When the family member downstairs shouted and rushed toward him, Xun Yuming's first instinct was not to argue, not to defend himself, but to run.
He turned abruptly, but in his haste his left foot stepped squarely onto the loose lace of his right shoe. The next second his balance tipped forward. The stairwell tilted violently in his vision, and he felt the unmistakable sensation of his body pitching toward empty space. If he fell from this height, he would not stop halfway.
Before he could even register panic, a firm hand seized his forearm.
At the same time, another hand slammed against the spring-loaded door, bracing it open.
"Bang!"
The furious man barreled into the door instead of into him.
For a split second, Xun Yuming felt himself suspended between falling and being pulled back. His shoulder hit solid warmth. He looked up.
Zhuang Yi stood beside him, jaw set, posture steady, one arm still gripping him with enough strength to leave faint pressure marks through the fabric of his coat.
Dean Chen hurried down the stairs, his tone instantly shifting into mediation mode. "Oh dear! Please calm down, are you hurt? Let's talk this through."
"Your hospital refused to treat someone who's dying!" one of the family members shouted, eyes blazing. "And now you dare to lay hands on us?"
"We're going to sue you! Just wait for the lawsuit!"
"Why can't my mother have surgery? She hasn't even received treatment, why are you discharging her?"
Voices overlapped, sharp and accusatory, echoing against the narrow stairwell walls.
Xun Yuming stood behind the door, heart pounding against his ribs, yet unable to produce even a single coherent sentence. He had never been good at arguing. The more chaotic the situation, the more his mind locked up. Words that came easily in the operating room evaporated the moment emotions rose.
Dean Chen quickly stepped forward, hands raised in placation, and after what felt like an endless stretch of tense negotiation, managed to guide the agitated family members toward the conference room for further discussion.
Gradually, the noise faded.
The stairwell returned to stillness.
Only the two of them remained.
Xun Yuming crouched down and retied his shoelaces, fingers moving slower than usual. When he straightened up, he spoke quietly, "Thank you. For just now."
"I was stopping him from crashing into Dean Chen," Zhuang Yi replied flatly, not even glancing at him.
"I know," Xun Yuming said after a pause. "Still… thank you."
He knew very well that Zhuang Yi had not reached for him out of lingering affection. Perhaps it was simply instinct. Perhaps it was professional reflex. Perhaps it was nothing at all.
What right did he have to expect anything more?
For a few seconds, silence hung between them.
Then Xun Yuming seemed to recall something. "I overheard Dean Chen mention your hand downstairs. Is it still not healed?" His voice softened almost unconsciously. "Since I'm free right now, why don't we go to the examination room? I can take a look."
The suggestion came awkwardly, as if he had pieced it together mid-thought. The morning had been overwhelming , reunion, argument, funding dispute, medical conflict, all colliding at once. Only now, in the quiet of the stairwell, did his mind begin to settle enough to notice details.
And now that they were alone, he finally allowed himself to really look at Zhuang Yi.
The man before him was still striking, sharp features, tall frame, that familiar composed presence. But something intangible had shifted. In the past, under stadium lights, Zhuang Yi had been the center of roaring crowds, a star on the university league field. He had been brilliant and untouchable, yet every gentle smile had been reserved for one person sitting quietly on the sidelines guarding a backpack.
Now, that same man did not even spare him a second glance.
The realization created a hollow ache, an unfamiliar desolation, as though time had erased more than just years.
"Why are you staring at me?" Zhuang Yi asked lightly, pushing the stairwell door open. "And I'm not giving up the funding."
Xun Yuming stepped forward instinctively to block his path. "You said you could give it back, as long as I agree to one condition. What condition? If it's within my ability, I'll agree. And your hand, I haven't even checked it yet."
Zhuang Yi turned back.
His expression was calm, almost indifferent.
"I will never ask you for treatment," he said evenly. "Find another doctor."
Then he left without explaining what that so-called condition was.
Xun Yuming walked upstairs slowly.
He could not leave yet, not while the medical dispute was still unresolved. To distract himself, he stopped by the nurses' station to inquire about yesterday's postoperative patient.
As he was about to turn away, the head nurse called out to him.
"Dr. Xun, Dean Chen asked you to personally examine a patient." She handed him a medical file. "Female patient. Dr. Sun saw her first. She's been complaining of frequent headaches and nausea. Recently she keeps smelling burnt food, even when nothing's cooking. Dr. Sun suspects olfactory hallucinations. She's already had imaging done."
Xun Yuming slipped on his frameless glasses and flipped through the records while listening. The symptoms were straightforward. Nothing rare. Nothing especially complex. He could not understand why the dean had specifically assigned the case to him.
"Where is she now?" he asked.
"VIP ward, sixteenth floor. She's already admitted. MRI and skull X-ray were repeated last night. I was just about to collect the results."
"I'll go," he said with a faint smile. "I'm off duty anyway."
He stopped by radiology to retrieve the films, reading as he walked, head lowered in concentration. When the elevator doors opened on the sixteenth floor, the atmosphere shifted immediately.
This level housed VIP patients and senior officials. The corridor was hushed. Visitors stood in orderly lines. Even conversations were muted, as though sound itself were regulated.
The nurse at the desk looked up and brightened. "Dr. Xun? What brings you here?"
"I'm here to see a patient." He glanced down the corridor, slightly disoriented by its winding layout. "Room 1612?"
"This way." The young nurse personally led him to the door, smiling brightly all the way.
He thanked her, knocked lightly, and entered after hearing a gentle "Come in."
"Hello, I'm Dr. Xun from Neurosurgery. Dean Chen asked me to..."
The room was a suite.
A large hospital bed occupied the center. A woman leaned comfortably against the headboard, peeling an apple with slow, practiced motions. A jade bracelet circled her pale wrist. With each turn of the fruit knife, the bracelet lightly tapped the handle, producing a crisp, rhythmic "ding-ding" sound.
On the linen sofa beside the bed sat the very person who had just declared he would never let him examine him.
Zhuang Yi looked up, visibly startled. "Why are you here?"
"Dean Chen sent me." Xun Yuming kept his expression neutral, glancing briefly at the woman on the bed before lowering his eyes to the chart. "To see Ms. Qin… Xueyan."
"I'm Qin Xueyan," the woman said warmly, setting down the knife. "This is my son." She laughed lightly. "Oh my, young men these days are so handsome. Even more handsome than actors on television."
Xun Yuming returned her smile politely and removed the films from the plastic sleeve.
"Auntie," he said gently after reviewing them, "your results are back. It's nothing too serious. Please don't worry."
Qin Xueyan visibly relaxed. She handed the peeled apple to her son and said playfully, "See? I told you it was nothing. It was your sister and your father making a fuss."
Zhuang Yi, however, did not relax.
"What exactly is the diagnosis?" he asked, stepping closer.
Xun Yuming handed him the imaging film. "The skull X-ray shows signs of increased intracranial pressure and widening of the meningeal artery groove, with some calcification. It's most consistent with a meningioma. This is generally not a serious condition. Surgery can resolve it."
"Meningioma?" Qin Xueyan's smile faltered slightly. Medical terminology blurred together in her ears. "Didn't you just say it was nothing?"
"It's truly nothing to be afraid of," Xun Yuming reassured her patiently. "Meningiomas are usually benign and grow slowly. Many people live their entire lives without symptoms."
"Can we try conservative treatment first?" Zhuang Yi asked quietly, one hand resting on his mother's shoulder. "Radiotherapy, perhaps? Surgery carries risk. My mother frightens easily."
"Yes, yes," Qin Xueyan nodded immediately. "Let's choose conservative treatment."
"Auntie, please listen to me carefully." Xun Yuming stepped closer, voice steady and gentle. "Your tumor isn't large, but it's located near the olfactory groove. Even benign tumors grow. You're not yet sixty—relatively young, in good condition. Removing it now carries lower risk."
He spoke methodically, explaining the potential progression: compression of nerves, impact on the frontal lobe, increasing surgical difficulty with age, higher cardiovascular risks later, the possibility of damaging surrounding neural structures if the tumor enlarged.
"You're already experiencing phantosmia, smelling burnt food when nothing is there. That's a symptom of compression. If we wait, symptoms will worsen."
Qin Xueyan listened wide-eyed, absorbing the information slowly.
Then she suddenly grasped her son's arm and exclaimed, "So that's why I kept smelling women's perfume on your father! He kept saying I was imagining things. Looks like I really wronged him."
Zhuang Yi pinched the bridge of his nose and laughed helplessly.
"See? You can't accuse him anymore," he said. "Dad is finally vindicated."
For the first time since their reunion, a small, unguarded smile flickered across Xun Yuming's face.
But beneath it, something far more complicated stirred quietly.