Song Cong had disappeared after taking a call during class. It wasn’t until evening when Huan’er returned home that she learned the reason from her mother: an emergency patient had arrived in the afternoon. The family, having waited too long without seeing a doctor, had argued with a trainee nurse in the department. Song Cong’s mother, protective of her junior, had said a few words like "There are more critical patients, the doctor will come soon," but her tone must have been poor enough to provoke the other side. A male family member kicked her from behind, causing Song Ma to hit her head against the edge of a bed and lose consciousness on the spot.
“Intracranial hemorrhage. The situation isn’t optimistic.” Chen Ma took off her apron. “Eat by yourself. I need to go see her.”
If her mother said it wasn’t optimistic, then it was very bad.
Huan’er stopped her. “Where’s Song Cong?”
Chen Ma was in a hurry to leave. “No one’s seen him since the surgery ended. Call and ask.”
She had already called ten times since the afternoon—all rejected.
Huan’er grabbed her keys and rushed downstairs, sprinting all the way to the Song residence. No one was there. She then went to the neighboring unit, where only Jing Qichi was home. After hearing what happened, he ran out without even properly putting on his shoes. “To the hospital.”
They weren’t strangers to unreasonable families. Growing up, they’d heard all kinds of stories about medical disputes—but never imagined one would actually happen to someone they knew.
Outside the ICU, the two mothers stood guard on either side of Song Ba, sometimes silent, sometimes whispering in hushed tones. Huan’er and Jing Qichi watched from the hallway, neither stepping forward. As children who couldn’t contribute anything useful right now, not causing trouble was the best help they could offer. Their priority was finding Song Cong.
Not at home, not at the hospital—there was only one place left.
Late spring, early summer. Wildflowers in the training ground had begun to peek out, starting another season of untamed growth among the grass and tree roots. Song Cong sat in front of the fence, knees hugged to his chest, staring at some indiscriminate flower.
Huan’er and Jing Qichi walked over and sat cross-legged in front of him, joining him in silence.
Spring scenery, spring night, spring breeze—such beautiful moments felt like a luxury.
A voice inside said, Sorry, you don’t have the right to enjoy this.
Song Cong was dazed, yet he also felt unnervingly clear-headed. He was so clear-headed that he even tried to understand the other side—family waiting endlessly for a doctor while the head nurse only made excuses, of course anyone would be angry. But he found he couldn’t understand. The mere thought made him want to tear that person apart—no, he wanted to treat them the same way. Only then would they and their family know what it felt like to have a perfectly healthy person shoved onto an operating table and left unconscious.
What had his mother done to deserve this? Just because she spoke sharply in a moment of urgency? Just because she didn’t bow her head and patiently explain?
But why should she? She worked day and night, exhausting herself for strangers, so busy she barely had time for her own family or son—and she still had to grovel to them? What was wrong with this world?
Everything had a cause and effect, but Song Cong couldn’t find the reason for this outcome.
He buried his head in his knees and said softly to his friends, “Right now… I don’t know why I’m even studying medicine.”Growing up in such an environment, he took pride in his parents and admired the uncles and aunts in the hospital compound, feeling deeply connected to that ever-expanding building that always smelled of disinfectant. For him, healing the sick wasn't just a duty—it was a faith. A faith he revered, admired, and was willing to devote his entire life pursuing. But now that faith had become something elusive and intangible. What difference would it make to wear that white coat? Just to wait for the day when ignorant people would violently judge him?
Jing Qichi patted his shoulder, unable to offer any words of comfort.
This incident didn't just strike this family—it also shattered Song Cong's long-held resolve.
"Let's go upstairs. Hiding won't solve anything," Huan'er said, standing up and reaching out to Song Cong. When he didn't respond, she simply grabbed his wrist and pulled him up with force.
She had always known that playing hide-and-seek with disaster was a losing game.
Late at night, Huan'er and Jing Qichi went back with their mothers, while the Song father and son remained at the hospital. Chen Ma told her daughter that the first 24 hours after surgery were critical—there was a high risk of secondary bleeding, so they had to stay vigilant.
Huan'er asked, "How will this be resolved?"
"The hospital administration is still gathering information. The other side insists they didn't use much force in the heat of the moment. We'll have to wait until Aunt Hao wakes up to know for sure."
"Mom," Huan'er looked at her mother, "being a doctor is too hard."
Overtime, stress, being on call 24/7, having almost no personal time—none of that was the worst part. The hardest thing was that doctors weren't allowed to be understood. Saving lives was their mission, as if slacking for even a moment meant negligence, and overlooking the slightest detail meant they were unworthy. Though born in peaceful times without gunfire, they were clearly walking through an invisible minefield. How could they make people understand that they weren't saints, that they too had the same frustrations and irritations as ordinary people?
They were just ordinary people—two eyes, one nose, one mouth, with the same organs, hormones, and dopamine as anyone else. They got pressured into blind dates by their families and stressed over promotions. They earned a salary and did their jobs, so why had this profession been elevated to such an unattainable height?
Huan'er had so many questions, and because of Song Ma, the long-unanswered doubts came pouring out like a flood.
"Don't be too pessimistic," Chen Ma said, sensing her daughter's thoughts and patiently guiding her. "Doctor-patient relationships are inherently complex. Aunt Lin has been working on setting up a medical mediation office—ideally, arbitrators and lawyers will serve as mediators. Things are moving in a better direction."
So the vice president had such an important responsibility.
Huan'er murmured to herself, "Aunt Hao will wake up, right?"
"Of course," Chen Ma patted her daughter's head. "Huan'er, you have to believe that heaven won't fail good people."
Huan'er laughed, "Here we go again."
They studied materialism, yet practiced idealism with such ease.
"Hey, don't look a gift horse in the mouth," Qian Yisheng shot her a disdainful look. "Your mom's passing down valuable life lessons. Chew on them and digest them properly—they're way more useful than the problems your teachers drone on about."The next day, the third day, the first week—Song Ma sank into a prolonged slumber. Her vital signs showed no abnormal fluctuations, as if even in sleep she refused to trouble her colleagues. Song Cong began arriving late and leaving early from school. When classmates occasionally asked, Huan'er and Jing Qichi would answer for him, saying he had family matters to attend to. Song Cong masked himself well—still focused and diligent, meticulously handling class duties assigned by teachers, patiently explaining problems to those who sought his help. In every aspect, there was no trace of despondency. Until the incident made headlines in the local newspaper. Once this emotionally charged article condemning medical violence was published, someone immediately connected the dots. Tianhe wasn’t that big, and their parents’ social networks overlapped. It wasn’t hard to identify Song Cong.
The top-ranked student in both academics and character encountering such a thing—everyone offered nothing but sympathy. Sympathy remained in the shadows; voiced too loudly, it would turn into pity.
One day after the morning exercises, Qi Qi, who had been out of touch for a while, suddenly appeared before the three of them. She grabbed Song Cong’s arm and blurted out, "Are you okay?"
Song Cong was somewhat taken aback, nodding uncertainly.
He had assumed Qi Qi was just another one of those expressing sympathy behind his back.
"I just found out," Qi Qi said, walking beside him and tilting her head to look at him. "How’s your mom?"
"Still hasn’t woken up," Song Cong replied.
After a few silent steps, Qi Qi asked, "Would it be okay if I visited? When I was at your place, your mom took good care of me."
He remembered then—his mother had indeed often mentioned this girl who loved eating oranges.
A sudden pang of sorrow hit him. Song Cong smiled bitterly. "It’s fine, but let’s wait until she wakes up."
Huan'er noticed Qi Qi still seemed a bit off. She still didn’t understand why the other girl had suddenly grown distant. Quickening her pace, she said, "I’m going to the restroom. See you later."
"Me too," Jing Qichi followed.
"We don’t even use the same restroom..."
"Huan'er," Qi Qi called out, pausing before adding, "You did really well on this exam. Congratulations."
The midterm rankings were posted on the bulletin board—finding her name meant scanning through two hundred and forty students from top to bottom.
"Oh, thanks," Huan'er replied. "You too. Keep it up."
Qi Qi consistently ranked within the top twenty in the liberal arts class.
After they left, Qi Qi walked with Song Cong all the way to the science building. When his expression turned questioning, she spoke calmly and sincerely, "My dad is a partner at a law firm. If you need to file a lawsuit, he knows a lot of good lawyers."
Song Cong’s refusal stuck in his throat at her next words. Qi Qi said, "Song Cong, you can trouble me."
You don’t have to understand. Even if it’s just as a classmate, I want to help you through this.
"Thank you."
Qi Qi’s heart soared all day because of those two words. The last time she’d felt this way was when she’d scored first in her class—not because of the teacher’s praise or her parents’ approval, but because a classmate had said, "You and Song Cong seem like a perfect match—the top students in liberal arts and sciences." But that had been a fluke, an overperformance on her part. The next exam came too soon, and those words never made waves in the science building, let alone traveled across the administrative offices and gardens to reach Song Cong’s ears. She had worked tirelessly just to rank first again, because only then would she be seen, and those words would spread naturally. And as for Song Cong—even if it was just a gentle reminder of her existence—Qi Qi believed it was worth it.
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