Song Cong disappeared after receiving a phone call during class break. Only when Huan’er returned home that evening did she learn the reason from her mother: that afternoon an emergency patient came in, and after waiting a long time without seeing a doctor, the family members started arguing with an intern nurse. Song Cong’s mother, protective of her staff, said something about doctors coming soon as there were more serious cases, but her attitude probably wasn’t good enough and angered the other party. A male family member kicked her from behind, causing her head to hit the bed rail and lose consciousness.

“Intracranial hemorrhage, the situation is not optimistic,” Mrs. Chen took off her apron. “Eat by yourself, I need to go check on her.”

If the mother said “not optimistic,” it meant things were very bad.

Huan’er stopped her, “Where’s Song Cong?”

Mrs. Chen hurried to leave, “Haven’t seen him since the surgery ended, give him a call and ask.”

She had made ten calls since the afternoon, all of them hung up.

Huan’er grabbed her keys and ran downstairs, rushing straight to Song’s house – no one there. She turned to the next building unit, finding only Jing Qichi home alone. After hearing what happened, he ran out without even putting his shoes on properly, saying “To the hospital.”

They were no strangers to difficult patients’ families, having heard all sorts of stories about hospital violence growing up, but never imagined it would one day happen to someone close to them.

Outside the ICU, two mothers stood guard on either side of Song’s father, sometimes silent, sometimes talking in very low voices. Huan’er and Jing Qichi stood watching from the corridor entrance, neither approaching. At times like this, as children who could offer no intellectual help, not causing trouble was the greatest assistance. Their primary task was to find Song Cong.

Not at home, not at the hospital – there was only one place left.

Between late spring and early summer, wildflowers were poking their heads out at the base, beginning another season of untamed growth among grass clusters and tree roots. Song Cong sat before the railing, arms around his knees, staring at some flower or other.

Huan’er and Jing Qichi walked over, sitting down on the ground in front of him, keeping him company in silence.

Spring scenery, spring night, spring breeze – such good times seemed like a luxury.

A voice in his heart said, sorry, you have no right to enjoy this.

Song Cong felt dazed, yet he also felt extremely clear-headed. He was so clear-headed he even tried to understand the opposing side – having a sick family member but not seeing a doctor for so long, then the head nurse just impatiently making excuses about delays, wouldn’t anyone get angry? But he found he couldn’t understand. Just thinking about it made him want to tear that person apart. No, he wanted to treat them the same way – only then would they and their family know what it felt like to have a perfectly healthy person pushed into surgery and remain unconscious.

What had his mother done wrong to deserve this? Just because she got anxious and talked back a bit? Just because she didn’t speak humbly and patiently?

But why should she have to? She worked day and night, worried herself sick over strangers, was too busy to care for her own family and son, yet still had to speak humbly to them – what was wrong with this world?

Everything has cause and effect, but Song Cong couldn’t find the reason for this outcome.

He buried his head between his knees, saying softly to his friends, “Right now, I don’t know why I want to study medicine anymore.”

Growing up surrounded by it, he had been proud of his parents, and honored by the aunts and uncles at the hospital, attached to that renovated and expanded building that always smelled of disinfectant. Treating illness and saving people wasn’t a responsibility to him, it was a faith. A faith he revered, admired, and wanted to devote his life to pursuing. But now that faith had become something ethereal – what good would wearing that white coat do? Wait for someday to be violently judged by ignorant people?

Jing Qichi patted his shoulder, unable to find any words of comfort.

This incident struck not only this family but also destroyed Song Cong’s long-held determination.

“Let’s go upstairs and take a look, hiding isn’t the solution,” Huan’er stood up, extending her hand to Song Cong. Seeing he didn’t take it, she simply grabbed his wrist and pulled him up forcefully.

She had always known that playing hide and seek with disaster was a guaranteed loss.

Night deepened. Huan’er and Jing Qichi returned home with their mothers, while the Song father and son stayed at the hospital. Mrs. Chen told her daughter the first 24 hours after surgery were critical, with a high risk of secondary bleeding, requiring heightened vigilance.

Huan’er asked, “How will this be resolved?”

“The hospital office is still gathering information. The other side claims they didn’t use much force in the heat of the moment. In any case, we have to wait until your Aunt Hao wakes up.”

“Mom,” Huan’er looked at her mother, “being a doctor is too hard.”

Over time, pressure, 24-hour on-call, and personal time compressed to almost nothing – these weren’t even the worst of it. The hardest part was that doctors weren’t worthy of understanding. Treating illness and saving lives was their mission, as if relaxing for a moment was a dereliction of duty, any slight oversight deemed a moral failing. Though born in peaceful times without gunfire, they walked in an invisible minefield. What would it take for everyone to understand they weren’t sages, that they too had the ordinary irritations and frustrations found everywhere in the world?

They were just normal people, with two eyes, a nose, a mouth, the same internal organs, hormones, and dopamine, pressured by family to go on blind dates, anxious about professional titles, earning a salary to do what needed to be done – how had this group been forcibly elevated to a position they couldn’t come down from?

Huan’er had many questions. Because of Mrs. Song, long-unanswered questions burst forth like a mountain flood.

“Don’t be too pessimistic,” Mrs. Chen saw her daughter’s thoughts and patiently guided her. “Doctor-patient relationships are inherently complex. Your Aunt Lin has been working on establishing a medical mediation room. Ideally, arbitration committee lawyers will become resident mediators – things are developing in a good direction.”

So the deputy director carried such heavy responsibilities.

Huan’er muttered to herself, “Will Aunt Hao wake up?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Chen stroked her daughter’s head. “Huan’er, you must believe heaven won’t disappoint good people.”

Huan’er smiled, “There you go again.”

Learning materialism but practicing idealism so skillfully.

“Hey, refusing food that’s already at your mouth,” Dr. Qian shot her a disdainful look. “The life experience your mother shares is precious – chew and digest it well, it’s much more useful than those problems your teachers lecture about.”

The second day, the third day, the first week – Mrs. Song entered a long sleep. Her physical indicators showed no abnormal fluctuations, as if even in sleep she didn’t want to trouble her colleagues. Song Cong began arriving late and leaving early from school. When classmates occasionally asked, Huan’er and Jing Qichi would answer that he had family matters. Song Cong concealed himself well, remaining focused and diligent, meticulously completing class duties assigned by teachers, carefully explaining problems to those who asked for help – showing no signs of depression in any aspect. Until the incident made local newspaper headlines, this emotionally charged article condemning violence against medical staff was published, and people immediately made the connection. Tianhé wasn’t that big, with the parent generation’s overlapping networks, finding Song Cong wasn’t difficult.

When the top student with excellent moral and academic performance encountered such a thing, everyone offered sympathy. Sympathy only in private – spoken openly it became pity.

One day after morning exercises, Qi Qi, who hadn’t been in contact for long, suddenly appeared before the three of them. She grabbed Song Cong’s arm and asked right away, “Are you okay?”

Song Cong was rather surprised, nodding uncertainly.

He had thought Qi Qi was also one of those expressing sympathy behind his back.

“I just found out,” Qi Qi stood beside him, walking while looking up at him. “How is Auntie?”

“Still hasn’t woken up,” Song Cong answered.

After walking in silence for a few steps, Qi Qi asked, “Would it be alright if I visited? Auntie took good care of me when I was at your house.”

He remembered then – his mother had indeed been concerned about this orange-loving classmate.

Suddenly feeling distressed, Song Cong smiled bitterly, “It’s fine, but let’s wait until she wakes up.”

Seeing Qi Qi still somewhat uneasy, and still not knowing why she had suddenly grown distant, Huan’er took a few quick steps, “I’m going to the bathroom, heading off first.”

“I’ll go too,” Jing Qichi followed.

“We don’t even use the same bathroom…”

“Huan’er,” Qi Qi called out, pausing before saying, “You did very well on this exam, congratulations.”

The grade rankings were posted on the bulletin board – had to count 240 people from front to back to find her.

“Oh, oh,” Huan’er responded, “you too, keep up the good work.”

Qi Qi consistently ranked in the top twenty of the liberal arts class.

After they left, Qi Qi walked with Song Cong to the science building. Until he expressed confusion with his eyes, she calmly and sincerely said, “My father is a law firm partner. If you need to file a lawsuit, he knows many good lawyers.”

Song Cong’s refusal was caught in his throat by her next words. Qi Qi said, “Song Cong, you can trouble me.”

You don’t need to understand me. Even just as classmates, I’m willing to help you through this difficult time.

“Thank you.”

Qi Qi’s heart danced with joy all day because of this thank you. The last time she felt this way was when she got first in class – not from teacher’s praise or parent’s compliments, but because a classmate said they found her well-matched with Song Cong, a perfect pair of liberal arts and science top students. However, it was just an unusually good performance, and the next test came so quickly these words hadn’t even caused ripples in the experimental building, let alone cross the administrative building and garden to reach Song Cong’s ears. She worked desperately hard just to get first place once more, because only then would she be noticed, and only then would such words naturally spread. As for Song Cong, even if it was just gently reminding him of her existence, Qi Qi thought it was worth it.