Laughter rippled through the corridor again, bright and unrestrained, as though the award belonged to all of them collectively. Only the youngest nurse, who had been trailing slightly behind the group, looked genuinely puzzled. She tugged at the sleeve of the colleague beside her and asked in a low voice, "What exactly is the Manfield Award?"
Her question drew exaggerated gasps.
"You don't know Manfield?" someone exclaimed, half amused, half scandalized. The tone suggested that not knowing it bordered on professional negligence.
Seeing the nurse's embarrassment, Xun Yuming answered calmly instead of letting the teasing continue.
"The Manfield Prize," he said, his voice steady despite the fatigue settling into his bones, "is a medical award named after Robert Manfield, the Nobel laureate in Medicine and one of the inventors of MRI technology. It's given specifically for groundbreaking achievements in clinical and translational medicine."
He kept the explanation simple, almost perfunctory, as though discussing a departmental notice rather than something directly connected to him.
Another doctor chimed in, unwilling to let the moment pass modestly. "In the medical field, Manfield is considered more authoritative than the Nobel Prize. The Nobel covers all disciplines, physics, chemistry, literature. But in medicine, nothing compares to Manfield in terms of specialization and recognition."
The young nurse's eyes widened. She looked at Xun Yuming with renewed admiration, her earlier confusion replaced by unfiltered awe. "Dr. Xun, that's incredible. No wonder the director insisted on bringing you here."
"He's the youngest recipient in the award's history," someone added eagerly. "Right now, how many doctors at home or abroad aren't secretly jealous?"
"If someone wins it even once in their lifetime, that's enough to be recorded in history."
"The key is that no one has ever won it twice."
Voices overlapped, swelling into a chorus of admiration. Pride shimmered on their faces as if they themselves had contributed to the accomplishment.
Xun Yuming listened quietly, then shook his head with a faint, almost ironic smile.
"That's not necessarily true."
They assumed he meant the impossibility of a second win. But what he was thinking about was something else entirely.
Winning once did not guarantee immortality.
Winning twice was not impossible.
He had already proven both.
And yet...
For the past several months, his research on nerve cell regeneration and transplantation had been stagnant. Not failed, not abandoned, simply stuck. Experiments stalled at the same bottleneck. Data refused to align with projections. Every new attempt led back to the same impasse.
He had to admit it: he had reached a wall.
On top of that, the project required a new batch of specialized materials. The funding report had been submitted nearly two months ago. It had been reviewed, resubmitted, stamped, and allegedly "in process." But the funds had yet to be released.
Every few days, he found himself outside the dean's office, asking with restrained politeness for updates. Every time, the answer was the same: soon.
Soon.
Soon had stretched into weeks.
After leaving the seventeenth floor, he cut through the west corridor toward the administrative wing. The dean's office was dark. No answer. He stood there for a moment, rubbing his temples, then turned back toward the ward building.
The elevator lobby was crowded. Patients, visitors, nurses pushing carts, two orderlies maneuvering a hospital bed. The space felt tight, noisy, suffocating.
His headache pulsed harder.
Without thinking further, he stepped away and headed for the stairwell instead.
The spring-loaded door swung closed behind him with a soft thud. Before he could climb more than a few steps, he heard footsteps above, along with low, indistinct conversation.
Not wanting to appear as though he were eavesdropping, Xun Yuming deliberately tapped the stair with the tip of his sneaker.
The voices stopped instantly.
A head with meticulously slicked-back hair leaned over the railing between floors.
"Hey! Xiaoming? It's you?" Dean Chen grinned, relief evident on his face. "I was just looking for you. What a coincidence. Come up, come up, I'll introduce you to someone."
As they climbed, Xun Yuming spoke quickly, seizing the opportunity.
"Dean, I was looking for you too. The materials for my lab, we really can't delay any longer. You said you'd help expedite it. It's already been several days. And about that spinal tumor patient from yesterday, she can't undergo another procedure. I was just about to explain..."
He looked up.
His words stopped.
Zhuang Yi stood a few steps above, tall, composed, hands loosely at his sides.
It was him.
Dean Chen waved dismissively. "We'll talk about that later. First, this is Dr. Zhuang Yi." He beamed with pride. "One of the country's top psychologists and a partner physician with our hospital."
Then he turned to Zhuang Yi. "This is Dr. Xun Yuming, the neurosurgeon I mentioned before your trip. I had to pull quite a few strings to get him here. With him onboard, next year our neurology ranking will surpass even Peking Union!"
The dean's voice grew animated, but the words barely registered.
Xun Yuming's ears buzzed faintly. His mind felt hollow, as though air had been vacuumed out of it. Instinct screamed at him to retreat, to take the next flight out of the country, if possible.
"How could I not know?" Zhuang Yi said evenly from above. "Medical journals and news magazines are full of Dr. Xun's photos. Winning the Field Award and returning home at the peak of his reputation… Uncle Chen's recruitment skills are impressive."
His tone was calm, neither warm nor cold. But his gaze was sharp, direct.
Dean Chen laughed heartily. "Both of you are my prized talents! The future belongs to you young people. Us old ones will retire and play chess soon enough!"
Under that unwavering gaze, heat rose to Xun Yuming's face. He swallowed, forced himself to meet Zhuang Yi's eyes, and extended his left hand.
"Brother," he said softly, "long time no see."
Zhuang Yi's left ring finger twitched almost imperceptibly.
He extended his right hand instead.
"Long time no see," he replied. "I'm here as a patient."
The handshake was brief, controlled. Polite.
When their fingers brushed during separation, Xun Yuming felt the cool dryness of his skin and withdrew immediately, curling his hand slightly as if burned.
Dean Chen looked between them, surprised. "You two knew each other?"
"More than that," Xun Yuming began, a strained smile forming. "We used to..."
"We were classmates in college," Zhuang Yi interrupted smoothly. "Same year at Stanford. Haven't seen each other since graduation."
The interruption was clean. Efficient. Final.
Dean Chen nodded enthusiastically. "What a coincidence! Speaking of which, we're planning to establish a joint psychological counseling clinic with Xiao Zhuang. Funding's tight at the moment, so Director Hou temporarily reallocated part of your lab's budget. Your materials will just have to wait a few more days. I've already resubmitted the application."
The words landed like a physical blow.
Xun Yuming's composure cracked. "But I urgently need those materials. When will new funding be approved?"
When he accepted the hospital's offer, "full support for scientific research" had been a key condition. The agreement had been clear: the neurosurgery lab would receive priority allocation.
He glanced at Zhuang Yi, unable to suppress the edge in his voice. "Is the psychological clinic truly that urgent?"
Outpatient counseling rarely involved immediate life-and-death stakes.
Zhuang Yi's lips curved faintly, not quite a smile.
"Psychology may not require emergency operations," he said coolly, "but it's visible. It's tangible. It helps the hospital secure the 'Model Unit for Spiritual Civilization' title in August. If that money goes into neurosurgery, will anyone outside your lab even notice? Or do you believe that curing a few difficult diseases with one doctor is enough?"
"I..."
Xun Yuming's neck flushed red. His heartbeat thudded violently in his chest.
Embarrassment from the reunion, anxiety over the funding, the unresolved weight of the past, all tangled together. Words failed him.
Zhuang Yi watched him quietly for a moment.
Then, almost casually, he said, "I can return the funds to you."
Dean Chen blinked.
"But," Zhuang Yi continued, "you must agree to one condition."
"What condition?" Xun Yuming asked hoarsely.
Before the answer came, a sudden crash echoed from below. The stairwell door was slammed open with force, rebounded, and shut again. In that brief opening, a slipper flew through the gap toward them.
Xun Yuming stood frozen.
His hand-eye coordination in surgery was flawless. But once full-body movement was required, he became inexplicably slow.
A sharp tug at his arm yanked him backward just in time. He stumbled behind the door, colliding lightly with someone solid.
Zhuang Yi.
He had already moved...swift, decisive.
Xun Yuming looked up at him instinctively. For a second, relief flickered across his features before he suppressed it.
Zhuang Yi snorted softly, releasing his arm.
Downstairs, a group of family members were arguing with nurses. One of them spotted Xun Yuming and pointed furiously.
"It's him! That's the doctor!"
The accusation cut through the stairwell like a blade.