Judging from that first encounter with alcohol, Xun Yuming clearly had not taken to it with any enthusiasm. There was no trace of fondness in his memories, only embarrassment, disorientation, and the lingering sting of humiliation. Chen Linlin therefore concluded that alcohol itself was never the attraction. Something else must have intervened during that brief but critical period of transition, something heavy enough to push him into drinking even before he was legally allowed to do so, and persistent enough to follow him into adulthood under the guise of habit rather than dependence.
"I…" Xun Yuming froze when the question finally reached its destination. He lowered his eyes, staring at the floor as if the answer were written somewhere between the cracks. The silence stretched for so long that it nearly became an answer in itself. Only after a considerable pause did he speak again, his voice so low it barely rose above a murmur. "After graduation… I was heartbroken."
Chen Linlin had known, in the vaguest sense, that there had once been something between Zhuang Yi and Xun Yuming. The hospital gossip was never short on speculation, and Zhuang Yi himself was not someone whose past could remain entirely invisible. But the details, who left whom, why it ended, how it ended, those were not things she knew. And now, seated across from him in a consultation room, she also knew better than to treat them as gossip. In therapy, there was no such thing as casual curiosity. Everything spoken here was protected, sealed by professional ethics far heavier than curiosity or familiarity.
She nodded once, slowly, acknowledging the weight behind his words, and then asked in a measured tone, "Did Dr. Zhuang break up with you?"
"No." Xun Yuming lifted his head sharply, the response coming too fast, too instinctive. He shook his head, as if correcting a grave misunderstanding. "It wasn't him. I was the one who ended it."
Chen Linlin did not rush him. She simply asked, "Why?"
The question hung quietly in the room, without accusation, without judgment, waiting patiently for the answer it knew would not come easily.
That day's counseling session did not reach its natural conclusion. Halfway through, Xun Yuming was abruptly pulled away by a call from the emergency department. A county hospital in a neighboring city had admitted a patient with severe traumatic brain injury following a high-speed accident. Local resources were insufficient, the patient was unstable, and transfer was deemed impossible. An urgent request for external assistance was sent out, and the neurosurgery department made the decision almost immediately: Xun Yuming would go.
Because he did not hold a domestic driver's license, Chen Linlin volunteered to drive. The neighboring city was only about an hour away, but with the surgery scheduled overnight and an immediate return afterward, the trip felt compressed and relentless. Fortunately, the county hospital coordinated with traffic police to clear the route, and the patient was escorted smoothly to the Third People's Hospital, a Class II Grade A facility. Though it could not compare to Xiwang Hospital, it boasted a newly constructed ward building and a laminar-flow operating room that met national standards.
By the time they arrived, the hospital director and head of neurosurgery were already waiting. Xun Yuming changed into surgical attire as he moved, listening to a rapid briefing. When the director began reciting the patient's name, Xun Yuming interrupted without hesitation.
"Don't tell me his name," he said evenly. "I don't need it."
He had never remembered patient names. To him, names carried stories, and stories invited emotion. Emotion clouded judgment.
The injuries were extensive: skull fracture, multiple contusions, internal bleeding, splenic rupture. A quick-thinking local physician had temporarily stemmed the hemorrhage using a catheter balloon, buying precious time. Under the principle of prioritizing life-threatening injuries, everyone agreed, neurosurgery first.
Xun Yuming barely glanced at the scans before reaching the same conclusion he had already anticipated: acute subdural hematoma, epidural bleeding, diffuse cerebral contusion. There was no room for hesitation. Disinfection, incision, decompression, everything proceeded at maximum speed. The moment the skull was opened, blood welled up violently, the brain swollen and tense, like overproofed dough threatening to burst.
He had seen this scenario too many times to romanticize it. Survival rates were cruelly low. Still, he worked without pause, removing hematomas, performing a large bone flap decompression, hands steady through the night. When he finally stepped out of the operating room, it was already noon. The sunlight stabbed into his eyes, and only then did his body register its exhaustion.
Hunger hit him all at once. His hands trembled faintly as he signed off on the surgical notes. Outside the hospital, he bought a cup of bubble tea so sweet it made his teeth ache. As he paid, his phone died, battery depleted after a full day without charge.
He couldn't remember Chen Linlin's number. After some effort, he tracked down Old Chen through hospital staff, only to learn that Chen Linlin had already left and Old Chen was returning with the ambulance dispatched earlier that morning.
By the time Xun Yuming reached the parking lot, the ambulance was already gone.
He wandered aimlessly for a while, clutching the plastic cup in his hand, before stopping at the curb and muttering to himself, "Xiaoming, think. You're supposed to be smart."
Just then, an engine hummed behind him. A black SUV pulled up and stopped. The window lowered, revealing Zhuang Yi's profile.
"Get in."
Xun Yuming didn't question it. Relief flooded him so quickly it almost felt like joy. He climbed into the passenger seat, fastening his seatbelt in one fluid motion. "Did Dean Chen send you?"
Zhuang Yi kept his eyes on the road. "I came to buy abalone pastries for Abby. Chen Linlin said you were here and asked me to give you a ride back."
The words abalone pastries slipped out of Xun Yuming's mouth without thought. "Why would you drive all the way out here just for that?"
Zhuang Yi didn't answer immediately. As the car merged onto the highway, he said quietly, "You don't break promises to kids."
He reached into the back seat, handed over two boxes of pastries and a bottle of water. "Eat. We bought too much."
Xun Yuming didn't refuse. He ate quickly, crumbs falling into his palm, water balanced awkwardly between his knees. Zhuang Yi noticed and took the bottle from him, opening it before handing it back.
"How was the session with Chen Linlin?" Zhuang Yi asked.
"It was fine," Xun Yuming said after swallowing. "He thinks I'm an alcoholic."
"And?"
"I told him I wasn't."
Zhuang Yi smiled faintly. "The more you deny it, the less convincing it sounds."
Xun Yuming stared down at the pastry box. "Then what am I supposed to do?"
Zhuang Yi glanced at him and said in English, softly but clearly, "Sometimes, all you need to do is stay silent."
Xun Yuming did exactly that.
Zhuang Yi raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"