Five minutes later, Lu Yan arrived at the department.
Only one light was on in the hallway, casting a dim glow. She lowered her head to change her shoes, took out her locker room access card, and pushed open the door.
After changing into her work clothes and cap, she walked down the wide corridor. Everything was empty except for two operating rooms at the end of the hallway where lights were on.
She stepped on the sensor switch, and the door to Operating Room Five opened automatically.
Two general surgeons were suturing skin on the operating table, while the circulating nurse and scrub nurse were counting instruments in low voices.
Hearing Lu Yan enter, they looked up, recognized her, and nodded in greeting.
Lu Yan glanced at the pile of instruments and concluded: that it seemed they had just finished an emergency surgery for intestinal obstruction.
She walked over to her colleague, Huang Wei.
“You’re here.” The surgery was in its final stages, and to help the patient regain consciousness, Huang Wei was “washing the lungs.”
Upon seeing Lu Yan, before he could continue speaking, he was startled, “Why do you look so pale?”
Lu Yan forced a smile: “It’s nothing, I just walked here too quickly.”
Huang Wei stared at Lu Yan strangely, his eyes showing concern.
He and Lu Yan were “senior and junior colleagues.” Both were eight-year program graduates from S Medical University, and both studied under Department Director Yu Bo.
Since Yu Bo was approaching retirement, he didn’t take any more eight-year program students after Lu Yan. This made her his youngest student.
Because of this, Huang Wei had often looked after Lu Yan at work, both openly and subtly. Tonight, if he hadn’t been completely overwhelmed, he wouldn’t have called her in at the last minute.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” Lu Yan smiled, changing the subject, “By the way, Senior Huang, what surgery is next door?”
“Gynecology has an emergency laparoscopy, but they’re still in consultation. The patient hasn’t entered the operating room yet.”
As they spoke, the anesthesia machine’s breathing curve showed that the patient had begun breathing independently. Huang Wei could no longer focus on Lu Yan and concentrated on the screen, carefully guiding the recovery process.
Lu Yan immediately said obediently: “Senior, you’re busy. I’ll go prepare in the next operating room.”
Circulating nurse Liu Yajuan heard this and looked up at Lu Yan: “Dr. Lu, don’t rush. Gynecology just called to say the patient is still deciding between conservative treatment and surgery. It’ll probably be another hour before they arrive. Besides, we still haven’t reached the backup nurse on call—”
Couldn’t reach the backup nurse? Lu Yan slowed her pace, surprised.
Whether doctor or nurse, anyone on backup duty must be available 24 hours a day, and there would be consequences if they couldn’t be contacted.
Since she started working, she had never heard of being unable to reach someone on backup duty.
She saw Liu Yajuan’s troubled expression but didn’t press the matter, just nodding: “Then I’ll go to the break room for some water.”
As she was leaving the operating room, a nursing assistant in her early twenties entered, saying as she walked: “Teacher Liu, we still can’t reach Wang’s phone, and no one’s answering at her home number either.”
“Still can’t get through?” Liu Yajuan made a quick decision, “Then quickly call the second backup.”
Lu Yan frowned. There was only one nurse surnamed Wang in the operating room—Wang Qianqian, petite with delicate features, who rarely spoke due to her introverted nature.
In her impression, Wang Qianqian was somewhat timid but extremely conscientious at work, not the type to neglect her duties.
A moment later, the nursing assistant returned: “Teacher Liu, we reached Zhou. She says she’s coming right away.”
Liu Yajuan seemed relieved: “That’s good.”
Then she lowered her voice to complain: “This little Wang, what’s going on with her tonight.”
After the lengthy morning handover, every pore in Lu Yan’s body screamed exhaustion. Besides that gynecological laparoscopy last night, several more emergency cases had come in succession. She and her senior colleague each supervised a resident, with each team handling one operating room, and neither had closed their eyes all night.
Department rules stated that in cases like hers, being called in late at night, she could take compensatory leave the next day.
So after changing clothes in the locker room, she said goodbye to her colleagues and headed home.
Leaving through the hospital’s east gate meant passing through that narrow alley again. As she approached the alley entrance, Lu Yan’s steps unconsciously slowed.
At eight-thirty in the morning, the busiest time of day, the alley was filled with people coming and going, their voices creating a constant bustle. Most were residents, particularly retired hospital staff, who recognized Lu Yan and greeted her: “Little Lu, night shift again?”
She smiled back: “Yes, just got off.”
As she spoke, she suddenly remembered reading somewhere: fear has an expiration date—things that seem terrifying at certain moments might not be worth fearing at all under broad daylight.
Standing at the alley entrance now, she experienced something similar—that bone-chilling sensation from last night, like being doused with ice water, was gone, leaving only a profound sense of melancholy.
She knew, of course, that identical clothes and hair clips, even similar walking patterns and movements, could only be coincidental.
After all, when the incident happened years ago, she had personally accompanied the aunt to identify the body at the hospital.
At this thought, her chest tightened with pain, and she hurried home.
Arriving home, she couldn’t help but sigh in relief.
For her, this small home was the most comforting place in the world. The moment she returned, a fresh atmosphere would envelop her, instantly dissolving even the deepest fatigue.
After putting down her bag, her first task was to shower.
Coming out of the bathroom, she went to the kitchen to cook noodles.
The apartment was less than seventy square meters, a second-hand property she had bought a few months ago from a retired hospital professor. Though small, it had everything she needed—her so-called “security money” from her thrice-married father.
Her father had lived a romantic life, with countless women. When she was six, due to her parents’ broken relationship, she moved out of that bright two-story house with her mother.
Although her father’s romantic life was a mess, he never neglected them financially. Over the years, he never delayed child support payments and didn’t skimp on Lu Yan’s education and study abroad expenses.
When he heard mid-year that Lu Yan had successfully secured a position at the city’s best hospital, First Affiliated Hospital, he was so pleased that he transferred a sum of money to her account the very next morning.
Lu Yan, full of ambition at the time, saw a clear path ahead and believed she could take care of her mother’s life with her strength, not wanting to accept this “gift.”
Just as she was about to politely decline, her mother stopped her.
“Take it,” her mother glanced at her, voice weary, “Just because you carry his surname, Lu, why shouldn’t you accept this money?”
Lu Yan looked at her mother, noticing how wrinkles had quietly crept onto what had once been a beautiful young face.
The fading of beauty is always particularly heartbreaking, especially when that beauty belongs to one’s mother.
She also knew that her father had recently bought a “luxury apartment” in the most expensive downtown development, all to prepare for his third marriage. In comparison, this “security money” for mother and daughter perhaps meant nothing to him.
In her mother’s words, besides a touch of resentment, there was also consideration for the future.
So she finally overcame her psychological barrier and graciously accepted, even making a cheerful thank-you call to her father.
Because her mother hadn’t retired yet, she continued living in East City, while Lu Yan moved here after some simple renovations for the convenience of work.
After eating and drinking her fill, she turned off her phone and collapsed onto the bed. Her crawling posture resembled a puppy’s. She was so exhausted she didn’t want to move even her toes, her craving for sleep reaching unprecedented levels.
She slept until evening, still feeling it wasn’t enough.
After waking, she turned on her phone, and countless text messages poured in, dinging continuously, notifying her of missed calls during the power-off period.
Her heart tightened, thinking the hospital might have urgent business, but relaxed after checking her inbox.
Except for two unknown numbers, all the calls were from Tang Jie.
Tang Jie was her high school classmate and longtime best friend.
Huh, wasn’t she traveling in Sri Lanka? When did she return?
She suspiciously dialed back.
Just then, her phone “ding—” rang with a WeChat message.
“Beautiful, what are you up to? Are you coming to tonight’s alumni gathering? Everyone’s here except you.”
Lu Yan looked carefully; the sender’s profile picture showed a beautiful young woman, with the name Ding Jing.
She quickly put down her water cup, puzzled. Hadn’t she blocked this person already? Why were they still on her contact list?