Chapter 10: Dean Yang
1174 Words
Zheng Biao had beaten Qi Bo several times during their university days. Each time, Qi Bo was left bruised and battered, utterly unable to fight back. This was Zheng Biao’s greatest edge over him. For a man as domineering and twisted as Zheng Biao, simply getting Qi Bo fired wasn’t satisfying enough. No—he wanted more. He wanted a fight, a spectacle. He wanted to thrash Qi Bo publicly and force him to crawl between his legs in front of a crowd. Only then would his thirst for revenge be quenched.
This was how Zheng Biao chose to retaliate for Qi Bo reporting his father’s botched, drunken surgery—an incident that cost his family 300,000 yuan in compensation.
He wanted to make sure Qi Bo would never again raise his head proudly—not in front of him, not in front of anyone who knew them both. If Qi Bo agreed to the match, Zheng Biao promised to spare his job—for one year. After that, he’d find new ways to torment and control him. It was clear: he had no intention of ever letting Qi Bo breathe freely again.
“What do Zhao Huiping and Hu Yin have to do with any of this?” Qi Bo demanded.
Zhao Huiping and Hu Yin were two nurses at People’s Hospital who had always treated Qi Bo kindly. Their relationship was limited to friendly cafeteria meals and occasional small talk—nothing more. Yet now, Zheng Biao had dragged them into his sick game, using them as leverage to force Qi Bo into the match at Tailong Gym. It was despicable.
“They’re involved because I say so! Are you coming or not?” Zheng Biao snarled. “If not, you’re out of a job—and so are they!”
“I’ll be there,” Qi Bo replied after a long silence.
He knew he was no match for Zheng Biao in a fight. It would likely end in brutal humiliation. But he couldn’t let innocent people suffer for his choices. His parents, both laid off and running a struggling small business, relied on him financially. He had no other option.
“Now that’s more like it! Hahaha… Tomorrow morning, ten sharp. Tailong Gym. Don’t chicken out,” Zheng Biao sneered, already picturing Qi Bo crawling beneath him, humiliated before an audience.
Zheng Biao wanted more than just another victory—he wanted to brand the memory into Qi Bo’s soul. He wanted him to remember forever that he could never rise above Zheng Biao, never even come close to challenging the Zheng family. And to ensure this, he planned to turn the boxing match into an annual ritual—one where Qi Bo would be forced to crawl under him every year like a circus act.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be there,” Qi Bo said coldly, then hung up.
He could ask Dr. Cao to assign him the night shift tomorrow, freeing up his morning for the fight.
Liangjia Women’s Hospital, while slightly more reputable than typical private hospitals, often had doctors and nurses administering anesthetics. Qi Bo, a licensed anesthesiologist from People’s Hospital, was hired more for the hospital’s image than for actual need. In Dr. Cao’s eyes, he was little more than an assistant—an extra hand, not a critical presence in the OR.
After the call, Qi Bo sat quietly, deep in thought. Would tomorrow end like those university fights—bloodied, broken, and disgraced? If he fought Zheng Biao fairly, probably yes. But now he had access to powerful anesthetics. Could that give him an edge?
What if he managed to numb Zheng Biao’s limbs, paralyzing him mid-fight? Or injected something subtle into his bloodstream that would make him collapse? The possibilities were… intriguing.
He’d need to test the effects first—ideally in a real fight, so he knew what to expect.
…
“Qi Bo, where are you going for lunch?” Nurse Sun Xiaomei called out as the morning shift ended.
That morning, Qi Bo had assisted in prepping surgical sites, applying speculums, and handling other messy, grueling tasks. He had followed Sun Xiaomei’s instructions without complaint, diligently working with anesthetized patients—most of them female college students. His quiet endurance, willingness to get his hands dirty, and sweat-soaked uniform earned him some respect from her.
Newcomers had to prove themselves to earn a place in the team. Qi Bo’s humble work ethic was beginning to win people over.
“I’m not familiar with the area yet, so I haven’t decided,” Qi Bo replied with a friendly smile.
In the operating room, Sun Xiaomei had been all business—cold and stern. But now, out of scrubs, her tone had softened. Perhaps that harsh demeanor was just a professional mask.
“Come with us,” said Dr. Cao, approaching. “We’ll split the bill. There’s a nice place nearby that does good stir-fry.”
Dr. Cao, full name Cao Li, appeared to be in her thirties. Outside her surgical gear, she looked sharp and confident. As the head of the hospital’s abortion center, she held a deputy director-level position—akin to an associate professor at a medical college.
“Yeah, join us. We’ll be working together a lot, so let’s get to know each other,” added Dr. Zhong, who had just walked over.
Dr. Zhong, or Zhong Hongyu, seemed to be around twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Calm, composed, and professional, he had impressed Qi Bo during the morning procedures. Among Drs. Cao, Zhong, and Li, he appeared to be the most skilled.
“Sure, I’d love to,” Qi Bo responded with genuine appreciation.
Dr. Li, who had joined them quietly, simply smiled at him without saying much. Her name was Li Anqi—about twenty-five or twenty-six, seemingly introverted and reserved. She left little impression on Qi Bo.
The four of them left the hospital together. As they reached the main entrance, Dr. Cao and Dr. Zhong suddenly stopped and smiled warmly.
“Dean Liang, good to see you! Dean Yang, didn’t expect you here today,” Dr. Cao greeted a group of people exiting the elevator.
Lost in thought, Qi Bo glanced at the young woman Dr. Cao had referred to as Dean Yang—and froze.
It was her.
The girl who had haunted his dreams for years. The one he had longed to see again.
Five years ago, they had saved a man suffering a heart attack on the street. He hadn’t even gotten her contact information. He had thought he’d never see her again.
And yet—there she was. Standing in the lobby of Liangjia Women’s Hospital.
Fate was a strange thing.
She had grown from a girl into a woman. His memories of her face had blurred over time, and he had doubted whether he could ever recognize her again.
But the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew.
It was her.
There was no mistake.
It was definitely her.
- Writer
