This Spring Festival, I swapped shifts with a coworker to work New Year's Eve, only to get a late-night emergency call from the men's clinic.
When I saw the patients waiting, there was my husband, Qi Zeyu, who'd claimed he was on assignment in the Middle East, along with his mistress.
I was wearing a mask, so he didn't recognize me.
He clutched his thigh in agony.
"What brings you in?"
"I, um, accidentally hit it. It's swollen and bleeding."
After years of working as a doctor, I knew perfectly well that every man with a torn frenulum claimed he'd hit it by accident.
"Go inside for an examination."
I prepared the medication and checked the syringe.
Old grudges and new: some people had to pay for what they'd done!
