Chapter 185: Post-Operative Visit

The surgery went very smoothly. By the time Audrey He Ben was wheeled out of the operating room, her two children had already arrived. In such moments, the warmth of family presence is something a solitary person can never understand.

With her two children beside her and Robert, her age-matched life companion, the only bond tying the family together, they clustered around Lady He Ben, chatting softly.

Henry, the outsider, tactfully left the ward and went up to the medical center's rooftop to smoke.

In truth, the nicotine in cigarettes did not stimulate his Kryptonian physiology; he merely wanted a warmth flowing through his lungs at this moment.

Since his own heart was cold, and the world's human warmth was cold too, he could only rely on external things.

On another front, Henry carefully listened to every sound within the medical center, searching for voices discussing cases and researching illnesses.

Doctors admitted into this medical center were unquestionably the elite of their field. Their clinical judgments and thought processes, when matched against actual cases, were details impossible to fully capture in medical textbooks.

During the days he accompanied Lady He Ben for treatment, Henry had also tried to steal time to visit the library and browse medical books and journals. He realized this path was not one where reading a few books and possessing X-ray vision could automatically elevate one to the rank of a renowned physician.

This was why, regarding Lady He Ben's condition, Henry had always maintained an observer's stance—acting only as a caregiver, never as a healer.

Was it normal for a Kryptonian with a superbrain to feel this helplessness?

To compensate for this gap, Henry tried adopting a student's perspective to "listen" to these renowned doctors' guidance. Without a telepathic ability like Professor X's, he could not simply peek into their thoughts.

Then an idea sprang up uncontrollably: Should he find some unfortunate souls to practice on, to gain clinical experience?

The vibration and ring of his pager interrupted Henry's thoughts. He glanced at the device on his waist, noted the displayed number, and recorded it in his notebook.

This was not due to distrust in his own memory, but because when showing others, a written record was the most direct. He couldn't very well open his own skull for them to inspect.

If the number was familiar, he could infer the caller's likely intent based on their identity and reply with a few appropriate words.

But if the number was unfamiliar, the caller might truly be unknown—or a known person using a stranger's phone to page him. If he didn't return the call, he'd never know their purpose.

So Henry found a public phone inside the medical center and dialed back.

The phone was answered almost immediately. Henry said first: "This is Henry Brown, assistant to Lady Audrey He Ben. Who just paged me?"

A familiar voice came through: "Henry, it's Givenchy. How is Audrey?"

Among Lady He Ben's close friends, this fashion magnate was unquestionably in the top tier. Even if Lady He Ben herself had called, no one would ever think of hiding this news from him.

So Henry answered directly: "Lady He Ben underwent surgery today. It was successful. She has been transferred to a general ward for recovery."

There was a brief silence on the line. After all, this magnate had called before to inquire, and Lady He Ben had answered personally. How he was soothed, Henry had not deliberately eavesdropped.

Henry had informed only the two Young Masters of everything. To all others' inquiries, he gave only the standard hospital admission response.

Since the surgery succeeded, there was no need to continue concealing the truth from certain people. That was why Henry spoke plainly.

When a person is most vulnerable, sincere concern from others becomes a pillar of strength. But excessive false concern becomes a burden.

Henry could not replace Lady He Ben in filtering which concerns were genuine and which were perfunctory. But the friendship between Mr. Givenchy and the Lady was beyond doubt.

The silence on the line seemed to release a breath—and perhaps also a quiet reproach for not being informed. Mr. Givenchy asked: "Who is there with you?"

"Besides the two Young Masters, it's only Robert. He hasn't left her side for a moment."

Mr. Givenchy would only ask about close ones, not colleagues, so Henry omitted himself.

"Who else knows?" Mr. Givenchy asked again.

"If no one else has leaked it, then you, sir, are the only person outside this circle who knows. Whether to inform others, I must wait until the Lady recovers slightly before asking her. Including the United Nations—that will also be notified eventually."

"I understand. You're in Los Angeles…?"

"Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, Gastrointestinal Surgery."

"Hmm. I'll come as soon as possible. Please convey my regards to Audrey."

"Yes, sir."

After hanging up the call to the East Coast, it was clear Mr. Givenchy was not in Europe—he was in New York.

Just as Henry considered returning to the rooftop to smoke, the pager rang again with another number. Then another. Then another.

Henry replied to each one, taking notes. Most received only the standard hospital admission statement, even omitting the hospital's name. Some troublesome ones didn't even speak—just replied, "No comment."

For reporters probing for news, the method was simple: chat nonsense until the public phone's coin limit expired, and the machine kindly cut off automatically.

After all, "out of coins" was a perfectly valid excuse in this era—far more effective than future excuses like "signal lost" or "account overdue."

Mr. Givenchy's visit came far sooner than expected. Near noon the next day, he appeared at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, holding a bouquet of flowers.

After knocking, he entered the ward, greeted everyone else first, then turned to his friend lying in bed and said: "Oh, Audrey, my dearest friend. You should have told me sooner." As he spoke, he offered the bouquet.

The bouquet consisted mainly of carnations, violets, and baby's breath—soft-hued flowers with mild, non-overpowering scents, since strong fragrances could burden respiratory patients.

Henry took the flowers and whispered, "I'll find a vase," then stepped out of the ward.

Lady He Ben looked helplessly at her friend and said: "Telling you sooner would only add one more person worrying, one more person powerless. What good would that do? I'm fine now—that's what matters."

"Of course, of course," Mr. Givenchy nodded.

(End of Chapter)