OCU Chapter 5

“I know this is the Urology Department,” Qin Minggong gritted his teeth, his sharp aura accentuated by his black suit. He quickly reverted to his usual expression, adding, “I just didn’t react immediately.”

I nodded in understanding. It was true—when most people first heard about this specialty, their reactions were rarely natural. Some even subtly glanced down at their own crotch, as if suddenly paranoid.

Ah, men. I turned my gaze back to Qin Minggong, noticing his persistent situation. His tailored suit pants were still tented. Walking out like that to find a restroom might traumatize some poor kid.

“You can go over there to handle it,” I said, pointing to the clinic bed in the room.

Qin Minggong glanced at me twice, grabbed his pants, and walked over upright and composed.

I grabbed a roll of tissues, stood up, and approached the bed. Looking down at Qin Minggong from above, I realized my high school crush was now lying disheveled on the medical bed in my clinic.

My eyes darkened.

“You didn’t lie down on the disposable bed cover.” He hadn’t used the cover. Did he even realize how often these things got dirty? Not to mention, I had to clean them. My life was already worse than a dog’s, and now this?

I pointed to the instructional diagram on the wall and shoved the tissues into his hand. “Please follow the rules.”

“You—”

Swish. I swiftly pulled the mobile curtain around the bed, blocking it from view. Then, I returned to my seat, picked up my little mug, and took a sip. It suddenly hit me—should I leave the room in moments like this?

Just as I was about to speak, I heard a muffled breath from behind the curtain.

It was soft, suppressed, and… strangely provocative.

“If you need to breathe, you can do it freely,” I offered after a moment of thought. “You can call out if you want, too.”

Why was I so invested in Qin Minggong’s business? Back in high school, he used to nap at his desk all the time. I’d been worried he’d strain his neck, so I even bought him a pillow. But I never saw him use it, and before I could ask, that incident happened.

A moment later, Qin Minggong responded, “Call… what?”

Call what? Did he need me to spell it out? Wasn’t it common for people to call out a loved one’s name or something self-affirming during such personal moments? I replied, “Call whatever you like.”

“Do you like… calling out during this?” he asked.

No, I didn’t. I was usually as quiet as a chicken. As long as I was breathing, I figured that was enough to prove I was alive and well.

“That’s not a question patients should be asking their doctor.”

“Hah. I’m not even a patient.”

With that, Qin Minggong fell silent again. Feeling bored, I started scrolling through Weibo on my phone. After a while, he called out to me.

“Ning Qingze.” His voice was soft.

“Yeah? What is it?” I glanced toward the curtain—just the blue fabric in my view.

“… Nothing. I’m done,” he said, louder this time.

“The sink and hand sanitizer are right there. Wash your hands,” I replied without looking up, continuing to scroll.

Moments later, Qin Minggong reappeared in front of me, looking as dignified as ever. He was wiping his hands with a tissue and asked, “When do you get off work? Let’s grab dinner together.”

“Six o’clock.” My palm felt a little sweaty as I gripped my phone. Somehow, the thought of him asking me to dinner made me more nervous than him… resolving personal matters in front of me earlier.

“I’ll pick you up after work,” he said.

“Alright,” I agreed.