“Ruan Nian, what took you so long?” A colleague from the sales department sprang up from her desk, eyes shining. “You just missed the biggest thing that’s happened at the company!”
Ruan Nian smiled, her eyes curving softly. “I was out visiting a client this morning. What happened that has everyone so excited?”
Luna from the front desk came over with her coffee, lowering her voice conspiratorially.
“Everyone in the executive office is talking about it! You know that mysterious second-largest shareholder who only ever shows up in our financial reports? He’s actually here!”
Ruan Nian set down her bag, looking utterly bewildered.
“Who?”
“Jiang Yushen.”
Luna pronounced the name slowly, as though it carried its own light.
“Isn’t he doing research overseas?”
“He came back. He’s a doctor at Zhexi Hospital now.”
“I just saw him swipe his executive access card and take the private elevator to the R&D center. He was still wearing his white coat!”
“He had a shirt and trousers underneath. And that figure…” Someone clicked her tongue appreciatively. “I’d conservatively put him at over 185 centimeters. Those legs look like he could clear my entire height in one stride.”
“That’s the Southern Little Potato’s lack of spatial awareness.”
“Hahaha! Stop teasing her.”
“I’m telling you, when he walked past me, there were exactly four words in my head.”
The colleague paused for a second before saying:
“Dressed. To. Kill.”
“…What?!”
She waved her hands and leaned closer, lowering her voice.
“I don’t mean it as an insult! I mean it in a good way! You know—the kind of impact where someone looks refined and restrained on the surface, but underneath, his body is outrageously good.”
“Ooh? Really?”
“You’ll understand when you see him.”
…
Ruan Nian stood dazed for a moment.
Jiang Yushen.
It had been so long since she had heard those three words spoken beside her that it felt as though no one in the world knew about the secret she had kept buried in her heart for eight years.
Hearing them so suddenly now gave her an absurd sense of having slipped through time.
She thought of the Jiang Yushen whom everyone at the affiliated high school had once looked up to. Surely, by now, he was making his mark somewhere far broader and brighter.
How could he possibly appear in her life?
It was probably just someone with the same name.
She tugged at the corner of her mouth, managing a faint, detached smile.
As though she had merely heard an amusing piece of gossip. As though she didn’t particularly care.
Then she deliberately shut out the increasingly animated conversation around her, turned back to her desk, and fixed her eyes on the computer screen.
The pale glow of the booting monitor illuminated her face.
She opened a file and began checking, line by line, the previous week’s client-visit data and medication feedback. Her fingers tapped lightly against the keyboard, trying to shut out the rising tide of voices repeating the name “Jiang Yushen.”
But once gossip caught fire, it was almost impossible to put out.
Before long, several more colleagues had gathered around.
“I saw him go into the conference room in the core pharmaceutical R&D area. They closed the door tight.”
“I heard he came back to China specifically to participate in the new drug development project himself.”
“Is it that diabetes drug?”
“No idea. It’s classified.”
“No wonder the company has been so generous with the R&D budget these past two years. Turns out someone this formidable is behind it.”
“I heard from our colleagues in the States that Dr. Jiang is practically a legend in those circles. Other people spend ten-odd years slogging through school, while he finished two doctorates in eight years. He’s published tons of papers in top journals. You can find them all online.”
“Really? Quick, open a browser!”
“I’ll search. Gossip like this is my specialty.”
…
Jiang Yushen, 24. M.D. and Pharm.D., Harvard Medical School.
Currently serving as… recipient of the Young Scholar Award… His research focuses on…
In particular, a key discovery in the glucagon-like peptide-1 signaling pathway has been widely recognized as having pushed the boundaries of understanding in the field…
A professional headshot appeared on the homepage.
The man in the photograph wore a perfectly fitted white shirt. His features were deep and striking, his nose high-bridged, his thin lips pressed into a straight, expressionless line. Even through the screen, there was an unmistakable air of cool restraint and rigorous scholarship about him.
“Oh my God! That résumé! That face…”
Someone drew in a sharp breath, then sighed regretfully.
“What a shame. Someone already has him.”
“Married?”
“No way.”
“There was a really elegant-looking girl who came to the company with him just now. They weren’t standing particularly close, but the atmosphere between them…”
“You know what I mean, right? Clearly something going on.”
“I heard she’s the only daughter of Director Zhao from the group. She just finished studying economics and management in the States.”
“Perfect match. Two powerhouses joining forces.”
“Really? I thought they were keeping their distance, walking one in front of the other.”
“Just pretending to be serious. Men of this caliber don’t circulate on the open market. They get taken care of internally.”
“Oh, right, Nian Nian, didn’t you say you’re a fan of someone? Which idol was it again?”
Somehow, the conversation suddenly turned to Ruan Nian.
“Xiao Zhou, the one who debuted as center after that survival show! I like him too!”
A colleague eagerly leaned over and held her phone in front of Ruan Nian.
“Look. Doesn’t Dr. Jiang kind of resemble Xiao Zhou?”
The enlarged photograph on the screen showed the sharp line of Jiang Yushen’s jaw.
Ruan Nian’s gaze lifted from the spreadsheet. She glanced at it once, then quickly looked away, her fingers tapping an irrelevant number into the keyboard.
“Uh… not really, I don’t think.”
She turned her attention back to the screen, her tone taking on the instinctive defensiveness of a true fan.
“No one could ever beat Xiao Zhou in my heart.”
“A die-hard fan has spoken!”
“Exactly. Our Xiao Zhou is one of a kind!”
“When their tour comes to Hangzhou next time, let’s try to get tickets together, Nian Nian!”
“You two are hopeless. These idols are counting on you to throw money at them to stay alive!”
“I’d happily spend money on my idol!”
…
Ruan Nian thought it was different.
Other fans were chasing stars.
She was merely chasing a memory.
People often said online that you shouldn’t meet someone too dazzling when you’re young. Once you did, the rest of your life would be nothing but a long aftertaste and a series of compromises.
The gaze that had begun between the front and back desks of a high school classroom, the secret crush that had lasted for years—at some point, without her even noticing, it had quietly transformed into a long, futile adolescent longing.
After she started working, she saw a world that was broader and far more realistic, and gradually, she came to terms with it.
She began to understand things she’d once failed to comprehend.
Take the word reality, for instance.
It wasn’t the cold, abstract concept she’d encountered in textbooks.
It was the press of bodies and warmth of strangers in the morning rush-hour subway. It was the dwindling balance in her bank account after paying the rent at the end of the month. It was herself buying oden at a convenience store after working late into the night…
Reality was so ordinary.
And there was no Jiang Yushen in it.
What kind of person was Jiang Yushen?
Without exaggeration, he belonged among the rarest geniuses humanity had ever produced.
At seventeen, he had won a gold medal at the International Physics Olympiad—a boy hounded by the media for interviews. Even now, typing his name into a search engine would bring up page after page chronicling his extraordinary achievements.
Back then, she hadn’t understood what she was feeling.
Years later, when she looked back, she realized that perhaps it hadn’t even been love.
Love came with hope. With anticipation. With the possibility of secretly doing something about it.
But she could do nothing.
What she felt for Jiang Yushen seemed to be something lighter, so light that she hadn’t even known it existed at the time. Only after countless recollections did its outline slowly emerge.
Like an undeveloped film negative. Only when submerged in chemicals did the image appear—a person’s silhouette that had been there all along.
May 8, 2013.
About eight years ago.
There was only one month left before the college entrance examination, the final stretch of preparation. Ruan Nian heard that he was going abroad to study.
He hadn’t come to their final class dinner before graduation.
Some classmates were talking.
“He’s going abroad.”
“Then is he still taking the college entrance exam?”
“Probably not.”
“Someone that gifted doesn’t need to take it.”
“True. We can’t compare ourselves to a genius.”
…
Ruan Nian sat in a corner, listening to them talk as she drank a glass of beer.
It was bitter and astringent.
She didn’t finish it.
After that, she never saw Jiang Yushen again.
She didn’t start following celebrities until after she began working.
One day, bored, she was scrolling through her phone when she came across a clip from a youth drama.
The second male lead wore a blue shirt and stood beside an old wooden window, backlit by the sun, his head lowered as though lost in thought.
She stared at him for a long time before searching for the actor’s name.
His name was Xiao Zhou.
From certain angles, the profile of his face was a little similar. The curve of his head when he looked down was a little similar. Even that slight sense of standing apart from the crowd, of never quite fitting in, was a little similar.
Three parts resemblance.
No trace of the spirit.
But it was enough.
Other fans chased after their idols and looked for substitutes in real life.
Ruan Nian did the opposite.
Following a celebrity could be done openly. She could spend money to buy a chance to see him, get an autograph, or even just see him smile on a screen.
It was a transaction, plain and simple. Money changed hands, and neither side owed the other anything.
But Jiang Yushen was different.
He wasn’t a commodity, and she could never be his customer.
That pitiful thread connecting them had begun in high school, with the occasional time she’d turned around to borrow a pen or ask him about an easy math problem. From the beginning, it had been destined to be unequal.
And that thread had been severed completely the summer he left the country to study abroad.
So all the time she had once spent waiting hopelessly was redirected into Xiao Zhou’s album sales, endorsement products, and concert tickets.
At least a fangirl looked more rational than someone nursing an unrequited love.
That afternoon, just after lunch break, Zhang Shiyue emerged from the conference room, wearing her usual brisk, capable expression.
She had joined the company two years before Ruan Nian and was one of her seniors. She had helped Ruan Nian out more than once at work.
“Nian Nian, are you free tomorrow?”
Ruan Nian stopped typing and looked up.
“Tomorrow morning, I’m taking Grandma for a follow-up appointment.”
“Perfect, then.” Zhang Shiyue came over and lowered her voice. “There’s an industry networking event at the Zhouji Hotel tomorrow afternoon. Anna suddenly has to meet an important client, and I’m worried I won’t be able to keep an eye on everything by myself. If you’re free, could you cover for me?”
“No problem.”
Ruan Nian agreed without hesitation. For professional or personal reasons, she had no reason to refuse.
“Great. Sorry to trouble you. I’ll send you the exact time and exhibition hall number on WeChat later.”
Zhang Shiyue patted her shoulder. Her phone happened to ring at that moment. After glancing at the caller ID, she hurried toward the corridor.
After graduating from an ordinary university with a degree in marketing, Ruan Nian had gone through several rounds of grueling written tests and interviews before finally earning a place at Nuoruihua Pharmaceutical Technology, a publicly listed company, where she became a pharmaceutical representative.
She had been there for nearly a year now.
She was already accustomed to waiting in hospital corridors for doctors so she could pitch products. She had learned to stay late at night memorizing complicated drug inserts. She had even learned to raise a glass and drink with clients at dinner tables, imitating the adults around her.
She was slowly beginning to understand that once you grew up, reality had a way of forcing you to mature quickly—even if growing up meant having your sharp edges worn down and learning to endure hardship.
…
The following morning, Zhexi Hospital.
Ruan Nian accompanied her grandmother through a series of follow-up examinations.
It was a weekday, and the hospital wasn’t particularly crowded. They had arrived early, and before ten o’clock, all the tests were finished.
Grandma was in good spirits today. She took Ruan Nian’s hand.
“Nian Nian, shall we go home for lunch?”
“No. I have work outside this afternoon.”
Ruan Nian supported her grandmother toward the hospital exit and booked a car through the app.
“Grandma, I think I’ll be home a little late today. Make yourself something light. Don’t wait for me.”
“All right, all right. Go on and take care of your work. If you haven’t eaten enough, call me beforehand. I’ll cook something for you.”
Grandma smiled kindly, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes relaxing.
She was seventy-two this year. She had a few chronic conditions that required medication year-round, but she had a good outlook on life and was in fairly good shape most of the time.
The taxi arrived soon.
Ruan Nian carefully handed the bag of new medication to the old woman.
“They changed your medicine this time. The dosage and instructions are different. I’ll teach you again when I get home tonight.”
“All right, all right. Don’t worry. Go take care of your work.”
Ruan Nian watched her grandmother get into the car.
The vehicle slowly pulled away.
She quietly took out her phone and looked at the appointment record for 11:00 a.m.
Then she turned around and went back into the hospital.
In her hand was the payment receipt for the medication her grandmother had just bought.
The bill—2,789 yuan—was painfully conspicuous.
Fortunately, her sales commission had been good over the past two months, enough to cover these necessary expenses.
She stood in the waiting area on the second floor.
The smell of disinfectant hung thick in the air…
Because of her chronic migraines, she had become, fortunately, Patient No. 78—the kind of patient who took her own life very seriously.
Her doctor had recommended that she visit the endocrinology department to have her hormone levels checked and systematically rule out possible triggers.
Numbers flashed rapidly across the electronic display, as though they were traces deliberately left behind by God in the act of saving humanity.
“Patient No. 78, please proceed to Examination Room Five.”
A mechanical female voice sounded over the intercom.
Ruan Nian glanced at the registration slip in her hand.
It was her.
No mistake.
The previous patient emerged from the room—a white-haired elderly woman clutching a stack of test results. Ruan Nian stepped aside to let her pass.
Click.
The door opened with the faintest sound.
The examination room was small. A south-facing window stood half-open, and November sunlight spilled inside, falling across the doctor’s shoulder.
The doctor was looking down as he wrote in the chart. Then his gaze returned to the computer.
He didn’t look at her, asking almost casually,
“Where does it hurt?”
The instant she heard that voice, Ruan Nian felt something inside her skull give a soft, almost imperceptible hum.
Then, all at once, it felt as though every drop of blood in her body rushed back toward her heart. Her fingertips went numb. Her eardrums throbbed. She unconsciously held her breath, while a dull pressure settled over her chest.
So this was what extreme nervousness felt like.
It really could feel like dying.
She stood frozen, her fingernails digging deep into her palm. She relied on that small, sharp pain to keep herself conscious.
“My head… has been hurting a little these past few days…”
When the words came out, she heard the uncontrollable tremor in her own voice.
The tip of the doctor’s pen paused over the chart for the briefest instant.
He looked up.
Dust drifted slowly through the sunlight. The second hand of the wall clock ticked forward by one notch.
His gaze landed on Ruan Nian.
Only for a fleeting moment.
Then he looked back at the computer.
His long fingers tapped once against the keyboard.
As though he hadn’t recognized her.
As though he had never known her at all.
When he spoke again, his frozen voice seemed to crack open ever so slightly.
“Have you been sleeping well? Did you eat breakfast today?”
“Yes—I did.”
Ruan Nian heard her own voice as though it were coming from somewhere far away, accompanied by the persistent ringing in her ears.
She wasn’t even sure whether she had actually spoken aloud.
“When did the headaches start? How long do they last?”
“Where exactly does it hurt? Is it a dull pressure or a stabbing pain?”
She opened her mouth.
Her throat felt blocked by something, dry and painfully raw.
She had imagined their reunion countless times.
Perhaps it would happen at a class reunion. Perhaps they would merely brush past each other in a crowd. She would smile and say, Long time no see.
…
She had never imagined this.
Time had passed so quickly.
When they met again, it was already eight years later.
Eight years.
Long enough to transform an entire city. Long enough for a boy to become a man. Long enough for a flutter of the heart to settle into something snatched the registration slip that looked like forgetting.
Yet not long enough for her to learn how to forget one person.
Ruan Nian had never imagined they would meet again like this.
The doctor waited when she failed to answer for a long time, then raised his eyes toward her.
The moment their gazes met again, Ruan Nian recoiled as though she’d been burned.
She shot to her feet.
The chair scraped violently against the floor.
“…”
She couldn’t answer.
She snatched the registration slip from the desk, turned, and pushed open the door.
Her movements were so hurried that she was almost stumbling over herself, like someone fleeing the scene of something terrifying.
When the door closed behind her, she heard the sound of a chair being pushed back inside.
Would he come after her?
Out of a doctor’s sense of responsibility toward a patient behaving abnormally?