Cured by Destiny

Chapter 11 — Under Currents

The hospital lights were painfully white, like everything had been bleached and scrubbed. The bright light streamed through the meeting room glass and hit the long table, reflecting off the surface and making people’s eyes sting.

Su Wan sat in the back row on a hard chair that smelled faintly of disinfectant. She held a pharmacology report in her hands. The paper’s edges curled slightly in the dry air from the air conditioning. Her finger traced down the sheet and stopped at one line: LQ - 07.

That row of numbers looked too perfect — each dose rounded to one decimal, every data point neat and even. No wobble, no error. Su Wan frowned. Lin Xi’s joking warning floated into her mind: “Things that are too perfect make you nervous.” The voice felt close, folding into her worry.

At the front, the presenter spoke smoothly. Lin Wanqing wore a light beige suit, moving and speaking with calm, textbook precision. Her voice was soft and confident. “The LQ series is progressing well. Stability is better than expected. No adverse reactions reported.” A few polite claps floated in the room like falling leaves.

Shen Yu sat by the head of the table, his face composed like a frozen lake. He looked at the screen for a moment, then glanced over at Su Wan. His eyes were sharp, like stars on a winter night, as if he could see through people.

Su Wan didn’t notice him. She kept writing a small note on her paper: “Stable ≠ Real.” She pressed the pen hard, leaving deep marks in the paper.

After the meeting, people flowed out like a tide. Footsteps and murmurs echoed down the corridor. Su Wan packed her documents and prepared to leave when slow, steady footsteps came closer.

“You noticed this too?” Shen Yu’s voice came from behind. Quiet, but it made the air feel heavier.

She turned to him. His gaze felt like it reached right into her most private thoughts. “The data is too neat,” she said softly. “It doesn’t read like experiment results. It reads like a template.” Her fingers tightened on the paper until it bent.

He tapped the table lightly. The sound was sharp in the quiet room. “I saw it too. LQ is a new batch — it shouldn’t be this smooth.” His brow tightened. Then he lowered his voice: “Don’t tell anyone yet.” He looked serious and steady.

Su Wan hesitated, then nodded. The trust that rose in her chest surprised her. Outside, snow started falling again, drifting down like small white petals. Light brushed Shen Yu’s hair and gave him a pale halo. For a moment, Su Wan felt a strange déjà vu, as if she had seen this in a dream.

That night the hospital corridors smelled of disinfectant. The lights in the psychology office went out with a soft click as Lin Xi left, holding a printout with a small photo attached. She frowned at a line in the file: 3:00 AM — Lab Access Log: Lin Wanqing.

Her hand tightened on the paper. The light in the hall flashed and broke into squares on the floor like a shattered memory. After a breath, Lin Xi walked toward the pharmacology lab, her steps quiet.

At the lab door a dim lamp glowed. Through the glass she saw Lin Wanqing inside, dressed in a white coat, hair neat. She hunched over her computer, entering data with a gentle focus, as if the whole world was just her and the screen.

Lin Xi tapped softly on the door. “Lin Coordinator — still here?” she called.

Lin Wanqing turned and smiled. “Oh, Dr. Lin. I like staying late to organize things.” Her voice was calm, but a flicker of tension crossed her face.

“Dedicated people scare me,” Lin Xi said, watching her.

Lin Wanqing raised an eyebrow. “Scared?”

“Because they never make mistakes.” Lin Xi’s stare didn’t leave her. She was trying to find the smallest c***k in that perfect smile.

Lin Wanqing’s grin thinned. “Doctors’ instincts can be sharp. That makes people nervous.” She closed the laptop and stood up, a faint scent like jasmine and medicinal wine in the air. She passed Lin Xi with light steps, and the smell lingered.

Lin Xi watched Lin Wanqing’s retreating figure until the glow of the hall light trembled. She took out her phone and snapped a quick photo. Her hand shook a little. The phone screen lit her face pale.

The next morning the sun cut through the hospital glass but could not warm the chill. Shen Yu read a message from Lin Xi: “Pharmacology logs were altered. LQ-07 may not be an original batch.”

He pulled on his coat and walked fast toward the lab. The hospital seemed wrapped in a thin veil of ice. In the lab corridor the smell of disinfectant hit like a slap. Lin Wanqing moved among the shelves gracefully, like a dancer. When Shen Yu entered she smiled and said, “Director Shen, what brings you here?”

“I’m checking batch labels.” Shen Yu’s voice was calm.

She handed him a folder with elegant motion. He flipped it open and his eyes sharpened. He noticed small edits on the bottoms of bottle labels — dates altered. The marks were tiny but he saw them.

“Who was on duty last night?” he asked.

“Me.” Lin Wanqing’s composure did not break.

Shen Yu closed the folder slowly and looked at her. “Oh? I couldn’t sleep either.”

Her smile didn’t change. “You should rest more. Pressure makes people see things.”

His gaze stayed cold. He said, “I hope that’s not the case.”

By evening the sky felt heavy and leaden. Su Wan left the ward and felt the red mark on her wrist warm again, like a small burn. Her heart skipped; it felt like an invisible tug.

She turned and saw Shen Yu standing at the corridor end. Light outlined his shoulders. He looked severe, but something moved under that calm — a hidden current.

“Director Shen?” she asked.

He came closer, voice low and rough. “Do you feel it? The dreams — are they becoming clearer?”

She paused. “Dreams?”

“There’s snow, light, and you,” he said so softly it was almost a whisper. “I remember saving you. But I also remember you dying before me.”

The corridor held its breath. Su Wan felt cold sweep through her like snow. She wanted to laugh to break the fear, but no sound came. Outside, the snow fell again, ticking at the window like a soft heartbeat.

“Maybe we are repeating the same dream,” Shen Yu added, steady and quiet.

Su Wan looked up. The lights flickered twice as if something touched them. Her reflection in the window showed eyes with snow and fire and tears that hadn’t fallen yet — a broken picture.

Late that night Lin Wanqing stood alone in a quiet hall, scrolling a final report: LQ - 07 approved for review. Light fractured in her pupils like scattered stars. She smiled, slow and knowing. “Dreams…” she murmured. “Dreams hide everything well.”

All night the hospital stayed lit. White walls, white floors, white ceilings — every clean surface seemed to breathe. In the hush of the building there was a soft, almost hidden whisper. The undercurrent had begun to move. Like a snake in the dark, it coiled quietly, tasting the air, waiting to strike.