Lu Wenjing stepped away from the door before it opened, not because he was afraid of being caught listening, but because he understood, instinctively, when something was not meant to include him.
Hospitals were full of moments like that, private grief behind curtains, quiet negotiations between families and doctors, decisions made in lowered voices that would later be described as inevitable. He had learned early that professionalism was often less about intervention and more about restraint.
Still, as he walked back toward the nurses' station, the image refused to fade.
The woman inside the room had not raised her voice. She had not argued. She had knelt to pick up papers scattered at her feet with the same calm efficiency nurses used when cleaning up after emergencies. What unsettled him was not the act itself, but the familiarity of it, as though humiliation were simply another task on her schedule.
At the nurses' station, the atmosphere was tense in the way it always became around wealthy patients who mistook payment for authority.
"She demanded a different nurse again," someone said quietly. "Said the last one was incompetent."
Another nurse scoffed. "Her vitals are perfect. If she weren't rich, she'd already be discharged."
Lu Wenjing signed off on a chart and handed it back. "Stick to protocol," he said mildly. "If she complains, send her to me."
They nodded, reassured. Doctors, after all, were still shields of a sort.
Late in the morning, as Lu Wenjing was reviewing imaging results in his office, there was a knock on the open door. He looked up and saw the woman from earlier standing there, posture straight, expression neutral, hands folded loosely in front of her.
She did not introduce herself.
"The patient in Room 1703," she said, tone steady, "needs her stay extended."
He gestured to the chair across from his desk. "On what grounds?"
She did not sit. "Stress-related complications. She's under considerable pressure at work."
Lu Wenjing leaned back slightly. "That applies to half the city."
She acknowledged that with a small nod. "This case is… sensitive."
He studied her for a moment. Her words were careful, but not evasive. She was not asking him to break rules outright—only to bend them in a way that would leave no fingerprints.
"There's no medical indication," he said plainly.
"I know," she replied just as plainly. "But observation protocols allow discretion."
"They allow discretion for doctors," he corrected.
She met his gaze without flinching. "And doctors operate within systems that reward cooperation."
That made him smile, despite himself. "You're very honest."
"I don't find dishonesty efficient," she said.
He tapped his pen lightly against the desk. "You understand what you're asking."
"Yes."
"And you still want me to agree."
"Yes."
Lu Wenjing exhaled, slow and measured. "I'm not interested in helping people hide from consequences."
She considered that for a moment, then said, "Consequences are rarely distributed fairly."
"That doesn't make avoidance better."
"No," she agreed. "It just makes it common."
Silence settled between them, not hostile, not awkward, simply unresolved.
Finally, he said, "I won't extend her stay without cause."
She nodded, as though she had expected nothing else. "Understood."
She turned to leave, pausing only briefly at the doorway. "Thank you for your time, Doctor."
When she was gone, Lu Wenjing remained seated longer than necessary, staring at the space she had occupied.
Most people argued when they were denied. She had not. That suggested either discipline or resignation, and he wasn't sure which troubled him more.
The approval notice arrived that evening.
VIP Stay Extension: Approved under Special Authority.
Lu Wenjing frowned at the screen.
Special authority usually meant one thing, family.
He called his uncle.
"I approved it," Lu Shiming said after a pause. "It's temporary."
"There was no medical basis."
"There doesn't need to be," Lu Shiming replied evenly. "Sometimes discretion serves larger interests."
Lu Wenjing did not argue. He had learned, over years of polite disagreement, when resistance only hardened positions.
That night, Shen Yiqiao returned to Qin Ruyan's suite to deliver the news.
"It's been approved," she said.
Qin Ruyan smiled in relief, then quickly masked it. "Of course it has. It always works out."
Shen Yiqiao said nothing.
Later, in her apartment, she reviewed the internal structure of Qincheng Group with the same methodical focus she applied to everything else. Shell companies. Interlocking guarantees. A network designed not for growth, but for containment.
She knew exactly where the pressure would land if something went wrong.
On her.
Meanwhile, Lu Wenjing sat alone in his office, scrolling through patient records long after his shift ended. He told himself it was routine oversight. He told himself it was curiosity.
He stopped at Room 1703.
The entries were clean. Too clean. Symptoms documented in language that suggested coaching rather than observation.
He checked the access log.
Someone else had reviewed the file earlier.
The name on the log was not one he recognized, but it had administrative clearance far above his own.