Iceberg's Deep Love - Chapter 5
After resting for two days over the weekend, the red rash on Gu Jihuan’s neck still hadn’t completely subsided. She glanced at herself in the mirror and finally chose a high-necked sweater.
Buzz buzz buzz—a message from Jiang Min appeared on her phone.
Just finished surgery. Want to grab breakfast together?
Sure, give me fifteen minutes.
Gu Jihuan replied and hurried downstairs to rush to the hospital.
By the time Gu Jihuan reached the hospital cafeteria, Jiang Min had just changed out of her surgical scrubs and arrived.
Jiang Min grinned teasingly. “You’re quick! Good thing you don’t live in the staff quarters, or you’d be waiting for me.”
“Aunt Wang’s famous soup dumplings are on Mondays. Of course I’d hurry,” Gu Jihuan said, pulling out her meal card. “Let’s go, my treat.”
Only after devouring an entire basket of soup dumplings did Jiang Min feel alive again. She let out a long sigh. “Two neurosurgeries, two craniotomies, and two epidurals for pregnant women—I nearly starved on the operating table last night.”
As Jiang Min rambled on, her gaze fell on the bag beside Gu Jihuan. “New clothes? Why didn’t you take me shopping?”
“No,” Gu Jihuan shook her head. “It’s someone else’s clothes. I need to return them today. She kept saying she didn’t have time the past few days.”
“Oh, I remember now—that black Cayenne,” Jiang Min exclaimed, finally understanding.
“What black Cayenne?” Gu Jihuan asked, momentarily confused.
“The car that brought you to the hospital when you had that allergic reaction! A Porsche Cayenne, a luxury car worth millions…” Jiang Min started to explain, then pursed her lips. “Never mind. There’s no point explaining to you, you car-blind idiot.”
Gu Jihuan was indeed car-blind, and not just car-blind—she was also road-blind and even common sense-blind, the kind of person who couldn’t tell the difference between garlic shoots and green onions.
As Jiang Min put it, God had finally balanced things out. He’d given Gu Jihuan a beautiful face and extraordinary surgical talent, but He had to take something back in return.
“I don’t know if it’s a luxury car, but she lives in Longhua Tianyu,” Gu Jihuan said casually.
“You’ve hooked yourself a sugar mama, haven’t you?” Jiang Min blinked. “Gu Jihuan, do you have some kind of unusual luck with money?”
“Luck with money?” Gu Jihuan couldn’t help but laugh. “What does her being rich have to do with me?”
At the time, Gu Jihuan had only sensed someone following her and, in a daze, grabbed the most attractive woman she could find to help her out of the situation. She ended up grabbing the wealthiest person in the entire place.
It wasn’t until today that she learned the car was a Porsche. In her mind, Porsches were flashy sports cars that stood out immediately, but the Cayenne was so understated that she couldn’t be blamed for not recognizing it at first glance.
“Is this her suit?” Jiang Min leaned in for a closer look. “I can’t see anything special about it.”
That day, Gu Jihuan had worn the silver-gray suit jacket Lu Shinian had lent her at the bar—a plain, unadorned silver-gray, a basic style that didn’t draw attention.
Jiang Min spent a long time using image recognition software, but she couldn’t find the same suit anywhere. In fact, the software couldn’t even identify it, likely because it was such a common style.
It wasn’t until she accidentally noticed the English logo on the cufflink and searched it up that she couldn’t help but exclaim, “Damn capitalists!”
“Don’t let envy get the better of you,” Gu Jihuan teased, poking Jiang Min’s forehead. “It’s not like you can’t afford luxury goods. It’s just a piece of clothing…”
Gu Jihuan trailed off mid-sentence as she caught sight of the suit’s price on Jiang Min’s phone screen.
Gu Jihuan changed her tone. “You’re right, those greedy capitalists.”
Though Gu Jihuan and Jiang Min both earned respectable incomes, neither would ever consider spending six figures on a single garment. Moreover, this was an off-the-rack piece; the suit in the bag clearly differed from the ready-made suits on the website, suggesting a custom order that might cost double the listed price.
Gu Jihuan suddenly realized how careless she’d been carrying such a valuable item in a flimsy plastic bag.
Buzz, buzz, buzz. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She answered immediately.
“Professor Gu, Anren Hospital’s emergency department admitted a patient this morning. The CTA scan revealed a Type A aortic dissection. They’re being transferred here for emergency surgery.”
“Understood. I’ll be there right away.” Gu Jihuan stood up, grabbed the plastic bag, and hurried to her office.
The patient hadn’t arrived yet, but the CTA results had already been transmitted to Gu Jihuan’s computer, along with all other diagnostic images from Anren Hospital.
“Professor Gu, Doctor Shen, I brought you coffee,” Tang Menghua said as she entered, carefully carrying three cups.
Balancing the cups in both hands, she walked cautiously and whispered, “Professor Gu’s iced Americano, Doctor Shen’s hot latte—I hope I remembered correctly.”
She murmured softly, cradling the coffees like a squirrel clutching a large pinecone, making Gu Jihuan smile involuntarily. “You remembered correctly. Thank you for your trouble.”
Seeing Gu Jihuan’s smile, Tang Menghua’s nervousness eased considerably. As they walked, she asked, “Is this patient’s case particularly difficult?”
“The dissection involves the aortic root, coronary ostia, and even both common carotid arteries,” Gu Jihuan explained, scrolling through images on the screen. “It’s a bit complicated, but not too serious. The patient’s overall condition is stable.”
“That’s good…” Tang Menghua sighed in relief. But just as she exhaled, her foot slipped, and she lurched forward.
“Careful!” Gu Jihuan called out, but he knew the warning came too late.
Tang Menghua tried desperately to regain her balance, but holding three coffees made it impossible to maintain a steady grip. The middle paper cup crumpled, sending coffee flying straight out. Fortunately, the spill wasn’t close enough to drench the computer, but droplets still splattered onto Gu Jihuan’s shoes.
Doctor Shen glanced at the pen on the floor and patted his pocket, looking slightly embarrassed. “That… must have fallen out of my pocket…”
“Teacher Gu, I’m so sorry, so sorry…” Tang Menghua, clearly panicked, set down her coffee cup and began apologizing profusely.
“It’s alright, it’s alright. We’ll just have Aunt Wang clean it up later,” Gu Jihuan quickly reassured her.
Tang Menghua grabbed a tissue from the desk and carefully wiped the coffee stains from the surface. After finishing, she picked up a plastic bag and said, “Professor Gu, your clothes seem to be stained. Is that alright?”
“Which ones?” Gu Jihuan’s alarm bells immediately rang, and she snapped her head up.
Tang Menghua’s heart skipped a beat. “Quite a bit of coffee spilled inside. If it doesn’t come out, I’ll buy you a new set.”
Gu Jihuan stared at the plastic bag in Tang Menghua’s hand, suppressing the urge to gasp. She gritted her teeth but maintained a calm tone. “It’s fine. If it doesn’t come out, it doesn’t matter. They weren’t expensive.”
Knock, knock, knock—another knock echoed from outside. A young doctor in a white coat entered and politely addressed Gu Jihuan, “Doctor Gu, Director Liu has asked for you.”
Director Liu, also known as Liu Zhiping, was the chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery at Jianghuan Hospital. Tang Menghua had been transferred from his team.
Director Liu’s office was at the end of the corridor. His computer screen displayed the same CTA images Gu Jihuan had been reviewing earlier.
As soon as Gu Jihuan entered, Director Liu stood up. “Xiao Gu, about that case transferred from Anren Hospital earlier…”
“I’ve reviewed it,” Gu Jihuan said, walking to Director Liu’s side and pointing at the images on his screen. “The dissection involves the aortic root, coronary ostia, and even both common carotid arteries. The patient also has severe aortic insufficiency and myocardial ischemia. Surgery is indicated and must be performed urgently. Our team is considering replacing the aortic valve and ascending aorta, with a proximal Bentall procedure.”
Gu Jihuan spoke calmly and methodically. Before any complex surgery, the chief surgeon would always review the plan to ensure its appropriateness. She was confident that the approach she had proposed was the most suitable.
“I’m not asking about the surgical technique. I trust your surgical skills,” Liu Zhiping interrupted Gu Jihuan’s explanation. “What I mean is, we should transfer this patient…”
Gu Jihuan paused, picked up her phone, and checked. “I remember there was a bed available in the CICU today. We should be able to admit him.”
“This patient is an internet celebrity,” Liu Zhiping said, tapping his fingers lightly on the desk. “His father was hospitalized at Anren Hospital for gallstones, but it turned out to be gallbladder cancer. Despite treatment, he passed away. The patient blamed Anren Hospital, claiming their doctors’ negligence led to his father’s death. Eventually, Anren Hospital settled with him to end the matter. He became famous through this ‘fight for justice.'”
Gallbladder cancer is an extremely aggressive malignancy, with a five-year survival rate of less than five percent.
Liu Zhiping continued, “Anren Hospital’s handling of the case wasn’t seriously flawed, but this celebrity is fixated on minor details. He claims our doctors prescribed medication without written orders, violating protocol.”
As Liu Zhiping spoke, Gu Jihuan recalled the incident. Jiang City’s medical community was small, and the case had sent shockwaves through the entire circle, leaving everyone on edge.
The standard procedure was to write a medical order before prescribing medication. However, during emergency resuscitation, such formalities were often overlooked. Afterward, the doctor had forgotten to write the order and was relentlessly pursued for the oversight.
While the doctor had indeed made a mistake, being sued after desperately trying to save a life was disheartening.
No wonder Anren Hospital had transferred the patient. Though not as prestigious as Jianghuan Hospital, Anren Hospital was perfectly capable of handling the case independently. They were simply too afraid to take any risks after the ordeal.
Gu Jihuan frowned slightly. “So what does the hospital intend to do?”
“Jianghuan’s Cardiothoracic Surgery, Cardiology, and Emergency departments are all at full capacity,” Liu Zhiping replied. “We can’t admit any more patients. That’s the situation.”
Liu Zhiping didn’t explicitly say it, but Gu Jihuan understood his meaning: they were pushing the patient off to another hospital, washing their hands of the matter entirely.
Gu Jihuan’s fingers tightened slightly, her teeth gently pressing against her inner lip. Her eyes flickered before she said firmly, “Director Liu, I guarantee my procedures will strictly adhere to protocol. They won’t find any loopholes to exploit.”
“Xiao Gu, don’t be too stubborn.”
“Director Liu, he’s my patient now,” Gu Jihuan said, taking a deep breath. “Type A aortic dissection. With a condition this severe, every hour of delay decreases his survival rate by one percent. Seven hours have already passed since the onset. If we delay any longer, he’ll die. You’re a cardiothoracic surgeon yourself—I refuse to believe you can’t see what his test results mean.”
Liu Zhiping’s voice turned stern. “Xiao Gu, this is the hospital’s decision.”
“The hospital’s decision is to abandon a human life? Is this the hospital’s decision, or yours? I refuse to believe Jianghuan Hospital would turn its back on someone in need,” Gu Jihuan said, her voice now trembling with barely suppressed anger.
Her grandmother and parents had all been doctors at Jianghuan Hospital. She had grown up in the hospital’s residential compound, surrounded by its ethos. But now… how had it come to this?
Gu Jihuan suddenly remembered Tang Menghua’s words: Tang Menghua had said she transferred to Gu Jihuan’s team specifically to observe more surgeries.
As the chief of cardiothoracic surgery, Liu Zhiping’s surgical volume had dwindled to an alarmingly low level in recent years, consisting mostly of minor procedures. Even a newcomer like Tang Menghua had sensed something was amiss.
If Liu Zhiping had simply reminded her to follow proper procedures and avoid any loopholes, it would have been reasonable. But now he was directly urging her to abandon the patient.
Gu Jihuan turned to leave. “The patient is arriving soon. I need to get back to the operating room.”
Liu Zhiping slammed his hand on the desk and stood up. “Gu Jihuan, your stubbornness will be your downfall. When things go wrong, no one will be able to save you.”
“I’ll do everything I can to prevent complications,” Gu Jihuan replied without looking back. “He still has a chance now. If we delay, it’ll be too late. I trust my judgment as a surgeon.”
Almost all surgeons are dictators in their own right, and Gu Jihuan was no exception. Only absolute confidence in one’s judgment allows for decisive action in the operating room, where efficiency and precision are paramount.
Tang Menghua rushed over anxiously as Gu Jihuan returned from Liu Zhiping’s office. “Professor Gu, is there a problem with the case?”
“No. Prepare for surgery,” Gu Jihuan replied calmly.
“Oh,” Tang Menghua nodded.
Glancing sideways, Tang Menghua noticed Gu Jihuan’s profile. Her beautiful eyes were serene, her expression as composed as ever. Morning light streamed through the window, illuminating her long, delicate lashes. Gu Jihuan raised her hand to tie her hair back, revealing her fair ears and slender neck.
The Gu Jihuan standing before her seemed no different from the one she saw every day, yet Tang Menghua couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
It was as if… Professor Gu was angry.
Gu Jihuan was known for her exceptional temperament—warm and approachable, always considerate of her subordinates. Tang Menghua had never witnessed her display any strong emotions.
But this anger seemed to flare up quickly and dissipate just as swiftly. By the time Tang Menghua saw Gu Jihuan again in the operating room, the eyes visible above her surgical mask were already calm and composed.
“Anesthesia is complete, and the patient’s vital signs are stable,” the anesthesiologist announced, glancing at the monitor. “We can begin.”
Under the bright surgical lights, Gu Jihuan had long forgotten her earlier argument with Liu Zhiping.
Her anger stemmed from the fact that Jianghuan Hospital had become such a place of inaction. But now, on the operating table, the only thing that mattered was the surgery at hand.
“Perfusionist, connect the cardiopulmonary bypass machine.”
“Extracorporeal circulation established. Bl00d oxygen levels are normal.”
Gu Jihuan’s long, thick eyelashes lowered slightly as her focus narrowed entirely to the procedure before her.
Beep— The heart monitor flatlined.
The greatest allure of cardiothoracic surgery lies in operating on a heart that has stopped beating, then witnessing it resume its rhythmic pulsing. In that steady beat lies the indomitable spirit of life itself—the very pulse of existence.