Chapter 6 Hospital
The lights in the medical examination department were paler than the boundaries of the stadium.
Taking the prescription from the doctor, Feng Jian helped Ling Jie walk towards the pharmacy, listening to her muttering, "They said it was a minor problem and it's not a big deal. You even came all the way to Tokyo for a checkup."
Fengjian didn't say anything.
The last time she heard the word "minor ailment" like this was in the white hospital ward. She quickly scanned the prescription for "cough" and "fatigue," quietly deleting the search for "early symptoms of pneumonia" on her phone. Her voice softened, "I'll take the day off for the follow-up exam and come with you."
"There's no need to ask for leave. Help me sit over there. My back hasn't been feeling very good lately."
Feng Jian squatted down and rubbed Sister Ling's waist, using very light force: "It's because Sister Ling didn't listen to advice. The day before yesterday, you coughed four times when we were closing the stall, and yesterday you almost fell down when you bent down to pick up the plate." She looked up and stared into Sister Ling's eyes, "Hire someone, otherwise..."
She didn't say anything else, but just folded the list and put it in her pocket.
"You are just worrying about nothing, kid. I, your mother, can fight for another twenty years without any problems. There is no need to hire anyone."
The white light in the corridor was so bright that it was hard to open one's eyes. But when Sister Ling said "fight for another twenty years", the light seemed to soften a little, falling on the white hair at her temples, like a layer of fine salt.
Fengjian didn't say anything and looked away. Before his eyes met the sycamore tree outside the window, he was caught in a patch of gray.
The brim of the boy's ivory white sweatshirt by the window pressed down the ends of his hair, revealing his pale and thin jawline, which was softer than usual, but still tight.
Tezuka Kunimitsu, clutching his left elbow with his right hand, had just emerged from the clinic, the X-ray film bag rustling in the draft. Through the translucent paper, Kazama could even make out the densely packed bone lines on the film, like the court's edge lines she'd marked countless times in her record book.
The other party obviously didn't expect to bump into her here. There was a look of surprise in his eyes, but he quickly returned to his usual calmness: "Why are you here?"
The voice was lower and hoarse than usual, as if he had swallowed a pill, and it had a muffled texture.
Feng Jian tightened his grip on Sister Ling's hand and said, "I came with Sister Ling for the physical examination... Senior, are you here to check your wrist?"
The words felt abrupt the moment they left her mouth—on the training ground, she would only ask, “Does the data need correction?”, but now she was directly pointing out his injury.
Tezuka's gaze passed over her tense fingers and landed on Sister Ling. He nodded as a greeting, then turned to look at her and nodded: "Recheck."
This was the first time he had openly acknowledged his injury in front of her. It wasn't the light, "It's okay" he'd said on the training ground, light as a feather, but it left a dent in his heart.
Sister Ling squinted her eyes and looked at his left hand. Suddenly, she said, "Young man, you came to the hospital to see your wounds too. I'm a worried girl. I was just staring at the nurse's blood pressure monitor and recording the data."
Feng Jian was about to say, "I'm the recorder, so I record the data...", but Sister Ling spoke first, patting the back of her hand: "Talk to your classmates for a while, I'll go get the medicine first."
"Sister Ling, I'll go with you..."
"No, no," Sister Ling winked at her, but walked briskly, "I know the way."
They were the only two left in the corridor. A draft, mingled with the smell of disinfectant, swept past. Tezuka took a step back, leaning against the cold railing. His left hand dropped to his side, his right unconsciously resting on his left elbow, tapping it again and again.
This action was more eye-catching than the data displayed on the court. She suddenly recalled the figure of the boy bending over on the court that she had seen several times before.
She cleared her throat and looked at the medicine bag at his feet. "Um...what did the doctor say?"
He lowered his head, glanced at the medicine bag, then looked at her. "It's a minor inflammation, it will be gone in a week."
Feng Jian's voice tightened, and he couldn't help but raise his voice, "Then next week..."
"No problem," he interrupted her, his tone calm as if he were discussing the weather today, "It will definitely be fine before the opening of the Metropolitan Conference."
"Please don't tell anyone about this, and don't write 'elbow injury' in the record book. Just write 'everything is fine'."
Kazama was stunned. He even remembered her habit of phrasing when recording. The notebook in his pocket pricked his ribs, and the page with the red ball felt hot. It turned out that Chiba's earlier remarks, and last week's note that "Tezuka would secretly press his left shoulder after a match," weren't illusions.
The wind rustled the sycamore trees outside the window. Tezuka subconsciously tried to stand up straight, but his center of gravity was unstable and his left shoulder accidentally hit the railing. A very light groan escaped from his throat, as clear as a suddenly broken tennis string in the empty and quiet corridor.
Kazama instinctively reached out to help him, but when he touched the edge of his shirt, he felt a stronger tremor. It wasn't nerves, but rather a purely physiological pain. It turned out that the boy who always stood in the center of the court could also have moments like this when he lost control.
"It's okay," he quickly stood up, calmly avoiding her hand but not retreating, "It just hurts when you suddenly exert force."
"That competition..."
"So we need more accurate data." His eyes fell on her clenched fist. "Your data is trustworthy."
Caught off guard by the praise, Fengjian was stunned for a moment, and then as if encouraged, he took out a soft-cover notebook from his bag - not the one he usually used to record training data, but his own personal notebook - and tore off a page.
"This is... a dietary recovery plan," she coughed lightly. "Four sets of training a day, combined with a healthy diet, will help with elbow bone recovery."
When Tezuka took the paper, his fingertips accidentally brushed against hers, and they both quickly pulled away as if they had been electrocuted. He looked down at the painting, and the curve of his lips softened a lot.
"Thanks."
"Um, Tezuka-senpai," Kazama stared at the thin piece of paper, and when he looked over, he suddenly said, "Next time during training, can I ask you directly about your recovery progress, as a recorder?"
Tezuka folded the paper twice and put it in his pocket. When he turned around, he said, "I'll wait for you in the recovery room at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon."
It didn't say "yes" or "no", but just gave a specific time. It was like a simple notice, but it carried a kind of tacit approval.
A strong wind blew outside the window, rustling the trees and rolling into a green ocean.
"Come back to my senses"
Lingjie's enlarged face suddenly appeared in front of him, with a mischievous smile on her face, "How's the conversation going? I saw you staring at her back in a daze just now. Is she a senior from the tennis club?"
Feng Jian hurriedly looked away, clenched the medical examination form slightly, lowered his head and responded, only then he realized that he was still holding the personal soft cover notebook in his hand.
The smell of disinfectant was already pungent, and the lights in the corridor were still more dazzling than the white lines on the court. She looked at the small red ball drawn on the paper and suddenly thought that maybe she could mark it with a smiley face next time.
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