Yan Feifan knew Dr. Qin Ying.
She was a graduate of Binhai University Medical College and was now a specialist in the trauma department at Binhai First People’s Hospital. She was nationally renowned for her expertise in areas such as severed limb reattachment and sports injury recovery.
However, Dr. Qin Ying was most widely known for her notorious nickname: Abbess Miejue.
In her forties, she was still single and had no children.
Rumor had it she was a reclusive and eccentric old hag—a heartless, twisted woman.
It was said she was incredibly strict with her assistants and the junior doctors.
The slightest mistake would earn them a tongue-lashing, if not a physical blow. You could say that not even one in a hundred doctors made it through their time under her.
In short, the gossip painted Dr. Qin Ying as a she-devil—a tyrant whose name alone made people tremble and whom everyone avoided like the plague.
Yan Feifan felt these rumors were a gross exaggeration.
He had assisted Dr. Qin Ying in several surgeries as her surgical assistant during the earthquake relief efforts in Chuanxi.
From that close contact, Yan Feifan felt that aside from her demanding standards in surgery, there was nothing particularly unreasonable about Dr. Qin.
So when he heard the sudden news of Dr. Qin’s suicide attempt, he was not only shocked but also felt a great deal of sympathy.
Five months ago, an incident at City First People’s Hospital had sent shockwaves through the entire medical community.
Dr. Qin Ying had been attacked by a junior doctor in a sudden outburst, and three fingers on her right hand were severed.
Immediately afterward, that junior doctor had jumped from the eleventh floor.
Although Dr. Qin’s fingers were successfully reattached, the mobility in her right hand was permanently compromised. It was impossible for her to ever hold a scalpel or step into an operating room again.
For a surgeon, such a blow is fatal.
It was even more so for Dr. Qin Ying, who had no family and whose sole pursuit in life was to heal the sick and save others.
’I hope Dr. Qin pulls through.’
Yan Feifan sighed to himself and offered a silent prayer. He and We Xin arrived at a private room on the fifth floor.
As Yan Feifan entered the room, he saw a young girl with a ponytail, looking her age in a patient gown, reclining on the bed with a book.
Standing by the bed were a well-dressed, middle-aged man and woman.
"We need to take Lehong for a pelvic venogram."
We Xin didn’t introduce Yan Feifan, simply explaining their purpose to the three people in the room. "But before that," she added, "we need to have a quick word with Lehong."
She then stressed, "Alone."
Lehong’s father said quickly, "Of course. We’ll step out now."
He turned to Lehong and reminded her, "Honghong, make sure you cooperate with the doctors. Answer whatever they ask."
Once the couple had left and closed the door behind them, Yan Feifan didn’t wait for a cue from We Xin. He cut right to the chase. "The swelling and stinging... does it happen every time? After intimate contact with your boyfriend, or masturbation, or similar activities?"
The moment the words left his mouth, We Xin had the urge to facepalm.
’Damn it! How can he be so direct? No tact, no easing into it whatsoever... She’s a fourteen-year-old girl!’
’Doesn’t he have any fear of her parents beating him to a pulp?’
Lehong was also stunned by the question.
When she snapped out of it, she cried out like a feral kitten whose tail had just been stepped on.
"Doctor, what kind of question is that?"
"I told you, I don’t have a boyfriend! I’m a virgin! A virgin, a virgin, do you get it?"
Looking at Lehong, whose face was flushed with agitation, Yan Feifan remained unfazed. "Lehong," he said calmly, "your subtle facial expressions and your subconscious body language have already given me the answer."
He turned to We Xin. "It seems my hypothesis was correct."
"Next, we’ll run the tests to confirm the severity of her valvular dysplasia."
We Xin asked incredulously, "Mr. Yan, can you really tell if someone is lying just from their microexpressions and body language, like an interrogation expert?"
Yan Feifan nodded. "Unless someone has undergone rigorous professional training, the body’s subconscious reactions, microexpressions, and movements don’t lie."
He added, "More than eighty percent of patients can’t accurately describe their physical sensations to their doctor."
"And when it comes to sensitive personal issues, patients have a tendency to lie or be evasive."
"That’s why I don’t trust what patients say. I prefer to trust my own examinations and judgment."
We Xin drew out a long "Oh..." and glanced at Lehong.
The girl had a timid look on her face and was avoiding their gaze. At that, We Xin was mostly convinced Yan Feifan was right.
We Xin’s expression hardened. "Lehong," she said in a serious tone, "we’re giving you one more chance to be honest."
"Once the venogram results are back, the facts will speak for themselves, and any lies will be exposed..."
Before We Xin could finish, Lehong dropped to her knees with a THUD. "Doctor, please!" she cried. "I’m begging you!"
"Please, don’t tell my parents..."
"They’ll kill me. They’ll literally kill me..."