Gong Que was not scheduled to work today, but she was at the hospital. Upon receiving Ming Can’s call, she rushed to the ward immediately, entering just a moment after the duty doctor.
“Director Gong.” Her colleague greeted her. Gong Que glanced at the person on the bed, then turned back to her colleague. “I’ll take over from here. I’ll send you the case notes later.”
The duty doctor left. Gong Que and Ming Can exchanged a glance before walking over to the bed. Instead of asking about the patient’s condition immediately, she first lifted a corner of the blanket, checked, and then reached out to feel Su Zhi’s forehead.
Her touch met ice-cold dampness. Her brow furrowed, and she turned to adjust the settings on the infusion pump.
“Dr. Gong,” Su Zhi spoke, her tone calm.
Gong Que didn’t stop what she was doing.
“Is there any medicine,” Su Zhi paused, a hint of deliberation in her voice, “that can at least keep my body from acting up these next two days?”
Gong Que’s fingers paused on the infusion pump, and she turned her head to look at her.
“Do you know what you’re asking?”
Su Zhi didn’t answer, simply looking at her. Her eyes were somewhat unfocused from the pain, but deep within them, a flame still burned stubbornly.
“In your current condition, what you need is absolute bed rest, not relying on drugs to force your way through. It hasn’t even been two weeks since your second surgery; infection, bleeding, spasms, any one of them could kill you.” Gong Que’s tone was cold, like a machine devoid of emotion, rationally repeating objective facts.
“I know,” Su Zhi said, “but I have a friend who got into some trouble because she came to the hospital to visit me. I have to handle it. Can you help me find a way?”
Su Zhi’s voice lowered, carrying a hint of vulnerability and probing.
“There is no good way.” Gong Que’s tone was harsh, but her actions were honest. She reached out, pulled a small notepad from the pocket of her white coat, scribbled a few lines, tore the page off, and handed it to Ming Can. “This is a pain-relief suppository. Use it only when you really can’t endure the pain, maximum twice a day.”
Ming Can took it, and Gong Que wrote another slip. “This is for regulating intestinal spasms. Oral, three times a day, after meals.”
Ming Can took that one as well.
Gong Que put away her notepad and looked at Su Zhi. “This is all I can prescribe for you.”
Su Zhi raised her head and said very softly, “Thank you.”
Gong Que didn’t reply. She turned to adjust the parameters of the ECG monitor, then looked at Ming Can. “Step outside with me for a moment.”
Ming Can muttered an oh and followed her out anxiously.
The ward door closed, and the room grew quiet again.
Su Zhi lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The pain in her body continued in waves, especially in her chest, where sometimes it hurt so badly she couldn’t catch her breath. But her mind was clear; she focused entirely on her breathing, inhaling and exhaling, waiting for the spasm to pass.
After who knows how long, the door was gently pushed open.
Ming Can poked her head in, checked Su Zhi’s complexion, and then walked in.
Hearing the movement, Su Zhi turned her head. “Did Dr. Gong leave?”
“Mmm,” Ming Can answered.
Su Zhi pressed her lips together. “Can I trouble you to help me handle something unrelated to work?”
“Sure.” Ming Can agreed readily enough.
“Thank you.” This was the umpteenth time Su Zhi had said that today.
She gave Ming Can her home address and asked her to go back and get her laptop. Ming Can hesitated for a moment before agreeing. Before leaving, she sent a message to Gong Que asking her to keep an eye on the patient’s condition.
Fortunately, the residential complex Su Zhi mentioned wasn’t too far from the hospital. Ming Can moved quickly and returned in half an hour.
In the ward, Su Zhi was still lying flat in the same posture, turning her head slightly upon hearing the door open.
Ming Can brought over the laptop. “I’ll set up a small table and raise the head of the bed a bit.”
“Mmm,” Su Zhi replied, her voice even hoarser than before she left.
The electric bed slowly rose, elevating Su Zhi’s upper body so she could clearly see the screen. She took a deep breath, waited a few seconds, and her fingertips landed on the power button.
While the computer booted up, she closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling rather rapidly. Ming Can stood nearby, unable to help, and could only watch.
The screen lit up.
Standing to one side, Ming Can watched as Su Zhi faced the glowing screen, her fingers typing at a speed that looked slow but was terrifyingly precise.
First, she connected remotely, attempting to access the company’s intranet using her own account, only to find her account permissions restricted. Zhao Guifan must have taken immediate measures as soon as he returned.
Su Zhi’s fingertips paused on the keyboard for a few seconds, just a few seconds, before she switched to the command-line interface.
Her complexion was transparently pale, and sweat oozed from her forehead in layers, dampening the loose strands of hair at her temples. Yet the gaze she fixed on the screen was as sharp as the shadowless lamps on an operating table, calm, focused, and carrying a sense of unquestionable control.
A black background, green text, line after line of commands typed out. A moment later, the content on the screen flickered, and an interface popped up. Seeing it, Ming Can’s pupils dilated in shock.
It was the company’s internal core database.
Even with her permissions completely locked down, she still had this kind of capability!
Ming Can suddenly understood that Su Zhi’s previous conversation with Zhao Guifan wasn’t just a bluff relying on her past authority. She wasn’t just gambling on Zhao Guifan’s guilty conscience, Cai Ji’s wariness, or whether those people still remembered what kind of person she used to be.
Rather, she genuinely intended to use every last ounce of remaining strength to fight for her friend.
Su Zhi’s fingers moved across the screen. First, she backed up the core database, then locked down the backup files completely. If the company refused to compromise, she would delete the main database without hesitation and use that as leverage to force them to release the person.
Lying in a hospital bed, so weak she didn’t even have the strength to draw a normal breath of fresh air, she could alter the destiny of a listed company with a single thought, with a flick of her fingers.
What a powerful and terrifying existence!
In that instant, Ming Can gained a visceral understanding of the legendary deleting the database and running away.
The code on the computer screen continued to scroll, but Su Zhi’s physical strength had been pushed to its absolute limit. Her fingers began to tremble slightly and uncontrollably, the rhythm of her typing slowing down noticeably as every keystroke seemed to demand her entire body’s effort.
Standing beside her, Ming Can watched new beads of sweat slide down Su Zhi’s cheek from her forehead. Unable to hold back any longer, she pulled out a tissue and carefully reached over, trying to wipe the sweat from her temples.
The moment the tissue brushed against her skin, Su Zhi flinched and turned her head away out of reflex, but realizing who it was, she relaxed again and said very softly, “Thank you.”
Because of her physical state, her voice carried a slight tremor.
Ming Can’s throat tightened. She wanted to say something to urge her to rest, but looking at the incomprehensible code on the screen, words failed her. She knew anything she said at this moment would be redundant.
Right at that moment, the phone lying on Su Zhi’s pillow suddenly lit up, vibrating as a name popped up onto the screen.
Jiang Yang.