Abby had been deployed as a living shield.
With that single, wordless tactic, Zhuang Yi ensured that Xun Yuming had no graceful way to storm off. Abby sat between them, legs dangling, cheeks puffed slightly from chewing, while the two adults faced each other across the small table in stiff silence. The sea breeze moved through the open-air restaurant, carrying the faint scent of salt and grilled seafood, yet the air at their table felt heavier than the humid night.
Fifteen minutes later, Abby finished the last bite on her plate, wiped her mouth with exaggerated seriousness, and declared, "It's my treat. You pay."
Zhuang Yi let out a quiet laugh, called the waiter, settled the bill, and retrieved the small black takeaway box they had packed earlier. He walked them back to the car, opening the door for Abby first. Xun Yuming lifted her carefully into her seat before sliding into the back himself. The drive to the hospital dormitory passed in near-total silence, broken only by the steady rhythm of tires against asphalt.
When the car stopped at the entrance to the residential compound, the engine cut off and the sudden quiet felt almost startling. No one moved immediately. The night had fully settled; under the old streetlamp nearby, a cluster of moths circled endlessly around the light, drawn in by instinct, unable to escape it.
Xun Yuming stared at them for a long time.
Finally, he opened the door but did not step out right away. Instead, he turned slightly and asked in a low voice, "Do you really think I'm an alcoholic?"
Zhuang Yi did not answer immediately. He opened the glove compartment, retrieved the cardboard takeaway box, and handed it back to him.
"I've told you many times," he said evenly. "I don't think you have an alcohol dependency. But you are using alcohol to dull anxiety and fear. And the guilt you feel about that only feeds the anxiety further."
He rested one hand on the steering wheel and turned fully to face him.
"You need psychological counseling. That's my professional opinion."
Xun Yuming lowered his head. The moths outside continued colliding softly against the lamp glass.
"Then will you counsel me?" he asked.
He already knew the likely answer. Dean Chen's hints earlier had not been subtle.
"No." Zhuang Yi shook his head. He glanced at the time, shift change for the caregiver was approaching. "I'm heading back to the hospital. Goodnight."
The engine started again.
The car pulled away smoothly, disappearing into the dim street beyond the gate.
Xun Yuming remained standing there for a long moment, the takeaway box still in his hands.
Just when he thought the distance between them had narrowed, Zhuang Yi could widen it again with a single calm sentence. It was probably for the best. Getting close had never led to good outcomes for him.
But still, refusing to counsel him, especially after he had operated on Qin Xueyan,felt uncomfortably cold. Rationally, he knew no favor was owed. Emotionally, he felt something like one had been withheld.
He slept badly that night. Dreams came in fragments, operating lights, surgical gloves slick with sweat, a classroom podium from years ago, Zhuang Yi's back receding down a corridor. Past and present tangled until the ringing of his phone cut sharply through the noise.
Half-awake, he fumbled for it.
"Master!" Cen Ji's voice burst through the speaker. "Come to the hospital immediately!"
"…Let's keep this fragile calm," the radio crooned softly in the car. "Pretend tomorrow without each other doesn't hurt…"
Zhuang Yi reached forward and switched it off.
Silence.
A second later, Bluetooth connected automatically to his phone. The speakers resumed:
"Since you broke up with me, I have nothing left but sorrow..."
He stared at the dashboard.
"Is there no other music in this world besides love songs?" he muttered.
"Accept your fate," Abby said solemnly from the passenger seat, holding her phone like an oracle. "My mom says when someone is heartbroken, even God is against them."
Zhuang Yi pinched her cheek lightly. "What do you know? You're barely five."
"Five and a half," she corrected loudly. "And I start primary school next year. Also, I'm very mature."
"Very mature," he echoed dryly, steering the car into the hospital parking lot.
They stepped out beneath bright fluorescent lights. The inpatient buildings glowed against the night sky, but the administration building stood mostly dark, except for one stubborn light still burning.
"Go find your mom," he told Abby.
She immediately wrapped both arms around his leg. "No. Where are you going? I'm coming too."
He hesitated, then leaned down. "Fine. But what we're about to do is confidential."
She straightened. "Yes, sir!"
They walked toward the ICU first. Zhuang Yi handed the thermos and container to the caregivers, reminded them gently to monitor Qin Xueyan closely, and promised to return later that evening. Only after ensuring everything was in order did he guide Abby toward the administration building.
Behind the closed office door, Dean Chen's voice carried loudly.
"…Just approve one more allocation for us, will you? This is funding for Professor Xun's research. Think about national honor! If we delay him from winning another award, how will that look internationally?"
Pause.
"No, no, I'm not saying you're bald, I said it's as obvious as a louse on your head, metaphorically! Don't misunderstand."
Another pause.
"I know winning twice is rare, but there are other awards besides Field! If not Field, then Nobel. Why are you so stingy? Approve just one! It's settled. Goodbye!"
Zhuang Yi knocked.
"Come in!"
Dean Chen looked up and brightened immediately. "You! Why are you here? And whose child is this? So cute!"
"Abby, call him Grandpa," Zhuang Yi said.
"Grandpa." Abby swung her legs politely on the sofa.
"Good girl!" Dean Chen rummaged through a drawer and produced chocolate bars and two cartons of milk as though performing a magic trick. He tore open his takeout container and shoveled hot-and-sour shredded potato rice into his mouth. "So? What's wrong?"
"It's about Xun Yuming."
"Oh? The evaluation?" Dean Chen waved his chopsticks. "Unqualified, right? Planning to re-evaluate him?"
"No. The assessment is accurate," Zhuang Yi replied calmly. "He is under significant psychological strain. He does need counseling. But that does not mean he must stop performing surgery. His professional stability is intact. He can continue operating while undergoing treatment."
Dean Chen nodded vigorously. "Exactly! Do you know how much revenue we lose if we suspend him? His online appointments are booked a year in advance! The three daily reserved slots are being scalped for fifteen thousand each! Even then, you can't get one. If we suspend him, those patients will tear me apart."
Zhuang Yi allowed himself a small smile, remembering Xun Yuming's cold declaration earlier that even gods had to queue.
"I'm thinking of assigning Linlin to counsel him," he continued. "What do you think?"
"Linlin?" Dean Chen scoffed. "Is he capable?"
Zhuang Yi laughed lightly. "Have some faith in your son. He's my student. If he can't manage, I'll intervene."
Dean Chen grunted but did not object.
Abby unwrapped a chocolate quietly, listening as if she understood every word.