After Jiang Yang answered the phone, whatever the person on the other end said caused her expression to visibly darken.
“Did you clear the cache before the migration? Check if the indexes for the old and new data are conflicting. Go into Redis right now, delete all the keys related to orders, and then rerun.”
Jiang Yang stood with her back to the hospital bed, her shoulder lines taut, giving troubleshooting instructions while listening. Her tone, restrained at first, grew faster and faster, her brow furrowing until she finally snapped: “I’m at the hospital right now, how am I supposed to help you remotely? Why is something that ran eight hundred times before going live causing issues now? Send me a screenshot of the error message!”
The person on the other end sent the error screenshot. Jiang Yang hung up, stood in place staring at her phone for several seconds, and swiped rapidly across the screen as if replying to a message.
Before long, the phone rang again. The voice on the line was muffled, and words like “not working” and “still not working” could be vaguely heard. The ward was quiet. Su Zhi had opened her eyes at some point; though her gaze still carried post-surgical exhaustion, it was sharp as she looked at Jiang Yang.
“Is the project having issues?” She moved her lips with difficulty, speaking just as Jiang Yang lost her temper for the nth time.
Jiang Yang softened her raised voice and looked up: “There was a small issue during data migration. It’s nothing major, and it can be solved. You don’t need to worry about it, just rest.”
“Cough, cough.”
Data migration issues meant the entire project might have its launch delayed. As the head of the R&D department, no one understood the severity of the situation better than Su Zhi. Accompanied by two dry coughs, her breathing beneath the oxygen mask grew heavier.
Su Zhi took a long moment to recover, managing to squeeze a few words out of her parched throat: “Go back.”
“No, with you looking like this right now, how could I…” Beneath the oxygen mask, heavier breathing cut Jiang Yang off. Su Zhi’s chest heaved as she struggled, yet she couldn’t manage to force out a complete sentence.
Ming Can leaned over instantly, her hand resting on Su Zhi’s shoulder. Daring not to apply any force, she simply steadied her: “Don’t rush, breathe slowly.”
Su Zhi’s lips parted, her chest heaving violently, her unfocused gaze fixed constantly on Jiang Yang.
Seeing this, Jiang Yang hurried over in two strides: “Su Zhi, don’t worry. I’ll check for a flight back right now.”
The oxygen mask was fogged over with white mist, leaving Su Zhi’s vision in pitch darkness. Her long eyelashes trembled, consciousness dragging her along by pain, and the fingertips at her sides shook repeatedly, unable to shake off the wave of discomfort no matter how she tried to steady herself.
Ming Can hesitated for a few seconds over the nurse call button, then hesitantly extended her hand for Su Zhi to hold.
With a stable object in her palm, the trembling frequency of Su Zhi’s fingertips slowly subsided, and the stifling tightness in her chest transferred bit by bit through her pulse into that hand.
Ming Can felt the tightening grip on the web of her hand and the pain from the intense pressure, but this time, she didn’t struggle, letting the other person hold on tightly.
The white mist on the oxygen mask gradually dissipated, gathered again, and dispersed once more.
At the same time, Jiang Yang turned her phone screen around: “There’s a flight at 9:55. It takes half an hour to get to the airport from here, so we have time. I’ll head back first to handle the issue, and I’ll come back once it’s sorted out. Get some rest, and call me if you need anything.”
Su Zhi blinked. The heavy darkness in front of her eyes was sliced into lingering shadows by the screen’s light. She struggled, fighting to make her vision clearer so she could see the screen and the people standing in front of it.
Her lips opened and closed, closed and opened, repeating several times until she squeezed out half a syllable of “okay” using only breath.
Her exhausted eyes closed, and the last bit of strength in her body was drained away in that instant. The hand gripping Ming Can’s fingertips loosened limply, yet it lingered with a loose, reluctant wrap, as if unwilling to let go completely.
Jiang Yang glanced at Su Zhi, then looked at Ming Can. The worry in her eyes suddenly turned into a relieved smile, and she took a breath: “Then I’ll leave her in your care, Can Can.”
Hearing the name Can Can, Ming Can pursed her lips out of unfamiliarity, then shook her head: “I’m getting paid, it’s my job.”
Jiang Yang nodded in understanding: “Let’s add each other on WeChat so it’s easy to stay in touch if anything comes up.”
Ming Can lowered her head and glanced at her hand, which was still loosely held by Su Zhi.
“I’ll do it!”
Before she could say more, Jiang Yang already held out her QR code. The two successfully became WeChat friends. Jiang Yang gave a few final instructions. During this gap, Su Zhi recovered a bit more, closed her eyes, and called out her name.
Jiang Yang leaned in closer: “Go ahead, Director Su.”
Su Zhi didn’t open her eyes, and her voice came in intermittent fragments: “When you arrive, give me a text.”
“Got it. I’ll be back as soon as the issue is handled. Before I get here, don’t think about anything else, just focus on resting, okay?”
Su Zhi didn’t say okay, nor did she say no. She just lay there quietly, her hair dampened by cold sweat clinging to her swan-like neck.
Jiang Yang checked the time; it was almost time for her to leave. She took one last look at Ming Can and the person on the bed: “Can Can, Su Zhi is a bit of a germaphobe and sweats a lot post-surgery. Please wipe her down with a warm towel often.”
“Mmm.” Ming Can gave a soft acknowledgment.
“I’m heading out then.”
With that, Jiang Yang picked up her small bag and turned to walk out. Her footsteps were fast, the sound of her high heels striking the floor growing sharper and more hurried with every step until they faded away.
The ward returned to quiet. Ming Can sat by the bed, looking down at the woman soaked in sweat on the hospital bed.
The phrase “a bit of a germaphobe” lingered lightly in her mind. She recalled walking toward this ward for the first time, hearing the crisp sound of a glass shattering against the floor at the doorway, followed by a hoarse, strained shout.
At that time, that germaphobic Director Su must have been experiencing the inconvenience of incontinence for the very first time. And through those occasional occurrences afterward, right down to the end when she would rather exhaust herself to the brink than drink another drop of water or eat a single grain of rice.
It was germaphobia, but it was also pride.
This woman was stubborn and strong-willed.
The monitor beside the bed still beeped rhythmically, every tick falling precisely on the second hand. The breathing beneath the oxygen mask was much steadier than before. Ming Can sat, observing, and when the breathing grew completely even, she slowly and carefully slid her fingertips out of the other’s grasp.
Cold sweat had also dampened her own skin, leaving it damp and sticky. Unbothered, Ming Can stood up and walked toward the bathroom. When she came back out, she was holding a towel rinsed in warm water, wrung out half-dry, and folded neatly over her forearm.
Su Zhi had already drifted off to sleep, but sensing footsteps by the bed, her exhausted eyelids lifted instinctively, her gaze falling upon the towel.
“You’re covered in sweat. I’ll help you wipe it off.”
Su Zhi shifted her gaze away from the towel, looking elsewhere without speaking.
Taking that as tacit agreement, Ming Can unfolded the towel and began gently from her forehead downward. Her movements were very light, sliding almost flush against the skin to wipe away the thin layer of perspiration.
Su Zhi’s brow twitched, but she didn’t dodge.
The towel swept past the bridge of her nose, curved around the edge of the oxygen mask, and headed toward her chin. Ming Can brushed aside the damp strands of hair clinging to her neck. As the towel covered that sweat-drenched swan neck, Su Zhi’s throat rolled.
With lowered eyes, Ming Can focused on her task. After wiping the neck, she paused and her gaze dropped lower.
The collar of the hospital gown had been stained dark by sweat in patches, clinging to her collarbone.
She flipped the towel to a clean side, refolded it, and reached out to undo the first button of the other’s collar.
Su Zhi’s hand suddenly lifted.
It lacked strength, but it accurately pressed down on Ming Can’s wrist.
Ming Can froze, lowering her gaze.
Su Zhi’s eyes were fixed on her, tired, weak, and carrying something hard to define. It was not resistance, but more like unfamiliarity.
Unfamiliarity with being tended to so closely.
Unfamiliarity with the unavoidable skin-to-skin contact when a towel brushed against her.
And even greater unfamiliarity with having every tiny fragment of physical privacy laid bare during such a vulnerable moment.
Ming Can didn’t dare move further, holding her gaze with downcast eyes.
“Let me wipe it,” she said, her tone calm and gentle. “You’re sweating a lot, cleaning up will make you more comfortable.”
The hand resting on her wrist didn’t move; its fingertips were ice-cold. Ming Can didn’t rush her. The two locked eyes in the quiet ward for several seconds.
Then, that pressure slowly relaxed.
Su Zhi’s hand slid down, coming to rest at her side without moving again. Her eyes closed once more, and the breathing beneath the oxygen mask grew a fraction heavier before smoothing out again.
Ming Can looked down and resumed unbuttoning.
One button. Two buttons.
When the warm towel slipped inside, Su Zhi’s eyelashes trembled lightly, but she didn’t open her eyes.
The warm towel swept across her collarbone and chest, washing away the sticky perspiration. Su Zhi’s skin was exceptionally fair; once the hospital gown parted, that expanse of white looked somewhat dazzling under the ward lights.
With lowered eyes, Ming Can maintained a professional yet tender touch, wiping carefully just as she had before. However, when the towel brushed near her heart, her fingertips grazed against something different.
Su Zhi’s body twitched uncontrollably. Ming Can’t wiping motion halted, and her heart skipped a beat.
Suppressing her reaction fiercely, she tried her best not to look down while repeating mental reassurances that she was just performing standard patient care, and since they were both women, it was completely fine.
Yet when she raised her hand again and the edge of the towel brushed past that area, heat still crept up the tips of her ears. Regulating her breath and holding steady, she finished the last spot, and as if fleeing, she pulled her hand back, set the towel on the bedside table, and reached to button Su Zhi’s gown.
Her fingertips brushed the first button, trembling slightly. The buttonhole was too small, requiring two tries before it slipped through.
Second button.
Third button.
Ming Can kept her eyes lowered throughout, her lashes cast low as she tried to lock all her focus onto those tiny plastic buttons.
Just as she reached the final button, the woman beneath the oxygen mask moved her lips with difficulty.
“That’s enough.”
Su Zhi’s voice was very soft. Ming Can paused for half a second before realizing that “that’s enough” meant she didn’t need to wipe anymore.
“Oh,” she acknowledged, pulling her hand back, standing up, and taking half a step back. “Then get some rest. I’ll go take care of the towel.”
With that, she adjusted the bedside lamp and turned toward the bathroom.
The bathroom door locked behind her. As she turned on the faucet, cold water rushed out. Ming Can thrust her hands into the stream, her fingertips shrinking back from the chill, yet she didn’t pull them away right away.
She lowered her head and looked at the hands that had just been holding the towel.
There was still a lingering trace of warmth on them, the soft sensation her fingertips had brushed against when the towel edge skimmed past the heart.
The vibration of the phone in her pocket disrupted Ming Can’t train of thought.
What on earth are you thinking about!
She shook her head hard, forcefully driving away the batch of scandalous thoughts in her mind. Wiping her wet hands casually on her clothes, she took out her phone and glanced at the screen.