At seven o’clock sharp the next morning, her mentor Dr. Huo called, urgent. “Yipin, the hospital’s at a loss—I need your help.”

“You flatter me.”

“A textile factory worker got her hair caught in a machine, tore off her scalp. She’s been stabilized and is out of immediate danger, but none of my staff feel confident enough to reconstruct her face. You need to come right away.”

“Now?”

“I’ll give you twenty minutes.”

Yipin laughed. “Understood.”

Another serious workplace injury—the poor always seemed to suffer the most, an undeniable fact.

At the hospital, she went into the conference room and found Dr. Huo along with a dozen medical students.

The patient’s photograph was displayed. Yipin made a sound of acknowledgment.

She heard the students gasp, murmuring among themselves. “The whole scalp, eyebrows, and ears torn away—how horrific!”

“How could this possibly be sewn back together?”

Yipin immediately pointed out several key considerations, including the issue of pooled blood and hair follicle regeneration.

“When did the accident happen?”

“During the night shift, around ten p.m.”

“How old is the patient?”

“Twenty-two.”

Youth was an advantage—whether for the spirit or the body, recovery tended to be faster. Yipin proposed several surgical plans, and once approval was given, she entered the operating room at ten in the morning. The patient’s mother wept in the waiting room; Yipin gently rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t be afraid. She’ll be all right.”

“Doctor—” the poor mother could barely speak through her sobs.

“I promise you her face will look just as it did before.”

This was an extraordinarily bold promise to make.

The surgery was long and complex, requiring a surgical microscope for many parts. Partway through, Yipin already felt her stomach churning, but she suppressed it and pressed on. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

The nurse noticed. “Dr. Yang, are you unwell?”

“I’m fine.”

She persevered until the surgery was complete.

Stepping out of the operating room, she took a painkiller and discussed the patient’s follow-up treatment with the attending physician.

She looked up and realized it was already five in the afternoon.

Yipin felt more exhausted than she ever had before, wanting nothing more than to go home, shower, and rest.

In the car, her clinic called.

The nurse said, “Dr. Yang, a Mrs. Jin says she has an appointment with you.”

“Mrs. Jin?”

“Yes, tea at her house.”

Ah! Right, she’d completely forgotten again.

Yipin immediately turned the car around and headed toward the Jin residence.

When Mrs. Jin opened the door and saw Yipin’s exhausted face, she felt for her. “It’s all right—the nurse already told me you were called away for an emergency workplace injury to save someone’s life. We’ll reschedule.”

“Mrs. Jin, you’re very understanding.”

“Well, you’re here now—sit down and have a bowl of chicken soup to build your strength back up.”

Yipin nodded gratefully.

“Does your mother know how hard her daughter works? She’d be heartbroken if she knew!”

Yipin only smiled and said nothing.

Mrs. Jin’s chicken soup had ginger in it, wonderfully soothing to the stomach, and Yipin gradually recovered her strength.

She asked gently, “Has that person already left?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Jin sighed. “He waited from three until five, and when you never showed up, he left quite disappointed.”

Yipin felt a pang of regret.

Mr. Jin offered comfort. “Never mind, we’ll arrange another time.”

Little Bailuo woke from her nap, and Yipin played with her for a while.

Mrs. Jin said, “Most kindergartens are reluctant to accept her.”

That was to be expected—wherever there was any perceived flaw, even a slight delay in development, children tended to be excluded.

“I don’t want her sent to a special school either. There’s nothing wrong with Bailuo’s mind.”

“Be patient. You’ll certainly find the right school eventually.”

“That’s really all we can do.”

“Take your time, the road ahead is long, Dr. Yang—we’re already mentally prepared for the journey.”

Yipin was about to take her leave when someone knocked at the door. Mr. Jin went to answer it, and she heard him say, “Forgot something? Come in and get it.”

Then a tall figure appeared at the door in the fading evening light.

Mrs. Jin lit up with surprised delight. “Zaihao, you’re back!” “The pastries our eldest daughter bought are the finest kind.”

“She’s devoted to her mother—she wouldn’t bring home anything less than the best.”

“Eldest daughter, I hear Yao Yili had work done by you—which areas did you do?”

Yipin sat down and picked up some knitting needles, fumbling through a few stitches, full of mistakes. The aunties laughed. “You’re a master surgeon, and yet you can’t manage this?”

She’d grown quite rusty.

Mrs. Yang lamented, “She has a younger sister too—spends all day with animals, taking in stray cats and dogs.”

“You’re so fortunate—both your daughters are doctors. What good karma you must have earned in a past life.”

Yipin walked out to the balcony, murmuring to herself: what good karma indeed—more like bad karma from a life before.

She noticed next door a nanny patiently minding a small child, the infant still tiny, sitting in its stroller. With a doctor’s sharp eye, she immediately spotted something wrong.

That child had only four fingers on each hand, no thumbs—someday it wouldn’t even be able to hold a pen.

Mrs. Yang came over and asked her daughter, “What are you looking at?”

“Mother, do you know that family?”

Mrs. Yang followed her daughter’s gaze. “Oh, that’s the Sun family.”

“Have that child brought to see me. He needs surgery.”

“Don’t go meddling in other people’s business—they already have a doctor.”

“There’s no reason to delay. The sooner, the better.”

Mrs. Yang said, “Medicine has advanced so much—everything can be corrected now. Your grandmother used to say that back in the countryside, people with cleft lips, cleft palates, birthmarks… they just had to live with it their whole lives.”

“Being different is very painful.”

“I know you understand.”

“Where have the other aunties gone?”

“They’ve all gone home after the gathering.”

“I still have things to do.”

“Off to where this time?”

Yipin laughed. “Removing a mole from a movie star.”

She went to check on the badly injured factory worker.

The patient was still asleep, her head wrapped in bandages, but no longer in serious danger.

Her mother sat at the bedside, head bowed, silent.

Yipin thought of her own mother, crouched down, and took the woman’s hands in both of hers.

The worried mother looked up and saw the doctor, greeting her timidly.

“Will she recover?”

“She will, absolutely.”

“Will she be able to work?”

“Just like anyone else.”

The mother seemed to relax somewhat.

Only then did Yipin return to her clinic to remove the mole for the actress.

Yao Yili said, “Doctor, thank you for that night.”

Yipin said gently, “What night? This mole needs three stitches—there will be a bit of pain.”

“Yes, doctor.”

Unpleasant things were best forgotten as quickly as possible.

The procedure took twenty minutes.

Suddenly Yao Yili said, “I wish I had a sister like you.”

Yipin paused, then smiled. “My own sister and I hardly ever find time to see each other.”

Yao Yili got dressed and left. Then, Cen Meilan arrived—the little girl was all smiles, finally able to hold her head up and walk with confidence.

Yipin said, “Let me have a look at you.”

Mrs. Cen was thoroughly satisfied. “Dr. Yang, your hands work miracles.”

Meilan spun in a circle. “I can wear a swimsuit now—a small size fits perfectly.”

There really were people who didn’t want an oversized chest, after all.

That evening, the private line on her desk rang.

“So, still at the clinic tonight?”

It was Wang Shenpo’s voice.

Yipin instantly berated herself for the oversight—she’d forgotten to change her phone number.

She said quickly, “I have a patient here. It’s not a good time to talk.”

She hung up and pulled the cord from the wall, immediately writing a note to remind the nurse to change the number.

It wasn’t about anything in particular—she simply didn’t want to hear that voice anymore.

She locked up the clinic and left.

The parking lot was already empty; Yipin slowly pulled her car out.

Her career was thriving, and she should have felt fulfilled—and yet Yipin felt strangely lonely.

Back home, she saw a large gift box on the table. Who had sent it?

She opened it to find a black, sheer, slip-like evening dress, along with a note: “Dr. Yang, you should go out dancing sometime too—Yili.”

Yipin couldn’t help but laugh. What a mischievous spirit.

No—even with a date, she wouldn’t wear something so provocative.

The next morning, a fellow student came to see her.

Yipin welcomed her warmly. “Li Benling, what brings you here? Please, sit.”

“Senior sister, you still remember my name.”

“No need to stand on ceremony. What’s the matter?”

“Dr. Huo mentioned you have a lightweight laser surgical tool.”

She held up an illustration of what looked like a small mechanical arm.

“Yes, it’s very practical.”

“Senior sister, could I borrow it? I’m heading to Yunnan and need advanced equipment.”

“Is this for the volunteer team?”

“That’s right.”

“Benling, take it. Borrow it for as long as you need, and I’ll cover any maintenance.”

“Senior sister—” She was too moved to speak.

“Is your medical supply situation sorted out?”

“All resolved.”

Yipin nodded. “When do you leave?”

“Early next month. There’s still time to sort out the details.”

“I really admire what you’re doing.”

“Senior sister, if you ever have time, you’re welcome to come see it firsthand.”

Yipin felt a stirring in her heart.

“I should get going—still have equipment to arrange.”

“Safe travels.”

After her fellow student left, Yipin remarked, “How admirable.”

The nurse smiled. “You don’t have to suffer to be of use to society. In a commercial city, a stockbroker can be just as valuable as a Doctors Without Borders volunteer.”

Yipin smiled. “Thank you.”

This veteran nurse truly was a treasure.

Soon after, Hu Kexin came in for a follow-up. She’d been using a special cosmetic product, and her skin looked much more normal now.

Yipin examined her. “Hm, good progress.”

She kept telling the doctor, “Last night, I went to wait outside his building again.”

Yipin paused. “Why would you do that?”

“Resentment.”

“That’s a life sentence you’d be handing yourself—never to be free.”

“I waited half the night. He finally came home, but the person driving was another woman, dressed provocatively, very intimate with him.”

Yipin was startled—this was unexpected.

“Doctor, I suddenly understood!” Hu Kexin waved her hand. “I drove away right then and there. I won’t go near that place again.”

Yipin was genuinely pleased for her—this was what it meant to have an awakening.

“It turns out that even if I hadn’t lost him then, I would have lost him eventually anyway. Do you understand, doctor?”

Yipin nodded. “I understand completely.”

“So there’s really no point in enduring more physical suffering. Doctor, let’s stop the treatment here.”

Yipin smiled warmly. “No.” She placed her hand over the patient’s. “This is exactly the right time to continue—for your own future, to live beautifully for yourself.”

“Dr. Yang, you’re so kind.”

“After the skin is fully restored, you’ll still need to work hard, still need to pay every bill yourself. Life won’t be any different—don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Hu Kexin laughed.

“Next time we’ll work on the eye area—that’s my specialty.”

Patient and doctor shook hands warmly.

After she left, Yipin asked the nurse, “Would you ever go wait outside an ex-boyfriend’s building?”

The nurse shot back, “Wait for what?”

Yipin laughed. “I could tell right away you’re not that type.”

“Please, if he showed up near my place, I’d call the police.”

“Good, take care of yourself.”

“What about you, doctor?”

“I don’t have time for that.”

“Oh right, doctor, the phone in your office has been switched to the new number.”

“Thank you.”

The nurse glanced at her. “What medication are you taking?”

“For stomach acid.”

“Go see a specialist.”

“Who in this city doesn’t have stomach trouble.”

“You’re at the hospital every day anyway—might as well stop by. I’ll set up an appointment with Dr. Ye for you.”

“All right.”

“Also, someone’s coming later to pack up the laser surgical tool. The new one you ordered won’t arrive until next week.”

“No problem.”

“No patients this afternoon—you’re free.”

Yipin went to visit Erjing.

The old tortoiseshell cat had already been picked up by its owner.

The badly injured stray dog was still hospitalized.

Erjing sighed. “Even a dog has good luck or bad luck.”

Yipin went over and cradled the dog in her arms. “What’s her name?”

“Lucky. I’ve adopted her.”

“Mother’s going to have something to say about this.” Erjing giggled.

“Mother always has something on her mind.”

“Next month I’m going to a conference in America, and I’ll pick up some new techniques while I’m there.”

“Before long they’ll be able to transplant an entire body—that limb-reattachment procedure you mentioned is practically a precursor to head transplants.”

Yipin laughed too.

“Sis, I want to ask someone out.”

“Oh, the old cat’s owner?”

“Exactly.”

“No time like the present, no need to hesitate—hesitate and you’ll lose your chance.”

“Thanks for the advice. But how do I even bring it up?”

“Something like: ‘Hey, I happened to pass by a bookstore and saw a booklet on senior cat nutrition, picked one up for you—when’s a good time to stop by and get it?'”

“Right, why didn’t I think of that.”

“Old cats have delicate stomachs, need regular vitamin injections—oh, and we just took in a tortoiseshell kitten that looks exactly like her, you should come see it.”

“Won’t that be too obvious?”

Yipin spread her hands.

“Courtship was never meant to be subtle.”

Erjing laughed.

“What do you like about him?”

“I’m not like you—you’re a spiritual person, all about emotional connection first. I like his broad shoulders.”

Yipin said nothing.

Even between sisters, some things were too personal to discuss comfortably.

She set Lucky down, about to confide in her sister about her own troubles.

Suddenly an emergency call came in for Erjing.

“An injured black bear? Yes, we have adequate facilities. Send it over right away? No problem.”

“How exciting,” a colleague reported eagerly. “How could there be a black bear roaming around—the ecosystem’s really changing, driving wildlife to the edge.”

This emergency room was busier than any human hospital.

Before long, a badly weakened black bear was carried in. Erjing immediately fitted it with a muzzle and administered anesthesia.

“How was it injured?”

“Chased up a tree by villagers, and unfortunately fell.”

Yipin couldn’t bear to watch any longer and went home to rest.

Mrs. Jin called again. “Yipin, come for dinner.”

“I—”

“I’ll send Zaihao to pick you up.”

“I couldn’t possibly trouble him like that.”

“It was his idea to invite you. I made duck-stock wontons specially.”

“Mrs. Jin, you could open a restaurant back in America someday.”

“Let’s cure Bailuo first.”

“I—”

“In thirty minutes, Zaihao will come up and ring your bell.”

There was something rather charming about this kind of benevolent tyranny.

Yipin showered and got ready.

This was always the hardest time of year to dress for—tired of the winter clothes, but spring wear still felt too thin. She just added a wool shawl for warmth.

She had just finished changing when the doorbell rang; she quickly dabbed on some lipstick and went to answer it. Xiong Zaihao stood at the door, looking especially striking in his white shirt and khaki trousers, and Yipin felt a small jolt of energy at the sight.

“Tell me,” Yipin said, “what prehistoric creatures around here would be relevant to your research?”

“I’ll be heading to Gansu Province soon—local scientists have discovered the most complete pterosaur fossil there yet.”

“Ah! So you won’t be staying in the city much longer.”

“That’s right. That’s why I’ve been cautious about pursuing things with you.”

At least he was a responsible man.

“Come, let’s eat first and talk after.”

As she got into the car, he politely steadied her shoulder; his large hand against her skin made her feel an unexpected longing, hoping the touch would linger a moment longer—she wouldn’t deny that her skin ached a little for contact.

It had been so long since she’d been held tightly in someone’s arms; she could hardly remember the last time a man had gently touched her face.

Yipin sighed—this, after all, was simply humanity’s most primal longing.

Xiong Zaihao said, “Look at that sunset.”

The entire sky was divided into layers of color, beginning with pearl-white, pale blue, and orange-gold as the sun sank lower, gradually shifting into a soft green-purple and deep crimson.

The scenery was beautiful, but Yipin only wished his warm hand would find her shoulder once more.

Her body was sending unmistakable signals, not something reason alone could suppress.

She stayed quiet the whole way.

“Why so silent?”

She worried that if she opened her mouth even a little, she wouldn’t be able to hold herself back.

“Still swamped with work?”

“I’m used to it by now.”

He smiled at her, and the car took a sharp turn.

Yipin’s body tilted, nearly brushing against his shoulder.

For a moment, she wanted to lean into it, to take advantage of the moment, but in the end she didn’t. She settled back against the seat and closed her eyes.

A faint melancholy stirred within her—a feeling she’d only experienced once before, the year she graduated from university, when the school held a dance and she was the only one without a partner. That night, she’d felt the same lost, adrift feeling.

She’d gone to a nearby bar and drunk beer with a group of fellow students who scoffed at old-fashioned customs like dances, and stayed out drinking until dawn.

She’d long since forgotten about that night—strange that it should surface in her mind now. And there was also Yiling, off to marry far away, probably already settled in the northern country by now, amid ice and snow, warmed by a crackling fire, gazing at the man she loved. The world, in the end, was really only as big as that.

“We’re here.”

Yipin opened her eyes.

“Come,” he said, taking her hand. “Bailuo’s waiting for us.”

That night, Mr. Jin revealed that his company was considering transferring him back to America.

“Life is full of gatherings and partings,” he said with some feeling.

Mrs. Jin said, “But we’ve made good friends in every city we’ve lived in.”

Mr. Jin admitted, “We’ve been fortunate—we’ve met so many wonderful, kind-hearted friends.”

As usual, they stayed quite late before finally taking their leave, as if afraid that once they parted, they might not know when they’d see each other again.

At last, even Bailuo had fallen asleep before they left. The night air was cool as water; Yipin pulled her shawl tighter and, gathering her courage, asked, “Why didn’t you just call me directly?”

“I was afraid you’d say no.”

Yipin said, “I would have been happy to accept.”

He tried to take her hand, reaching out, but then pulled back.

He said awkwardly, “I’ve forgotten how a first date is even supposed to go.”

Yipin laughed. “The experts say kissing is off the table.”

“That’s sound advice, indeed.” He laughed too.

“Can we hold hands?”

“That should be fine.”

He finally took her hand.

He said, surprised, “Your hands are so small—how do you even grip a scalpel?”

Yipin thought of saying: slender fingers make for very nimble stitching, actually easier than large hands.

She didn’t say it out loud—on such a beautiful night, talking about the operating room would rather spoil the mood.

“Do you have patients to see tomorrow morning?”

Yipin nodded.

“Let me take you home to rest, then.”

Yipin laughed at herself, reluctant to let this pleasant evening end, unwilling to part from him.

In the end, he drove her home.

A couple of days later, Yao Yili came for her follow-up, and Yipin sought her advice.

“How does one show romantic interest to someone?”

Yao Yili, sharp as ever, understood at once what this was about. Suppressing a laugh, she answered with mock seriousness: “Body language.”

Yipin said, “Please, elaborate.”

“Dress a little more attractively, put in some effort with your appearance—he’ll understand immediately that you’re interested. Relax your posture, smile often, look at him with admiration in your eyes, stand a little closer to him.”

Yipin nodded along.

Yao Yili found it all rather amusing—she never would have guessed that the brilliant, beautiful Dr. Yang would be such a novice in matters like this.

She must have real feelings for this man—otherwise she wouldn’t be taking it this seriously.

Sure enough, Yipin said, “I want things to start off well. I don’t want it turning into some kind of sibling relationship.”

“Then you need to emphasize your femininity.”

“Should I stop wearing shirts and trousers, then?”

“No, no, it depends how you wear them. Dr. Yang, please stand up.”

Yao Yili flipped up the collar of Yipin’s white shirt, undid two buttons, rolled the short sleeves up to the underarm, tucked the shirttail into her trousers, and cinched the belt tight. Then she took out a tube of deep purple lipstick and applied it to Yipin’s lips, before dabbing something at the corner of her eyes.

Then she turned Yipin toward the mirror. “Look.”

Even Yipin was startled by her own reflection.

“A beauty.”

It turned out to be a touch of gold powder at the corner of the eye, catching the light with every blink.

“Dr. Yang, the more sheer lace your underwear has, the better. Choose pink, or perhaps apricot. Even if you’re wearing jeans and a work shirt on the outside, your underclothes should still be exquisite.”

Yipin hesitated. “Isn’t this… rather cheap, showing off like that?”

“Of course it is,” Yili laughed. “This is primal mutual attraction.”

Yipin lowered her head. “For a doctor, it’s not easy to reconcile with that idea—bodies laid out on the operating table, dissected part by part—where’s the allure in that?”

“Yili, that’s not what I meant.”

“Well then, you’re above flaunting your looks, so you leave all the superficial men to fall for women like us instead. Ha, education really does get in the way sometimes.” Yao Yili laughed mockingly.

Yipin said, “Is there really no such thing as a more refined man, one who values the inner self over appearance?”

Yili laughed heartily and countered, “Is he even a man, then?”

Yipin sagged.

Yili looked at her, puzzled. “Dr. Yang, you’re so lovely—why so lacking in confidence?”

Yipin said nothing.

“Have you ever had your heart broken before?”

“I haven’t even earned that qualification yet.”

“Poor Dr. Yang.”

Yipin sighed. “The needs of the body really do put us in an awkward position.”

Yili disagreed. “God gave us these bodies precisely so we could enjoy them. Otherwise, humans would just be bundles of digital signals—what would be the point?”

“Yili, you really are something.”

“Men say that too.” She smiled brightly.

“What does that have to do with sheer underwear, though?”

“What men notice first is the allure of what’s half-hidden, half-revealed.”

“I certainly respect your perspective.”

Yao Yili said, “But we’re on different paths, Dr. Yang—you’d never stoop to this approach.”

“No, no…”

Yipin found herself at a loss for words.

Yao Yili left, and Yipin instructed Nurse Peng to handle some errands.

Peng took one look at the doctor with gold powder on her eyelids and exclaimed in alarm, “Dr. Yang, stay true to yourself.”

Yipin sat down and sighed.

“Don’t listen to Yao Yili’s nonsense.”

“No, she gave me some good advice.”

“She’s a woman who makes her living off her looks. You make yours off your knowledge and skill—the two are worlds apart.”

“You shouldn’t say that.”

“Yes, I suppose my thinking is old-fashioned. Girls today with no real substance all idolize someone like Yao Yili.”

“You’re right about that.”

“But I’d never want my own daughter to end up like her—nothing but an ornament.”

Yipin, struck by a thought, said, “Perhaps… she’s the one playing with the world, instead.”

The nurse said, unimpressed, “Dr. Ye is waiting for you.”

Dr. Ye laughed when he saw Yipin. “So you’ve finally worn yourself into a stomach ailment.”

“Haven’t I just.”

“And I’ve worked myself into sagging skin all over. We should help each other out—sometime you can tighten up my face for me.”

Yipin studied her colleague’s face closely. “Just a touch-up around the eyes would do for now.”

“That clinic of yours pulls out fat by the bucketful—do you just toss it out like industrial waste?”

Yipin could already tell that Dr. Ye didn’t hold her specialty in much regard.

“Your income is the highest in the field—plenty of colleagues are thinking of switching over to plastic surgery. Removing moles, treating blemishes, such easy money.” His tone had turned distinctly sour. Yipin, who had already taken off her coat, put it back on and picked up her bag. “I’ve just remembered I have an important appointment. My apologies for wasting your valuable time—I’ll still cover the consultation fee, of course. Goodbye.”

There were plenty of other specialists in the world; when the conversation soured, there was no point continuing it.

Yipin left without looking back.

Back at her own clinic, she asked the nurse to find her a different doctor.

The nurse asked, “You won’t see male doctors?”

“To avoid any awkwardness, a female doctor is better.”

The nurse shook her head. “Such prejudice.”

Just then, a middle-aged man pushed open the door. “Gao Zhilin recommended I come see you.”

“Please, sit.”

“I’m asking Dr. Yang for two things: first, treatment for my balding scalp, and second, removal of my under-eye bags. It’s not vanity—my company laid off staff, and I’ve been let go because I look older than my actual age of forty-eight. I can’t find work; interviewers always think I’m too old.”

Yipin nodded.

Men worried about premature aging too—and given that his livelihood was at stake, it was even more deserving of sympathy than simple vanity.

Yipin explained, “There’s no cure yet for hair regrowth, but your bald patch isn’t very large. I can try pulling the scalp together and stitching it so the hair on both sides meets, effectively eliminating the bald spot.”

She showed him a diagram.

The middle-aged man thanked her repeatedly.

“Every procedure carries some risk and must be taken seriously—please don’t treat it lightly.”

“Yes, yes, Dr. Yang.”

Yipin smiled. “I hope this helps you.”

He scheduled a time for both procedures.

The nurse remarked, “Not finding work might just be the economic climate, not really about his looks.”

“He wants a boost of confidence, that’s all.”

“Then we should throw in removing that spare tire around his belly too, while we’re at it.”

“You go tell him that.”

“A friend once asked me if the fat we remove looks like lard. I told her no—it’s more like chicken fat, golden yellow.”

“That’s getting less and less appetizing to talk about.”

“It’s the truth, though.”

“Plenty of true things are better left unsaid.”

Soon after, a young woman came in for a consultation.

She seemed a little embarrassed. “My surname is Luo.”

Yipin encouraged her. “Whatever it is, take your time.”

“It’s not for me—it’s for my mother.”

“Ah, and what does she want done?”

“She’s already fifty-three.”

Yipin smiled to herself—young people always thought fifty was the absolute limit of life, as if anything beyond that were an offense against nature.

“My father asked for a divorce a year ago, and she’s been depressed ever since. And as if that weren’t enough, she was recently diagnosed with breast cancer and needs surgery right away, but she refuses to have it.”

“Ah, she’s worried about losing her figure, I imagine.”

“She’s already fifty, and she doesn’t even have a husband anymore—what is there to worry about? But she’s being as stubborn as a child, saying she’d rather die.”

Yipin said, “You should try to understand things from her perspective—she doesn’t want to lose one more thing, on top of everything else she’s already lost.” “Doctor, believe me, I’d love nothing more than to be the most devoted daughter in the world, focused entirely on caring for my mother and nothing else. But I’m a widow myself, working full-time to support my family, and I have seven-year-old twins besides. I’m run off my feet as it is. I need someone to help share the burden too.”

Yipin nodded. “I understand. Could you let me speak with her directly?”

“That would be wonderful, doctor. Honestly, at fifty-something, old enough to be a grandmother, and still acting with no sense at all.”

“Is she here?”

“No, she wouldn’t come up—she’s waiting in the parking lot.”

“I’ll go see her.”

The fifty-three-year-old Mrs. Luo was more attractive than her daughter, but looked haggard; she was waiting in the parking lot.

Yipin extended her hand. “I’m Dr. Yang. After the surgery, I can take responsibility for reconstructing your chest—there’s no need to worry. Please come up to my clinic for a cup of coffee, and let me explain everything slowly.”

Mrs. Luo stood frozen, then burst into tears.

A woman of fifty was often treated as though she were already halfway to the grave, hardly considered a person anymore—not just by men, but by other women too.

Yipin spoke to her gently, offering comfort.

That evening, Yipin went back to her mother’s house to pick up some documents. When she entered, her mother wasn’t around.

The housekeeper said, “Madam is up on the rooftop terrace, chatting with a friend.”

Yipin went up to the terrace and found her mother talking with her old friend, Mrs. Wu.

She didn’t want to interrupt, and was about to quietly slip back downstairs, but with the south wind blowing, fragments of their private conversation carried straight to her ears.

Her mother: “…I’ve been on a date or two, as well.”

Mrs. Wu said, “That’s only right. A little distraction never hurt.”

“It’s difficult, though—I don’t want to date some man in his fifties or sixties, all worn out and sagging.”

“Men really don’t take care of themselves.”

“But dating a man in his forties makes me feel self-conscious too.”

“Mm.”

Yipin’s eyes went wide as saucers—she could hardly believe her own ears.

Her mother, discussing men? How could this be—already past fifty, and still not at peace with herself, how embarrassing.

“The older men get, the more they want someone younger.”

“Aren’t we all the same, in that regard.”

“Getting old is truly a frightening thing.”

“It’s as if old people aren’t allowed to be people anymore—no desires, no feelings permitted.”

Yipin felt a pang of sympathy.

She’d have plenty to say to comfort Miss Luo, and yet she wouldn’t say the same to herself. She felt sympathy for Mrs. Luo, yet none for her own mother.

“Just be careful someone isn’t after your money.”

“That’s exactly why it’s hard to find anyone—we’re really not generous enough with our resources, the two of us.”

“What right do we have to offer a million-dollar sports car or a six-hundred-thousand gold watch.”

“A widow’s meager nest egg—better to save it than spend it on romance.”

The two of them laughed ruefully together.

Yipin quietly withdrew and went back downstairs.

If it had been her father in this position, Yipin would have encouraged him to remarry. But this was her mother—Yipin only worried she’d end up being taken advantage of.

A while later, Mrs. Yang came downstairs, her expression giving nothing away.

Yipin couldn’t help herself. “Mother, if something’s on your mind, you can tell me.”

Mrs. Yang smiled. “Really?”

“Yes, I’ll understand better than anyone.”

“Well then, listen to your mother and get married soon, start a family of your own.”

Yipin froze, then couldn’t help laughing—ginger really did get spicier with age; with one deft move, her mother had turned the conversation right back onto her.

“Mother’s not quite at grandmother age yet.”

“And you? Don’t you want to be a mother yourself?”

“Too much responsibility.”

“That’s true enough, but you can’t let that hold you back forever.”

“Mother, remember how slow I was as a child? I couldn’t even memorize the multiplication table in a whole year—you had to pay three hundred dollars an hour for a tutor!”

Mrs. Yang smiled. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“Erjing was always smarter than me—she never gave you any trouble.”

“How could she not—forcing me to swallow my frustration and explain things to a twelve-year-old who understood nothing.”

Yipin laughed.

“What doesn’t a modern mother have to do? Playing so many roles at once—man, woman, servant, doctor, nurse, teacher, all just me. More than seven jobs in one.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

“It’s my responsibility—nothing to thank me for.”

“So who would ever dare become a mother, then.”

“Yipin, no matter how I put it, I still can’t seem to convince you.”

They talked a while longer before Yipin finally took her documents and left her mother’s house.

Knowing she could always return to her childhood home was truly a comfort—her and Erjing’s old room remained exactly as it had been during their teenage years, even the posters of their favorite stars from back then still taped up behind the door.

This was, of course, her mother’s thoughtfulness—but her late father, a successful small businessman in his time, deserved credit too; the family’s circumstances had always been comfortable.

In the car, Yipin received a call from the professor.

“Yipin, I think you’ll find this case interesting.”

Yipin laughed. “Let me take a look, then.”

Dr. Huo’s assistant explained, “This is certainly going to be a major surgery, over twelve hours long—we’ll need your input.”

“You don’t need me to operate?”

“We wouldn’t want to keep taking up your valuable time.”

At the hospital, Yipin didn’t get to see the patient directly—only a series of diagnostic sketches and imaging projected on screen.