I finally give up on sleep, throw on my white coat, and walk into the duty room. Sitting at the computer, I open foreign medical websites, searching for new developments and anti-cancer drugs. Domestic websites are often misleading; I’ve been tricked before and now exercise caution.
I come across a post by an American expert on lymphoma with unique insights and decide to consult him. While logging into my email, I find a new unread message titled: [Latest Lymphoma Treatment Case History]. I open it quickly. The message contains no text, signature, or sender information, leaving me guessing about its origin. I urgently open the attached document.
The document summarizes several successful lymphoma treatment cases, complete with red annotations and expert opinions. I read carefully from beginning to end.
The document is clear and logical, reflecting the author’s professionalism and rigor.
It’s him. Only he could write something so in-depth, only he would understand what I need most, and only he would send an unsigned email—believing I would recognize it.
At the last page, in bold red letters: “It took me twenty-four hours to compile this treatment plan. Thank you!”
Seeing this, I envision that lovable yet infuriating smile, that focused figure working through the night at the computer.
Laughing silently, my eyes ache.
Twenty-four hours… how did he manage that in these three days? I remember the exhaustion on his face yesterday.
The phone beside me rings, showing Ye Zhengchen’s number. I glance at the document on the computer, my heart softens, and I answer.
“Not asleep yet?” he asks.
“Mm. Just received your email.”
“I know,” he says, his voice especially magnetic. “I set a read receipt.”
His breathing varies: sometimes light, sometimes heavy. I don’t want to speak, just want to listen.
“I’m going back to Beijing tomorrow.”
He’s leaving? Didn’t he want me to give him a “month”?
A wave of melancholy washes over me. “Oh.”
“I really can’t bear to leave you,” he says with a deliberate sigh. “But our commander said if I don’t go back, he’ll send people to find me in Nanzhou.”
Melancholy transforms into a helpless laugh. With a subordinate like Ye Zhengchen, his commander must have worried himself gray-haired.
