"How many surgeons are there in the country, how many female surgeons, and among thoracic surgeons, how many women actually stand at the operating table as the Chief Surgeon?"
"A thousand? A hundred? Ten? One?!"
"No, you're all wrong." The voice of the person on stage grew softer and softer, "The answer is zero—"
In 1996, in the emergency room of the Third People's Hospital in Minjiang District, Songyuan City. Under the dark night, the dilapidated emergency room building was faintly visible, its front courtyard lights dangling messily in the wind, a stark contrast to the dazzling neon lights on the street outside.
The ambulance bearing the big, bold letters "Third Hospital" screeched into the hospital's iron gate, causing a loud clang when it brushed against the gate. The security guard in the booth rushed out to check the gate.
Roused by the noise, Xie Wanying, who had been standing in the courtyard, snapped back to reality; her blurry vision sharpened, focusing on the entrance of the emergency room.
She saw several flustered nurses pushing an emergency gurney out of the emergency room, slightly ahead of them, a male doctor examined the pupils of the patient lying on the gurney with a flashlight.
"Systolic 70, diastolic 40."
"Low blood pressure, what's the situation? What's the patient's complaint?"
"Says it's pain in the chest."
"Heart disease? Myocardial infarction?"
The stethoscope was placed on the patient's chest to listen. At that moment, the patient was drenched in sweat, his complexion was completely colorless, he looked as though he were dead, and his lips were pale. The male doctor said, "Quickly get him inside and give him a shot of morphine for the pain."
"You're wrong it's not a heart attack, it's a ruptured aortic aneurysm. The pallor isn't due to pain, it's due to blood loss—" Xie Wanying's lips parted unconsciously, and a string of words slipped out.
The nurses pushed the gurney with the patient into the emergency rescue room. The emergency doctor, following behind the patient and nurses, turned back hastily, then abruptly stopped upon hearing the words carried by the wind. He turned around and saw the girl standing in the courtyard.
The girl was slim and tall, with a sleek braid hanging down, like a willow bending in the wind, her skin fair, her wrists delicate, wearing a blue and white high school uniform.
Xie Wanying, under the gaze of the other, took in the man's face as well.
The male doctor was quite handsome and dashing.
With a small chin and a standard fair complexion, he didn't have the rigid square face, making him quite popular with young girls. His hair was styled to match the trend of current celebrities, with short, messy tips and fluttering bangs, his eyes bright and clear in the night.
If he weren't wearing a white coat, you might mistake him for a young singer with a guitar walking down the street. Wearing the white coat, however, made him even more striking.
He looked to be in his early twenties, but his actual age might be slightly older, as a good-looking face can often conceal one's true age.
Xie Wanying's gaze fell on the doctor's badge hanging on the chest pocket of the man's white coat, which read: Neurosurgery, Cao Yong. On reflection, the black pen in the pocket of his white coat was quite cool.
Neurosurgery, no wonder he didn't identify the difference between a heart attack and a ruptured aorta at first glance. Xie Wanying thought.
"Dr. Cao, the patient—" called a nurse from the entrance of the emergency room.
Hearing the nurse calling, Cao Yong quickly turned and entered the emergency room, unable to shake the image of the high school girl he had just seen.
Whose student was she? Which school did she attend? How could she come up with the medical term for a ruptured aortic aneurysm?
Had he heard her wrong?