At seven o'clock in the morning, Qingwei Hall opened its doors. Uncle Fang pushed open the door and the aroma of medicine floated into the street. Aunt Sun was frying fried dough sticks next door and shouted at the top of her lungs: "Uncle Fang, are you the same?" "Two bowls of soy milk and more sugar." Ling Wei came out of the backyard, her hair tied with a wooden hairpin, wearing a navy blue cotton and linen gown. She took the soy milk and stood at the door and took a sip, looking across the street. This is her habit. "Ling Wei, did you go out on a motorcycle last night?" Aunt Sun asked. "Something happened to Ling Chen's classmate." Aunt Sun shook her head and handed over two fried dough sticks: "Bring one to that kid, too. He's as thin as a monkey." Ling Wei took it and said "Thank you." After returning to the clinic and sitting down, Uncle Fang stuck his head out and said, "Two appointments today. Old General Zhao Demao's follow-up visit, and a patient with back pain introduced by Aunt Sun." Ling Wei nodded and opened the medical book. At half past eight, the patient arrived. A man in his fifties walked with a limp and supported his waist with his right hand. My wife followed behind, carrying a bag of CT films. "Excuse me, is this Dr. Ling?" The woman asked cautiously.
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