile faded a little as she looked at her seriously. “Then do you hate it?”
“Hate what?”
“Hate my touching you, giving you things, getting involved in your life like this.”
Wen Yan shook her head without the slightest hesitation. “I don’t hate it.”
“Being with you…” She chose her words carefully. “Feels very comfortable. It makes me feel at ease.”
They had only been together for a short time, yet everything already felt so natural.
She should have a wife.
Jin Zijin was her destined person.
These good days felt like something she’d already lived through for years.
Jin Zijin understood what she meant; a soft light spread in her eyes. “I think so too.”
She held Wen Yan’s watch-wearing hand, her fingertip lightly tracing Wen Yan’s palm. “Wen Yan, can I keep giving you things in the future?”
“Of course.”
“Then if I give you something, will you accept it?”
Wen Yan clasped her hand back, interlocking their fingers. “I will.”
Jin Zijin looked at her, her gaze drifting from Wen Yan’s clear, bright eyes to her healthy, softly colored lips; the restlessness in her heart rose again.
She thought to herself: Jin Zijin, you really are hopeless.
A moment later, she followed that impulse and leaned in to kiss her.
The kiss began very gently, like morning dew on petals; a light touch, then separation.
But Wen Yan almost immediately responded. She looped her other arm around Jin Zijin’s neck and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss.
Their breaths tangled and gradually grew uneven.
The friction of lips and teeth turned hot, urgent with exploration, possession, and confirmation.
The car was quiet except for the ambiguous wet sounds and their restrained breathing.
It was only when the vehicle gradually slowed and was about to turn into the hospital access road that they finally parted, both breathing hard.
Wen Yan’s lips were visibly swollen, a vivid red.
Jin Zijin’s lipstick was smudged too; her lips were moist and slightly parted, her eyes veiled in a layer of shifting tenderness.
The car came to a stop.
Wen Yan took a deep breath and steadied her heartbeat. “I won’t be back tonight, but I’ll try to come home tomorrow after work.”
“Okay.” Jin Zijin’s voice was still a little hoarse. She reached out and straightened Wen Yan’s slightly wrinkled shirt collar. “Be careful on the way.”
“Bye.”
Wen Yan got out of the car.
The early winter wind wrapped around her at once, but it couldn’t disperse the heat on her face or in her chest.
She stood by the road, watching the black luxury car glide silently into the flow of traffic until it disappeared.
Something inside her suddenly felt empty.
She thought of those soft lips, the warmth and fragrance of the embrace, the feel of her fingertips brushing her skin, the clear and complicated emotions in her eyes when she looked at her.
They had only been apart for a moment, yet longing had already grown wild like vines.
She felt as if she’d been hexed or bewitched.
Otherwise, how could she be so dazzled, so out of her mind?
——————
Two back-to-back surgeries in the morning had consumed a great deal of energy and stamina. By noon, Wen Yan walked out of the operating area looking tired.
The lunch Jin Zijin had sent was already on the table in her break room, as usual.
An exquisite multi-layered lacquered food box, heavy with meat and vegetables, along with a pot of clear soup.
Wen Yan washed her hands, sat down, and opened the box.
The aroma hit her immediately.
She picked up her phone and angled it toward the food, wanting to take a nice photo to send back.
But she clearly overestimated her own photography skills.
Composition, lighting, focus…
No matter how she adjusted it, the result still looked flat, even clumsy.
When intern Qiu Bo came in carrying instant noodles, she saw their usually rock-steady attending physician now frowning at the lunch box and phone screen, poking at it over and over.
There was an unmistakable stubborn aura of someone wrestling with high-tech devices.
A complete old-timer.
“Dr. Wen,” Qiu Bo said, holding back a laugh as she leaned over, “are you sending your wife a return photo?”
Wen Yan’s marriage had already spread through the department like wildfire.
Nobody said much aloud, but everyone was dying of curiosity, and that mysterious “wife” had sparked plenty of gossip.
Even the candy had been hinted at and asked for more than once.
Wen Yan was a little embarrassed and adjusted her glasses. She gave a small “Mm.” “I can’t take a good picture.”
“I’ll help you.” Qiu Bo immediately volunteered. She set down the noodles and took the phone. “You have to pay attention to composition and light. Move a little.”
Wen Yan obediently stepped aside.
Qiu Bo rearranged the lunch box, wiped the edges with a tissue, then used Wen Yan’s water cup as a makeshift reflector and snapped several shots toward the window.
“You can’t just shoot the food; you need a person in the frame. It needs some life,” Qiu Bo instructed. “Teacher, hold the bowl and smile.”
“Yes, natural—oh, too stiff. Think of something happy. Like your wife?”
Wen Yan tried to lift the corners of her mouth into what could only be described as a very professional fake smile.
Just then, attending physician Zhang Sheng sauntered in and, seeing the scene, raised a brow. “Well, well. Has the sun risen in the west? Dr. Wen is actually taking photos? Who’s this for review?”
Qiu Bo was quick to answer. “For Dr. Wen’s spouse. Dr. Wen is reporting on lunch.”
Zhang Sheng snorted and said nothing, though his gaze swept over Wen Yan.
At that exact moment, when Wen Yan raised her hand, her sleeve slid down and revealed the watch on her left wrist, with its brown dial.
Qiu Bo’s eyes were sharp. She immediately exclaimed, “Teacher, is that a new watch? It’s so nice-looking. Was it a gift from your wife?”
Wen Yan instinctively touched the case and nodded. “Mm.”
“Come on, let’s get a close-up. Roll up your sleeve, show the watch, do a peace sign… yes, just like that.”
Wen Yan was a little helpless, but she still cooperated.
Her fingers looked slightly stiff as she made the peace sign, but the watch on her wrist really did look outstanding under natural light.
A few other colleagues came back into the break room one after another and laughed, teasing her when they saw the scene.
Wen Yan had always been quiet; she only smiled a little, the tips of her ears turning red.
After Qiu Bo finished shooting, she handed the phone back with satisfaction. “Done. I guarantee your wife will be happy.”
“Thanks.” Wen Yan took it and thought for a moment. “Use my canteen card this month.”
“Wow! Thank you, Dr. Wen. You’re so generous.”
Qiu Bo cheered.
Wen Yan lowered her head and began selecting from the dozen-plus photos.
In the end, she chose one full shot of the meal, one side profile of herself holding the bowl, and one close-up of the watch with the peace sign, then sent them to Jin Zijin.
While waiting for a reply, Qiu Bo leaned over again and stared at the watch carefully. “Teacher, what brand is this? The design is so classical, and the leather strap has such a nice texture.”
Wen Yan admitted honestly, “I don’t really know watches, so I don’t know the exact model.”
“Can I take a picture and look it up? Just curious.” Qiu Bo pulled out her own phone.
Wen Yan didn’t mind and held out her wrist.
Qiu Bo took several clear photos of the dial and case, then fed them into an image-recognition app.
A few seconds later, the result popped up.
Qiu Bo stared at the screen, her eyes slowly widening and her mouth falling open in shock. She sucked in a breath.
“I… holy shit…” She jerked her head up to look at Wen Yan, her voice cracking. “P-Patek Philippe? 6002R-001? Sky Moon Tourbillon?”
Trembling, she turned the screen toward Wen Yan, where the detailed information and estimated price were displayed.
“Th-this… Teacher, this watch… over twenty million???”
The break room fell silent in an instant.
Every gaze, including Zhang Sheng’s, locked onto Wen Yan’s wrist.
Wen Yan herself froze for a moment.
She knew the things Jin Zijin gave her wouldn’t be cheap, but she hadn’t expected a number like that.
She looked down at the understated brown dial on her wrist, then back at the shocked, questioning faces of her colleagues.
The silence lasted only two seconds.
Then Wen Yan gave a helpless smile.
She turned her wrist, and the dial caught a soft, lustrous arc of light.
“It’s a fake,” she said calmly, as if stating an objective fact. “A handmade high-quality imitation. They did a pretty convincing job.”
“Something in the tens of thousands, nothing that outrageous.”
She paused, then added, “She’s just a small business owner. How could she afford the real thing? It’s just for wearing.”
The explanation was perfectly reasonable.
A watch in the tens of thousands was still extremely expensive, but compared with something in the tens of millions, it was obviously much easier to accept.
Everyone’s tense expressions visibly relaxed, and they showed looks of, Ah, that makes sense.
“I knew it…”
“Still, for a high-quality imitation to have this kind of texture, that’s impressive…”
“Dr. Wen, your wife has great taste. This fake looks so real!”
The atmosphere became lively again as everyone started discussing the craftsmanship and market for imitation watches.
Only Zhang Sheng, leaning by the door, let his gaze linger for a moment on Wen Yan’s calm face and that “fake” watch; a trace of thought flickered in his eyes, but in the end he said nothing.
——————
The afternoon was Wen Yan’s outpatient shift.
She arrived five minutes early and entered her consultation room.
Inside the office, her phone was still on the chat interface with Jin Zijin.
The other woman had just finished a long meeting and finally had time to reply, answering every one of the messages and photos Wen Yan had sent at noon as if she were reviewing paperwork.
She was clearly very satisfied with the peace-sign photo that showed the watch.
Jin Zijin: [photo] This one’s good. The watch suits you very well.
Wen Yan: The watch you gave me is beautiful. It’s just… too valuable. I’m afraid I’ll accidentally lose or damage it.
Jin Zijin: If you lose it, I’ll buy another. If it breaks, I’ll have it repaired. Something worn on your hand doesn’t need you to be so nervous.
Wen Yan: But that’s…
Jin Zijin: Just a mere eight-digit sum; what matters is that you wear it happily. Or should I start arranging two bodyguards for you tomorrow, specifically to protect this watch?
Wen Yan: Let’s not go that far. [sweat.jpg]
Jin Zijin: What, you think that’s too much?
Wen Yan: No. Since it was a gift from you, I’ll take good care of it and keep it on me. No bodyguard needed.
Jin Zijin: [smiley face] Good girl.
The conversation paused.
Wen Yan looked up and pressed the call button. “Please have number 15, Song Yao, come to consultation room three.”
The door opened, and a petite figure in a cream long down jacket, fisherman’s hat, black mask, and oversized amber sunglasses hesitantly slipped in.
She closed the door behind her with a furtive motion.
As a top-tier private hospital, Jinghua Hospital often treated celebrities, public figures, and patients with privacy concerns, so they were long used to this sort of getup.
“Please sit.” Wen Yan’s tone remained the same; her gaze fell on the computer screen as she pulled up the patient’s preliminary information. “Ms. Song Yao? What seems to be the problem?”
The other woman sat down, her voice muffled through the mask. “Low back pain.”
“On the right side, near the sacrum; it’s an ache and soreness. Sometimes the right buttock and the back of my thigh go numb too.”
Wen Yan began the standard questions: How long had it been hurting?
What made it worse or better?
Any history of trauma?
Recent exercise?
Occupation?
The other woman answered one by one: the pain had been coming and going for over half a year, worse after prolonged sitting or standing, relieved by lying down.
No obvious trauma.
Occupation was… “dance-related.”
Recent rehearsals had been intense.
Wen Yan nodded and motioned her toward the examination bed. “I may need to do a few physical exams. I’ll need your cooperation.”
The examination went very smoothly.
Though the patient remained fully covered, she was highly cooperative.
Wen Yan’s techniques were professional and efficient; after palpation, range-of-motion checks, and several special nerve tension and orthopedic provocation tests, she already had an initial assessment.
“From the current exam, there are no obvious nerve-root signs, and the bones don’t seem to have any major problems,” Wen Yan said as she returned to the computer and began writing the tests. “But to rule things out, I’d still recommend a CT of the lumbar spine and sacroiliac joints. That will give us a clearer picture.”
“If the CT is fine, then your condition is more likely referred pain caused by sacroiliac joint dysfunction. A few targeted manual releases and physiotherapy sessions in rehabilitation medicine should help quite a bit.”
“Okay, thank you, doctor.” The woman took the test form and stood up, but when she reached the door, she turned back. Her gaze behind the sunglasses seemed to land on Wen Yan’s name badge. “Dr. Wen Yan?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Thank you.”
After two busy hours, the consultation room door was knocked again.
Song Yao returned with the CT film and report.
Wen Yan took them and studied them carefully under the viewing light.
The vertebral alignment was normal; the intervertebral discs showed no obvious protrusion or bulging, the spinal canal wasn’t narrowed, and the sacroiliac joint surfaces were smooth, though the joint space seemed slightly asymmetrical.
“The CT looks good; there’s nothing major,” Wen Yan said, setting the film down and looking at her. “It matches my initial assessment.”
“I’ll write you a referral. Go to the rehabilitation and physiotherapy center on the third floor and find Director Li or one of his therapists for a few sessions of sacroiliac joint manual reduction and stability training.”
“In daily life, pay attention to your posture and avoid prolonged sitting or standing. You can apply heat locally.”
She spoke while rapidly working on the computer.
“Okay, got it. Thank you, Dr. Wen.” Song Yao took the new paperwork, but she didn’t leave immediately.
She seemed to hesitate, then raised her hand and took off the mask and sunglasses, revealing a delicate oval face.
Her eyes were large, with slightly upturned corners carrying a hint of natural allure; her nose bridge was high, and her lips were the trendy petal shape popular these days.
Very pretty, and strangely familiar.
Wen Yan vaguely remembered seeing that face somewhere, perhaps in a drama or advertisement one of the nurses at the station had been watching.
“Dr. Wen,” Song Yao’s voice was much clearer now, bright and pleasant. She looked at Wen Yan with admiration and a trace of curiosity. “Your explanation was really clear; it makes people feel especially at ease. There don’t seem to be many female orthopedic doctors. You’re amazing.”
Wen Yan only nodded calmly. “It’s my duty.”
Song Yao leaned a little closer and gave a bright, slightly ingratiating smile. “Um, Dr. Wen, could I add you on WeChat?”
“In case I have any questions about recovery later, or want to ask you directly during a follow-up, it would be more convenient.”
She paused, then added, “Of course, I absolutely won’t bother you casually. It’s just in case.”
The consultation room went quiet for a moment.
Window light fell on Wen Yan’s expressionless face; the brown watch on her wrist reflected a faint glimmer.
Wen Yan looked up at the beautiful female patient before her, her gaze calm and unreadable, her voice steady as always. “The hospital has rules. Doctors generally don’t add patients’ contact information privately.”
“If you have any questions about recovery later, you can come back to the hospital for a follow-up anytime, or use the hospital’s official online platform for consultation.”
“My clinic hours are clearly listed in the appointment system.”
“Oh, I see…” A clearly disappointed look flashed across Song Yao’s face, but she quickly lifted a smile again. “Okay, I understand.”
“Then thank you, Dr. Wen. I’ll go to rehab now.”
“You’re welcome. Take care.”
The door closed softly.
Wen Yan’s gaze returned to the computer screen; her fingertips tapped a few keys, bringing up the next patient’s file.
The watch on her wrist, with the movement of her hand, slipped silently beneath her shirt cuff, leaving only a low-key, warm glint behind.