Intrigue in the Capital: The Physician and the Censor

The smell of disinfectant had not yet faded when Kong Da’e was jolted awake by a bone-chilling cold. She jerked her eyes open, but what she saw was not the familiar VIP room at the private hospital. There was no vent for the climate-controlled air conditioning, no modern art on the wall, and no iced Americano on the bedside table. Instead, above her hung a dingy gray hemp canopy, its frayed edges rustling in the wind. And beneath her was not a memory-foam mattress but a hard wooden bed covered with a thin layer of straw, digging painfully into her shoulder blades.