The surgery went beautifully. After more than two hours of intense work, they had finally overcome this hurdle. A smile finally appeared on Liu Zhengliang's face—he felt he had taken a big step closer to that two-bedroom apartment in Huilongguan, Changping, Beijing.
The Filial Son pulled Liu Zhengliang outside the first-floor corridor of the inpatient ward, handed him an envelope stuffed with cash, and slipped it into his hand. The Virtuous Grandson was on the phone not far away, occasionally glancing in their direction but maintaining a deliberate distance—not too close, not too far. Liu Zhengliang quickly stuffed the money into his pants pocket; the thirty thousand yuan made the pocket bulge conspicuously. Just as he was about to return to Chen Junnan's office, Ai Chen, who had been standing nearby holding a cigarette in the first-floor smoking area, called out to stop him.
Ai Chen waited until the Filial Son and Virtuous Grandson had walked away before saying with a laugh, "Dr. Liu, didn't you notice? Someone was secretly filming you just now."
Liu Zhengliang was startled: "Really? Who was filming me?"
Ai Chen continued smiling: "The family's youngest son. They gave you money—of course they'd want proof. This family is really cunning. You, my friend, are dancing on the edge of a knife."
Liu Zhengliang replied, "It's understandable. Since they can't get a receipt for this, it's normal for them to seek some psychological comfort. But as for you, I'm afraid I've disappointed you—this deal didn't work out, and you waited all afternoon for nothing."
Ai Chen laughed: "Hey, in this business of welcoming and sending off, nothing is certain. I don't have performance targets for my family's business anyway, so what's there to be disappointed about? There's hardly any cost in our line of work. If one patient doesn't need our services today, someone else will tomorrow. Wreaths and joss paper can be used for anyone—they don't have expiration dates. People come to this place sooner or later anyway, and everyone leaves this world eventually, whether early or late. You've heard the saying 'a thief never leaves empty-handed,' right? Well, the King of Hell doesn't either. By the way, which hospital in Shenyang are you from? Our business operates there too—we could collaborate in the future. If anyone in your hospital doesn't make it off the operating table, just call me directly. I'll give you a commission."
Liu Zhengliang smiled and said, "I work in Beijing—that's too far for you to reach. I doubt we'll be able to collaborate."
Ai Chen wasn't ready to give up: "Then will you be coming here regularly for surgeries in the future?"
Liu Zhengliang answered with a smile, "Probably. But I have a question for you: if my surgeries are successful and I make money, doesn't that mean you won't earn anything? Besides, I could never deliberately let patients slip through to your side—that wouldn't just cross ethical boundaries, it would land me in prison for life."
Ai Chen responded, "Tsk, I'm not asking you to let anyone slip through. Don't you medical folks have a saying: 'Sometimes cure, often relieve, always comfort.' See? There's room there, isn't there? I won't compete with you on the curing and relieving parts—just share a piece of the comforting business with me. We're both making money from patients anyway—if they live, it goes into your pocket; if they don't, it comes to mine. It's mutualism—we're not competitors."
After hearing this, Liu Zhengliang was astonished. This girl from a small town had a silver tongue—her blunt truths struck right at the heart of the matter. At Heping Hospital, Liu Zhengliang had never encountered funeral industry workers soliciting business outside operating rooms. Such things only happened in fourth- or fifth-tier cities. But existence implies rationality—China is so vast that you can encounter all sorts of novel situations.
So Liu Zhengliang said with a somewhat ironic smile, "You're really something."
Ai Chen smiled back: "I'll take that as a compliment."At first glance, Liu Zhengliang found her strikingly beautiful, especially when she smiled—her smile blossomed like a flower. Yet her sharp tongue made it hard to like her. A cigarette burn scar on her wrist hinted at a turbulent adolescence, likely marked by a passionate romance with some boy. Perhaps he later fell for a girl from the neighboring middle school at an arcade, leaving her heartbroken enough to brand herself.
Fushun was known for girls like her—feigning materialism, money always on their lips, much like Jin Xiangyu in New Dragon Gate Inn. Hard-shelled as walnuts, but once cracked open, they oozed richness. Liu Zhengliang felt a worldly stir upon seeing her, as if glimpsing the reckless loves he’d missed over thirty years of diligent study. Past thirty, finding a suitable marriage partner is easy; finding someone who makes your heart race is rare.
While chatting with Ai Chen, Liu Zhengliang spun elaborate fantasies, his mind racing like a film reel. But reality quickly reined him in—he was here for a moonlighting surgery to save for a marital home. He knew this, though her face had nearly made him forget.
Returning, he discussed the prognosis with Chen Junnan and the hospital’s attending physician: "The first two weeks post-op are critical. Thank you all for your hard work."
A month later, back in Beijing, Liu Zhengliang received a call from Chen Junnan.
"Old Liu, trouble," Chen Junnan said. "The aneurysm patient—sudden severe headache this morning, BP spiked to 220, vomiting nonstop, then lost consciousness. They’re back at the hospital. The family’s volatile; I sense disaster."
Just off rounds, Liu Zhengliang waved colleagues away. "What’s the status? Treatment given? Mannitol administered?"
"Yes, IV aminomethylbenzoic acid, nikethamide, and lobeline. Oxygen saturation at 70%—useless. It’s a ruptured aneurysm."
Liu Zhengliang scoffed at their outdated methods. "Lobeline? Respiratory stimulants are obsolete."
"Now’s not the time for sarcasm. Any ideas?"
Liu sighed. "None. Post-op hypertension—patient’s own fault. Drinking, smoking, heavy salt. If fate denies them, even a god can’t save them."
"Old Liu, this is big. The family’s surrounding our department, spewing threats. They say if he dies, they’ll set up a mourning hall right here."
Liu dismissed it as paid hysteria. "Brother Nan, explain they signed informed consent pre-op. Do everything to save him. If he pulls through, transfer him to Shenyang."
Chen Junnan hung up and rushed to the ER. The patient had stopped breathing, face cyanotic.
A nurse yelled, "Unequal pupils!"
Chen urged the attending, "Intubate now."The nurse handed the laryngoscope to the attending physician, who inserted the stylet into the patient's glottis. After connecting the ventilator, the patient's blood pressure began to drop. Just as Chen Junnan breathed a sigh of relief, the patient's blood pressure suddenly plummeted sharply.
The nurse couldn't help but cry out, "Blood pressure's down to 70!"
The attending physician shouted, "Quick, administer Dopamine, 200 mg intravenously!"
The nurse immediately complied.
But the electrocardiogram nearly flatlined.
Chen Junnan's heart sank, but he wasn't willing to give up. He loved his job and didn't want to ruin his career over something like this. Growing agitated, he said, "Cardiopulmonary resuscitation, I'll do it. Administer epinephrine intravenously."
The attending physician nodded and quickly administered the epinephrine.
Sweat dripped continuously from Chen Junnan's forehead onto the patient's chest. As he performed chest compressions, he muttered, almost tearfully, "Sir, please, if you're alright, take a breath. If you lie here like this, I won't be able to handle the fallout. Sir, please take a breath..."
The defibrillator was brought over. A 200-joule shock brought a slight improvement, so compressions were quickly resumed. But within a minute, the electrocardiogram flatlined completely, and the patient showed no further response.
The patient's Filial Son, hearing the electrocardiogram monitoring alarm, rushed in and pointed at Chen Junnan, yelling, "You bastard! Didn't you say the doctors from Beijing were amazing? How could someone so amazing treat my dad like this? We spent all that money, and you brought in some quack. You keep treating him, don't you dare stop. If you stop, I'll break your legs."
Chen Junnan stepped up and continued chest compressions for half an hour.
On the final compression, Chen Junnan heard a dull crack from the patient's body—he had broken one of the patient's ribs. The electrocardiogram showed no change, and the pupils had long been dilated.
The patient was dead.
The next morning, a mourning hall was set up in the neurosurgery department's main hall, and the floor was packed with mourners. The hospital's doctors were accustomed to such tactics; when trouble arose, they simply avoided it.
One doctor saw Chen Junnan and said, "Don't worry, it's not that our skills are lacking. The patient died due to complications, not malpractice. Postoperative emergencies happen—if fate doesn't grant a life, there's nothing a doctor can do. Let them make a scene for a few days. I doubt there will still be over a hundred people here tomorrow; I bet most of them are hired. You, though, are in for a long battle. Coordinate with the director, drag it out for ten days to half a month, and they'll give up. Who has time to waste like this?"
Chen Junnan thought it made sense. Whether the patient's sudden blood pressure spike leading to a second cerebral hemorrhage was due to emotional distress or some other postoperative complication—untangling responsibility for that would be impossible even for the gods.
The next day, indeed, far fewer people showed up, only about seven or eight remained. But they had brought banners this time: "Illegal Medical Practice."
Chen Junnan panicked.
Sure enough, the matter reached the director, who came out to negotiate with the family.
The family told the director that the surgeon wasn't from the hospital but had been brought in from outside, making the hospital liable for management oversight.The dean said, "As a public hospital, if we are involved in this matter, you may initiate legal proceedings. If forensic authorities determine that the patient's death was caused by medical malpractice at our hospital, you can file a lawsuit with the appraisal and we will assume corresponding compensatory liabilities accordingly. Our admission of the patient and provision of medical resources to assist in treatment fall entirely under humanitarian aid, which we have documented in detail on the surgical consent form. We have already conducted an investigation and confirmed that all fees charged by the hospital are entirely reasonable and lawful, without any issues. As for whether the treating party engaged in illegal medical practice or violated medical regulations, that is not the responsibility of us as a third party. It falls under the contractual agreement between you and the lead surgeon, and you should seek out the lead surgeon in Beijing. Regarding Dr. Chen from our hospital, we will certainly take disciplinary action. If you have objections to his personal conduct, you may also file a lawsuit."
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