Chapter 78
Morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting dappled shadows across the floor.
Wen Yan finished the last mouthful of porridge and practically clung to Jin Zijin, resting her chin in the hollow of her shoulder like a well-fed dog; even her breathing had softened and slowed.
She had spent the entire night in surgery, and once the adrenaline faded, exhaustion crashed over her like a tide. Her eyelids were already growing heavy.
“Go lie down on the bed for a bit.” Jin Zijin turned her head and kissed the top of her hair, her fingertips gently kneading the tense muscles at the back of Wen Yan’s neck. Her voice was full of concern. “Your eyes are all red. Be good.”
Wen Yan made a soft sound but didn’t move; instead, she hugged the other woman even tighter, her voice hoarse beyond belief. “Stay with me.”
“Okay, I’ll stay with you.” Jin Zijin smiled as she agreed. She wiped her hands clean, then stood and took Wen Yan by the hand, leading her upstairs.
Mi Tang trotted along behind them in tiny steps, nimbly hopping up the stairs and following them into the master bedroom, where it curled up in a patch of sunlight at the foot of the bed and rolled itself into a fluffy little ball.
The two of them lay down beneath the soft covers. Wen Yan immediately curled into Jin Zijin’s arms, pressing her cheek against the warm hollow of her neck and breathing in the familiar scent on her body. The nerves that had been taut all night finally loosened.
Within a few minutes, her breathing had settled into a long, steady rhythm, and she was fast asleep.
Jin Zijin looked down at Wen Yan’s sleeping face, her fingertips brushing lightly over the dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her heart almost ached with it.
She carefully slipped her hand free, tucked the blanket around Wen Yan, and gave Mi Tang a silent gesture to keep quiet before tiptoeing out of the bedroom and closing the door softly behind her.
The room fell quiet at once. Jin Zijin walked to the balcony outside the study and called Ye Jianlan back.
“The surveillance footage is in hand.” Ye Jianlan’s voice came through the moment the call connected, carrying a trace of gravity. “Zijin, your guess was right. There really is a problem.”
“After last night’s surgery ended, a doctor named Zhang Sheng cornered Lin Weiwei’s father in the corridor and talked to him alone for nearly ten minutes.”
Jin Zijin leaned against the balcony railing, her fingertips tapping lightly against the cold metal. The tenderness in her eyes had faded, leaving only frost and clarity. “What did he say?”
“The surveillance has audio. I clipped it out.” Ye Jianlan sounded angry. “Zhang Sheng told that man that Lin Weiwei’s cervical surgery was entirely Wen Yan’s responsibility; the risks had been controllable, but Wen Yan had been up all night and went into surgery exhausted, so her hands weren’t steady and it caused spinal cord damage. He said she was likely to be paralyzed in the future.”
“He also brought up Wen Yan’s wealthy background and implied that if something happened to his daughter later, it would be very difficult for them to seek compensation for a medical accident?”
Jin Zijin gave a cold laugh. “What an idiot.”
She had known it. Someone like Zhang Sheng, left beside Wen Yan, would sooner or later cause trouble.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.” Ye Jianlan paused. “I checked, and starting this morning, several sports marketing accounts and medical bloggers have been pushing the narrative that Lin Weiwei, a top domestic figure skater, was in a car accident and is currently being rushed through surgery.”
“They’ve already started creating a small wave of public opinion online, saying the lead surgeon was from the team led by Dean Wang Fu of Peking University’s affiliated hospital.”
Jin Zijin closed her eyes and drew a deep breath.
It was exactly as she had expected.
First they would leak the story and steer public opinion; then they would push Wen Yan into the eye of the storm, use Lin Weiwei’s national popularity to pin the label of medical malpractice on them, and finally drag her, Hengxing, and her senior’s medical project down with them.
“Back up the audio and the original surveillance files. Make multiple copies.” Jin Zijin’s voice was calm, without the slightest ripple. “I’ll have people watch those marketing accounts and find out who’s pushing from behind. Every repost chain and every like record; dig them all out for me.”
“Also, can you arrange the best spinal cord rehabilitation team in advance? Have them ready on standby at any time?”
“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. I already notified people in advance.”
Years of tacit understanding eased Jin Zijin’s heart a little. She pressed her lips together, then smiled faintly. “Thank you.”
Ye Jianlan laughed. “So polite? Don’t forget, we’re accomplices.”
If Wen Yan got dragged into this, Hengxing would not escape either; by then, the project she had taken the lead on would probably end up in someone else’s hands.
Jin Zijin curved her lips, hung up, and stood on the balcony looking down at the traffic streaming below. Her fingertips absentmindedly rubbed the edge of her phone.
She wasn’t afraid of trouble; she simply couldn’t bear the thought of Wen Yan waking up and having to face filthy abuse. The pain in her chest felt like being stabbed with needles.
——————
Jin Zijin stood in the wind on the balcony for quite a while before turning back toward the bedroom. Just as she reached the door, she heard a click from inside.
Wen Yan rubbed her eyes as she came out, her hair a mess from sleep. The moment she saw Jin Zijin, her eyes curved into crescents, and her voice was still soft and sleepy. “When I woke up and couldn’t see you, I thought you’d flown off again.”
The chill in Jin Zijin’s eyes vanished instantly. She strode over, ruffled Wen Yan’s hair, and coaxed her with a smile. “Why didn’t you sleep a little longer? You only slept three hours.”
“I couldn’t sleep anymore. I feel unsettled.” Wen Yan hugged her around the waist and pulled her completely into her arms, speaking in a muffled voice. “I keep thinking about Lin Weiwei’s condition after surgery. I want to go to the hospital and see her.”
Jin Zijin’s hand paused for a moment; then she gently patted Wen Yan’s back, her tone as usual. “All right. But get some proper rest first. I’ll take you there tomorrow when you go to work.”
“Got it.” Wen Yan tilted her head and pecked her on the lips, smiling with bright, curved eyes. “President Jin is getting more and more long-winded.”
Jin Zijin let out a quiet laugh and pinched her cheek. “You think I’m long-winded? Then I won’t take you.”
“No, no, no, I love hearing you be long-winded.” Wen Yan immediately softened, hugging her arm and swaying it like a spoiled dog. “Then stay with me for a while longer?”
Jin Zijin nodded. “Okay.”
They fell asleep together.
By then, the news about Lin Weiwei had already begun to ferment online.
The hashtag #LinWeiweiCarAccident shot to the top of the trending list. Lin Weiwei was the only women’s singles figure skater in China to have ever won a bronze medal at the World Championships. Strikingly beautiful and from a privileged family, she had long been called the “Ice Princess,” and her popularity was extremely high.
The moment news of the car accident broke, netizens’ concern poured forth in a flood, surging like a tide into the comment sections of every related topic.
“Oh my god, Weiwei! Please be okay!”
“She’s only 21; her peak has barely even started...”
“Please, please let her get back on the ice!”
But at the same time, different voices also began to emerge.
A marketing account posted: “It is understood that Lin Weiwei suffered a burst cervical fracture with severe spinal cord damage. The lead surgeon was not Dean Wang Fu herself, but her 28-year-old star pupil. Is it really appropriate to leave such a high-difficulty surgery to a young doctor?”
Questions started piling up in the comments section.
“28? So young?”
“Who is it? What’s her name?”
“A connected hire, probably?”
Wen Yan knew nothing about any of this.
Jin Zijin stayed with her in every way she could throughout the day and had the PR team delete every post that mentioned Wen Yan in real time.
The situation was controlled very well; it never touched the surgical team, and Wen Yan didn’t notice anything amiss.
The next morning, Jin Zijin accompanied her out.
The hospital entrance was already surrounded by reporters, so Jin Zijin sent three cars of security to clear the way.
As the car drove out of the neighborhood, Wen Yan leaned back against the seat and watched the streetscape slide by outside the window. After a while, she suddenly asked, “Zijin, do you think Lin Weiwei... really won’t be able to skate anymore?”
Jin Zijin turned to look at her.
Wen Yan’s gaze was fixed outside the window, her voice light and carrying a faint, hard-to-name sadness. “She’s only 24. She’s at the very best age. Her competition videos are amazing; her triple jumps are so steady, and when she lands, it’s like she’s glowing.”
Jin Zijin said nothing, only reached over and took her hand.
Wen Yan held her back, her fingertips lightly rubbing at Jin Zijin’s palm as if talking to herself. “When I was in surgery, I kept thinking I had to do a little better, a little steadier. Maybe... maybe then she’d still have a chance.”
“But spinal cord injuries are just too ruthless. They aren’t something a doctor can simply make do whatever she wants.”
“You already did the best you could.” Jin Zijin’s voice was very soft, but certain. “Yanyan, you saved her life.”
Wen Yan was silent for a while, then gave a quiet, almost imperceptible hum and said no more.
The car soon reached the side entrance of the hospital, where reporters were already gathered in numbers, their long lenses lined up in a row.
Jin Zijin pulled up behind the security vehicles, then turned to straighten Wen Yan’s collar; her fingertips brushed lightly over Wen Yan’s cheek.
“Go on. Call me when you get off work.”
Wen Yan nodded and pushed open the door. The moment she stepped out, a stir broke out among the reporters.
“Someone’s coming out!”
“A doctor?”
“Are you from the surgical team? Can you tell us Lin Weiwei’s condition?”
Wen Yan paused briefly, but did not turn back. She walked straight toward the side entrance. Security personnel immediately surged forward, blocking the reporters who tried to press closer and escorting her into the hospital.
She was the only person in the elevator. Her reflection in the mirrored wall showed a faint blue shadow still lingering beneath her eyes; there was a trace of fatigue in her brow. When the elevator doors opened, the orthopedic ward corridor outside was quiet.
A young nurse at the nurse station spotted her and froze, then lowered her head as if she were busy with something.
As Wen Yan walked past, she caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of several nurses huddled together, speaking in low voices, glancing toward her from time to time.
She didn’t pay it any mind and headed straight for the dean’s office.
Wang Fu was looking at scans when she heard the knock and looked up, surprised to see Wen Yan. “Why are you here? No class today?”
Wen Yan smiled. “The students are on vacation, Master.”
She walked over and sat down opposite him. “How is Lin Weiwei today?”
“The swelling has gone down a bit; the spinal pulsations are still good, and her vital signs are stable.” Wang Fu set down the films and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “But her father is really a headache.”
“He keeps saying he has to go in and see her; when security stops him, he parks himself at the ICU door and starts shouting. He’s making the whole floor impossible to keep quiet.”
Wen Yan frowned. “What does he want, exactly?”
“Worried about his daughter, I suppose.” Wang Fu sighed. “But ICU has rules; you can only go in during visiting hours. He won’t listen and insists on going in whenever he wants.”
“I’ve told him eight hundred times already that the first 72 hours after surgery are the most critical, the infection risk is high, and he can’t just go in randomly. He still won’t listen.”
Wen Yan was silent for a moment. “So what do we do now?”
“Just endure it.” Wang Fu waved a hand. “Once he’s shouted himself out, he’ll settle down.”
The two of them talked a little more about Lin Weiwei’s follow-up treatment plan, and then Wen Yan got up to make rounds in the ICU. After changing into sterile clothes and entering the ward, Lin Weiwei was still the same: lying quietly in the hospital bed, face pale, the ventilator working in a steady rhythm.
Wen Yan walked to the bedside, gently took Lin Weiwei’s wrist, and placed her fingertips there to feel the pulse. One beat, two beats, three beats... steady and strong.
She let out a breath in relief, and was just about to let go when she suddenly felt Lin Weiwei’s finger move lightly.
Wen Yan froze.
She looked down. Lin Weiwei’s finger moved again; very lightly, like an involuntary neurological reflex, or perhaps some faint fragment of awareness.
“Lin Weiwei?” Wen Yan called softly. “Can you hear me?”
There was no response. Lin Weiwei’s eyelids remained motionless, and the ventilator kept its regular cadence.
Wen Yan stared at her hand for a long while, but that finger never moved again. She gently laid the hand back down, stood by the bed for a while, then turned and left the room.
Maybe it was just a spinal reflex, she thought. Such physiological reactions after surgery were normal; they didn’t mean consciousness.
But for some reason, she still felt that movement had been some kind of signal.
After finishing her rounds, Wen Yan didn’t leave immediately. Instead, she went to the nurse station and checked Lin Weiwei’s medication records again.
Just as she put the chart down, footsteps sounded behind her.
“Dr. Wen.”
Wen Yan turned around and saw a girl in a hospital gown standing in the corridor, with a young nurse beside her holding an IV pole.
The girl looked to be in her early twenties. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, her face a little pale, but her eyes were bright as she smiled at Wen Yan.
“You are?” Wen Yan asked, puzzled.
“I’m Lin Weiwei’s junior teammate.” The girl stepped forward, and the nurse hurried to keep pace with the IV pole. “My name is Su Nian. I’m also on the figure skating team.”
“I heard Sister Weiwei was having surgery here, and I happen to be hospitalized here too, so I wanted to come see her. The nurse said I couldn’t go into the ICU, so I thought... maybe I could ask you how she’s doing?”
Wen Yan looked at her. The girl’s eyes were full of worry, along with a small, careful glimmer of hope.
“She’s her junior?” Wen Yan asked.
“Mm, we trained together for five years.” Su Nian nodded. “She’s my senior, and she’s always taken good care of me. When I heard she had a car accident, I was frantic, but the team wouldn’t let me out, and I...”
She paused, her eyes slightly reddening, but she forced the tears back.
Watching her, something in Wen Yan softened.
“Her post-op condition is fairly stable.” She lowered her voice. “The swelling is gradually going down, and her vital signs are stable. She’s still under ICU observation, and it’ll take a few more days before she can be moved out.”
Su Nian’s eyes brightened. “Then... then can she still skate in the future?”
Wen Yan fell silent.
She couldn’t answer that question.
Su Nian watched her expression, and the light in her eyes dimmed little by little. She lowered her head and murmured, “I know spinal cord injuries are very difficult... I was just asking.”
“It’s too early to say any of that now.” Wen Yan spoke gently. “Post-op rehabilitation is a long process. No one knows what the final outcome will be. But as long as your senior doesn’t give up, there’s hope.”
Su Nian looked up at her, her eyes still red, but she nodded hard. “Mm. Thank you, Dr. Wen.”
“You know me?” Wen Yan was a little surprised.
“I looked you up.” Su Nian said in a small voice, “Everyone says you’re Dean Wang Fu’s prized student and really amazing. I thought that if Sister Weiwei met you, then... then it would be really good.”
Wen Yan froze for a moment, then curved her lips. “I’ll do my best.”
Su Nian thanked her again before being helped back to the ward by the nurse. Wen Yan stood where she was, watching her receding figure, and some indescribable feeling rose in her heart.
Meanwhile, outside the hospital, a storm was brewing.
That afternoon, a short surveillance clip of just over ten seconds suddenly went viral online. In the footage, Wen Yan and Wang Fu were walking out of the ICU in sterile gowns; the camera had zoomed in deliberately, showing Wen Yan’s face clearly.
The caption read: “Lin Weiwei’s condition after surgery is unclear. Dean Wang Fu’s team and the attending doctor appeared at the ICU; the follow-up treatment plan awaits announcement.”
The internet instantly boiled over.
Everyone’s attention shifted completely from the initial car accident to Lin Weiwei’s injuries.
Netizens reposted and commented frantically. Some dug up Lin Weiwei’s old competition videos; seeing the sparkling girl on the ice and comparing her to the figure now lying in the ICU, with life and death uncertain, countless people were overwhelmed.
#LinWeiweiMustGetBetter
#WaitingForLinWeiweiToReturnToTheRink
Those two hashtags shot straight to the top of the trending charts, and the entire feed was filled with netizens’ prayers and blessings.
At that moment, someone anonymously released a photo of Wang Fu and Wen Yan. It had been taken at a previous department outing; Wang Fu had his arm around Wen Yan’s shoulder, and both of them were smiling happily.
The caption casually added: “Dr. Wen Yan, Dean Wang’s prized student, also took part in this surgery and is one of the team’s core members.”
The instant the photo spread, Jin Zijin’s PR team moved in immediately.
“Delete every photo and video with Wen Yan’s face; push down all related trending topics. Not a single extra minute.” Jin Zijin sat in the study, watching the online public opinion race across her screen, her voice as cold as a blade tempered in ice.
The PR team moved swiftly. In less than half an hour, nearly every photo and video online showing Wen Yan’s face had been wiped clean.
But Jin Zijin’s expression still did not ease in the slightest.
She knew all too well that this was only the beginning.
Someone was fanning the flames from behind, and there was more than one force involved.
When Wen Yan got off work, it was already dark.
There were even more reporters outside the side entrance than there had been during the day; their long lenses stood packed together like a flock of vultures waiting for a meal. She lowered her head and quickly walked toward the car waiting by the roadside. Only after getting in and closing the door did she let out a long breath.
“What’s wrong?” Jin Zijin turned to look at her, her eyes smiling. “You look like a thief.”
“There are reporters everywhere outside.” Wen Yan fastened her seat belt and leaned back into the seat. “I was really afraid they’d rush up and eat me alive.”
Jin Zijin laughed and told the driver to start the car.
The car pulled away from the hospital and merged into traffic. Wen Yan leaned against the passenger seat and watched the neon lights flash by outside, then gave a soft sigh. “Today I met a girl. Lin Weiwei’s junior teammate.”
“Mm?”
“Her name is Su Nian; she’s hospitalized here too. She came specifically to ask about Lin Weiwei’s condition.” Wen Yan paused. “She asked me whether Lin Weiwei could still skate in the future. I said it was too early to talk about that; as long as she didn’t give up herself, there would be hope.”
Jin Zijin turned to look at her.
“When I said that, I didn’t even feel sure myself.” Wen Yan let out another faint sigh. “But when I looked at that girl’s eyes, I couldn’t bear to tell her the truth.”
Jin Zijin reached over and took her hand.
Wen Yan clasped it back, her fingertips brushing lightly in Jin Zijin’s palm. “Sometimes I feel like being a doctor is really hard. You clearly can’t do anything, but you still have to act like there’s hope.”
“That isn’t acting.” Jin Zijin’s voice was very soft. “Hope itself is the best medicine.”
Wen Yan froze and turned to look at her.
Jin Zijin’s profile was lit in and out by the streetlights, her features so gentle they seemed unreal.
She gazed at Wen Yan’s face and said evenly, “Didn’t you say that before? Medicine is both science and the humanities. Sometimes what gets healed isn’t only the body, but the heart too.”
Wen Yan stared at her for a long while, then suddenly laughed. “When did President Jin become a philosopher?”
“From learning from you.” Jin Zijin curved her lips. “As a doctor’s wife, I should learn a little too.”
Wen Yan smiled and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Reward for you.”
Jin Zijin blinked at the kiss, then curved her eyes. “Just a kiss on the lips?”
“Mm... then I’ll make it up to you when we get home.” Wen Yan draped herself against Jin Zijin’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent on her, and the fatigue of the whole day melted away by more than half.
The car drove into the neighborhood and parked in the garage. The two of them took the elevator home.
The moment they opened the door, Mi Tang came running over in tiny steps, rubbing around Wen Yan’s ankles and meowing for food.
“You’re hungry, huh? I’ll open a can for you.” Wen Yan bent down and picked it up, rubbing its head as she walked toward the kitchen.
Jin Zijin followed behind, watching the figure and cat cling together, and warmth spread through her eyes. Her phone buzzed. She took it out and glanced at it; it was a message from Ye Jianlan.
“The first batch of evidence has been secured. The audio has been backed up in three copies, the original surveillance file is stored, and we’re still keeping watch.”
She replied with a simple “Okay,” then put her phone back in her pocket.
Wen Yan was squatting on the floor opening the can, while Mi Tang circled around her, meowing anxiously. Warm yellow light spilled over her body, making her look soft all over.
Jin Zijin walked over and crouched beside her, reaching out to stroke her hair.
Wen Yan looked up at her, smiling so her eyes curved. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” Jin Zijin curved her lips and gently brushed her fingertips over Wen Yan’s face. “I just wanted to look at you.”
Wen Yan froze for a moment, then smiled and leaned in to peck her lips. “Look enough yet?”
“No.” Jin Zijin shook her head. “It still wouldn’t be enough even if I looked for a lifetime.”
Wen Yan lowered her head and continued opening the can, but the tips of her ears quietly turned pink.
The night was gentle, and the years were calm.
But Jin Zijin knew this was only the quiet before the storm.
On Saturday, Wen Yan went to the hospital as usual.
During morning rounds, Lin Weiwei’s indicators were all improving. The swelling had gone down by more than half, and her vital signs were even more stable. Wen Yan stayed in the ward a little longer, staring at her hand for a long time, but that finger never moved again.
When she came out of the ICU, she always had the feeling that someone at the nurse station was watching her, and the whispers there rose and fell in waves. She didn’t pay it any mind and went straight to the office.
At four in the afternoon, she was writing a chart when her phone suddenly began vibrating wildly.
It was Jin Zijin calling.
“Yanyan,” Jin Zijin’s voice was steady; in fact, it was steady in a way that felt unusual. “Are you in the hospital right now?”
“Yes. What’s wrong?”
“Listen to me.” Jin Zijin paused. “Some things have come out online. They’re about you. Stay in the hospital; don’t go out, and don’t look at your phone. I’m coming to get you right now.”
Wen Yan froze. “What things?”
“Be good; don’t look yet.” Jin Zijin’s voice softened a little. “I’ll explain when I get there, okay?”
After hanging up, Wen Yan stared at her phone screen, her finger hovering in the air.
In the end, she still couldn’t resist and opened one of the social media apps.
Trending at number one: #IncompetentDoctorWenYan, followed by a glaring “hot” tag.
Her fingers stiffened.
When she clicked in, a flood of curses rushed into her eyes.
“A 28-year-old led this surgery? What else could she be if not a backdoor hire?”
“Rich kid plus capital backing; using an athlete’s career as practice—disgusting!”
“Dean Wang’s precious student, huh, heh. Those who get it, get it.”
“Does someone like this deserve to be a doctor? Get out of the medical field!”
There were also anonymous claims from supposed colleagues saying she stole research results and took the best resources; anonymous accounts claiming to be researchers saying she altered the first-author order on papers and bullied coworkers.
Every accusation sounded ironclad; every detail was packed full.
Wen Yan’s hand on the phone began to tremble.
She scrolled down one post after another. Those filthy words stabbed into her eyes like knives, then into her chest.
She wanted to refute them, wanted to explain, but faced with this overwhelming malice, she couldn’t get a single word out.
The office door was pushed open, and Zhang Sheng walked in.
He glanced at her, the corners of his mouth hooked with an almost imperceptible smile, though his tone was feigned concern. “Junior Wen, about those things outside... don’t take them too much to heart. People online are like that; they’ll say anything.”
Wen Yan looked up at him.
The pleasure in his eyes could not be hidden.
“Thank you for your concern, Senior Zhang.” Wen Yan’s voice was calm.
Zhang Sheng froze, probably not expecting her to stay this composed. He gave a stiff little laugh, then turned and left.
Wen Yan sat there, staring at the phone screen. The words kept swaying in front of her eyes until they grew blurrier and blurrier.
She thought of the day she was admitted to medical school at fourteen, and the oath on the first day of enrollment.
She thought of graduating with her doctorate at twenty-four, and Wang Fu patting her on the shoulder as he said, “From now on, there’ll be one more doctor patients can come to.”
She thought of every time she stood at the operating table, of the feeling of being needed, of the satisfaction of being able to save someone.
She had worked so hard, so desperately, just to be worthy of this white coat.
And now, those people were saying she didn’t deserve it.
The office door opened again.
Jin Zijin stood in the doorway, windblown and slightly out of breath, as though she had run all the way here.
The moment she saw Wen Yan, the heartache in her eyes nearly spilled over.
Wen Yan looked at her, opened her mouth, and wanted to say something, but not a single word came out. Tears surged up without warning and fell in great drops.
Jin Zijin strode over and pulled her into her arms.
“It’s okay.” Her voice was very light, very soft, like she was coaxing a child. “I’m here now; it’s okay.”
Wen Yan buried her face in her chest, her shoulders shaking violently, but she bit down hard on her lip and refused to let herself cry out.
Jin Zijin held her tightly, one hand gently patting her back, the other pressing the back of her head so she was fully shielded in her arms.
“I’m sorry.” Wen Yan’s voice was muffled and tear-choked. “I didn’t listen to you. I looked.”
“It’s fine.” Jin Zijin kissed the top of her hair. “If you looked, then you looked. I’m here.”
“They said I... said I wasn’t fit to be a doctor...”
“You are.” Jin Zijin’s voice was very soft, but unwavering. “You’re the best doctor. I know it, Director Wang knows it, and every patient you’ve saved knows it.”
Wen Yan cried even harder.
Jin Zijin said nothing more, only held her and patted her back again and again.
It took a very long time before Wen Yan’s crying gradually subsided. She sniffled, her voice hoarse beyond recognition. “Zijin, I feel... I feel...”
She rarely had negative emotions, and she didn’t know how to express what she was feeling.
She wanted to say she was wronged, that she was sad, that things shouldn’t be like this...
But she couldn’t say it. She could only look up at Jin Zijin as tears kept falling in big drops.
“I know.” Jin Zijin lifted her face and gently wiped away the tear tracks with her thumb. “Let’s go home, okay?”
Wen Yan nodded.
As the two of them left the office, many people were standing in the corridor. Doctors, nurses; all of them were looking at them. Their gazes were mixed: sympathy, avoidance, and schadenfreude.
Jin Zijin wrapped an arm around Wen Yan’s shoulders and walked past without sparing them a glance.
Those people automatically made way.
When they stepped out of the inpatient building, the night wind hit them head-on, carrying the chill of early winter. There were still plenty of reporters crouched outside the side entrance; the moment they saw them come out, they raised their cameras at once, and flashes went off one after another.
“Dr. Wen! Are the rumors online true?”
“Were you really able to get into the operating room through connections?”
“Are you chiefly responsible for Lin Weiwei’s paralysis?”
Jin Zijin shielded Wen Yan behind her and swept a cold glance over the reporters. Security personnel surged forward immediately, blocking the crowd.
Only after they sat inside the car was Wen Yan still trembling.
Jin Zijin turned around, helped her fasten the seat belt, then took her hand.
“Yanyan, look at me.”
Wen Yan lifted her head; her eyes were swollen red, filled with tears.
“Do you trust me?” Jin Zijin asked.
Wen Yan froze for a moment, then nodded. “Yes.”
“That’s enough.” Jin Zijin curved her lips. “Leave everything after this to me. You don’t need to handle anything, and you don’t need to look at anything. Just focus on doing your own work, all right?”
Wen Yan looked at her, those eyes filled with certainty and tenderness, like the most stable harbor in the world.
She answered softly, “Okay.”