Chapter 6

Three months later, Chen Mo went back to that hospital.

Not for treatment, but for a follow-up. It was the routine check after the course ended, to see whether there had been any relapse.

The waiting area was the same as before, with few people and a quiet hush. He sat there holding his follow-up card.

The broadcast crackled out: "Number 23, Chen Mo, please go to Treatment Room 7."

He stood and walked down the corridor.

Treatment Room 7 was at the far end of the hallway, several doors away from the old Room 3. He knocked.

"Come in," said an unfamiliar female voice.

He pushed the door open.

Inside stood a young woman he had never seen before, a little younger than Jiang Tang, with a round face, short hair, and the same white treatment uniform. She was washing her hands by the sink. When he came in, she looked back at him.

"Chen Mo, right? Here for a follow-up? Lie down on the bed. I'll check your data first."

He lay down on the bed and let her attach the probe and run the readings. Her movements were brisk, and she didn't waste words. A few minutes later, the results came up on the screen, and she glanced at it.

"No problem. Everything's normal." She took off the probe. "All right, you're good to go."

He sat up, hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Where's Jiang Tang? The one who treated me before."

The young woman glanced at him, her hands pausing for a second.

"Sister Jiang Tang? She's not here anymore."

He froze. "She was transferred?"

"No." The young woman lowered her head and kept tidying up. "She applied for a transfer. She's in the training department now, teaching the new trainees."

"Why?"

The young woman didn't look up, her voice dropping a little. "People in our line can't keep doing it for long. We're too sensitive. After a while, the body can't take it. She lasted two years, which is already a long stretch. Most people have to switch after a year or so, or they'll start running into problems."

He stood there, not knowing what to say.

The young woman finished tidying up, then looked up at him.

"You were the one she cured?"

"Yeah."

The young woman nodded, her expression somewhat complicated.

"She's pretty impressive. A lot of people in our training class have heard her lectures." Then she pointed to the door. "All right, that's it. You can go now. Take care of your health, and come back anytime if there's a problem."

He left the treatment room and stepped out into the hallway.

When he passed Treatment Room 3, he stopped for a moment.

The door was closed. Behind the frosted glass, a shadow moved, and faint voices drifted out from inside.

Not her voice.

He stood there for a few seconds, then kept walking.

He walked through the waiting area, out the front doors, and onto the street.

The sunlight outside was still bright. He stood there, squinting as he looked up at the sky.

After a long while, he turned around and went back in, heading to the front desk.

"Hello, I'd like to ask how to get to the training department."

The girl at the front desk looked up at him.

"The training department is in Building B, on the third floor. Who are you looking for?"

"Jiang Tang."

The girl checked the computer. "Teacher Jiang Tang has a class today. She gets off at four in the afternoon. Do you want to make an appointment?"

"No need," he said. "I'll come back at four."

He left the hospital and found a cafe nearby to sit and wait.

At four o'clock, he went back again, up to the third floor of Building B.

The training department was behind a row of glass doors. Inside, he could see classrooms with rows of young women in white treatment uniforms.

A teacher was standing at the front, lecturing on something.

He stood in the hallway, looking in through the glass.

The teacher had her back to him and was wearing clothes different from the trainees' deep blue instead of white.

She was writing on the blackboard, words like "body fluid classification" and "taste diagnostic standards."

Her voice was muffled by the glass, impossible to hear clearly, but the tone came through anyway: calm, professional, with the occasional trace of humor.

The trainees listened below, some taking notes, some nodding.

He stood there and watched for a long time.

When the bell rang, the trainees stood up, gathered their things, and filed out.

He stepped aside to let them pass.

They streamed by him in their white treatment uniforms, young, serious, chattering to one another.

When most of them had gone, he walked to the classroom door and looked inside.

She was standing by the podium, tidying up, head lowered, and hadn't noticed him.

He knocked on the doorframe.

She looked up, saw him, and froze for a second.

Then she smiled.

The smile was the same as before, brief, but it was definitely a smile.

"What are you doing here?" She set down what she was holding and walked over. "A follow-up? Something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he said. "Everything's normal."

"Then why are you here?"

He looked at her.

She was wearing a deep blue work uniform now, much more formal than the treatment outfit from before. Her hair was a little shorter too, cut to shoulder length and tucked behind her ears.

Her face was the same: round eyes, a short nose bridge, lips that still looked a little dry.

"I came to see you," he said.

She froze again, then smiled, this time for a little longer.

"What's there to see?" She leaned against the doorframe and looked at him. "I'm doing fine here, teaching classes and leading trainees. I don't have to keep tasting those things every day anymore."

He nodded.

She looked at him, silent for a few seconds, then asked, "Is your illness completely cured?"

"Yes. I just had the follow-up check. The data's all normal."

"Good." She nodded. "Be careful from now on. This condition relapses easily, especially with a sensitive constitution like yours."

"Mm."

They were quiet again for a few seconds.

She spoke first. "Have you eaten?"

"Not yet."

"Then let's go. I know a noodle place nearby that's pretty good." She glanced back at the classroom. "Wait a moment. I'll put my things away."

She turned back inside, packed up her lesson plan, tablet, and a few books into a cloth bag, then came out and pulled the door shut behind her.

"Let's go," she said.

They went downstairs side by side. In the hallway, trainees in white treatment uniforms passed by and all stopped to greet her with a cheerful, "Hello, Teacher Jiang Tang." She nodded back each time.

When they got downstairs, the sunlight hit them. She squinted and pulled a pair of sunglasses from her bag and put them on.

"When did you start wearing sunglasses?" he asked.

"My eyes are sensitive. The trainees did it to me," she said. "They're just starting out, so their hands are never light enough. They keep getting stuff in my eyes. Everything about our line is sensitive."

He laughed softly.

She laughed too, then pointed ahead. "The noodle place is over there. Five minutes on foot."

They walked down the street together. The sunlight lay on them, and long shadows stretched across the pavement.

He thought back to the first time he had seen her three months ago.

She had been wearing a white treatment uniform, standing behind the door, a head shorter than him, looking up at him.

She had told him her name was Jiang Tang, Jiang as in ginger, Tang as in candy.

Now she was walking beside him in a deep blue work uniform, wearing sunglasses and carrying a cloth bag.

He wanted to say something, but didn't know what.

She didn't speak either. She just kept walking.

When they reached the entrance of the noodle shop, she pushed the door open and looked back at him.

"Come on in. My treat."

He followed her inside.

The noodle shop was small, with only a few tables and a menu pasted to the wall. She picked a seat by the window, and he sat down across from her. The owner came over, and she ordered two bowls of noodles and a bottle of soda.

While they waited, she looked out the window, and he looked at her.

Feeling his gaze, she turned back.

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

She smiled a little and took off her sunglasses, setting them on the table.

"Are you wondering whether I regret doing this work?"

He froze, then nodded.

She thought about it for a moment. "I don't regret it."

"Why?"

"Because I can help people," she said. "You know, this disease didn't exist three hundred years ago. It came about because the environment changed and hormones went out of whack. For men who get it, there's no cure. They can spend their whole lives unable to ejaculate. They can't have children, can't enjoy sex, and their whole lives just fall apart. I've seen a lot of them. When they come in, some of them don't even want to live anymore."

She paused, then went on. "People think our line is strange, but we really can help. Every time I cure someone and watch them walk out of that state, it feels worth it."

He listened without saying anything.

The noodles arrived. She picked up her chopsticks, lifted a bite, blew on it, and put it in her mouth.

"What about you?" she asked between bites. "Do you regret coming in for treatment?"

"No," he said.

She smiled and didn't say anything else.

They lowered their heads and ate the noodles. Sunlight streamed in through the window, falling across the tabletop, across the bottle of soda, across her sunglasses.

When he finished, he set down his chopsticks and looked at her.

She raised her head. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he said. "I just wanted to say thank you."

She froze, then smiled. This time the smile lasted longer than before, long enough to show her teeth.

"All right, don't say that anymore." She lowered her head and kept eating. "Just stay well from now on."

He nodded and picked up the soda for a sip.

A breeze passed outside, rustling the leaves. The noodle shop was quiet, with only the sound of them eating and the wash of dishes from the kitchen as the owner cleaned up.

He looked at the way she ate with her head down and remembered the first time she had said, "We're professionals."

He remembered her kneeling beside him, head lowered, the feel of her lips against his skin.

He remembered her moving on top of him, gasping as she said, "Look at me."

He remembered her holding up that little container, checking it against the light, then leaning in to taste it from the tip of her tongue.

He remembered the way the corner of her mouth curved after she said, "The taste is right, the thickness is right, and the amount is right."

Those images flashed through his mind one after another, quick and light, like the wind outside the window.

He lowered his head and kept eating.

When they finished, they walked out of the noodle shop and stood at the entrance.

"I'm heading back to the hospital," she said. "I've still got class this afternoon."

"Mm."

She looked at him, silent for a few seconds, then said, "If anything comes up again, you can come find me. But it'd be best if you don't have to come. If you do, it just means you're sick again."

He laughed softly. "Okay."

She smiled too, turned, and walked back the way she had come. He stood there, watching her back grow smaller and smaller. She was wearing that deep blue work uniform, carrying the cloth bag, walking with the same slight inward turn of the feet as before.

When she reached the intersection, she stopped, looked back at him, and waved. Then she turned around and disappeared around the corner.

He stood there and watched for a long time.

A breeze came through, carrying a touch of coolness. He pulled up the zipper on his jacket and headed for the subway station.