Chapter 468: Li Nuanqing Starts Dating

The rain in Shenzhen fell sticky, like melted syrup, turning the glass curtain wall of Wanxiang Dasha into a hazy glow.

Li Ping'an was reviewing the automobile division's budget report for next year; red ink slashed the paper with sharp diagonal lines—costs could be cut another five percent, efficiency must rise eight percent, his internal scale.

The telephone rang abruptly, blaring.

It wasn't the polite external line's "ding‑ding," but the internal line's harsh "beep‑beep," reserved for emergencies.

He frowned and answered, "Speak."

"Brother…" on the other end was his sister Li Pingle's voice, low but unable to hide the urgency, "Are you in the office? Is the door locked tightly?"

Li Ping'an instinctively sat up straight, "What happened?"

"Nuanqing… Nuanqing is dating."

The air froze for three seconds.

Li Ping'an's hand gripping the handset whitened at the knuckles. Outside, rain streamed down the glass, distorting the traffic on Shen Nan Avenue below like an oil painting soaked in water.

"When did this happen?" he asked, his voice steadier than he expected.

"Just the past half month. An Ning told me in secret—she's in training at Xiehe Hospital, in the same department as Nuanqing."

Li Pingle spoke so fast it sounded like a report, "The man is also a doctor at Xiehe, surname Su, named Su Jingming, a cardiac surgeon, twenty‑nine years old, hometown Shandong…"

"What about his character?"

"An Ning said… he looks upright, wears glasses, speaks slowly and softly."

Li Pingle hesitated, "But brother, you know these youngsters now put on a front but are different underneath. Nuanqing is so simple‑hearted, I'm afraid she…"

"I understand." Li Ping'an cut in, "Don't tell Xueqing about this first; her heart isn't good."

He hung up.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

In his mind there were no financial statements, no production lines, no major projects awaiting his sign‑off.

It was the little girl from twenty years ago, with twin braids, stumbling into his arms, cooing "Daddy, hold me."

It was the girl from ten years ago, in blue‑white school uniform, unwillingly dropped off at the medical college dorm entrance, muttering "Dad, stop coming to see me, the classmates will laugh."

It was now, the doctor in a white coat, holding a scalpel, calmly standing under the shadowless lamp.

His Nuanqing is dating.

His heart felt like a spice shop knocked over.

The sourness was that peculiar, indefinable bitterness only an old father feels.

The astringency was like chewing an unripe green plum, tingling from the tip of the tongue down to the throat.

And a bit… flustered.

Yes, flustered. After thirty years riding the waves of commerce, Li Ping'an had never been rattled, yet now his palms suddenly sweated.

He opened his eyes, grabbed the telephone, and dialed a number.

"Yaozong, book me a flight to Beijing for tonight. Yes, just me. Keep an eye on the work."

He set the telephone down, stood up, and walked to the window.

The rain eased, and a sliver of bleak white light pierced the sky. Below, a brand‑new Wanxiang‑branded sedan slowly entered the underground garage, its sleek lines reflecting a cold gleam on the wet floor.

He suddenly recalled the gift he gave Nuanqing when she entered medical school—a set of German‑imported surgical instruments. The little girl clutched the heavy steel case, eyes shining like stars, "Dad, I'll become the best surgeon!"

But now, someone is about to take that star's light away.

"The cabbage got trampled by a pig," he muttered softly, finding the remark laughably childish.

9 p. m., the capital's airport.

Beijing's wind differed sharply from Shenzhen's—dry, cold, sharp, like a blade scraping the face. Li Ping'an tightened his coat and slipped into the car dispatched by the company's Beijing office.

"Go straight to the Xiehe Hospital dormitory," he instructed the driver.

The car passed Chang'anjie as the city lights flickered on. After eleven years of reform and opening, Beijing had changed, yet seemed unchanged—buildings taller, more cars, but the ancient capital's steady gravitas still settled in every brick.

He recalled his youth in a Beijing Siheyuan. Back then he was the Head of the Security Department at the Steel Rolling Mill, and Wang Dahu was one of his men. On weekends he sometimes took Nuanqing to Tiananmen Square to fly kites; the little girl would run until her face was flushed, yet the kite never rose high.

Time, truly a thief.

The staff dormitory of Xiehe Hospital was an old Soviet‑style building, red‑brick walls, wooden window frames, the hallway filled with a mix of disinfectant and food aromas.

Li Ping'an stood before a weathered lacquered door on the third floor, inhaled deeply, and raised his hand to knock.

"Who is it?" Nuanqing's voice came from inside, clear and a hint of fatigue.

"Me."

The door swung open with a "whoosh."

Li Nuanqing was in home clothes, hair loosely tied, glasses perched on her forehead, holding a thick medical textbook. Seeing her father, she clearly froze, "Dad? Why are you… aren't you in Shenzhen?"

"On a business trip, and thought I'd drop by," Li Ping'an said as he entered, his eyes quickly scanning the cramped fifteen‑square‑meter room—books piled like a hill, a human anatomy chart on the wall, two potted pothos thriving on the windowsill.

Nuanqing hurriedly gathered the clothes scattered on the bed, "Dad, have a seat, I'll pour you water… oops, the thermos is empty, I'll go…"

"Don't rush," Li Ping'an sat on the only chair, "Have you eaten?"

"I have, I took a taxi from the cafeteria." Nuanqing sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped, eyes wandering, "Dad, are you really on a business trip?"

Li Ping'an stared at her.

His twenty‑eight‑year‑old daughter, her brows and eyes bearing both her mother's gentle grace and his youthful stubbornness. Beneath the white coat her shoulders were slender, yet when she lifted a scalpel she was steady as a mountain.

"I heard you have a boyfriend," he said bluntly.

Nuanqing's face flushed "whoosh" from forehead to neck, like boiled shrimp.

"It was… An Ning who told you, right? That girl's mouth is fast…" she muttered softly, then lifted her head, a defensive glint in her eyes, "Dad, you didn't come back just for this, did you?"

"Can't I just be concerned about my little girl?" Li Ping'an tried to keep his tone light, "Tell me, who is he? How did you meet?"

Nuanqing bit her lip, was silent for a few seconds, then laughed, "Dad, you sound like you're interrogating a suspect."

She also went all out, pulling a photo from the drawer.

It's a group photo taken during the hospital department's spring outing, with a crowd standing in front of the red leaves of Xiangshan. Nuanqing stands in the middle, next to a thin tall man wearing glasses, dressed in a plaid shirt, smiling a little shyly.

"Su Jingming, from our department, cardiac surgery attending physician."

Nuanqing points at the photo, "He's from Shandong, his parents are both middle‑school teachers. He graduated from Peking University Medical School, two years senior to me."

Li Ping'an takes the photo and examines it carefully.

To be fair, his looks aren't bad. Fairly delicate, with well‑proportioned eyebrows and eyes, only too thin, like a bamboo pole.

"What about his character?" he asks the question he cares about most.

"He's quite good," Nuanqing says, "He's diligent and responsible at work, and last year he won first prize in the hospital's young doctor skills competition. He's especially patient with patients; there's a little girl with congenital heart disease who calls him 'Dad Su' every time she sees him…"

When she talks about this, her eyes shine.

Li Ping'an's jealousy flares again.

"Is he good to you?" he interrupts her.

Nuanqing's face reddens again: "Well… that's about it. He brings me breakfast in the morning, gives me hot milk during night shifts, when my back hurts from standing at the operating table too long, he got me a back support…"

"Have you met his parents?"

"Not yet! We just started dating, why would we meet his parents?" Nuanqing snatches the photo back, "Dad, don't read too much into it."

A knock comes from outside the door.

Nuanqing's expression changes, and she looks anxiously at her father.

Li Ping'an raises an eyebrow, "Is it him?"

"It should be… he said he'd bring me some reference books tonight." Nuanqing stands up, smooths her hair, "Dad, you… you should be nicer."

The door opens.

Su Jingming stands in the doorway, indeed holding several thick medical books. Seeing Li Ping'an inside, he is visibly startled, blinking behind his lenses.

"Nuanqing, this is…"

"This is my dad," Nuanqing says, voice a little shaky, "Dad, this is Su Jingming."

Su Jingming's expression instantly shifts from puzzled to nervous, the change as fast as flipping a page. He almost instinctively puts the books down, extends both hands, "Hello, Uncle! I'm Su Jingming, Nuanqing's… colleague."

Li Ping'an shakes his hand.

His palm bears a thin callus, formed from long‑term handling of scalpels. His fingers are long and strong, slightly cool to the touch.

"Li Ping'an," he states his name, his gaze sweeping over the young man's face, "Come in and sit, don't stand at the doorway."

The next half hour becomes the most difficult half hour of this twenty‑nine‑year‑old cardiac surgeon's life.

Li Ping'an doesn't ask any tricky questions; he just makes small talk—asking about his hometown, his parents' health, whether work is busy, and what plans he has for the future.

But each question is like a scalpel, precisely probing the critical points.

Su Jingming stutters at first, then gradually relaxes. When he talks about his specialty, his eyes light up, his speech quickens, and his gestures become more frequent.

"The hardest thing in cardiac surgery now is infant congenital heart disease operations; the domestic mortality rate is fifteen percent higher than abroad. It's not a technical issue, it's the postoperative monitoring and rehabilitation system that lags," he says, sighing, "Sometimes we save a patient on the operating table, but postoperative infection defeats them, that feeling…"

Nuanqing interjects, "He spent three consecutive months in the ICU studying postoperative infection control, and he even developed a stomach ulcer from the exhaustion."

Li Ping'an notices that when she says that, there is a look of concern in her eyes.

There is also pride.

"I heard both your parents are teachers?" Li Ping'an asks, feigning casualness.

"Yes, my dad teaches language arts, my mom teaches mathematics."

Su Jingming nods, "They taught me from childhood that one must be honest and diligent. As a doctor it's even more so—life is in your hands, you can't be careless at all."

The words are plain, but Li Ping'an can feel their weight.

"Have you thought about the future?" he asks, "Doctors don't earn much, especially here in China. Have you considered working at a foreign‑owned hospital? Or going abroad?"

Su Jingming and Nuanqing exchange a glance.

"Uncle, I've already discussed this with Nuanqing."

The young man sits up straight, his tone solemn, "We are Chinese, we study Chinese medicine, we treat Chinese patients. Union Hospital may not offer us high salaries, but here we have the most complex cases in the country, the patients who need us most. As for going abroad… short‑term exchanges are fine, but we won't consider long‑term."

He pauses, then adds, "Nuanqing feels the same way."

Li Ping'an looks at his daughter.

Nuanqing nods firmly, "Dad, we want to do something concrete together. Cardiac surgery is short on staff now, especially young people willing to dig deep. Jingming is already designing a new valve surgery approach; if successful, it could cut operation time by half an hour…"

She talks about her specialty, flowing endlessly.

Li Ping'an listens quietly.

Outside, the night deepens, and the old fluorescent light hums softly. In this cramped room, the glow in the two young people's eyes outshines any lamp.

At ten o'clock, Su Jingming stands up to take his leave.

"Uncle, please rest early. Nuanqing has two surgeries tomorrow, so let her go to bed early."

He says politely, walks to the doorway and turns back, "Uncle, I know you're uneasy. But please trust that I'll be good to Nuanqing and be responsible for my profession."

The door closes.

Nuanqing looks at her father cautiously, "Dad… what do you think?"

Li Ping'an says nothing and walks to the window.

Downstairs, Su Jingming pushes his bicycle out of the hallway, stands under a streetlamp for a moment, looks up at the window, then mounts the bike and disappears into the night.

His silhouette is upright, unhurried.

"He's decent," Li Ping'an finally says, "Just too thin—one gust of wind could knock him over. As doctors, you have to take care of your own health as well."

Nuanqing lets out a giggle, "Dad, does this mean you agree?"

"What good is my approval?" Li Ping'an turns, looking at his daughter, "Your lives are yours to live. As long as his character is sound, he treats you well, and he has responsibility, why should I stand in the way?"

He walks over and rubs his daughter's hair—just like when she was a child.

"But Nuanqing, dating is dating, but you can't mishandle a scalpel. This profession of a doctor tolerates no distraction at all."

"I know." Nuanqing leaned on his shoulder, her voice softening, "Dad, you came all the way back just to get a glimpse of him?"

"Otherwise?" Li Ping'an hummed, "I've been growing this cabbage for twenty‑eight years; I have to see which pig comes to root it, right?"

Father and daughter both laughed.

As they kept laughing, Nuanqing's eyes grew a little red: "Dad, thank you."

Early the next morning, Li Ping'an went to Xiehe Hospital.

He didn't tell Nuanqing that he had booked a regular slot in the cardiac surgery department.

The doctor on duty happened to be Su Jingming.

"Where does it hurt?" the young man lowered his head to write the medical record, not recognizing him.

"My heart feels uneasy," Li Ping'an said.

Su Jingming looked up, stunned: "Uncle? How come you…"

"I'm here for a check‑up," Li Ping'an said seriously, "Doctor, you say, when a father sees his daughter in love and feels sour inside, how do you treat that?"

Other patients in the waiting room heard it and began to smile secretly.

Su Jingming's face flushed red, then turned pale, then red again; finally he adjusted his glasses and laughed, "Uncle, there's no medicine for this. But with time it eases—once you see your daughter happy, the sourness fades and only sweetness remains."

Li Ping'an stared at him for a few seconds.

Then he stood up: "Alright, I'll take your prescription. Take good care of the patient, Dr. Su."

He walked to the door, then turned back: "By the way, if you have time, go over to Shenzhen for a visit. Nuanqing's mother is in Shenzhen."

Su Jingming stood up, nodded solemnly: "Okay, Uncle."

On the flight back to Shenzhen, Li Ping'an watched the rolling sea of clouds outside the window.

The vat of vinegar in his heart didn't seem so sour anymore.

He recalled Su Jingming's gaze when he said "Life lies beneath the hand," remembered Nuanqing's glowing face when she talked about the surgery, and pictured the two young doctors in that cramped room discussing how to shorten operation time and lower mortality.

That wasn't a sentimental father‑daughter affair.

It was two physicians talking about snatching lives from the hands of Death.

The flight attendant brought tea; he took it and suddenly laughed.

"Sir, is there something making you happy?" the flight attendant asked politely.

"Nothing," Li Ping'an shook his head, "I just think that when a cabbage grows up it has to leave the garden. But as long as it grows well, which pig rooted it doesn't really matter anymore."

The flight attendant looked bewildered.

Li Ping'an stopped explaining and closed his eyes.

The plane pierced the clouds, and sunlight suddenly poured in, golden and bright, illuminating the entire cabin.

He thought he should have a good talk with Xueqing when he gets back.

Their Nuanqing had found someone who, like her, has light in his heart.