On that night three years ago when the cicadas suddenly stopped chirping, Xia Zhi read the boy's hot heartbeat in the gaps in his biology notes. Lu Jingshen, the student god in the key class, wrote a love letter with a body temperature of 37 degrees, but she drew the pause with a trembling pen tip. Three years later, we met again behind the blue curtain in the emergency room. He was the youngest attending physician in the thoracic surgery department, and she was an intern medical student who was sorting out medical records with her pen in her mouth. When the heartbeat curve of the monitor overlapped with the boy's thoughts in his memory, Xia Zhi finally discovered that the stars crushed by inferiority had already turned into the Milky Way in Lu Jingshen's eyes. This time, his hand holding the scalpel held her trembling fingertips: "Student Xia, I have been preparing for this question for three years. Can I apply for a make-up exam?"
