Don't Give Your Heart to Your Nemesis - Chapter 1

Neurological Skull Base Surgery, Consultation Room 2.

After attending to the last patient, Yan Ruixing checked off the final item on his memo. He turned to the intern and said, “Finish the comprehensive medical records for beds three through seven. Double-check the surgical and allergy histories. Hand them in before work tomorrow.”

Hu Xiaona broke into a cold sweat and nodded.

As the running water rinsed away the soap suds, Yan Ruixing lathered his hands for the third time. Seeing her still standing there, he asked, “Is there anything else?”

“Just, well, um,” Hu Xiaona scratched her neck, staring at the floor. “Doctor Yan, do you have plans after work tomorrow?”

Yan Ruixing pulled out a paper towel and signaled for her to speak plainly.

Hu Xiaona pushed up her glasses and fiddled with her bangs. “My roommate is rotating to the Skull Base department in the second half of the year. She wants to invite you to dinner.”

Yan Ruixing folded the used paper towel into a neat rectangle and dropped it into the bin. “If she has time for dinner, she would be better off memorizing the anatomical charts of the cerebellopontine angle.”

Hu Xiaona’s face turned bright red. She gave a quick nod and bolted.

As soon as the door sealed shut, Hu Xiaona’s voice erupted like a community megaphone. “One box of pickled pepper chicken feet for everyone! Order them now, wahahaha!”

“I told you he would say no! What kind of rainbow-colored, spring-autumn pipe dream were you all living in?”

“Even if Qin Shi Huang pried open his coffin lid, rode a polar bear through a dimensional rift, and invited Mario to dance children’s ballet for three days and nights, he still would not agree to eat with you!”

Inside the office, Yan Ruixing, still holding the registration log, heard every word. He remained silent.

As Hu Xiaona’s voice faded into the distance, he could faintly hear, “Being that handsome with zero dating experience only proves one thing: he is either from the same sect as Tang Sanzang, or he simply does not care for the human species!”

Yan Ruixing thought to himself, I did not assign enough homework.

Closing the log, his phone rang. It was Sang Han, an old university classmate currently working in the Hematology Department.

Yan Ruixing got straight to the point. “What are the results?”

Sang Han dodged the question. “I heard a Cantonese place opened across from your house. Is it any good?”

“What are the levels?” Yan Ruixing asked.

“You have not used your annual leave yet, right? I am planning to go to Bali. Do you want to come?”

Yan Ruixing insisted, “Send me the results.”

Sang Han muttered, “Boring,” and sent over the full report.

Findings: Mildly elevated white blood cell count, markedly active bone marrow proliferation, Philadelphia chromosome positive, low-level expression of the BCR-ABL fusion gene.

Conclusion: Chronic Myeloid Leukemia (CML), Chronic Phase (CP Stage I).

This was otherwise known as the “luckiest” leukemia.

Sang Han wanted to offer some comfort but realized it was unnecessary. She asked directly, “Are you taking a break? Medical leave or annual leave?”

Yan Ruixing was even calmer than she had expected. “It is not acute. There is no need.”

“If only all patients had your mindset,” Sang Han grumbled internally. Otherwise, people would scare themselves into the Intensive Care Unit before the disease even progressed. Chronic Myeloid Leukemia does not kill them, but a heart attack from stress takes half their life first.

Yan Ruixing continued, “Please push for more public education in your department. Make sure people understand that with drug control, the quality of life for most patients is no different from a healthy person.”

“Fine, you are always right. But I have never seen anyone ‘waiting’ to get sick since a year ago.”

Yan Ruixing had insisted on weekly blood tests. If the white blood cell count fluctuated even slightly, he went straight for a bone marrow aspiration. He was like a madman.

“There is no harm in being prepared,” Yan Ruixing said, scrolling through the report on his phone via his headset. “Being diagnosed 382 days later than I anticipated is a win for me.”

“Ha. Why do you not be precise down to the second?”

“Objective reality does not allow for it; otherwise, I would.”

Sang Han was left speechless. He was a planning freak, a dogmatic maniac, and obsessive-compulsive personified.

“Keep the diagnosis a secret for me.”

“Is that necessary?”

Yan Ruixing’s tone remained flat. “I know my own condition. For now, I do not want or need special treatment.”

A second call beeped in. Yan Ruixing checked the screen and hung up on Sang Han.

The caller was Director Ren, the former head of General Medicine at the Provincial Hospital. He had changed jobs to a private hospital six months ago to serve as the family doctor for one of the hospital’s shareholders.

After some brief pleasantries, Director Ren got to the point. “Xiao Yan, my employer’s grandson has some issues. It might be a bit tricky, and I was hoping you could take a look.”

Yan Ruixing agreed. Just as he was about to check his schedule, he remembered the caller mentioned an “employer.” “Do I need to do a house call?”

Director Ren quickly said, “No need.” The grandson was on his way to a summit and happened to be passing by the Provincial Hospital. He was already on his way with the scans.

Yan Ruixing accepted, checked the time, and added a line to his to-do list.

“Xiao Yan, just a heads-up. The person coming over is not just anyone. He is Wen…”

A knock at the door distracted him. Yan Ruixing removed his left earbud. “He should be here. I will get back to you.”

“Wait, he is Wen, Wen…”

The right earbud came out, and the call disconnected.

With a “Come in,” the white wooden door pushed open. A tall man stepped into view.

Hospitals see all walks of life, but a man in a high-end suit with a luxury watch looking this sharp was rare. He looked like he belonged at a high-stakes gala or a CEO summit.

As Yan Ruixing looked up, the man’s face came into focus, and Director Ren’s warning echoed in his mind: “He is not just anyone. He is Wen…”

Wen Xiaomian.

He was a professional F1 driver and the heir to the Wen Group. There was a popular saying that in any visible area, there were Wen family industries.

Despite his myriad of glamorous titles, in Yan Ruixing’s eyes, he was nothing more than a persistent, haunting dog.

From eighth grade to senior year, they were classmates for five years, three of which they spent as desk mates. This was the kind of person whose mere presence in a dream would cause Yan Ruixing to wake up in a rage and punch his pillow.

Their eyes met. Wen Xiaomian was equally surprised. “Yo, if it is not the Class Monitor. Are you here to torment people too?”

No matter how handsome the face, the moment he spoke, the dog-like aura ruined it. Yan Ruixing felt a surge of irritation, but as an adult and a professional, he knew better than to argue with a dog.

Maintaining his professional conduct, Yan Ruixing glanced at the chart in the man’s hand. He did not even bother to lift his eyelids. “Scans.”

Wen Xiaomian sat down but did not hand over the imaging. His mouth continued to run. “Meeting in this vast world must be a form of karma. Do not be so cold, Class Monitor.”

One should not argue with dogs, nor use human logic to communicate with them. Yan Ruixing pressed his hand on the desk and reached out to forcefully take the MRI scans.

“What is the rush?” Wen Xiaomian jerked his hand back, perfectly dodging him. “Long time no see. Say hello first, old classmate.”

Yan Ruixing leaned across the desk, finally snatching the scans. “It has been a long time. You are still just as annoying.”

He sat back to examine the films. Wen Xiaomian stood up and leaned in toward him in the same manner. “You have hated me for more than a day or two. Just bear with it.”

“I can bear it, but please close your dog—”

The sentence cut off the moment Yan Ruixing pulled out the scans. Seeing annoyance in his eyes was easy, but seeing shock was rare.

Wen Xiaomian sat back in his chair like a CEO at a meeting, his gaze lingering on the small shadow beneath Yan Ruixing’s eyelashes.

The sun had not set yet; the light was perfect.

Yan Ruixing had fair skin, a small face, pale lips, and a high bridge to his nose. After several years, aside from swapping the school uniform for a white coat, he had not changed at all. He had an emotionless gaze and a detached appearance; only his long eyelashes seemed to show any warmth by fluttering occasionally.

It was not an unpleasant sight, until Yan Ruixing’s brow furrowed deeper and deeper, breaking the perfect shadow of his lashes.

“Is my brain that good-looking?” Wen Xiaomian leaned back, shifting his gaze from the lashes to the doctor’s lips. “Do you want me to frame it in gold for you?”

Yan Ruixing looked up, his tone moderating. “Director Ren probably told you?”

“He did not.” Wen Xiaomian did not seem to care, as if he were discussing someone else’s illness. The old man had simply snitched to his grandfather, insisting he come in person.

Yan Ruixing felt frustrated. That old man did not want to do any of the dirty work.

Yan Ruixing double-checked the scans and began to objectively state the condition as a matter of routine: acoustic nerve dysfunction, mild compression of the trigeminal nerve, bilateral cerebellopontine angle, and internal auditory canal space-occupying lesions.

Wen Xiaomian had zero interest in professional terminology and interrupted immediately. “Enough nonsense. Can you not make it simple?”

In Wen Xiaomian’s face, there was no respect for medicine, no fear of the unknown disease, and not even the patience to hear his full diagnosis.

He was exactly as he was the day he transferred in the eighth grade: grey hair, designer clothes, a lazy expression, and chewing gum with his hands in his pockets at the front of the classroom.

Five years in the same class was enough to know someone deeply. As time went on, the stereotype did not fade; it only intensified. He slept in class, caused trouble afterward, never handed in homework, and was late every single day. He had no sense of community, zero regard for rules, and even treated his own health like a joke. Every action he took clashed with Yan Ruixing’s values; he was a presence that could never be compromised with or tolerated.

The rules of a doctor are for humans, certainly not for dogs.

“Fine. Get your will ready.”

Wen Xiaomian did not flinch. A faint smirk played on his lips as he admired Yan Ruixing’s angry face. “Oh? So, I am completely beyond saving?”

“There is a way.” Yan Ruixing tapped the desk, his eyes challenging the man’s smirk. “Kneel down and give me an early New Year’s greeting. Then, I might just trouble myself to perform the surgery for you.”