"Is the man alright?" An Ying asked casually, not giving it much thought. Aunt Zhang shook her head, "He fainted on the spot, fortunately the clinic was nearby. I called out, and Doctor Huang rushed out from the clinic." An Ying raised her chin, and suddenly felt a pang in her heart. Aunt Zhang saw her tense expression and immediately became worried, "What’s wrong?" "It’s nothing." An Ying shook her head, lightly massaging the spot over her heart. For some reason, her heart was racing wildly. "Let me help you to rest for a bit." Aunt Zhang didn’t dare to be careless, and carefully supported her to the bedroom. A hundred meters away. The man’s clothes were stained, yet the noble and arrogant aura he exuded was hard to ignore. Inside the clinic, there was a small ward with four beds placed inside. Meng Heming was laid on one of the beds, leaning against the cold, hard headboard. His forehead was slightly damp with sweat, and his coat had been removed and placed aside, drenched by the rain, with water dripping from the corners onto the floor. Doctor Huang stood by his side, looking at him, and asked with concern once more, "Are you sure you don’t need me to call an ambulance?" "No need." Meng Heming replied, his voice tinged with a hint of weakness. "You fainted suddenly. For your health’s sake, I must insist you go to the hospital for a check-up soon," Doctor Huang advised slowly, observing his calm and aloof demeanor. "Thank you for the reminder." Meng Heming looked up and thanked the man in front of him sincerely. Right after Doctor Huang spoke, a nurse came running down the corridor. "Doctor Huang, someone is looking for you." Doctor Huang turned his head, "I’ll be right there." The nurse peeked towards the direction of the bed, then quickly left. Doctor Huang glanced at the man lying on the bed, intending to speak, but then he heard the man say, "You go ahead, I’ll just lie here for a while." "Alright then." Doctor Huang nodded reluctantly, knowing that if the man had any mishaps in his clinic, it would be troublesome. But seeing his feeble state, Doctor Huang couldn’t just let him leave, so with a heart full of worry, he turned and left. As he reached the hall, he instructed the nurses to check on him after a few minutes before going about his own tasks. For the ensuing time, Doctor Huang was in the dressing room, treating an elderly man’s wound. When he finished, it was half an hour later. As he pulled back the curtain and came out, he saw the nurse coming out of the small ward across the way, reminding him of the man still lying inside. "Xiao Tao, how is he?" Doctor Huang asked. Xiao Tao’s face was flushed, and she looked up nervously upon hearing Doctor Huang’s voice, "N-nothing’s wrong." Seeing her stuttering demeanor, Doctor Huang furrowed his brow, "Alright, you keep watch in front while I go check." "Okay." Xiao Tao glanced longingly towards the small ward before leaving reluctantly. Google seaʀᴄh 𝗻𝗼𝘷𝗲𝗹•𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮•𝕟𝕖𝕥 Earlier, when she went to the ward, her heart pounded on seeing the man’s handsome, chiseled face. Despite his somewhat mature age, to Xiao Tao, such middle-aged men tended to be caring, and his distinguished demeanor was unmistakable, leading her to nurture some wild thoughts. However, those notions dissipated completely at the sight of Doctor Huang. When Doctor Huang entered the ward, the room was very quiet. The lighting was dim inside; if it weren’t for the hallway lights, it would be pitch dark. Originally a storage room, the small ward had no windows and required lights throughout the day. As Doctor Huang approached the door, he was about to turn on the lights when he saw the man on the bed motionless. In a hurry, he went forward, and when he noticed the man’s long eyelashes twitch and his mouth murmuring indistinct words, Doctor Huang’s panic calmed down. Approaching the bedside, the man’s murmurs grew louder. "Ying’er... Ying’er..." Listening to his indistinct words, Doctor Huang’s eyes fell on the man’s proud face. For a long while, he heard him calling out a woman’s name, and sighed inwardly. Also feeling the pang of his unrequited affection. When Meng Heming opened his eyes, he saw a man in a white coat sitting on a wooden chair beside him, and slowly pushed himself up. His movements roused Doctor Huang from his thoughts. "Awake?" Doctor Huang stood up and immediately went to the door to turn on the lights in the room. In an instant, the dim room brightened up. Meng Heming turned his head to avoid the direct glare of the strong light. "Yes." Meng Heming’s deep voice was slightly hoarse. Doctor Huang went to the water dispenser, filled a cup, and handed it to him, "Drink this." Meng Heming took it naturally, "Thank you." He took a sip, easing his dry throat, then placed the disposable cup on the nearby cabinet. "You’re not from around here, are you?" Doctor Huang asked casually, sounding like small talk. "I’m not." Meng Heming’s voice was weary. Perhaps hearing the man call out someone’s name in his sleep gave Doctor Huang a sense of empathy, making him talk more, "While you slept, you kept murmuring a name." Meng Heming stiffened all over, concealed the gloom from his face, and didn’t speak. Doctor Huang, thinking of his own situation, sighed, "I also love a woman, still do, and can very much understand your feelings." He lowered his head dejectedly while speaking. Meng Heming raised his eyebrows, "Why can’t you be together?" Doctor Huang looked at the man before him, his well-built figure, fair skin, and well-defined features seemingly meticulously sculpted; his appearance was dignified. There was an unmistakable air of righteousness in the man’s demeanor, appearing very dashing. Despite their similar age, the regal aura emanating from him instilled a sense of awe in Doctor Huang. An expression of melancholy and indescribable bitterness flitted across his face before he said, "Not suitable." As a doctor, he knew she had been seriously ill, and the likelihood of a recurrence scared him off. In the deep of night, Doctor Huang had more than once berated himself inwardly, believing his love for An Ying was true, yet in reality, it was tainted with pragmatism and far from pure. When Meng Heming heard the term "not suitable," a bit of cold indifference crossed his resolute face. He astutely sensed it was merely an excuse. Since the other party didn’t wish to reveal the truth, Meng Heming kept a bland expression and didn’t pursue it further.