Epilogue

Six months later, Chen Mo received a WeChat message.

It was from Jiang Tang.

A photo. A baby. A wrinkled face, closed eyes, tiny fists clenched tight. Beneath the photo was a line:

"My son. Just born. Healthy, hormone levels normal."

He stared at the photo for a long time.

Then he sent back:

"Congratulations."

She held the baby in her arms and looked down at his face. The baby had his eyes closed, his little mouth moving faintly, as if he were dreaming.

She thought of the trainees in the training department, each one with a young face, wearing white treatment uniforms, listening to her lecture intently.

She had taught them how to distinguish the taste differences between different bodily fluids, how to judge viscosity and transparency, and how to stay professional and calm throughout treatment.

She thought of the patients she had cured, faces of every kind, expressions of every kind.

Some cried when they left, some laughed when they left, and some said nothing at all, only stood there and looked at her for a long time.

She thought of Chen Mo.

Thought of the first time he came, standing at the door clutching his treatment card, his face red.

Thought of how he looked lying on the bed, eyes closed, biting his lip, refusing to make a sound.

Thought of the last time he came, wearing headphones, listening to Chopin's nocturnes, and the moment he finally let go.

She hugged the baby a little tighter.

The baby stirred in her arms, opened his little mouth, then closed it again.

She lowered her head and gently kissed his forehead.

The sunlight outside the window was perfect.

-- The End --