Zhang Lin's face turned pale in an instant, his thermos cup frozen mid-air, neither being put down nor kept up.
He could feel the cold sweat soaking through his shirt. In his mind, only one thought was frantically echoing: "It's over! It's over! He heard everything! Mimicking him... even said he didn't understand scientific research..."
The other young doctors were also scared out of their wits, each hurriedly lowering their heads, pretending to seriously write medical records, their fingers trembling on the keyboard, wishing they could bury their heads into the computer monitors; the air in the office was so heavy it almost felt like it could drip water.
After saying this, Dean Xia's gaze lingered on Zhang Lin's face for a full three seconds. Those three seconds felt longer than three centuries to Zhang Lin. It was as if he could already see his future months, even years, of having to manage the library or being sent to night shifts in the emergency department.
