Chapter 81
In the study late at night, only the warm yellow desk lamp was on. Its soft light spread just far enough to ring the stack of imaging films and medical records laid open on the desk.
Wen Yan sat in front of it, a marker held between her fingers as she lightly circled an area on the cervical spine images.
The faint rustle of the pen tip against the film was the only sound in the room. Mi Tang was curled up by her legs, long since asleep, puffing out soft little snores.
How long had she been staring at these films?
Three days? Four?
Wen Yan herself couldn’t even remember.
Every day after coming home from the hospital, after a quick wash-up, she would head straight into the study.
She had gone over Lin Weiwei’s second-stage surgical plan in her mind no fewer than eighty times.
From the approach angle to the degree of nerve release to the fixation points for bone graft fusion, every detail had been refined again and again.
Even the unexpected situations that might arise during surgery—she had listed three emergency response plans, written them down in her notebook, crossed them out and rewritten them, then crossed them out and rewritten them again.
Her pen paused at the narrowed spinal canal, and Wen Yan’s brow knit slightly.
This was it.
The most troublesome part.
The degree of adhesion between the spinal cord and the dura could not be fully shown on preoperative imaging; it could only be seen once they opened it up.
If the adhesion was too severe, then even the slightest mistake during release could cause irreversible damage.
She drew a deep breath, just about to mark a new plan, when a cup of warm milk was set down gently beside her.
The warmth from the cup wall spread into her fingertips.
Wen Yan looked up and saw Jin Zijin standing by the desk. She was still wearing soft loungewear, her hair loosely tied back, concern evident in her eyes.
“It’s almost twelve. Aren’t you going to sleep?” Jin Zijin bent slightly and wrapped her arms around Wen Yan from behind, resting her chin on the top of her head.
Her voice was very low, afraid of disturbing Wen Yan’s thoughts and waking Mi Tang by her legs. “You can think about the plan again tomorrow. Don’t ruin your eyes staying up.”
Wen Yan set down the pen and leaned back into her embrace, letting out a long breath.
The tension in her shoulders and neck finally eased after a night wound tight. She turned her head, burying her face against Jin Zijin’s waist, and said in a muffled voice, “I just keep feeling like there’s still something I haven’t considered. This surgery can’t go wrong, not even a little.”
She didn’t need to say it; Jin Zijin understood.
This surgery was not only about whether Lin Weiwei’s spinal cord and nerves could be preserved, or whether she still had a chance to stand in the future.
It also concerned Wang Fu’s lifelong reputation; even whether Peking University’s orthopedics department could pull itself out of this storm of filthy accusations depended on it.
The burden was too heavy.
Jin Zijin said nothing.
Her hand settled lightly on Wen Yan’s shoulders and neck, slowly kneading the taut muscles loose.
Again and again, unhurriedly, as if she were gently loosening the strings of a bow drawn too tight.
She didn’t say those empty “don’t worry” or “you can do it” lines. Instead, she lowered her head and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Wen Yan’s hair.
Wen Yan closed her eyes and entrusted her entire weight to her. The warmth of those hands seeped through the thin loungewear, bringing with it a reassuring strength.
Their line of work demanded courage and precision; it also demanded that one not put too much personal emotion into it.
Wen Yan happened to be exactly that kind of person.
Her childhood had made her especially good at separating her emotions from herself. No matter how big the matter, after a sleep, it would all be fine.
That was why, when she had first started operating independently, the doctors she worked with had all been nervous before surgery and unable to sleep—only Wen Yan had been different.
The harder the operation, the more soundly she slept.
In order to relieve pressure and avoid investing too much emotion into patients, she had even shouted slogans like “Eighty, eighty...” during surgery, using an odd sort of humor to ease the frozen atmosphere in the operating room.
Carrying the weight of a life was too heavy.
Even the doctors were miserable; how could the patients still hold on to optimism and perseverance?
Until this time...
The moment Wen Yan thought of Wang Fu, and of those overwhelming rumors, she really couldn’t help getting tense.
Her chest felt tight. After hesitating, she finally spoke, uneasy: “Zijin.”
“Mm?”
“What if I..."
“No what ifs.” Jin Zijin cut her off; her voice was very soft, yet utterly certain. “I’ve seen you on the operating table. Calm, focused, and shining.”
“You were born to stand under the surgical lights. You’ll do well in this surgery.”
Wen Yan looked up at her.
The warm light of the desk lamp fell across Jin Zijin’s face, making the tenderness and certainty in her eyes unmistakably clear.
During these more than ten days of storms and upheaval, as long as Wen Yan looked into Jin Zijin’s eyes, the anxious knot in her heart could settle firmly back down.
Wen Yan couldn’t help reaching out and hooking her fingers with Jin Zijin’s, their fingertips interlacing as warmth flowed endlessly between them.
One person might be afraid.
But if two people faced the world together...
Wen Yan suddenly felt an urge to crush it flat.
“With you here, I’m not afraid of anything.” She curved her lips, gathered the imaging films from the desk, and put them away. “I’m done looking. I’ll listen to President Jin and sleep.”
Jin Zijin was amused by her, pinching her hand. “Now you’re being obedient?”
The two of them returned to the bedroom as quietly as they could. Mi Tang by their feet twitched an ear, rolled over, and kept sleeping.
As soon as Wen Yan lay down, she curled straight into Jin Zijin’s arms like a tired bird returning to its nest.
She buried her face against Jin Zijin’s chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart.
Thump, thump, thump—one beat after another, the most dependable metronome in the world, inexplicably calming her down.
Jin Zijin’s hand moved through her long hair, stroking it little by little as if she were smoothing the fur of an exhausted big dog.
“Oh, right,” Wen Yan said in a muffled voice. “My senior sent me a message this afternoon asking about the surgery. She said if I needed anything, she could help me arrange a remote consultation with one of the top spinal cord and nerve experts in the country.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“Of course I accepted. Anything that benefits the patient, I’ll accept.”
Wen Yan raised her head; her eyes were bright. “Senior also said the Lu family has been making a big move lately, hyping things up on the Nandu side and trying to use this incident to pry away her lab completely.”
“It was the Lu family behind Zhang Sheng and Song Yu too.”
Jin Zijin’s fingertips paused. She had known about these things for a long time.
A flash of coldness crossed the woman’s eyes, so fast that it was impossible to catch. In the next moment, it was covered by tenderness again.
She lowered her head and kissed Wen Yan’s forehead, her tone softening. “Leave those things to me and Old Ye to keep an eye on. You don’t need to be distracted. The only thing you need to do is take care of this surgery properly. Leave the rest to me.”
Wen Yan nodded, snuggling further into her embrace and closing her eyes.
With Jin Zijin there, she had nothing to fear.
The next morning, as soon as Wen Yan arrived at the department, she could feel that something was different.
The doctors and nurses who had once lowered their heads and avoided her as soon as they saw her still didn’t dare speak to her much, but there was less of the earlier wariness and retreat in their eyes; instead, there was a kind of indistinct sympathy and tentative concern.
There were also some familiar senior doctors who, when passing her office, would stop, knock on the door, and say, “Dr. Wen, if there’s anything uncertain in the surgical plan, feel free to come discuss it with us anytime.”
Wen Yan thanked each of them in turn, and she knew why.
After the news that Wang Fu had “fallen ill” spread, public opinion had begun to shift.
From the gossip surrounding Zhang Sheng and Song Yu, netizens slowly turned their attention back to Lin Weiwei’s surgery.
With Wang Fu down, who could take over?
After all the back-and-forth, the name that emerged, unsurprisingly, was Wen Yan.
Peking University and the affiliated hospital reacted quickly as well.
An announcement was issued, strongly condemning the actions of Zhang so-and-so and Song so-and-so, saying they would investigate thoroughly and make sure the matter was brought to light.
The posture of “purging the treacherous ministers” was set very properly.
People are made of flesh and blood.
In truth, once Zhang Sheng and Song Yu’s scandal broke, everyone had already understood that the two of them had simply behaved despicably; it had nothing to do with Dean Wang Fu, and nothing to do with Wen Yan either.
Those online curses about them being “birds of a feather” were nothing but emotional venting.
It was just that everyone in the workplace was seasoned enough to know that when gods fought, who would dare pick a side too quickly?
What if they chose wrong and ended up used as cannon fodder?
Now that the situation was gradually becoming clear and Wen Yan was obviously gaining the upper hand, Zhang Sheng naturally became invisible in the department.
When Wen Yan ran into him in the corridor that morning, she almost didn’t recognize him.
After Wang Fu had scolded him thoroughly, all his surgeries and outpatient clinics were suspended. Every day he could only sit in the office sorting records, not even able to go through the operating room door.
Now, with an investigation hanging over him, it was as if all the energy had been sucked out of him. The jealousy and smugness from before were gone, leaving only a gloomy, deadened numbness.
When he saw Wen Yan, he only shot her a cold glance and hurried away with his head down.
Wen Yan didn’t care about his reaction; she went straight to Wang Fu’s ward.
Wang Fu was “recovering” in the room.
When Wen Yan came in, a matching set of imaging films was spread out on the bedside table, the same kind as the ones in her hands.
Seeing her, the old doctor waved her over to sit opposite him and got straight to the point: “You’ve got the plan thoroughly figured out?”
“I have, Master.” Wen Yan handed over the surgical plan she had organized overnight. “Three contingency plans. I’ve made responses for possible intraoperative nerve traction, cerebrospinal fluid leakage, and sudden drops in blood pressure.”
“I’ve also discussed the postoperative rehabilitation plan with the rehab department and coordinated with them in advance.”
Wang Fu flipped through the plan page by page.
The more he turned, the stronger the approval in his eyes became.
The plan was extremely detailed. Everything from the size of the surgical instruments used to the key nodes of the entire operation was clearly marked. Even potential postoperative complications had been anticipated and addressed in advance.
“Good, good,” Wang Fu said as he set the plan down and patted the table, his eyes full of pride. “I knew this child would never disappoint.”
He paused, then grew a little more serious. “The surgery is set for next Monday morning, first case.”
“I’ll be there the whole time to back you up. The first assistant will be Director Li, the most experienced in the department, and the anesthesia team will be the best in the hospital.”
“No matter what happens during surgery, with your master there, don’t panic.”
“Thank you, Master.” Wen Yan’s throat tightened slightly, and she nodded hard.
After leaving Wang Fu’s ward, Wen Yan returned to the orthopedics break room.
The intern, Xiao Qiu, came running over with a stack of charts in her arms. The moment she saw Wen Yan, her eyes lit up.
The girl hurried up and asked in a low voice, “Teacher Wen! I already applied to the head nurse and anesthesia department. For Monday’s surgery, can I go in as an intern? I want to help you out!”
Her eyes were full of sincerity and determination, without the slightest hesitation.
Wen Yan looked at her, her heart warming. She smiled and nodded. “Of course. Welcome.”
Xiao Qiu cheered immediately, then quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, afraid of disturbing the people in the office.
Lowering her voice even further, though not her bright eyes, she said, “Teacher Wen, don’t worry! I’ll definitely cooperate properly! You’re the best doctor; you’ll succeed for sure!”
With her hands in the pockets of her white coat, Wen Yan looked at the energetic girl in front of her, her gaze gentle.
These wholehearted expressions of trust were like beams of light, little by little filling the corners of her heart that malice had hollowed out.
During lunch break, Wen Yan changed into sterile clothing and went to the ICU for rounds.
The ICU was very quiet; only the steady ticking of the monitors was clearly audible in the enclosed space.
Lin Weiwei lay on the bed wearing a rigid neck brace, with all kinds of tubes attached to her body.
In her sedated state, her breathing was steady, and all her vital signs were within the normal range. Only her face was still pale, without the slightest hint of color.
The nurse in charge of the bed saw her come in and quickly greeted her, reporting in a low voice, “Dr. Wen, the patient’s vital signs have been very stable today. The edema has gone down very well, and the spinal cord pulsation has remained steady.”
“The superficial reflexes in the distal limbs are a little more obvious than yesterday. We’ve already adjusted the sedative dosage downward according to your instructions.”
Wen Yan nodded and walked to the bedside.
She bent down, carefully checked Lin Weiwei’s pupillary reflex, then gently pinched her fingertips. She could feel an extremely faint muscle contraction, a little more obvious than yesterday.
Her heart eased. The situation was better than she had expected.
She picked up the stethoscope, carefully listened to the heart and lung sounds, then checked the monitor values one by one. Only after confirming that there was no abnormality did she write the ward-round notes in the chart.
Just as she was about to turn and leave, the ward door was shoved open hard.
Lin Weiwei’s father rushed in in a flurry. The moment he saw Wen Yan, his eyes turned red.
He pointed at her and shouted, “How dare you still come here? I’m telling you, my daughter’s surgery absolutely cannot be done by you! You quack; are you trying to use my daughter as a practice dummy?!”
He lunged forward and tried to grab Wen Yan’s white coat, but the nurse and security beside him hurriedly stopped him. ICU couldn’t tolerate loud noise, so everyone kept their voices down; even so, they couldn’t stop Lin father’s hysteria.
Wen Yan’s expression cooled.
She didn’t dodge, and she didn’t panic. She just looked at him and said in a calm but authoritative doctor’s voice, “Have you made enough of a scene?”
“This is the ICU. There are critically ill patients inside. If you’re shouting and screaming here, are you trying to affect the treatment of other patients?”
“My daughter is lying right here! How can I not be anxious?!” Lin father broke free from the security guard’s grip, so angry his chest heaved. “Look at what they’ve said about her online! She’s just an empty-headed loser who got where she is through connections! If you let her operate, my daughter will be ruined for good!”
“Mr. Lin.” Wen Yan looked at him, her gaze open and her tone clear and orderly. “First, the patient’s postoperative recovery is actually better than we estimated before surgery. That alone proves the emergency surgery was performed without any problem.”
“Second, for the second-stage surgery, we’ve already organized a hospital-wide consultation. All the orthopedics experts have approved the feasibility of the plan. If you have objections to me as the primary surgeon, you may follow proper procedures to apply for an outside expert consultation, or even transfer hospitals.”
She paused, her gaze sweeping over the unresponsive Lin Weiwei in bed, and her voice softened a little. “But you should not be causing a scene in the ICU and affecting the patient’s recovery.”
“Your daughter is still in the sedation recovery period. What she needs most is a quiet environment to rest and recuperate. If you make trouble here, you’ll only affect her recovery progress.”
She met Lin father’s eyes and said word by word, “The one harming her is not me. It’s you.”
Those few sentences left Lin father speechless.
His face went blue, then white. Looking at his daughter on the bed, who showed no response at all, he finally glared viciously at Wen Yan, but he didn’t dare shout again.
He could only grit his teeth and storm out, slamming the door behind him.
The ICU fell quiet again.
The nurse in charge let out a breath and said softly to Wen Yan, “Dr. Wen, you’re finally here. He’s come to make trouble three times today already. He insisted on coming in to keep watch; we couldn’t stop him.”
Wen Yan sighed and shook her head. “You’ve all worked hard. If he comes again later, call security directly. Don’t waste words on him. Everything should put the patient’s recovery first.”
When she came out of the ICU, the sun had already begun to set.
Orange-red light filled the corridor, tinting the white walls a warm shade of orange. Leaning against the wall, Wen Yan thought of Lin father’s reaction and felt complicated.
She knew from Jin Zijin’s side of things that the Lu family had promised Lin father benefits and had him interfere, trying to delay the second surgery as much as possible.
But with Lin Weiwei’s condition, if the second surgery failed...
Sigh...
Fortunately, Lin Weiwei was signed to the national team, and the national team was close to the Peking University side.
The head coach insisted on proceeding with the surgery, which was what suppressed the matter. Otherwise, who knew how far the public opinion would have been manipulated.
Thinking of that, Wen Yan couldn’t help sighing again.
For the sake of one hundred million, he could ignore his daughter’s future. Why were there always so many irresponsible fathers in this world?
When she was little, schoolbooks made it sound so beautiful: children were the crystallization of their parents’ love.
But in reality?
Children were just their parents’ investment products; if the investment failed, they could be beaten and trampled on at will.
If the investment succeeded, then every possible scheme would be used to squeeze out value, until the very last drop was drained.
Did unconditional parental love really exist in this world?
What even was unconditional love?
Could strangers give you the things even the people who gave birth to and raised you could not?
Countless questions surfaced in Wen Yan’s mind, turning everything chaotic.
Wen Yan immediately raised her hand and slapped her own forehead, instantly calming down.
Stop thinking about it. She was just mulling over useless things.
She took a deep breath, and then the image of that day in the RV at her birthday came flooding back to her mind: Jin Zijin holding her head while sitting on the floor, looking down at her with that gaze.
So gentle, so tender, as if any emotion in the world could be held by her.
For a moment, Wen Yan only felt a sour ache in her chest.
Back then, she had really seemed to love herself.
After thinking it over, Wen Yan took out her phone and, looking at the sunset outside the window, snapped a photo and posted it to her live feed.
“Today’s sunset is beautiful.”
But she was feeling a little down.
Less than two seconds later, Jin Zijin replied: “It is beautiful. I’m on my way over; should I pick you up after work and we can go watch the sunset on the mountaintop together?”
She even attached a live feed from a meeting in the car.
Wen Yan opened it and looked at the documents on the small table, and suddenly her nose stung.
For some reason, all that churning emotion settled down just like that.
With only one sentence, Jin Zijin had caught her. Wen Yan sniffed and replied, “Okay.”
She put her phone back in her pocket, gathered her resolve, and walked out with the sunset at her back.
Whatever.
Whether it was unconditional love or conditional love, as long as Jin Zijin treated her well for one day, she would believe it for one day, enjoy it for one day, and accompany her as they walked steadily through every day they spent with each other.
As planned, Jin Zijin came to the hospital to pick Wen Yan up after work.
The car left the hospital and drove toward the suburbs. Wen Yan leaned back in the passenger seat, watching the scenery flash past outside the window. Neon lights gradually thinned out, high-rises slowly gave way to lower buildings, and the view became broader and broader.
Jin Zijin parked the car at the foot of a hill and took her hand as they walked up.
The mountain path was not steep, paved with smooth stone steps. Pines and cypresses on both sides swayed gently in the evening breeze, making a soft rustling sound.
Wen Yan followed her step by step upward, saying not a single extra word.
With Jin Zijin there, anywhere was fine.
When they reached the summit, Wen Yan froze.
Before her was a spacious viewing platform facing the western horizon.
The setting sun hung in the sky, a huge round disc, orange-red with a faint wash of gold in it, dyeing the entire sky into a soft, warm color.
The clouds were edged in gold, layered one over another, like someone had used the most delicate brushstrokes to paint an ink wash picture across the canopy of heaven.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Jin Zijin asked softly.
Wen Yan nodded, unable to speak.
The two stood side by side, watching the sun slowly sink.
The light shifted from glaring gold to gentle orange-red, then to a faint blush.
The wind came blowing over from the mountains and fields, carrying the scent of grass and trees; cool, yet tender.
Wen Yan suddenly felt that all the heavy things in her heart were being blown away by the wind, little by little.
She turned her head to look at Jin Zijin beside her.
The sunset light landed perfectly on her face, bathing her whole body in warmth.
The line of her profile was drawn especially softly; her lashes trembled faintly in the light, as if dusted with shattered gold.
The wind lifted a few stray strands at her temples, brushing gently across her cheek, but she didn’t bother with them. She just stood quietly looking into the distance, a faint smile resting at the corners of her mouth.
Wen Yan kept looking at her like that for a long time, and for some reason, her eyes suddenly grew a little hot.
In her life, she had actually encountered similar situations before.
She was too smart; she had skipped grades year after year, and there had never been a shortage of people jealous of her or envious of her.
Even the mother who gave birth to her had been one of the people persecuting her.
Although many people supported her, cared about her, and helped her, sometimes Wen Yan still felt as though there was no one behind her at all.
The mountain was covered in thorns and filled with beasts; there was nothing reliable.
Only herself was truly reliable.
That had always been her belief.
So when she met someone she liked, she never hoped that the other person would help her with all their heart.
Because the most important thing for a person was to take care of themselves first. Only after taking care of yourself would you have the energy to love someone else.
So when Jin Zijin always stood by her side and walked shoulder to shoulder with her, Wen Yan felt, at once, that it was normal and yet astonishing.
So this was...
This was what a normal intimate relationship looked like.
Not like her parents, who suppressed their own emotions to satisfy the other person’s needs, helping each other desperately even when they were overwhelmed.
Nor like her maternal uncle and aunt, who fled separately when trouble struck.
Jin Zijin wouldn’t criticize her, wouldn’t interfere with her, and wouldn’t stand above her and pass judgment. She would only quietly accompany her and help with whatever she could.
Too normal.
So normal that it completely renewed Wen Yan’s understanding of the word “partner.”
No need to do too much; just this silent, wordless companionship.
It allowed her to draw close, to rely without burden, the two of them side by side, as if there were no difficult things left in the world.
This silent companionship carried more power than any words.
At this moment, standing in the sunset and looking at Jin Zijin’s profile, gilded warm by the light, Wen Yan suddenly felt an unprecedented peace in her heart.
It was like a ship that had drifted for a long time at last found a harbor where it could anchor.
“What are you looking at?” Jin Zijin noticed her gaze and turned her head to look at her.
Wen Yan curved her lips. “You.”
“Why are you looking at me?”
“You’re pretty.”
Jin Zijin froze for a moment, then laughed. The smile spread from her eyes across her entire face, especially gentle in the sunset light.
She reached out and pulled Wen Yan into her arms, resting her chin on Wen Yan’s shoulder.
“Are you cold?” she asked.
“No.” Wen Yan buried her face against her chest, listening to the steady heartbeat. “With you here, I’m not cold at all.”
The sunset slowly sank below the horizon. The afterglow at the edge of the sky shifted from crimson to deep purple, then to a heavy dusk-blue.
The first star appeared, then the second, the third... as if someone far away had been lighting lamps one by one.
The two of them just held each other in silence; neither spoke.
Birdsong came from somewhere in the distance, near and far, as if they were wishing each other goodnight.
Wen Yan closed her eyes and gave her whole self over to the embrace.
They held each other for a while before Jin Zijin finally took her hand and led her back to the car. “Let’s go. We’ll go home and eat first.”
The car started up and drove into the deepening night. Wen Yan sat upright in the back seat, her hands clasped together, rubbing her thumbs over each other before she finally spoke. “Zijin.”
“Mm?”
“I’m actually a little nervous.”
This was the first time she had said aloud the anxiety that had been hanging over her all this time.
Jin Zijin immediately leaned over, cupped her face in both hands, and rubbed her cheek with her fingertips.
“Nervous is normal.” Her forehead touched Wen Yan’s. Her voice was so gentle it seemed it could turn to water. “You’re a human being, not some steel machine. Feeling nervous, feeling afraid—there’s nothing embarrassing about that.”
Wen Yan hummed softly and relaxed completely, leaning into Jin Zijin’s embrace.
In the steady back seat of the moving car, Jin Zijin patted her back, comforting her for a long while. Once she saw that Wen Yan’s emotions had stabilized, the woman leaned near her ear and breathed softly, “How about this? Let’s play a game that helps you relax.”
Wen Yan looked up at her with some curiosity. “What game?”
Jin Zijin smiled, took her hand, and pulled her closer, saying with bright, cheerful eyes, “The kind of game that makes both people happy~”
Wen Yan froze, then laughed helplessly. She wrapped her arms around Jin Zijin’s shoulders and let herself fall into her embrace, sighing in resignation. “You really are...”
“Really what?” Jin Zijin feigned ignorance, looking perfectly justified. “I’ve got scientific evidence for this. When stress is high, relieving it this way is very effective.”
She nudged Wen Yan’s shoulder, her tone light and coaxing. “Come on... you don’t even need to move. I can do you too.”
“It’ll feel very good, I promise.”
Wen Yan laughed, hugging her shoulders and burying her face in her neck, then shook her head. “No.”
Jin Zijin let out a startled sound and pushed at her shoulder, sounding a little proud. “What’s this, you won’t even let me be the top?”
“My technique is great, you unappreciative woman.”
“Hey, are you looking down on me?”
She began rambling on purpose, trying to change the subject and ease Wen Yan’s pressure a little.
Wen Yan saw right through her intent at once, and her laughter only grew.
Holding Jin Zijin, her chest shook in rhythm with her heartbeat. “No...”
“Just holding you like this is enough.”
She was too busy for anything else.
Jin Zijin clicked her tongue, wrapping both arms around Wen Yan’s waist and muttering softly, “Such a woman with no sense of romance.”
Wen Yan smiled against her restraint and pulled her closer.
She brushed her cheek against Jin Zijin’s and laughed for a good while before speaking softly, “Zijin...”
“Mm?”
“I love you so much.”
The moment Jin Zijin heard those four words, she was stunned.
They had not been together for long, and Wen Yan’s way of expressing love had always been subtle.
Hearing “I love you” in a moment like this, Jin Zijin could hardly help being surprised.
She pushed Wen Yan’s shoulder away and looked up at her, her eyes full of astonishment. “This is bad. Are you under that much pressure? You’re even confessing now.”
“It’s not even Monday yet, you...”
Before Jin Zijin could finish, Wen Yan’s lips and tongue were already sealing her mouth.
Wen Yan pried open her teeth and pushed in with the tip of her tongue, carrying a lotus-fruit fragrance that swept through Jin Zijin’s senses.
She sank almost instantly.
The two of them kissed until they were nearly inseparable. Wen Yan exerted a little force and lifted Jin Zijin onto her lap.
Jin Zijin looped her arms around Wen Yan’s shoulders and, unable to bear it, grasped the back of her neck, enduring her kiss in a tangled, lingering embrace.
After kissing for a while, Jin Zijin felt as if her whole body had been electrified. Only then did Wen Yan let her go.
Jin Zijin’s breathing was uneven. Sitting on Wen Yan’s lap, she looked down at her, her eyes shimmering. “You...”
Wen Yan lifted a hand, her fingertips brushing Jin Zijin’s lips. Looking up at her, her expression was full of affection. “It’s strange...”
“Before, when I was with you, as soon as we met, I felt like my whole body was boiling.”
“I always wanted to make you cry, to make you clamp my hand and leak a lot of wetness; seeing your eyes so red from my every move, the corners of your eyes full of tears...”
Jin Zijin’s face turned red at once after hearing her description. She raised a hand and smacked Wen Yan’s shoulder, scolding, “Get lost!”
Wen Yan caught her hand and brought it to her lips, pressing a light kiss there. “I’m not getting lost.”
Saying that, she pressed Jin Zijin’s hand over her own chest and said softly, “Do you know what I’m thinking now?”
Jin Zijin tilted her head, looking puzzled.
Wen Yan gazed at her beautiful face and said in a low voice, “When I look at you now, it feels like there’s no desire left in my head at all.”
“I just want to keep looking at you; looking at your eyes, watching your face, until the heavens and earth grow old.”
“Just like this, doing nothing, staying together~ If this whole life passes by like water, I’d still be willing.”
Wen Yan paused, then said with feeling, “Jin Zijin, I think I may be falling in love with you.”
Jin Zijin’s eyes went wide. “You confessed to me on New Year’s Day, and now you’re saying you’ve only just fallen in love with me...”
“Wow, Dr. Wen, you’re quite the smooth talker too!”
Jin Zijin sounded a little dissatisfied. She pulled her hand back, poked Wen Yan’s chest furiously, and muttered under her breath.
Wen Yan laughed helplessly, grabbed her hand, and drew her into her arms. “That’s not what I meant... I just...”
“Mm, how should I put it? I probably understand now what love really is.”
“And then I realized, I may really love you.”
“It has nothing to do with sex, nothing to do with genes, nothing to do with anything else...”
Wen Yan clasped her fingers, looking up at her with gentle eyes. “You exist. You don’t have to do anything, and I’ll still love you.”
——————
Monday came very quickly.
Just as dawn was beginning to break, Wen Yan woke up.
Jin Zijin was already up, making breakfast for her in the kitchen.
During this period, the string in Wen Yan’s heart had been pulled taut. Jin Zijin didn’t want strangers coming to disturb her, so she had asked the housekeeper for advice on how to make some simple food.
The fragrance of fried eggs drifted into the bedroom, mixed with the rich warmth of milk; soft and cozy, it filled the entire house.
Mi Tang was sitting at the bedroom door. When it saw her awake, it trotted over on tiny steps and rubbed against her ankle with meows.
Wen Yan bent down and picked it up, rubbing its head.
Soft, warm, and fluffy; the feeling traveled from her fingertips. The little one tilted its head to look at her, its round eyes full of dependence, as if to say: Mommy, go for it.
She took a deep breath, put it back on the bed, and changed into clean clothes.
After going downstairs and reaching the dining table, Jin Zijin had just finished setting breakfast down.
A thick fried egg, warm milk, a whole-wheat sandwich... everything she liked, light and not greasy, perfect for eating before surgery.
“Eat quickly.” Jin Zijin sat across from her, smiling as she looked at her. “I’ll drive you to the hospital after you’re done.”
She paused, then curved her lips. “Our Dr. Wen is going to win big today too.”
Wen Yan picked up the milk and took a sip.
Warmth slipped down her throat into her stomach and warmed her heart as well.
She looked at Jin Zijin across from her, at the unchanging gentleness and support in her eyes.
Then she smiled.
She picked up the sandwich, took a big bite, and nodded hard.
Mm.
She would definitely win.
Not only for herself, but for her master, and for everyone who believed in her.
And for the person by her side who would always stand behind her.
After breakfast, the two of them left hand in hand.
The morning wind carried a chill, but it couldn’t blow away the warmth where their palms met. The car headed toward the hospital as the rising sun climbed above the horizon, golden light spreading across the road ahead.
Wen Yan leaned back in the passenger seat, watching the scenery flash by outside the window, and suddenly a thought rose in her heart.
How nice.
No matter what lay ahead, she had her with her.
When the operating room’s surgical light came on, Wen Yan was already standing at the operating table.
All the noise had receded far away.
The online abuse, the avoidance from colleagues, Lin father’s accusations... all of it vanished within that sheet of cold white light.
Her world now held only the patient in front of her, the instruments in her hands, and this field of light.
Wang Fu sat in the corner wearing surgical attire and a mask, only her eyes visible, full of trust and certainty.
Director Li, the first assistant, stood beside her; an experienced hand, perfectly coordinated. The anesthesia team was already in place, with every indicator stable. Xiao Qiu stood in the corner holding a tray, her eyes bright with nervousness and expectation.
Wen Yan took a deep breath and reached out her hand.
“Scalpel.”
The surgery began.
The spinal canal was opened, the dura exposed. The adhesions were more severe than expected, but still within a controllable range.
She held her breath and, using the finest dissection instruments, carefully separated the adherent nerve fibers from the scar tissue little by little.
One millimeter, then another.
Her hands were as steady as a rock.
The monitor’s ticking remained steady the entire time, as if keeping rhythm for her.
At last, with the final step completed, Wen Yan set down the instrument and let out a long breath.
She looked toward Wang Fu in the corner.
The old doctor stood and walked over, patting her shoulder. Beneath the mask, his eyes narrowed with a smile, full of pride.
“Well done,” he said, his voice muffled but clear. “Perfect.”
The moment the operating room door opened, a wave of restrained cheers rose in the corridor.
The nurses waiting at the door, the anesthesia colleagues, and a few familiar doctors all let out sighs of relief, smiles on their faces.
Some gave her a thumbs-up; some whispered, “Dr. Wen is amazing.”
Wen Yan leaned against the wall and let them cheer.
Sweat had soaked through her scrubs, her arms were so sore she could barely lift them, and her eyes stung from being focused for so long.
Xiao Qiu was the first to rush up to her, eyes red and voice trembling. “Teacher Wen! That was incredible! Truly incredible! Do you know, when I saw that adhesion, I thought there was definitely going to be a problem, but then you just separated it bit by bit—completely! So amazing!”
Wen Yan curved her lips and reached out to ruffle her hair. “Thank you, Xiao Qiu.”
“Thank me for what? You were the amazing one!” The girl shook her head vigorously, tears finally spilling down, though she was smiling. “I knew it; you’d definitely pull it off!”
The crowd gradually dispersed. Wen Yan left the operating room and passed by the delighted patient family, the skating team coach, and the team members, slowly walking alone toward the changing room.
When she reached the corner of the corridor, she stopped.
Jin Zijin was standing there.
No one knew how long she had been waiting.
She was wearing the same coat she had on when she drove Wen Yan here in the morning, holding Wen Yan’s outer jacket and thermal cup. Her hair was slightly disheveled by the draft in the corridor.
The instant she saw her, all the worry and heartache in her eyes surged up, then were pressed back down, leaving only a gentle smile in the end.
She said nothing; she simply stepped forward, draped the coat over Wen Yan’s shoulders, and put the thermal cup into her hand.
Then she reached out and pulled Wen Yan into her arms.
Wen Yan buried her face in the hollow of her shoulder and closed her eyes.
The familiar scent of citrus filled her nose, carrying a hint of the cold wind outside, making her feel indescribably at ease.
“It’s done,” she said, her voice muffled and slightly hoarse.
“Mm.” Jin Zijin patted her back gently. “It’s done.”
“Very successful.”
“I know.”
Wen Yan raised her head to look at her.
There was a faint sheen of tears in Jin Zijin’s eyes; proud and gentle all at once. “You worked hard, Dr. Wen.”
“Next, leave everything to me!”
TL Note:
"eighty, eighty..." (八十，八十) = I think this is an allusion to a construction chant, kinda of like "heave ho"