Days bled into a week, and the silence from Guo Chengyu was almost louder than his presence had been. Jiang Xiaoshuai found himself, much to his annoyance, occasionally glancing at the clinic door, a faint and utterly ridiculous sense of... something akin to anticipation, mixed with relief, stirring within him. He dismissed it as stress.
The clinic hummed with its usual quiet rhythm. Mr. Xi, his elderly patient with a perpetually creaky knee, shuffled in for his weekly check-up, offering a toothless grin and a bag of oranges. Ms. Shen Lu, with her sharp wit and endless stories, regaled him with tales of her grandchildren while getting her blood pressure checked. These were the constants, the comfortable rhythm of his life.
Then the door burst open.
A young man stumbled in, one hand clapped to his temple, blood oozing between his fingers. He swayed on his feet, his face pale and contorted in pain. Before Xiaoshuai could even fully rise from his desk, the man's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the waiting room floor with a thud.
Panic flared in Xiaoshuai's chest. "Mr. Xi, Ms. Shen Lu, please, can you wait for a moment?" he instructed, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hands. He rushed to the unconscious man, checking his pulse, his breathing, assessing the wound. It was a nasty gash, likely from a blunt object.
He managed to get the man onto the examination bed, cleaning and stitching the wound with practiced efficiency. It took some time, and the man remained unconscious. Xiaoshuai watched him, noting the exhaustion etched on his features, the way his clothes, though clean, were worn. They looked to be about the same age.
Hours later, as dusk settled, the man stirred. His eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened, revealing dazed, brown eyes.
"Where... where am I?" he mumbled, pushing weakly against the pillow.
"You're in my clinic," Xiaoshuai explained gently, pouring a glass of water. "You were hit on the head. My name is Dr. Jiang. Jiang Xiaoshuai."
The man took the water gratefully, his gaze clearing. "Wu Suowei," he introduced himself, his voice a little stronger. "Thank you, Doctor Jiang. I... I don't know what happened exactly. One minute, I was talking to a guy about a job, the next..." He trailed off, a grimace of pain crossing his face.
Xiaoshuai urged him to take it easy. As the night deepened and the clinic grew quiet, Wu Suowei, seeing Xiaoshuai still there, started to talk. He spoke of losing his previous job, moving to the area to find work to pay off his late mother's debts, and how he'd been desperate enough to take a job with a "loan collector," only to be double-crossed and attacked when he realized the true nature of their business.
Listening to Wu Suowei's difficulty, seeing the raw vulnerability and desperation in his eyes, struck a chord with Xiaoshuai. It mirrored a certain helplessness he himself had recently felt. His clinic had a small, unused room in the backyard, usually for storage. It wasn't much, but it was dry and safe.
"Wu Suowei," Xiaoshuai said, a decision forming. "It's late, and you're in no condition to be out on the streets. I have a small room in the back, behind the clinic. It's nothing fancy, but it's private. You can stay there for a while, get back on your feet. Take your time looking for a decent job. No rent, no pressure. Just... get well."
Wu Suowei stared at him, his eyes wide with disbelief, then with overwhelming gratitude. "Doctor Jiang... why? I'm a stranger."
Xiaoshuai offered a small, sincere smile. "Because everyone deserves a chance, Wu Suowei. And you look like you need one."