Suzhou had already traded green for gold.
The plane tree leaves, now dry and fragile, scratched the sidewalks like little notes forgotten by autumn. The sky, lower and more opaque, bowed over the rooftops with a kind of melancholy that didn't hurt — it simply embraced.
Since their last exchange of messages, the days seemed to have passed more quickly.
Wen Zhaonan had already returned to teaching — his arm steady, his cane discreet, his gaze deeper — but alert, as always. He and Yuyan still talked, yes. Spaced-out exchanges, light, shared between tight schedules, long shifts, meetings, reports, and silences. It was a kind of everyday care — subtle, but constant.
And now… it was November.
Madam Qian was discharged on a cloudy morning, after weeks of recovery.
Yuyan walked her to the exit with slow steps and a heart divided between tenderness and longing. The elderly woman wore a burgundy wool coat and held a floral handkerchief in her hands.
— Take this with you — she said, handing Yuyan a small pouch of dried jasmine and chrysanthemum tea.
— It's just tea, dear. But it might help you remember… that what you did for me also has a scent.
Yuyan tried to reply but only smiled — that small, quiet smile that already held everything that didn't fit into words. She watched the old woman leave arm in arm with her daughter. There were no promises of visits, no long goodbyes. Just a wave, and a glance that lingered longer than it should have.
Two days later, it was Yue's turn.
The little girl, who at first barely spoke, now walked the corridors hugging her old teddy bear — still missing one eye, but far more whole than before.
Xiaoqing was the one who handled all the transfer paperwork with the social worker.
She did it with a lightness that only the most attentive would recognize as effort.
— All done, little moon — she said, kneeling beside Yue.
— Everything's set. You'll have a new pillow, three new blankets, and a wardrobe with at least two pairs of socks that don't itch. I think that's a good start, right?
Yue didn't reply. She just hugged her suddenly, eyes moist. A quick, urgent hug, like someone holding on one last time. Then, she turned to Yuyan and handed her something small: a dried leaf, carefully folded into the shape of a heart.
— So you remember I didn't disappear.
Yuyan knelt too and held the leaf as if it were glass.
— I never thought you disappeared. And… I'll write your flower.
Yue nodded firmly. And left, hand in hand with the social worker.
The two nurses stood there for a few seconds, in silence.
It was Xiaoqing who broke it:
— The orphanage she's going to… is the same one Professor Wen grew up in.
Yuyan looked slowly.
— Are you sure?
— Qiao mentioned it. Apparently, he still donates there. Discreetly, of course. But everyone knows.
Yuyan's gaze drifted.
Then she said, more to herself than to her friend:
— He never says much. But he listens so deeply… sometimes I think he carries the whole world inside.
Xiaoqing crossed her arms.
— Hm. Poetic.
There was a pause. Then Yuyan turned, a faint ironic smile on her lips — a rare role reversal.
— And you, Xiaoqing… when are you going to stop taking care of everyone and start dating Professor Lin?
Xiaoqing's eyes widened.
— What?!
— Just giving you a taste of your own medicine. Isn't it you who keeps pushing me toward Zhaonan?
— Ugh, how rude! — she feigned outrage, giving Yuyan a playful shove on the shoulder.
— But look… between a pharmacology professor and a jar of red bean paste, I'm still deciding what makes me happier.
Yuyan laughed — and it was rare to see her laugh like that.Light. With her eyes.
But Xiaoqing, even smiling, looked away for a moment.
— Sometimes… I wonder if anyone will ever ask how I'm doing. Without me having to joke about it first.
Yuyan stopped. The smile gave way to a silence that didn't weigh — but settled.
She stepped closer, gently.
— I'm asking.
Xiaoqing looked at her, surprised. Then nodded.
— Okay. When I stop pretending I'm always fine… I'll answer.
Yuyan hugged her. A short hug, but full.
There, between dry leaves and empty corridors, two women who cared for the world found a moment to care for each other.
By the end of the day, Yuyan and Xiaoqing walked side by side out of the hospital.
The November wind carried dry leaves along the sidewalk, and the sky slowly dimmed, tinting everything with shades of copper.
Neither said a word.
But the silence was comfortable — as if, after everything, words could finally rest a little too.
Yuyan's phone vibrated in the pocket of her coat.
She pulled it out and looked at the screen.
Wen Zhaonan.
She read the message without saying a word.
Xiaoqing glanced sideways, curious.
But Yuyan just smiled. Small. Almost imperceptible.