The rabbit nodded, but her “yes” never came out.
Because Zong Chi didn’t let her say it, only cursed, “After all these years, you still know exactly how to piss me off.”
Tan Zhengjun’s earnest advice about “high-level spiritual love” didn’t exist in this dream.
Zong Chi was neither high-level nor civilized—he reeked of cigarettes, and the rabbit wrinkled her nose in disgust.
Zong Chi tried to prove something, but when he looked down, he saw the pain between her brows.
The more obvious her pain, the more reckless he became.
The rabbit’s eyes reddened, tears pooling at the corners.
Zong Chi reached to wipe them away, but she jerked her head aside.
The culprit grabbed her face back with one hand, the other pulling her closer, dignity completely ensnared by desire.
Zong Chi muttered breathlessly, thickly, “You’ve never asked me for anything, and I won’t let you ask anyone else for anything, for anyone.”
“Break it off with him, okay?”
“After doing this with me, how could you still—”
Suddenly the rabbit turned into He Dongli, still looking twenty-four, unchanged.
Zong Chi’s words were cut off by her sudden slap, but the tangled desire didn’t break.
Face to face, a few desperate thrusts—his soul soared, his bones crashed to the ground.
Before it ended, as he leaned down to kiss her tears, the practical man suddenly grew delusional, everything flickering like a dying signal.
Zong Chi’s arms tightened.
He Dongli couldn’t break free, her voice discouraged, “You really haven’t changed at all, Zong—”
She didn’t even finish his name before she vanished completely.
Huang Secretary’s rule for business trips was always to contact the boss after ten in the morning.
She’d worked for Zong Chi for three years, flying all over the world.
Technically, Zong Chi was a model workaholic—no matter the time zone, he swam every morning.
She’d heard from Yu Lady that Zong Chi used to win medals in provincial youth swimming competitions.
Huang Secretary agreed with Yu Lady—
Mr. Zong’s height and physique were wasted if not professionally trained.
Yu Lady liked to tease her son—there’s always someone better out there.
You think he’s that good at swimming?
A medal just means he never got gold.
And he was short as a kid, or else why make him swim?
Huang Secretary had been recommended to Yu Lady by a former employer’s wife.
She always listened more than she spoke.
In the company, she reported directly to Zong Chi, but wisely understood that attaching herself to the Zong Family men couldn’t compare to winning over Yu Lady.
If you wanted a bright future, women helped women.
So she was always Yu Lady’s listener—never agreeing, never laughing along, always neutral.
She genuinely wasn’t interested in the childhood stories of these rich young masters.
Yu Lady seemed satisfied with her attitude.
Early that morning, Yu Lady posted a photo of her newly trimmed flower arrangement in her friend circle.
Huang Secretary gave her a like.
Soon after, Yu Lady called to ask if there were any changes to the itinerary, and whether they’d be back on time.
Huang Secretary agreed readily, saying she’d go up and remind Mr. Zong to get ready soon.
Yu Lady was pleased, saying they’d be back just in time for the Zhou Family’s banquet.
“Last time, Mabel—your girlfriend—liked that wine. Zhou Madam ordered it as the aperitif this time, and I’ve set aside two cases for you.”
Huang Secretary thanked her on behalf of her girlfriend, and Yu Lady hung up, calm as ever.
Checking the time, Huang Secretary grabbed her laptop and went upstairs.
But the boss seemed to have overslept or was swimming overtime—he wasn’t in the room.
She didn’t see any half-packed luggage, either.
Zong Chi always packed his own personal items—she just helped with the final organizing.
With a flight at two in the afternoon, today’s boss was either sleeping in or just ready to throw everything aside.
Huang Secretary frowned instinctively, until she spotted, in the farthest corner of the coat rack, a soaking wet, clearly freshly washed rabbit plush.
She couldn’t figure it out—what kind of quirk was this?
A Pink Rabbit, a comfort toy, left damp overnight, now dripping on the carpet…
Before Huang Secretary’s adult imagination could reel it back in, the man himself strolled in, acting all businesslike, “Perfect timing. Help me draft an email—about the Jiada acquisition. I promised Zong’s Father I’d personally handle it.”
She’d just sent out last night’s agenda and arranged all the personnel.
Now, after just one night, he wanted to change it again?
Seeing her hesitation, Zong Chi was a little impatient, his gaze questioning her.
“Any problem? If not, do it now.”
“Now?”
Huang Secretary thought it could wait until the drive to the airport.
She went to help him pack.
But Zong Chi stopped her.
“Before the Jiada project is handed over, I’ll be staying in the country. All business will be conducted here for now.”
Huang Secretary didn’t know whether to be shocked or pleased.
“Ah?”
“Ah what? Write the email.”
“But Madam Zong is still waiting for you to attend the Zhou Family’s dinner…”
“Whoever promised her can go.”
Huang Secretary was speechless.
She could only open her laptop and start drafting.
Zong Chi headed to his bedroom, then called back, “CC Chen Xiangyang.”
Today was He Dongli’s outpatient shift, and nothing was going her way.
First thing in the morning, her favorite glass cup suddenly cracked from the temperature change.
Then she got a complaint in clinic: the patient said the doctor’s attitude was bad, ordered too many tests, and after paying to see the results, kept pushing things off.
As expected, female surgeons just aren’t good enough.
He Dongli wrote a reply to the outpatient office.
One case was a child with a second-degree burn from a hot water bottle, the other a subcutaneous mass after a facial injury.
The latter patient came for a follow-up without re-scanning the code or waiting for their number.
The family barged into the consulting room with the father.
He Dongli reminded them to check in again, but the family wouldn’t budge, saying she was wasting time arguing when she could just review the report.
He Dongli patiently explained, “Please don’t interfere with other patients’ time and rights,” and again asked them to wait for their number.
The family saw the young female doctor as cold and unyielding, and immediately got angry, cursing her out.
He Dongli showed her work badge, indicating any dissatisfaction could be reported to the outpatient office.
She still had dozens of patients waiting.
The family finally left, and after their appointment, she scheduled them for outpatient surgery.
They left without a word, but filed a complaint anyway: “This female doctor is clearly incompetent. I wouldn’t trust her with a scalpel.”
At the Convenience Store, Zou Yan laughed after hearing her story, both comforting and scolding her: “Doctors are either oxen or horses—who doesn’t get scolded?”
Imitating their department chief, he added, “Humanistic care, care—if you keep that face all day, which patient wouldn’t be scared of you?”
But when Zou Yan went on rounds with a big smile, the patient’s family complained, “Why is the Attending Doctor always grinning at patients?”
He Dongli took a sip of hot Americano, unsure if she burned her mouth or just found the words too familiar.
She covered her mouth, swallowed the bitterness, and said, “Master just told me—I need to turn contradictions with patients into internal contradictions.”
Zou Yan nodded in full agreement.
But helplessly, He Dongli was too straightforward—she never dodged conflict.
This week, their schedules finally overlapped.
After work, Zou Yan called her, and they agreed to meet at the Convenience Store near the Women and Children’s Hospital inpatient building.
He Dongli, as usual, had a hot Americano morning and night.
Zou Yan sometimes really admired her iron stomach.
“You’re such a coffee addict—should I get you a Coffee Machine?”
He Dongli held her paper cup in one hand and a Red Bean Bread in the other.
Before she could answer, Zou Yan helped himself to a piece from her bag.
He continued, “Consider it repayment for your help.”
He Dongli chewed her bread, not sure whether to say something, but finally swallowed.
“No need.”
Then, in the tone of an old friend, unafraid of being teased, “I just got my contract—don’t want to give anyone leverage.”
Zou Yan grinned, “It’s not from my friend to Dr. He, it’s from me to He Dongli.”
“Reason?”
“Do I need a reason to give you a gift?”
“Ah.”
“You’re really no fun.”
Something crossed He Dongli’s mind, and she paused.
Then she kept chewing her bread with her coffee.
Finally, Zou Yan came up with a reason for her, “Half for you, half stays with you so you can bring me coffee every day.”
He Dongli: “Stop right there. If someone else should be making money, let them. If I have to bring you coffee every day, do you think I have a 24-hour life?”
Zou Yan burst out laughing again.
He gave in, “Alright, I’ll stop teasing. It’s just a gift, no reason. Next time, just buy me a cup in return.”
He Dongli knew Zou Yan was repaying her for helping with his friend’s grandmother.
She wasn’t petty—she wouldn’t shy away from proper social exchanges.
So, when Zou Yan asked her a third time not to refuse, He Dongli stayed silent, which was as good as agreeing.
Outside the glass curtain wall, the city lights had formed a barrier.
The two of them left the store together.
Zou Yan asked how she came today, noticing she didn’t ride her little e-scooter, so he offered her a lift.
He Dongli said she still had to go up and finish a discharge summary, make rounds in the ward, digest a bit, then go for a night run, and read some literature to help her sleep.
Zou Yan teased her again, “Seriously, with your energy, if you don’t become Director one day, I’ll be the first to object.”
He Dongli, for once, played along bureaucratically, “Mm, I’ll borrow Director Zou’s good wishes.”
Zou Yan rolled his eyes at her in mock annoyance.
As the automatic doors slid shut again, he remembered—what was the third unlucky thing He Dongli mentioned?
She’d already forgotten herself.
“What was it? Oh, blind date.”
She was going to meet the medical department head’s son for a blind date…
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