Chapter 34: The Expressionless Doctor

Jiang Fan turned around for a glance, and only after confirming that Chen Anlong’s car had come to no harm did he double back and break into a run. Five of the thugs followed in relentless pursuit. Jiang Fan dared not drop his machete; as he sprinted, he could only press his wounded side with his right hand—the one holding the blade—to keep the injury from worsening with the jarring motion, for more blood loss could easily make a man faint.

After running several hundred meters, he saw a bustling night market up ahead, thronged with people. He hurried toward the crowd. The pursuers, seeing so many bystanders, stopped short and dared not follow further.

Focused solely on escape, Jiang Fan failed to notice the thugs had stopped chasing him. He darted through the sea of people and didn’t slow down until he reached the main avenue of Guanzhang Road. Only then did he turn and see that no one was behind him.

Panting heavily, he quickly tore off his shirt to bind his wound, standing bare-chested as he tried to hail a cab. Several taxis passed him by; the drivers, seeing his blood-soaked body, didn’t dare stop.

After about ten minutes, a kind-hearted cab driver finally noticed Jiang Fan’s pitiful state and stopped for him.

By now, Jiang Fan was dizzy from blood loss. He climbed into the cab, pressing his wound as tightly as he could to slow the bleeding, and had the driver take him straight to the hospital in Humen.

A male doctor in the emergency room glanced at his injury with a stony expression before handing him a prescription. “One hundred thirty-seven yuan for hemostasis and suturing. Pay first, then come back for treatment.”

Jiang Fan, barely able to speak, replied, “Doctor, I only have fifty yuan on me. Can you at least stop the bleeding first? I’ll come back for the stitches once I find the rest.”

“The hemostasis and suturing are done together here,” the doctor replied coldly. “If you don’t have enough, buy two bottles of Yunnan Baiyao yourself—it’ll stop the bleeding. What are you doing here?”

Seeing the doctor’s indifference, Jiang Fan said nothing more.

He didn’t have enough money and didn’t want to trouble Hao Meng again. In a moment of crisis, he instinctively eliminated Chen Anlong from his list of people to ask for help, forgetting that he’d been wounded because of Chen Anlong and that the latter should be responsible for the medical expenses.

Leaving the hospital, Jiang Fan found a pharmacy and bought five bottles of Yunnan Baiyao, pouring them liberally over his wound until the bleeding finally stopped.

He saw that the eight or nine-centimeter gash had at last ceased to bleed. After a quick check to make sure no tendons were injured, he was able to relax a little.

He sat outside the pharmacy for nearly half an hour, gradually regaining some strength, and then took a motorcycle taxi back to Dafu.

As soon as he entered the factory gate, he spotted Deputy General Manager Tang waiting for him.

Seeing Jiang Fan covered in blood, Deputy GM Tang couldn’t help but ask, “You didn’t even bother to bandage yourself before coming back from Zhangmutou?”

In times of illness or injury, the heart is fragile. Jiang Fan had been refused treatment at the hospital and even scolded by the doctor; he felt utterly wronged. Hearing Deputy GM Tang ask why he hadn’t bandaged himself, Jiang Fan thought he was being mocked. He vented his frustration, replying coldly, “I’m not working here with a bank behind me, and you haven’t paid me. What am I supposed to use, chicken feathers?”

At Dafu, no matter how much the employees resented the Taiwanese managers, they always maintained a façade of politeness, greeting them respectfully. Now, when Tang addressed Jiang Fan kindly, not only did he refuse to appreciate it, but he even responded with veiled resentment.

Instead of being offended, Deputy GM Tang admired his defiant spirit even more.

“Come on,” Tang said, “Mr. Chen came back for a bit, but had to leave again and asked me to wait for you. I’ll take you to get your wound treated.”

Tang didn’t tell Jiang Fan that Chen Anlong, shaken by the ordeal, hadn’t wanted to stay at the factory and had gone to a hotel for comfort. Before leaving, he’d instructed Tang to wait for Jiang Fan and notify him as soon as the young man returned.

When Chen Anlong recounted his narrow escape and mentioned that Jiang Fan’s fate was still uncertain, Tang himself, without quite knowing why, decided to wait in person.

Hearing that Tang wanted to take him for treatment, Jiang Fan wanted to refuse, but looking at his wound—caked with Yunnan Baiyao yet still open and unlikely to heal without stitches, and prone to infection—he couldn’t bring himself to voice his pride.

He followed Deputy GM Tang back to Humen Hospital. The only doctor on duty in the emergency surgery ward was the same one as before. Seeing Jiang Fan now accompanied by a man wearing a Rolex, the doctor’s attitude grew much more cordial, though the medical costs had mysteriously risen by over a hundred yuan.

Seeing how even the angels in white, sworn to save lives, could be so mercenary, Jiang Fan couldn’t help but ask, “Didn’t you say before that hemostasis and suturing cost 130 yuan? Why is it over a hundred more now?”

The doctor explained, “I hadn’t examined it carefully before. On closer inspection, the wound is longer and more severe than I thought. Treating it is much more complicated, so the charges are higher.”

“So you didn’t take a proper look before? Or is it that you don’t treat outsiders like human beings, using us as guinea pigs?”

Annoyed by Jiang Fan’s questioning, the doctor snapped, “Are you getting treated or not? If not, stop wasting my time.”

From the conversation, Deputy GM Tang deduced that Jiang Fan had previously come to the hospital but had left untreated due to lack of money.

Not caring about the extra hundred-odd yuan, Tang interjected, “We’re here for treatment. It’s only normal to ask questions about the charges. What do you mean, wasting your time? If this is your idea of being inconvenienced, perhaps I should speak to your director about whether patients have the right to understand their fees and treatments.”

At various government meetings in Dongguan, officials repeatedly emphasized prioritizing reform and opening-up, striving to serve investors well. This slogan had its pros and cons; many bosses from out of town used it as an excuse to exploit migrant workers with impunity.

The doctor recognized Tang’s Taiwanese accent and, hearing him mention a complaint, immediately softened. “Sorry, it’s been a very busy day and I’m a bit irritable. I’ll write a new bill for the treatment and take care of the wound right away.”

Jiang Fan, listening to the doctor’s accent, couldn’t be sure it was Sichuanese, but could tell it was from the Southwest. Seeing this fellow outsider’s attitude, he retorted mercilessly, “I think you’re not irritable from busyness, but out of sorts because you didn’t manage to squeeze any extra out of me earlier.”

Tang’s earlier veiled threat had its effect; the doctor pretended not to hear Jiang Fan’s words. But when he cleaned the wound, he showed no concern for pain, pouring half a bottle of iodine straight onto the Yunnan Baiyao-covered cut. In the steps involving alcohol swabs and stitches, his hands were far from gentle.

Tang didn’t know much about medicine, but he could see the doctor was scrubbing Jiang Fan’s wound as if he were cleaning furniture, and suturing with hasty carelessness. Realizing the doctor was venting his anger, Tang did not interfere but watched Jiang Fan’s expression closely.