Cured by Destiny

Chapter 13 — The Underlying Truth

The hospital corridor smelled sharply of disinfectant, as if the air itself had been scrubbed raw. The pressure in the hall felt heavy, like someone had slowly taken the breath out of the world. Every footstep echoed like a hammer, thudding on the tiled floor and making a small, uneasy ripple in the stillness.

Su Wan had been pulled from the surgical team for now. The ward corridor was nearly empty — only a few distant figures drifting by. Still, when she walked past, she felt those looks. Some were thin and pitying, like cold hands trying to wrap around her; some were sharp with doubt, pricking the skin along her spine; others were quiet and studying, as if people wanted to see into her very bones.

Her steps slowed for a moment, then quickened as if chased by something. The hem of her white coat fluttered with each move, a small mirror of her inside worry. Her hands clenched without her meaning to; her nails dug into her palms so deep she didn’t feel the pain.

At last she reached her office door. It felt like a barrier between her and the noisy world. She pushed it open and it hit the wall with a soft bang, then swung back. For a breath the world outside seemed muted.

She sat slowly at her desk and looked down at the notice of suspension. Black words on white paper, glaring under the dim light. Each word felt like a nail driven into her chest. Her fingers passed over the cold type like they were touching something fragile and about to break — her career, her reputation.

“— suspected improper management of postoperative drugs, resulting in patient death.”

Her lips moved silently, repeating the sentence. As a doctor she knew how heavy those words were. It was more than a reprimand. It felt like a blade cutting through everything she had worked for.

The door eased open again. Shen Yu walked in, his white coat still on, slightly rumpled. His face was calm as ever, but when he saw her hands tremble a little, something like worry crossed his features.

“Have they checked the d**g records?” Su Wan asked. Her voice was rough and raw like sandpaper. Her eyes were red around the rims.

“They’re checking,” Shen Yu replied. He sat across from her and spread a few papers on the desk. The rustle of paper sounded loud in the quiet office. “But someone changed the data.”

Su Wan blinked, stunned. “What do you mean?”

“The pharmacology logs have a gap — from 2:00 to 2:30 a.m. That block is missing.” Shen Yu tapped the file, his eyes steady on her, trying to read her face for clues.

Su Wan’s brow tightened until a deep crease formed. A name slid out of her before she could stop it. “Lin Wanqing.”

Shen Yu didn’t answer at first. He paused, weighing the facts. “I can’t make a final claim yet,” he said slowly. “But she does have the authority to access that system.”

They sat in a hush for a moment. Snow fell outside and hit the window, melting into pale streaks like tears.

Shen Yu’s tone softened a fraction. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. Stay calm.” His eyes were steady, as if trying to give her some strength.

Su Wan nodded but said nothing. She let her gaze slide past him to the blurred snowy scene outside, feeling small and empty inside.

That afternoon the hospital held an internal meeting. The room was tight with tension. The lights were low and heavy on everyone’s face.

Ning Yu sat at the head of the table, his posture perfect and his gaze cold. A stack of folders sat before him like a small hill of accusations. He flipped through the pages slowly. Each rustle sounded louder and colder.

“Initial reports show the patient had postoperative complications leading to cardiac arrest,” a hospital rep read carefully, glancing at Ning Yu for reaction. “But there is an anomaly in the pharmacology process.”

Ning Yu tapped the table. The sharp sound cut the air. “Where is the anomaly?” he asked, voice flat and hard.

“Missing log entries… and the d**g sample was destroyed,” the rep answered, head bowed.

“Who approved the destruction?” Ning Yu’s eyes bore into the speaker.

A heavy silence filled the room. The rep finally said in a small voice, “Signed by — Su Wan.”

Ning Yu’s expression didn’t move much, but his eyes scanned the room and stopped. “Has the signature been verified?”

“Yes. The signature matches her handwriting.” The rep’s voice trembled a little.

Ning Yu closed the folder gently. The tiny motion made the air colder.

“Because this is an internal incident, the company will step in,” he said. “Shen Yu will assist the investigation. Suspend access for others.”

When the meeting broke up, Lin Wanqing stepped forward. Her footsteps were light. A barely noticeable smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “Mr. Ning, I will fully cooperate,” she said softly. Her voice was sweet, but her eyes were sharp.

Ning Yu glanced at her once. “I hope so,” he answered, cool as ice.

Later, Shen Yu returned to the lab. The smell of chemicals filled the room and machines cast a pale, uneasy light. He sat at the computer and opened the pharmacology logs. On screen everything looked normal at first. Then he stopped at a tiny timestamp.

“2:14:03,” he whispered. It was the moment the record had been overwritten. A flicker of something — suspicion, then resolve — passed across his face.

He pulled the backup files from the cloud and worked fast, fingers flying. The hidden footage popped up: lab camera video from the early morning hours.

At 2:12 a.m., a white-coated figure entered the lab. Shen Yu zoomed the footage. The person’s face was hidden under a cap and mask. Gloves and a face covering, every step practiced. The figure walked to the shelf, picked up a bottle, and changed the label.

Shen Yu watched the hands closely. They were long and graceful, and wore a thin silver ring. Only one person in the hospital wore that ring.

His eyes flashed with anger and shock. The answer formed in his mind — Lin Wanqing.

Meanwhile, Su Wan sat in her dorm room by the window. The room smelled faintly of disinfectant and old furniture. The small wooden box with her grandfather’s silver needles sat on the desk. She did not open it. She just stared at it.

Outside, the wind mixed with snow to blur the view like ink wash. Her reflection in the glass was split between the warm window light and the dim room behind her.

Her phone lit up: Shen Yu: I found the evidence.

Her finger hovered a moment over the screen. A small burst of relief and a tired smile touched her lips. She typed back two simple words: Thanks.

Pressing send felt like setting down some weight.

That night Ning Yu’s car pulled up outside the hospital. The leather inside smelled faintly of cold metal. His assistant asked quietly, “Mr. Ning, do you want to go straight to headquarters?”

Ning Yu watched the hospital building, lights steady like a line of small beacons. “Check the pharmacology coordinator,” he said simply.

“Lin Wanqing?” his assistant asked.

“Yes.” Ning Yu’s voice was calm, but absolute. There was no argument.

“Why her?” the assistant asked.

Ning Yu paused for a heartbeat. “A hunch.” He kept looking at the lit building as if he wanted to see through it.

They drove on. Light washed over the snow and left a long streak behind. Ning Yu’s old jade pendant warmed slightly on his wrist, the carved dragon faint in the dim. He did not notice the warmth.

That night he dreamed again: she was kneeling in the snow on the execution ground, her white clothes stained red. He stood high above, watching her fall while the wind and snow screamed. In the dream his heart broke with a sound like thin glass.

Snow fell quietly. The lights in the city still shone like day. Something dark and slow had begun to move beneath the surface — an undercurrent ready to strike.