The sound of the stretcher being pushed down the corridor was harsh and urgent. Its wheels rattled rhythmically over the gaps in the floor tiles.
Gong Que stood up, stepping aside to make room. Several nurses crowded around, efficiently supporting Su Zhi’s body to transfer her onto the stretcher. Su Zhi did not struggle; she was like a lifeless shell, letting them move her however they pleased.
At the exact moment the stretcher was about to be wheeled away, a hand reached out and grabbed the sleeve of Gong Que’s white coat.
That hand was very thin, with prominent knuckles and bruised marks on the back from an intravenous catheter. It lacked strength, holding on only with a faint, drifting grip.
Gong Que lowered her head.
Su Zhi lay flat on her back on the stretcher, her eyes open. The fluorescent ceiling lights reflected in her pupils, stark and pale. Her lips moved, and a barely audible sound came from her throat.
Gong Que did not catch it clearly. She leaned down, bringing her ear closer. “What?”
Su Zhi’s lips parted, and she tried several times before barely managing to piece together a complete sentence.
“Can I please not have the surgery?”
When Gong Que heard this clearly, her expression froze for a fraction of a second before quickly returning to normal. She lowered her head and looked at the hand grasping her sleeve. After staring at it for two seconds, she reached out and peeled that hand away, finger by finger.
Her movements were neither rough nor gentle.
“No.”
Just two words, neither cold nor warm, devoid of any emotional fluctuation. It was just like a doctor answering a patient asking, “Can I skip meals today?”
Su Zhi’s eyelids blinked once.
Gong Que had already straightened up, speaking to the nurse beside her, “Take her to the operating room. Hurry.”
The stretcher began to move. The wheels rattled rhythmically over the floor tiles. Su Zhi lay on it, her eyes still open, watching the fluorescent ceiling lights glide past her field of vision one by one.
Meanwhile, Ming Can, who had been frozen in place the entire time, watched the stretcher pass before her eyes. She watched the face of the person on the bed turn as pale as a sheet of paper. As if she had finally reacted to something, she took a step to follow, only to brake abruptly after two paces.
Her hands clenched and relaxed, relaxed and clenched again. In the end, she could only stand by the ward door, watching the stretcher disappear down the end of the corridor.
The moment the elevator doors closed, the corridor suddenly fell dead silent. You could hear a pin drop.
Ming Can lowered her head and looked at her own hands. Her fingertips still seemed to retain the body heat left from holding Su Zhi earlier, along with her blood. It was warm and viscous, flowing down between her fingers, drop by drop.
She turned her hands over, then back again. She couldn’t remember how she had managed to pick the person up in the first place; she only remembered that the other person was truly light, as light as a bundle of dry branches. Those bones pressed against her arms. There had been no struggle, and no sound.
She had thought she was saving her, carrying her out of that dim ward and into a place with sunshine.
Yet when the sunlight fell, Su Zhi’s complexion was paler than ever.
Transparently pale.
“The patient is still in the recovery period. Who gave you permission to act on your own initiative?”
Gong Que’s words resurfaced in her mind, word for word, driving down like nails.
Who gave permission?
No one gave permission.
It was her own unauthorized action that had caused Su Zhi’s traumatic hemorrhage and landed her in the emergency room.
What right did she have? She was just a part-time caregiver of barely a week, without even the most basic nursing certification. What right did she have to act on her own accord and push someone who was already struggling to survive toward a dead end?
“I’m sorry.”
Ming Can’s knees suddenly went weak.
She squatted down, her back pressing against the wall as the chill seeped through her thin T-shirt. Ming Can didn’t care; she simply buried her head in the crook of her arm.
People occasionally passed by in the corridor, their footsteps growing closer from afar, then fading away again.
No one stopped.
Ming Can buried her face deeper.
Her eye sockets felt hot, as if scorched by fire. She bit her lip, biting down hard, trying to swallow back those bad emotions so no one would see.
She had no right to cry. The one who was injured was Su Zhi; the one pushed into the operating room was Su Zhi; the one who would have to face the surgical incision after waking up was Su Zhi. She was just inexperienced and had made a mistake. She would just bear the consequences when the time came; there was no need to put on a hypocritical act of self-pity here.
But what if something happened to Su Zhi? Could she afford the consequences?
She couldn’t afford them!
Fear and self-reproach climbed to their peak at this moment. The moisture in her eyes could no longer be contained. Ming Can buried her head even lower, curling her entire body into a tiny ball. Her shoulders rose and fell in spasms, like an abandoned little animal in a cardboard box, suppressing her cries and sobs.
A few minutes later, footsteps approached from beside her.
“Ming Can?”
Ming Can snapped her head up. A young nurse holding a clipboard was standing beside her.
“Dr. Gong wants you to wait by the operating room entrance. The operating room is on the third floor. Turn left and walk all the way to the end.”
After the nurse left, Ming Can came to her senses. When she tried to push herself up, her legs felt a bit weak. She steadied herself against the wall for a few seconds, then turned back to glance at the ward.
The room was empty and desolate; the bedding on the bed was disheveled, and the thin blanket still lay spread across the window seat, the sunlight casting a soft sheen over its velvet surface. The unfinished cup of soy milk still sat on the nightstand, with the straw stuck in it, standing there all alone.
Ming Can stared at the cup of soy milk for a few seconds before turning and heading toward the elevators.
The doors of the operating room were tightly shut, a red light glowing above them.
Ming Can sat down on the bench outside the door. The bench was hard and cold. She tucked both hands between her knees and stared at the tips of her shoes.
I don’t know how much time passed before the operating room doors opened from the inside.
Ming Can abruptly stood up, stumbling forward.
Gong Que walked out. She hadn’t taken off her surgical cap yet, and large beads of sweat were streaming down the brim. The back of her surgical gown was soaked through, clinging tightly to her body.
Ming Can opened her mouth, but couldn’t ask a single question. Then she watched as a transfer gurney was wheeled out of the operating room. Su Zhi was lying on it, her eyes closed, an oxygen mask strapped to her face, her lips completely devoid of color.
An IV bottle hung beside the bed, clear liquid flowing down the tubing drop by drop.
Ming Can’s foot took a step forward.
Just one step, and then she slowly pulled it back. Gong Que took off her mask and glanced at her indifferently. Without a word, she walked straight toward the bench, collapsed onto it from sheer exhaustion, and tilted her head back to look at the ceiling, her chest heaving as she breathed deeply and heavily.
Ming Can stood there at a loss, not knowing whether she should go over or if she should speak.
The corridor was quiet. After a long while, she heard Gong Que’s voice.
“The surgery was successful.”
Five words, sounding as if they were squeezed hard from the depths of her throat.
Ming Can’s hands, twisting the hem of her T-shirt, tightened. The heat in her eyes became uncontrollable. She lowered her head, bit her lip, and fought desperately to restrain herself, yet her sobs still spilled out.
“What are you crying for?” Gong Que’s voice was very hoarse. “Come over here and sit.”
Hearing the summons, Ming Can casually wiped her face a couple of times. When she raised her head, her face was still covered in tear tracks; her eyes were as red as a rabbit’s, her nose tip was red too, and her lips bore a ring of white marks from where she had bitten them. She looked at Gong Que, wanting to say something yet not daring to.
Seeing her pitiful appearance, Gong Que softened her tone for once.
“The operation went very smoothly. The bleeding stopped, and no organs were damaged. She received eleven stitches, and she’ll be fine after resting for a while.”
Eleven stitches.
She was truly a child after all. Ming Can’s tears fell once more.
She raised a hand and wiped frantically at her face, smearing tear tracks everywhere, making it even messier the more she wiped.
Gong Que sighed, fished a pack of tissues out of her pocket, and handed them over. “Wipe your face, look at that pathetic state of yours!”
Ming Can hesitated for a moment, reached out to take the tissues, wiped her face, and then pressed the tissue to her nose. With a muffled sound, snot and tears were swept entirely into the tissue.
Gong Que: ……
Ming Can sniffled, her voice muffled, “How much do I have to pay for the damages?”
Gong Que didn’t answer immediately. She raised her eyelids and glanced at her. “What do you think?”
Ming Can choked out, “I don’t know.”
Gong Que rolled her eyes in exasperation, propped herself up by her knees to stand, and reached out to flick her on the head. “Then do you know where you went wrong?”
Ming Can lowered her head and whispered, “I know.”
Gong Que: “Say it!”
“I shouldn’t have acted on my own initiative and carried her out to bask in the sun.”
“What else?”
Ming Can thought for a moment and shook her head.
Gong Que looked at her, her tone not harsh, but very earnest.
“Your mistake was failing to think before you acted. You wanted to treat her well, take care of her, and make her more comfortable. None of those intentions were wrong. But before you did it, did you ever consider whether she could bear it? Did you ever consider whether she wanted it?”
Ming Can stood there in a daze.
“Basking in the sun isn’t wrong, but when you carried her, did you notice how light she was? Did you ever wonder why she was so light?” Gong Que’s voice wasn’t loud, but every word felt like a nail driving into Ming Can’s heart. “She had been bleeding continuously, constantly draining her strength. Her body had already reached its absolute limit. When you picked her up, she didn’t have the strength to resist, but her body had to bear the consequences for you.”
Ming Can’s eyes reddened again, hovering on the verge of tears.
“She wanted to maintain that tiny shred of dignity, and you didn’t see it. She was gripping the edge of the window sill so hard her knuckles turned white, and you didn’t see that either. You only saw what you wanted to see, did what you wanted to do, and then convinced yourself you were treating her well.” Gong Que continued, “Do you know what she said to me when she was on that stretcher?”
Ming Can shook her head, her voice honest, “I don’t know.”
Gong Que looked at her, her gaze calm, her tone equally steady. “She asked me if she could skip the surgery.”
Hearing this, Ming Can’s gaze trembled, and both tears and remorse welled up together. “I’m sorry.”
“Apologizing to me is useless.” Gong Que looked at her, fell silent for a few seconds, and then reached out to help wipe away her tears. “She has already been transferred to a regular ward. Go on over in a little while to check on her. The anesthesia hasn’t worn off yet, so she probably won’t wake up immediately. It gives you just enough time to properly reflect, so that when she wakes up, you can apologize to her yourself.”
Ming Can stood outside the ward for a long time. She stood there so long that the soles of her feet grew numb, and so long that when a nurse pushing a cart passed by and gave her a strange look, she finally snapped out of it and slowly walked toward the room.
The ward door was half-open. Ming Can pushed it open gently. On the hospital bed, Su Zhi was surrounded by medical equipment, her weary phoenix-like eyes closed tightly, her long eyelashes casting a small shadow over her eyelids.
She lay there so quietly, her frail body half-submerged under the quilt, revealing a slender neck. The IV pole stood beside the bed, clear liquid flowing drop by drop through the long tubing into the intravenous catheter on the back of her hand.
Ming Can stood by the bed, looking at that exposed hand. The back of the hand was bruised black and blue from the previous IV punctures. Her fingers were slender with prominent knuckles, and her fingernails were trimmed very short and clean.
She tried to imagine this hand grasping Gong Que’s white coat, imagined the look in her eyes, and wondered what kind of desperate tone she must have used to utter those words: “Can I please not have the surgery?”
She couldn’t imagine it!
And she could even less imagine what she would have done if Gong Que had failed to save her this time.
“I’m sorry,” Ming Can’s voice was very soft, light as a feather falling onto cotton. She reached out, wanting to touch the back of Su Zhi’s hand, but stopped an inch away. “Am I simply not suitable to earn this money?”
Not suitable to take care of you.
The second half of the sentence remained unspoken by Ming Can.
She pulled her hand back, slowly squatted down, and watched the person on the hospital bed for a long, long time. Then, smiling faintly, she used her fingertip to gently brush against the other’s knuckles. “You have to wake up soon. Once you wake up, we’ll use the remaining forty-five thousand to hire a more professional caregiver, alright?”
The very next moment, the fingertips resting beneath her palm twitched. Feeling the movement, Ming Can lifted her gaze to look. The woman on the bed opened her eyes with extreme slowness.
When those eyes first opened, they were somewhat unfocused, reflecting the ward’s lights without any real definition. After several seconds, her pupils slowly rotated bit by bit, finally coming to rest on Ming Can’s face.
Ming Can was squatting down, her hand frozen in mid-air, her fingertips maintaining that exact posture of touching the other person, neither retracting nor daring to move.
Their eyes met.