chapter 3

chapter 3

I first heard the name Zhang Jing a year ago.

Cheng Huaiyuan told me that an old high school classmate’s father was ill and needed an appointment at our hospital.

When you worked at a hospital, people often asked you to help them secure appointments with specialists.

But the specialist Zhang Jing wanted was our vice president, one of the most renowned experts in the entire hospital. His appointments were said to be impossible to obtain on any booking platform.

I was only a junior doctor and did not know him personally. Getting an appointment would mean using some of my mother’s connections, something I had always tried to avoid.

So I asked Huaiyuan how close he was to this classmate.

He hesitated, then quickly said they were ordinary classmates.

After a moment, he added, “We used to sit one behind the other, so I suppose we knew each other fairly well.

“She’s very introverted. If she has come to me for help, she must have exhausted every other option. If you can help, please do what you can.”

Those words persuaded me to try.

I begged my mother to intervene, and she contacted the vice president. Out of respect for her, he agreed to squeeze Zhang Jing’s father into his schedule.

When I gave Huaiyuan the news, he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

At the time, I was even touched by how loyal he was to an old friend. I was glad I could help him.

Huaiyuan brought Zhang Jing and her father to see me that same day.

My first impression was that Zhang Jing seemed remarkably “unworldly.”

She was thin, dressed in a simple white T-shirt, jeans, canvas shoes, and a ponytail. Her features were unremarkable, and though she wore only a light layer of makeup, I could tell she had dressed with care.

I called her unworldly because she seemed almost entirely ignorant of social niceties.

Since she had asked for my help, common sense suggested she should at least be polite and friendly. Instead, she remained behind Cheng Huaiyuan, and when he introduced us, she merely nodded. “Thank you for helping.”

Her father was much warmer. He thanked me profusely and brought a small bag of peanuts from Huaiyuan’s car for me.

The moment Zhang Jing saw the bag, her face darkened. She even scolded him. “I told you Dr. Jiang has seen every fine thing there is. Why would she want something like that?”

Then she apologized to me. “I’m sorry. My father has never traveled before. He has caused you trouble.”

Her father lowered his head like a chastened child, holding the bag awkwardly. “We grew them ourselves. They’re very good.”

I quickly took it from him to ease his embarrassment. “I love peanuts. Thank you.”

Strangely, Zhang Jing’s expression seemed to worsen from the moment I accepted the gift.

Her father relaxed and began chatting about their family.

He had never left his hometown in his life. When he fell ill, he had intended to receive whatever treatment the local clinic could provide, but Zhang Jing refused and insisted on bringing him to Beijing.

“Thank goodness Jing’er knows classmates like you. If not for all of you taking care of her, how could I ever have come to Beijing for treatment?”

The old man spoke proudly of his filial daughter, but every time he did, Zhang Jing frowned and told him, “That’s enough.”

Then she apologized to us again. “My father is old and tends to ramble. I’m sorry you had to listen to him.”

I found it odd. Beneath her politeness, I sensed a strange, brittle pride.

I did not dwell on it. I assumed she was anxious over her father’s illness.

It was only after his test results came back that I began to think there was something truly strange about her.

Her father had terminal cancer.

The vice president told me privately that treatment would accomplish little. I should ask about the family’s finances and urge them to think carefully about what came next.

I understood what he meant. At this stage, there was no cure.

If the patient came from a wealthy family, they could spend money to buy the peace of mind of knowing they had tried.

For an ordinary family, aggressive treatment made little sense. They would most likely lose both the patient and everything they owned.

“It would be better for him to receive palliative care back home. Minimize his suffering and let him go in peace.”

That put me in a difficult position.

I had intended to tell Cheng Huaiyuan and let him speak with Zhang Jing, but he was exceptionally busy those days. It seemed inappropriate to interrupt him over someone else’s family matter.

Besides, Zhang Jing was right there at the hospital. I could speak to her myself.

Because she was Huaiyuan’s classmate-and therefore, by extension, one of our own-I gently explained that treatment could leave the family penniless and still fail to save him.

Zhang Jing burst into tears. After sobbing for a long time, she said something incomprehensible. “Isn’t that the same as telling us to go home and wait for him to die? In your eyes, Dr. Jiang, are some lives worth more than others?”

I understood the pain of knowing she would soon lose her closest relative, but I still resented her refusal to hear the kindness in my warning.

Her expression and tone made her hostility toward me unmistakable.

I was no saint. Once someone had made it clear she disliked me, I had no desire to keep extending myself for her.

“No life is worth more than another,” I told her. “But doctors are not omnipotent. Disease treats everyone equally. We can only recommend the best realistic course. The choice belongs to the patient’s family.”

Then I left.

A few days later, when Huaiyuan was no longer so busy, I told him what had happened.

I explained that I had considered Zhang Jing one of our own and had therefore told her the truth as gently as I could. Her reaction had upset me.

Huaiyuan was eating. He immediately set down his chopsticks, his expression changing.

“Ranran, I don’t think Zhang Jing did anything wrong. Hearing something like that really would be unbearable.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “I used my connections to find her a specialist, then relayed the truth about her father’s condition and the realistic options for treatment. Instead of thanking me, she treated me like an enemy. Do I owe her something?

“I don’t control his illness, and I don’t set the cost of treatment. I helped her, and somehow that makes me wrong? What gives her the right to dump all her toxic emotions on me?”

When he saw my anger, Huaiyuan fell silent.

Afterward, by unspoken agreement, neither of us mentioned the incident or Zhang Jing again.

Not long later, I met the vice president in the elevator. He told me Zhang Jing had taken her father home. In the end, they had chosen not to pursue treatment.

Then work grew busier and busier, and both the matter and the woman faded from my mind.

Until one day, three months ago, when Zhang Jing reentered my life in a way that shocked and infuriated me.