Old Chen was still unconvinced.
"Why don't you handle it yourself?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and narrowing his eyes at Zhuang Yi with open suspicion. "I don't think Linlin's up to the task. Don't let him push Xiaoming over the edge. That would be a disaster."
Zhuang Yi didn't hesitate.
"I can't," he replied evenly, though his tone carried a firmness that left little room for further persuasion. "Providing psychological counseling to relatives or close acquaintances violates professional ethics. Even if there's no emotional entanglement left, the conflict of interest still exists. It would compromise objectivity. I won't do that."
He paused briefly, then shifted the subject with deliberate calm. "How's the funding progressing?"
Old Chen smacked his lips and let out a frustrated sigh.
"No chance for now," he said bluntly. "The guy in charge of approvals used to work at our hospital. I know him too well. He's slippery, never commits outright, never refuses outright. This money isn't getting approved anytime soon."
Zhuang Yi's brows drew together slightly.
"But you already promised Xun Yuming," he reminded him quietly. "You told him in the stairwell you'd push it through within two months."
Old Chen exhaled heavily.
"I know. That's why I'm considering Plan B. If public funds won't move, we approach private companies. Sponsors are lining up for him anyway. But if private capital comes in, they'll demand patent development rights and usage rights for whatever he researches in the future. That could affect his personal income."
Zhuang Yi knew very well what that implied.
Based on his understanding of Xun Yuming, money had never been the driving force. Recognition, achievement, the advancement of medical science, those mattered. Lives saved mattered. Awards mattered. Fame, perhaps, in a restrained way. But profit? Likely secondary.
Still, assumptions were dangerous.
"You need to ask his opinion first," Zhuang Yi said after a moment. "Guessing what he might accept isn't the same as asking him directly."
"Of course," Old Chen replied. "I'll ask him tomorrow."
Zhuang Yi pulled a wet wipe from the desk and gently wiped chocolate from Abby's mouth. She tolerated it with dignified patience. He lifted her into his arms and headed for the door.
"Ask him first," he repeated. "Then tell me what he says."
"Wait." Old Chen called out suddenly. "Have you decided about your studio? Why not affiliate it with our hospital?"
Zhuang Yi paused.
"I'll think about it."
There were advantages to forming a joint clinic: resources, visibility, administrative support. But there were constraints too. Oversight. Restrictions. Compromises. Unlike Xun Yuming, whose life revolved almost entirely around surgery and research, Zhuang Yi guarded the boundary between his professional and personal worlds carefully.
Old Chen gave him a sidelong look.
"If you don't agree, I won't talk to you about Xiaoming anymore," he warned casually. "You young people think we old men don't see anything? I'm not blind. Decide what you want. If you refuse, don't expect inside information later."
"…I understand," Zhuang Yi replied at last, resignation coloring his voice.
Then he added mildly, "If you try to play tricks, I'll make things difficult for your son."
Old Chen grinned, victorious and entirely unbothered. "He can handle it."
Zhuang Yi dropped Abby off at the hotel and handed her over to his cousin. On the drive back toward the hospital, he still felt uneasy and sent another message to Old Chen, reminding him once again not to proceed with any investment decisions without consulting Xun Yuming.
That night, before sleeping, he reopened a folder on his desktop.
It had been sitting there for eight years.
The folder's name was simple: "Ears."
He clicked it open.
Inside were subfolders arranged meticulously: "Photos," "Papers," "News," "Interviews," "Letters," and more. Each one documented a fragment of someone's growth across nearly a decade.
He selected the folder, dragged it into an email window addressed to Chen Linlin , and the system immediately rejected it. Attachment too large.
After a long pause, he removed the "Photos" and "Papers" subfolders. He renamed the remaining file simply: "Xun Yuming."
This time, the email sent successfully.
The next morning, Chen Linlin replied with only two words:
Received.
Zhuang Yi whistled softly under his breath as he walked toward the ICU.
He checked on Qin Xueyan first. Her condition appeared stable. Then he stepped outside to buy breakfast for the early-arriving relatives. He returned with a bundle of warm soy milk and plastic bags heavy with steamed buns.
That was when he saw Xun Yuming rushing down the corridor with two nurses at his heels.
Something in their urgency made his chest tighten instantly.
The soy milk slipped from his hand and splashed across the tile floor.
Xun Yuming had overslept slightly that morning, exhaustion dragging at his limbs after a restless night. The moment Cen Ji's call ended, he had thrown on his clothes and rushed out without even washing his face properly.
As soon as he stepped into the ward building, Cen Ji hurried toward him, pale and sweating.
"Master! She woke up but then suddenly started convulsing. The family's already here. What do we do?"
Xun Yuming did not answer immediately.
"Have you examined her?" he asked sharply as they walked. "Any abnormalities overnight?"
"There were too many family members crowding the corridor," Cen Ji replied breathlessly. "I didn't dare say anything definitive. Her pulse, blood pressure, pupils, everything was normal. She was conscious. Then suddenly...she started seizing."
"Medication?"
"I administered lorazepam. The convulsions have eased, but she's not stable yet."
Xun Yuming bypassed the family waiting outside and entered through the staff passage.
Inside the ICU, Qin Xueyan lay on the bed, nurses clustered around her. The violent tremors had subsided, but faint twitching remained at the corners of her mouth and along her cheeks. Documents were scattered across the floor, knocked loose in the scramble.
He took the chart from Cen Ji.
"Arrange a dynamic EEG immediately," he ordered. "Check for postoperative secondary epilepsy. Rule out electrolyte imbalance. Move quickly."
The nurses dispersed at once.
He listened to her heartbeat, checked her pupils again, confirmed her oxygen saturation. His movements were precise, practiced, but the tightness in his shoulders betrayed him.
Then he stepped back outside.
The family descended upon him instantly.
"Doctor, how is she?"
"Is she in danger?"
"Did something go wrong in yesterday's surgery?"
The questions came like waves crashing against rock.
Xun Yuming's head felt heavy, as though filled with static.
"We can't determine the exact cause until the test results come back," he said carefully. "She regained consciousness earlier. For now, she is not in immediate danger."
"You don't know?"
"Didn't you say yesterday she'd be fine once she woke up?"
"She was talking to us this morning!"
He absorbed the accusations without protest.
Complications happened. No surgery was without risk. Even perfection in the operating room could not guarantee smooth recovery afterward.
He had faced angry relatives before.
But this time, when he lifted his gaze, Zhuang Yi stood among them.
Zhuang Yi rubbed the bridge of his nose, then stepped forward.
"That's enough," he said quietly to the others. "There's no point in pressuring him. We'll know once the results come in."
He turned to Xun Yuming.
"Come with me."
They moved outside the electric isolation doors and stood by the window overlooking the courtyard.
"Tell me everything," Zhuang Yi said. "No omissions."
His voice was steady, but the crease between his brows betrayed the strain. His mother lay inside that room. No matter how rational he tried to remain, fear gnawed at him.
Xun Yuming swallowed.
He knew Zhuang Yi's tolerance for truth. He also knew the cost of withholding it.
"I have a suspicion," he said slowly.
"What is it?" Zhuang Yi asked at once.
For a brief second, Xun Yuming saw the weight in his expression, the tension coiled behind composure.
"I think…" He paused. "I think Auntie might have been frightened."
Zhuang Yi blinked.
"Frightened?"
"Yes." Xun Yuming spoke more steadily now. "Sometimes, after cranial surgery, especially when patients wake in an unfamiliar ICU environment, stress responses can trigger transient seizures. Bright lights. Multiple strangers. Physical discomfort. Psychological shock. It's possible the episode was induced by acute fear."
He exhaled softly.
"If that's the case, it's manageable."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, slowly, the crease in Zhuang Yi's brow loosened.