“Yipin, the pain was worse than I expected, but the surgery was also more successful than I expected — the cancerous cells have all been removed. Right now you only have a third of your stomach muscle left; you may not even need chemotherapy — it can be managed with medication and injections.”

A third of a stomach — that was exactly what fashionable urban women dreamed of; from now on she’d never have to worry about gaining weight.

The pain eased a little, and Yipin managed to open her eyes.

Dr. Li stood with her back to the window, sunlight streaming in behind her, outlining her figure in a halo of light — she looked almost like an angel.

Yipin smiled. Good doctors are always a kind of angel.

Dr. Li encouraged her: “You should stay optimistic — your mood affects your recovery.”

“I really didn’t expect it to hurt this much.”

Dr. Li smiled. “As they say, you don’t know the pain until the needle actually pierces the flesh.”

Yipin said, “Now I understand just how brave cosmetic surgery patients really are.”

“True — and you still have your sense of humor.”

Just then someone pushed the door open. “Dr. Yang, you’re awake.”

It was Yipin’s own nurse, Aunt Peng.

“I’m here to look after you.”

Yipin nodded. “Alright.”

“Dr. Yang, the other Dr. Yang is here.”

“Why isn’t she coming in?”

“She’s afraid you’re angry with her.”

“Nonsense.”

“I’ll go get her right now.”

Dr. Li said, “It’s a blessing to have a sister — this kind of devotion, staying by your side, is a great source of strength for your recovery.”

Yipin nodded.

Erjing came in, and without a word, took her sister’s hand and buried her face, crying. Her whole face was already swollen from tears.

Erjing had been like this as a child too — fair-skinned, and the slightest redness would show up plainly; if she had a nightmare in the middle of the night, she’d wake up and always go find her sister. Yipin, worried they’d wake their mother, would share a small bed with her, holding her hand and telling her stories to comfort her.

It all felt like it happened just yesterday.

Sisters never truly grow apart.

Yipin said softly, “Come now, it’s not time for wailing and crying yet.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I only just found out myself. A healer can’t heal herself — how funny. Whatever you do, don’t let Mother find out — she can’t take another blow.”

Erjing nodded frantically. Yipin really hadn’t imagined she’d turn out to be such a difficult patient.

Aunt Peng insisted she get out of bed and walk. Yipin said, “No, it hurts too much, I won’t.”

“If you don’t learn to walk now, you’ll never walk again.”

“Then I’ll spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair.”

“Dr. Yang, I never imagined you’d turn out to be this kind of person.”

Aunt Peng pulled her out of bed; Yipin cried out like a pig being slaughtered. “No, the moment I stand, it feels like there’s a hot iron pressed against the wound.”

She was finally dragged upright and took a few staggering steps, tottering like an old woman.

Had Yang Yipin already made it through this ordeal? Too early to say — but Yipin had confidence she would make a full recovery.

When Erjing visited again, she said, “Mother wants to see you.”

“I just saw her three days ago.”

“Mothers have a sixth sense, you know — it’s uncanny. She said her left eye had been twitching for three days straight, she couldn’t sit still, and asked me where you were.”

Yipin felt a pang of sympathy. “Erjing, if something really did happen to me, I don’t know what Mother would do.”

“I don’t think she’d be able to go on living. I’d suddenly be an orphan.”

Aunt Peng, overhearing this as she came in, scolded them sharply: “What are you two saying? A dog’s mouth can’t spit out ivory — and to think you’re both doctors.”

After she’d left the room, Erjing said, “Give Mother a call.”

“Alright, better to keep her in the dark a little while longer.”

She made her voice sound composed and cheerful, with just a touch of impatience: “Mom, what did you need?”

“Auntie Qiu and the others want you to give them the details.”

“I promised I’d hold a lecture for them whenever I had time.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m at the hospital every day, barely able to catch my breath.” That much, at least, was true.

“Come home when you have time.”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

By the time the call ended, her back was drenched in sweat.

Aunt Peng helped her shower and examined the wound closely. “It’s healing nicely — though not quite as neat as your own handiwork, Dr. Yang, which is why so many of our female patients specifically request you to redo their scars.”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Only someone as easygoing as you, Dr. Yang, could say that.”

“Body and soul part ways eventually — beauty is secondary; health is what truly matters. Now I really understand that.”

Aunt Peng sighed.

The medication was harsh; Yipin lost her appetite and kept feeling nauseous.

Waking from a nap, a fragrance drifted past — as if she’d been placed in a field of purple lavender.

Oh — who had come?

“Dr. Yang, it’s me, Yili.”

Ah, it was the famous actress.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Aunt Peng was evasive at first, but under my relentless questioning — soft tactics and hard — she finally let a bit slip.”

“Oh, well.”

Yao Yili brought her lovely face close and giggled. “So even doctors lose battles sometimes?”

“Apparently so.”

“I brought you champagne and caviar.”

“Shh.” Yao Yili laughed. “And a few nightgowns and robes too!”

“What?”

“Hospital gowns are just hideous.”

She unwrapped the large gift box she’d brought, and out tumbled satin garments in pink, pearl gray, and lake green.

“Let me help you change.”

Yipin was touched, her eyes brimming with tears.

She hadn’t expected Yao Yili to be so thoughtful. Gently, she helped the doctor into her new gown, then draped a pale-colored lambskin shawl over Yipin’s shoulders, and changed the pillowcase to satin too. “Sleep on this — it won’t leave crease marks on your face.”

Finally, using a silver comb-brush, she brushed Yipin’s hair into a braid.

“Being sick doesn’t mean you have to look like a mess.”

“Thank you.”

“Doctor, when are you being discharged?”

“In a few days I can go home to recover.”

“Why not come stay at my place instead — I’ll have the housekeeper make you bird’s nest congee to build you back up.”

Yipin smiled. “I can take care of myself.”

“Alright then, I have to run to a shoot — I’ll head off now.”

“Take care, no need to see me out.”

At this, a crowd of staff, drawn by the news, waited outside the door hoping to catch sight of the star. Long after Yao Yili had left, that fragrance still lingered in the room.

Yipin lay on her satin pillow, reading a novel.

Toward evening, Dr. Li came to see her, and the moment she walked in she said, “Yang Yipin, you are an extraordinarily lucky person. You can be discharged the day after tomorrow.”

Yipin felt the same herself.

“Goodness, imagine such beautiful nightwear existing in this world — like a layer of mist.”

Yipin said nothing; this, after all, was just one of the tools of a beautiful woman’s trade.

“Still,” Dr. Li said, “be careful about—”

Just then, the nurse, Aunt Peng, pushed the door open and set down a stack of mail.

One envelope was from her junior schoolmate Li Benling; Yipin opened it eagerly.

A single photograph said it all. Ziyu and Jixin, the conjoined twins, had been successfully separated. The mother, beaming, held one baby in each arm. Yipin found herself laughing at the sight.

There was also a report on their work — photos of the children before and after surgery, and finally, a bundle of questions written in careful, earnest hand.

Yipin felt her spirits rise. She had always said a patient’s mood could affect their prognosis; now she understood firsthand just how much emotional support truly mattered.

She had only just set the letter down when she heard soft footsteps.

She looked toward the door. “Beiluo.”

Little Beiluo came over and lay her head against Yipin’s chest.

Mr. and Mrs. Jin appeared in the doorway right behind her.

They had come to say their farewells. “Yipin, don’t forget the three of us.”

Yipin’s eyes filled with tears.

“We’ve decided to take the cat along with us too.”

Yipin nodded.

They set down a pot of orchids and left.

Yipin asked Aunt Peng, “Did you tell everyone I was in the hospital?”

“Not everyone — I didn’t tell Miss Huang or Mrs. He. Friends visiting is a good thing though, laughing and chatting helps recovery.”

“I’m afraid my mother will find out.” Aunt Peng said, “Don’t worry, you’ll be discharged soon anyway.”

“Aunt Peng, life is like a dream.”

“Is it? Your dream hasn’t even started yet.”

The next morning, Yipin slowly woke.

She hesitated about being discharged, keeping her eyes closed a while longer.

The wound still hurt this much — she wasn’t sure about herself, yet staying in the hospital was certainly less comfortable than being home.

Yipin finally opened her eyes and saw someone standing by the window, looking out at the view.

Those broad, familiar shoulders — and yet Yipin no longer felt any anticipation.

The man turned around.

“Morning, Yipin.”

It was indeed Xiong Zaihao. He came closer, sat on the chair by the bed, and took her hand.

Fortunately, Yipin had already changed out of her seductive nightgown into ordinary loungewear.

“How’s your early reptile doing?”

Yipin smiled.

“Thanks for asking — it’s doing well. Turns out it had eight toes, not the five we originally thought.”

Yipin nodded.

“You must all have been thrilled, dizzy with excitement.”

“You guessed right.”

He took Yipin’s left hand in both of his and, after a moment, said, “A day apart felt like three autumns.”

Yipin said lightly, “You know, our sisters actually got into a fight because of you.”

Xiong Zaihao said, quite candidly, “I really had no idea the two Dr. Yangs were sisters.”

“Do we not look alike?”

“You’re completely different people.”

“Erjing’s much more lively.”

“So you finally found out I was sick.”

“Erjing told me to come.”

Yipin said nothing.

Just then, someone pushed the door open. “Sister Yipin.”

Yipin looked over — it was young Zhou Yan, and a flicker of genuine delight rose in her.

She currently valued nothing more than friendships free of pressure.

“I just got your letter.”

Zhou Yan, as if he hadn’t even noticed Xiong Zaihao, warmly embraced Yipin.

“You look great, we’re relieved.”

Yipin said, “I never expected so many friends would come visit me.”

“You probably haven’t had much time to rest.”

“I’m managing.”

Yipin did not introduce them to each other.

Zhou Yan said, “I brought you a few novels by lesser-known new authors.”

Sensing the situation, Xiong Zaihao rose and took his leave.

Yipin didn’t try to keep him.

After he’d gone, the quick-witted Zhou Yan suddenly gave a playful wink. “Did I scare him off?”

Yipin said gently, “He had his own things to attend to.”

“Who is he — a suitor?”

“No, just a friend.”

“Doesn’t seem quite that simple.”

Yipin suddenly said, “A meal offered in contempt.”

“What?”

Zhou Yan didn’t understand.

“Never mind.”

Yipin kept smiling.

“Let me read you some of the novel.”

“Alright.”

Xiong Zaihao had just reached the corridor when Erjing came up to meet him. “How is she?”

“She’s recovering well.”

“Can the two of you still be friends?” Xiong Zaihao shook his head, sitting down on a nearby bench.

“She doesn’t want to hold this against me, but she has no interest in picking things back up either.”

After a while, Erjing said, “It’s my fault.”

Xiong Zaihao had nothing to say to that.

“I’ll miss her a great deal.”

Erjing said quietly, “All along, my sister has been the main character — my name is just hers with one extra stroke to make it Erjing. Mother always wanted a boy, and I’ve always had a certain complex about it because of that.”

“Erjing, don’t feel guilty — you didn’t ruin anything.”

“That budding little something between you two—”

“Yipin is far too cautious when it comes to feelings — this was bound to be the outcome regardless.”

Erjing looked defeated.

“I’m flying to Hebei this afternoon. Until we meet again.”

Erjing said, downcast, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

He left with easy composure.

Erjing pushed open her sister’s hospital room door.

Yipin asked, “Did you send him here?”

“He was passing through.”

“Going where?”

“Hebei Province.”

“If you really like him, go after him.”

“You’re being sarcastic.”

“No, I mean it sincerely — don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself.”

Zhou Yan looked up.

He glanced first at the elder sister, then at the younger.

Yipin waved a hand. “Go on, go on.”

Erjing hesitantly walked out of the room.

Zhou Yan asked, “Who was that?”

“My sister.”

“You two don’t look alike at all.”

“I always thought we shared the exact same features.”

“Your expressions are different, that’s why.”

Just then Erjing came back into the room.

“Sister, I—”

Yipin laughed. “Go on, go on.”

This time Erjing nodded and turned to leave for good.

Zhou Yan asked again, “Where did you send her off to?”

This young man was remarkably curious and direct, which made Yipin burst out laughing.

Feeling a little embarrassed, Zhou Yan said, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Did you see that tall, handsome man just now? That’s the person she likes. There was a bit of a misunderstanding between them, so I encouraged her to go after him and make peace.”

“I see.”

“Do you think they’re a good match?”

Zhou Yan answered, “Very well matched — both passionate, both a bit reckless.”

Yipin laughed again.

The comment was spot on.

Zhou Yan suddenly said, “You were the misunderstanding, weren’t you?”

Yipin froze for a moment, not expecting him to be so perceptive, and denied it at once: “No, how could it be me?”

“Right — it’s often the person involved who’s least willing to admit it.”

“Do you think they’ll make up, this time?”

“Good chance of it. He’ll be moved by her sincerity.”

Well put, indeed. “Zhou Yan, what about you — are you still in touch with your girlfriend?”

Zhou Yan’s expression changed at once; he lowered his head and said nothing.

“Mm — the wound hasn’t healed yet, I see.”

“Once you decide to part ways, you don’t see each other again.”

“That’s the right approach,” Yipin said approvingly.

“Someday, when my mother is no longer in this world, maybe I’ll go look for her — but I also hope my mother lives to be a hundred.”

Yipin said gently, “You don’t have to wait that long. Once you’re financially independent and more mature, you can pursue the life you want.”

Zhou Yan thought about it. “Are you telling me to go back to school?”

“Of course.”

“Did my mother send you here to talk me into it?”

“I don’t even know your mother.”

Zhou Yan fell silent.

“How could you stay angry at your mother? Human children need years and years of care before they can live independently — from eight pounds at birth to sixteen times that weight by age fifteen, all of it your mother’s life’s blood. How could you possibly, after just a few months of knowing a strange woman, stand against the mother who bore you?”

Zhou Yan’s eyes filled with tears.

“This is just a small episode in your long life — you’ve already let reason win out. It’s time to make peace with your mother.”

Zhou Yan nodded. “What should I say to her?”

“No need for words at all — just toss your dirty laundry into the hamper at home like always, and everything will go back to normal.”

“Right, that’s a good approach.”

Yipin looked at him. “You’re an only child, aren’t you?”

“You’ve guessed right again.”

He took a photo from his wallet to show her — a picture of him with his parents. Yipin looked at it, startled — his father turned out to be none other than the famous real estate developer, Zhou Daojian.

“Go home, take a nice bath, get some sleep, and report back to school first thing tomorrow morning.”

Zhou Yan nodded. “Sister Yipin, when you’re discharged, I’ll come pick you up.”

“No need — as long as you patch things up with your family, that’s enough to make me happy.”

He left, clearly reluctant to go.

Only then did Aunt Peng come in. “That boy talked for so long, aren’t you tired?”

Yipin shook her head.

“Could he possibly be interested in you?”

Strange — everyone seemed unusually blunt and bold today.

Yipin smiled. “Nothing of the sort.”

A couple of days later, she was discharged and went home; her mother’s calls came one after another.

Yipin’s wound still ached, and she felt weak, so she kept giving vague, agreeable answers.

“Do you know Erjing went to Hebei?”

“She told me about it.”

“What for?”

“Her boyfriend has business there, she went to keep him company.”

“Boyfriend — is that the one, Wu Heshu?”

“No, it’s not him anymore. Someone else.”

“When did that change?”

“It’s been a while now.”

“Have you met him? What’s he like — good temperament?”

“He’s fine — from the looks of it, both sides seem interested in taking things further.” Her mother went quiet for a moment.

“Haven’t you always hoped she’d settle down and start a family?”

“Not just her — both of you.”

“Well then, let things take their natural course, and see how it goes.”

Mrs. Yang sighed. “Yipin, you’re right.”

Back home, Yipin walked slowly through each room one by one, then collapsed onto her own bed, murmuring, “Feels like a whole other lifetime.” As if she’d narrowly escaped not making it back at all.

Then Yipin noticed she was losing a lot of hair, and her nails had become ridged — small things, by a doctor’s standards, things she might once have scolded a fussy patient over. She never imagined that when it happened to her, it would feel this alarming.

Yipin no longer dared to mock her patients.

By the time she could move freely again, it was already autumn.

The clinic reopened for business, and everything gradually returned to normal. Yipin readjusted, setting aside time to treat her body, and because she paid special attention to her diet, she actually gained a little weight. Her mother remained entirely in the dark from start to finish — Yipin had managed it perfectly.

Aunt Peng reassured her: “Treatment’s over — time to start dating again.”

Dating whom?

Aunt Peng added, “Your body and spirits will gradually recover. You’re still young, don’t lose heart.”

Yipin stopped turning away clients.

While her body was still healthy, why not make the most of it?

A middle-aged woman said, “Doctor, now that I’m older, my earlobes have stretched — it makes me look old right away. Please make my earlobes smaller.”

Yipin agreed at once.

She skillfully reshaped the middle-aged woman’s ears into small, delicate shell-like shapes, even narrowing the stretched piercing holes. When the bandage came off, the woman’s ears flushed red with joy, and tears fell.

Supposedly, ears only need to be able to hear — but no, women who care about beauty don’t see it that way.

Another woman came to see the doctor, hesitating, stammering, before finally stating her request.

Yipin nodded. “That can be tightened, I understand there’s a real need for it.”

The patient was too moved to speak. “I’ve always felt self-conscious, so…”

“No problem, I can help you with that.”

The whole autumn passed with no sign of Erjing coming back — just a message left behind: “Everything’s fine, don’t worry about me.”

Mrs. Yang asked her elder daughter, “How is Erjing really doing — did the courtship work out?”

“I’d guess it worked out — otherwise she’d have come slinking back long ago.”

“Staying in Hebei that long, they must have developed real feelings by now.”

“I suppose so.”

Mrs. Yang studied Yipin. “Lately you look tired, your eyes are puffy — you’re not sick, are you?”

“Just been busy.”

“A girl your age, you’ve earned enough for a good dowry — time to think about slowing down.”

“I really have been thinking of selling the clinic.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Yang looked pleased.

“Then find some kind of regular job, normal working hours.”

“Yes, easier to make time for dates.”

Yipin laughed again.

“Have you been out anywhere lately?”

Yes — a client, Mrs. Yuan, had introduced her to a cousin who ran a garment business. They’d had a meal together. This Mr. Lu had been married once and divorced once.

He was worldly and experienced with women, carried himself with easy confidence, had no illusions left about love, but longed for companionship all the same.

He found the elegant, refined Yang Yipin unexpectedly appealing — and given that she was a practicing Western-medicine physician, he was full of admiration and attentiveness toward her.

Still recovering from her illness, Yipin found herself rather drawn to this kind of thoughtfulness. A month later, he invited her on a holiday to Japan, and to her own surprise, she agreed.

Lu Yongzhong knew Japan well and spoke fluent Japanese. They stayed at a ryokan in Hakone; every morning he sat alone in the café reading the newspaper, waiting for her to come down.

He took her to see an open-air sculpture museum, and Yipin was surprised by how extensive the collection was.

She asked, “Are you interested in art?”

He answered with complete honesty: “Not a clue — I just guessed you’d like it.”

Yipin nodded; she considered herself quite self-centered by nature, and she genuinely admired this quality of selflessness in Lu Yongzhong.

Lake Hakone was awash in autumn colors.

Yipin dressed warmly, and he took many photographs of her against the russet-red backdrop of the forest, and she didn’t refuse any of them.

Eight years of medical school, five years of residency, and this was still the first time Yipin — who had spent her whole career photographing others — was on the receiving end of the camera.

She felt she hadn’t come here for nothing.

They dined at the finest restaurant, and he told her about his life story.

“…Never liked studying as a child, got a headache just looking at textbooks, barely scraped through high school. I inherited a small garment factory from my father, and now it’s grown quite a bit — over a thousand employees in Shenzhen, and we’ve even opened a retail outlet in New York.”

Yipin was a little tired, but she enjoyed listening to him talk.

Seeing her interest, he felt honored, and continued: “…My ex-wife — the marriage fell apart because I was always chasing business, east and west, and neglected her. Fortunately we had no children, but ten years on, I sometimes regret not having any.”

Yipin nodded.

Lu Yongzhong suddenly said, “You’ve always been a quiet person?”

Yipin answered, “Sometimes I can be sharp-tongued too.”

He blurted out, “How can someone so delicate handle a scalpel?”

Yipin couldn’t help laughing.

“I only hope I can always confide in you like this.”

For a man of his standing, finding a pair of loyal, trustworthy ears was actually not so difficult.

He seemed to sense what Yipin was thinking, and said gently, “I keep myself rather… disciplined, in that regard.”

Having said this, he seemed a little embarrassed and coughed a couple of times.

He wanted to take her to see Noh theater. “Tickets are hard to come by.”

Yipin shook her head — this country’s culture, she felt, was entirely secondhand, either copying China or imitating the West, with nothing original of its own.

She suggested instead: “Take me to the manga district.”

Lu Yongzhong laughed. “That would mean Tokyo.”

He took her by train specially to Tokyo, to browse bookstores.

They stood at a corner reading through comics without buying, and he translated the funniest parts for her.

Yipin, entirely without inhibition, pointed at the racier panels and asked, “What does this say? Does this really need explaining with pictures?”

Lu Yongzhong said, flustered, “These… aren’t easy to translate.”

Yipin was thoroughly delighted — for that moment, she completely forgot she carried a dangerous illness that could return at any time. She felt lucky that, at a time like this, someone like Lu Yongzhong had appeared in her life — his career already solidly established, needing only to oversee it from a distance, free to enjoy life.

“Do you like snowy scenery?”

Yipin nodded.

“My company has a holiday cabin near Whistler, the ski resort outside Vancouver. Would you like to go see it?”

Yipin nodded.

“Shall we say, November?”

Yipin smiled. “No problem.”

“I’ll arrange it right away.”

His eyes were full of delight; Yipin thought, being able to bring someone that much happiness really was a good thing.

By the return trip, they had become the kind of old friends who could talk about anything.

But somehow, the two of them had never once held hands — he didn’t dare presume, and she made no move to invite it.

At the airport, they ran into someone unexpected.

It was Lu who spotted her first. “Yipin, there’s a middle-aged lady over there who keeps smiling at you.”

Yipin looked closely. “Mom!”

Mrs. Yang came over to greet them.

“Mom, whose flight are you meeting?”

“A missionary, Sister Liu.”

Lu Yongzhong quickly said, “Does Mrs. Yang have a car? Why don’t I leave my driver for you to use?” He immediately instructed his staff to assist Mrs. Yang.

He personally collected Yipin’s luggage and walked her to the exit, while someone else drove up separately to pick them up.

Yipin was struck — she’d always prided herself on taking care of herself, yet she hadn’t expected being taken care of to feel this pleasant. In an instant Lu had marshaled his whole staff into action to smooth over every little detail — small things in daily life, perhaps, but often the very things that cause the most trouble.

She said, “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “It’s the least I can do — I’ve got no talent for music or art or anything refined like that.”

Yipin laughed helplessly.

He drove her home.

When her apartment door opened, he exclaimed in admiration, “A young woman living in a place this big, all on her own — quite something. No wonder men have no place here.”

Yipin couldn’t stop laughing.

“Please, sit, have some coffee.”

“Why does it feel so empty in here — is this minimalism?”

“I like it this way.”

“Very distinctive.”

By then, Yipin was starting to feel tired, and he tactfully took his leave.

After showering, Yipin was about to take a nap when the doorbell rang.

Outside were two housemaids, all smiles. “Mr. Lu sent us.”

One carried something, the other held a large bouquet of orchids nearly half a person tall — Yipin found it hard to refuse them outright.

“Dr. Yang, please, go rest. We’ll be quiet, we won’t disturb you.”

Yipin simply let them take over the apartment.

She read a few pages of a book and fell asleep. Half-aware, she thought she heard the phone ring, but someone else must have answered it each time.

She woke feeling a tightness in her chest and a dry, bitter taste in her mouth.

Immediately someone knocked softly at the door and brought in a small pot of a drink. “Dr. Yang, chuanbei tea — good for the throat and thirst.”

Yipin drank it, savoring a mouthful of fragrance — my, what luxury. It felt like the kind of life only a kept mistress could enjoy without a trace of shame, but apparently patients had similar privileges.

She walked out to the living room and found it spotless — clearly the previous hourly cleaner had been rather lazy by comparison.

Lu Yongzhong had sent over many potted plants too, brightening up the living room considerably.

One of the maids came over and said, “I’m called A’Chang. Dr. Yang, would you like to eat?”

She’d even brought over an exquisite set of fine porcelain rice bowls and a pair of ebony chopsticks trimmed in silver, all from the Lu household — Yipin marveled at the thoroughness of it all.

“I made a sour bamboo shoot soup, very appetizing — please try it.”

Yipin took a sip. “Mm — delicious.”

A’Chang looked pleased.

“Go back and tell Mr. Lu I really appreciate his thoughtfulness, but I’m not used to living this luxuriously — you needn’t come tomorrow.”

“But—”

Yipin smiled. “Getting too used to good food and comfort will make me soft — how could I serve my patients then.”

A’Chang stepped back. “Understood.”

She tidied up the kitchen and took her leave.

When the doorbell rang again, Yipin assumed A’Chang had forgotten something and went to open the door — but it was Aunt Peng instead, carrying a stack of mail.

She looked utterly baffled. “Dr. Yang, I called just now and someone claiming to be your housekeeper answered.”

“She’s already left.”

“Dr. Yang, if you wanted to hire a housekeeper you certainly could afford one — it’s just that this whole solemn, old-fashioned lifestyle of comfort doesn’t seem like your style.”

“Right. So, what did Dr. Li’s report say?”

“The malignant cells have been completely cleared.”

Yipin let out a breath of relief, sitting down, unable to speak for a moment, her nose stinging with sudden emotion.

Aunt Peng said gently, “You could call this a brush with fate, but you’ve made it through.”

Yipin nodded.

“Does the wound still hurt?”

Yipin said it did.

Aunt Peng sighed. “My daughter is eighteen this year — the surgery I had back when I gave birth to her, the scar still aches sometimes, even now.”

She had been holding back all this good news, unable to resist talking about it: “Oh, all these flowers — did Miss Yao send them?”

Yipin gave a noncommittal answer.

“Ah, this orchid has a special name — it’s called the ‘Yipin Orchid.’ This doesn’t seem like Miss Yao’s style at all, she’d send yellow roses at most.”

“Same name as me?”

“Yes — orchids are the ‘gentleman’s flower,’ and this variety is the finest of them all, hence ‘Yipin,’ meaning top-grade.”

Lu Yongzhong was so thoughtful — Yipin had nearly overlooked the gesture entirely.

Just then Aunt Peng said, “I’ll head back to the clinic now.”

“Any patients?”

“Yes — a lady wants her entire skin replaced, doesn’t even want to keep her own hide.”

Yipin smiled. “Let’s hope no one asks to swap out their soul next.”

“There’s also a male client who wants such-and-such done, to strengthen a certain function.”

“That’s not exactly within my line of work.” Yipin couldn’t help laughing. After Aunt Peng left, Yipin opened her mail.

One envelope was from the Jin family: “Beiluo now has a lifelike prosthetic eye, fitted with a titanium snap mechanism, seamless — she still has a series of reconstructive surgeries ahead, but her life is already nearly indistinguishable from anyone else’s…”

Yipin had just set the letter down when the doorbell rang again.

“Ha — Mother, on a surprise inspection.”

Standing at the door, sure enough, was Mrs. Yang.

She asked with a smile, “No guests inside, I hope?”

“Come in, please — Mother, you’re the rare visitor here.”

Mrs. Yang said, “If you don’t want me coming, I simply won’t.”

Yipin laughed and coaxed her in. “Let me pour you a good cup of tea.”

Mrs. Yang glanced around the room. “Who sent this huge pot of Yipin orchids?”

Everyone seemed to have an uncanny knowledge of orchid varieties.

“Was it that homely-looking young man?”

Yipin disagreed. “Mother, don’t judge people by their looks — you might misjudge a person entirely.”

“Yipin, that man’s appearance really is quite unremarkable. I came specially to tell you — you’re only in your twenties, there’s no need to rush into something with someone like that.”

“He’s kind-hearted—”

“Mm, and generous with money too.”

Yipin laughed despite herself. “Mother, are you suggesting I’m after his money?”

“I honestly don’t understand how a successful businessman ends up with the face of a peasant farmer from the back mountains. And besides, look how calculating and careful this man is, always thinking several steps ahead — definitely not someone easily satisfied.”

“Mother, he’s really just an ordinary friend.”

“Imagine how ugly my future grandchildren would turn out — how would I even take them out in public.”

Yipin was exasperated. “Getting old — old people just don’t listen to reason anymore.”

Mrs. Yang looked at her daughter. “You think I’m a fool? I know exactly what’s on your mind.” She sighed. “Take your time. No need to rush.”

Yipin sat down. “I get lonely after work — dating helps pass the time. I’m not really thinking of marriage.”

Mrs. Yang thought for a moment and asked, “Still no word from Erjing?”

“She’s fine. Don’t worry about her.”

“If I’m not worrying about you two, who else would I worry about?”

“Mom, I still have things to do.”

Mrs. Yang leaned in. “Yipin, your skin looks sallow — you need to take better care of it.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” Yipin finally managed to see her mother out the door, and let out a sigh of relief.

She thought about packing her things and found that her clothes had already been neatly organized — even a loose button had been sewn back on.

Having two such capable household helpers meant there was almost nothing left for her own two hands to do, except wash her own face. At this rate, Yang Yipin would end up losing herself entirely.

The phone rang. “Yipin, let’s go for a walk.”

“I’m tired.”

“Then rest first, I’ll come find you later.”

What Yipin appreciated most about him was exactly this lack of pressure — comfortable, relaxed, like an old companion who understood her completely, inside and out.

Perhaps it was precisely because she didn’t love him that this ease was possible — there are advantages, after all, to not being in love.

Yipin fell asleep in her clothes. When the doorbell woke her, she opened her eyes to find the sky already dim. She opened the door to find Lu Yongzhong there.

She let him in without turning on the lights. Lu Yongzhong’s gaze was intense; noticing her hair was still damp, he said, “Dry your hair before you sleep next time, to avoid headaches.”

Yipin smiled. “There’s no medical basis for that claim, you know.”

Lu picked up her coat for her. “Come, let’s go for a walk along the tree-lined avenue.”

Yipin had the feeling he wanted to show her something.

Sure enough, it turned out to be a construction site — a small, freestanding house, the work clearly in full swing. The tree-lined avenue sat high above the city, with an unobstructed view of the harbor; somehow, in any city, the hillside and the base of the hill always presented two entirely different worlds.

The terrace hadn’t had its railing installed yet. Yipin stepped out to look at the blue sky and white clouds, feeling a touch of envy for the future lady of this house — everything ready-made, all she’d need to do is walk in with a toothbrush. Lu stood behind her and asked, “What do you think?”

“It’s lovely.”

“It’s missing a lady of the house.”

Yipin found this line straight out of a sentimental novel and couldn’t help laughing.

“I mean it, though.”

Yipin crossed her arms over her chest, giving no clear response.

Lu Yongzhong took a breath. “Yipin, would you be willing to be the lady of this little house?”

Yipin was caught off guard — she hadn’t expected a proposal — and when she finally spoke, her answer was even more absurd than anything a novelist could have written: “You don’t actually know me at all.”

Lu Yongzhong only smiled. “I know you’re a rare treasure.”

He took out a small blue velvet box, opened it to reveal a diamond ring — not too large, not too small, tasteful. “Yipin, please, think it over.”

Yipin gently closed the lid and placed it back in his pocket. “Not yet — I haven’t even thought about it—”

Just at that moment, they suddenly heard the sound of something crashing to the ground, workers crying out in alarm, a commotion, someone shouting for help.