"Unless you can invite the internationally renowned expert Professor Smith to treat your younger brother."
The doctor left these words behind and then exited the ward.
The nurse softly closed the door.
Inside and outside the door, two separate worlds, yet both shared a deep, silent stillness in the night.
The half-open curtains of the ward revealed the pitch-black and tranquil night outside, while inside, a soft, non-glaring incandescent light was on. The youth, in a blue and white striped hospital gown, lay on the bed, his right hand wrapped in layers of white gauze.
Underneath the white gauze, without even thinking about it, one could guess the sight of twisted finger joints and the frightening purple bruises swollen with injury.
Ming Ci's left hand was hooked up to an IV, and his blond, spiky hair, at this quiet moment when he lay with calm brows, pale face, lost much of its nonmainstream juvenile air and actually made him seem well-behaved and naive.
