Under the incandescent lamp of a convenience store on a rainy night, Fu Chenzhou saw Shen Yan for the first time.
The man was wearing a blood-stained black shirt, holding the convenience store glass door with his knuckles. There was a fresh wound on his eyebrow bone, and blood beads rolled down his jawline into his collar, like a silent red snake.
Shen Yan was lowering his head to unpack the band-aid. The cuffs of his white coat were rolled up, revealing the light blue blood vessels at his wrist bones. His eyes behind the lenses were as cold as scalpels.
"Want to help?" Shen Yan's voice was as clear as his own, with the coolness of disinfectant.
Fu Chenzhou smiled and licked the blood on the corner of his lips with his tongue: "Does a doctor help the wounded or the dead, or only good children?"
Later, someone asked Fu Chenzhou, what fascinates you most about Dr. Shen?
Fu Chenzhou played with the handle of the gun and said casually: "When he gave me stitches, his hand was more stable than when he was operating on a seriously ill patient."
And Shen Yan's diary said: On September 17, 2023, on a rainy night, I met an injured wolf.
