Disciplinary Code

CH 19

Default Dyslexic Roboto Lora

There’s no particular reason why misfortune strikes a person.
Even if you live your life systematically, work diligently, and avoid any unnecessary actions, misfortune can still descend from the sky and accurately hit you right on the head.

Ji Yao understood that Jiang Heng’s reminder was given out of a sense of the “past,” a friendly heads-up meant to prepare him psychologically.
However, after listening, Ji Yao not only didn’t feel reassured, but also became even more agitated.

“It’s their family matter; it has nothing to do with me,” Ji Yao couldn’t help but say, “I’m just a doctor.
To me, all patients on the sickbed are just a mass of flesh and blood.
There’s no distinction of high or low status.
I don’t have X-ray eyes to see into their family dramas—although, if I had to point out something specific, he did indeed cause all the medical staff in the room to take PEP blockade medication together.”

Jiang Heng nodded as if he didn’t particularly care about Ji Yao’s attitude.
He brushed aside Ji Yao’s complaints and, in a business-like manner, asked, “I almost forgot, one final question.
Do you know Zhou Fang?”

Ji Yao: “…”

Ji Yao’s sense of grievance abruptly stopped, replaced by a surge of annoyed distrust from deep within.
He had always thought that, regardless of the good or bad history between him and Jiang Heng, they had still spent so much time together.
They should have known each other’s boundaries.

However, now it seemed clear that Jiang Heng, just like Li Linghua, had already categorized him as a “suspect.”

He tried hard to convince himself that he didn’t care about this categorization, but obviously, he wasn’t successful.

His reason and emotions wrestled intensely for a moment.
Eventually, all he could do was to answer the questions instead of turning and walking away.

“I don’t know her,” Ji Yao said coldly.

Jiang Heng nodded.

He didn’t say anything, and Ji Yao couldn’t tell if he believed him or not.
For a brief moment, Ji Yao wanted to ask him if his testimony was meaningless, if he would automatically stand on Li Linghua’s side just because she was his client, and whether the truth even mattered.

But soon, Ji Yao bit his tongue and forcefully quelled that impulse.

Because he knew the answer.

No one understood Jiang Heng better than him.
Back when they were in Beijing, Jiang Heng was renowned as the “Living Yama,” able to turn black into white and white into black with a single word.
Whether it made sense or not, whether the client was good or bad, as long as they hired him, he could twist the truth right in front of everyone’s eyes.

He specialized in criminal litigation, taking on any kind of case during his internship, whether business or legal aid.
As a plaintiff’s defense lawyer, he seemed like a living embodiment of the rule of law, fighting to bring criminals to justice.
But as a defense lawyer for the accused, he was extremely skilled at sophistry, making even the most extreme arguments sound reasonable.

The most memorable instance for Ji Yao was when Jiang Heng managed to argue that a case of negligent manslaughter was an accident, and even managed to cut the compensation in half.

The deceased’s family was a low-income household, and without their breadwinner, they cried and pleaded in the courtroom.
Even the interns attending the trial found it hard to bear, yet Jiang Heng remained indifferent.

So, Ji Yao always felt that, for Jiang Heng, whether something was “fair and just” depended on which side of the courtroom he was standing on.

Even facing an ex-boyfriend, let alone his biological father, Ji Yao believed Jiang Heng wouldn’t show any leniency.

But considering this, Ji Yao unexpectedly felt somewhat relieved.
After all, he had known for a long time that this was Jiang Heng’s way of doing things.
After giving up unnecessary expectations, he naturally wouldn’t feel disappointed.

“I won’t leave Shanghai anytime soon.
If you want to go through the legal process, go ahead,” Ji Yao said.
“If Li Linghua regrets it and wants to mediate, she’s welcome to discuss it with the hospital at any time.”

“Okay,” Jiang Heng said.
“I’ll convey that.”

The evening was drawing near, and the gray-blue sky pressed down heavily.
The cold wind brushed against Ji Yao’s exposed hand, causing goosebumps to rise.

Both he and Jiang Heng fell into silence simultaneously.
This quiet atmosphere spread between them, giving rise to a faint awkwardness.
They both knew that this meant the conversation should come to an end, yet neither of them took the initiative to say goodbye.

After a while, Ji Yao felt a slight sense of relief and suddenly found this pretense rather boring.
They had clearly reached the point of unspoken mutual understanding, yet they were still tenaciously holding onto the notion of leaving room for each other, maintaining the veneer of adult social politeness.
It felt hypocritical and awkward.

Ji Yao didn’t know what Jiang Heng was thinking.
He only felt mentally exhausted, so he sighed and broke the silence first, “Since there’s nothing else, I’ll be leaving.
If you have any further questions, just reach out to the hospital.”

After Ji Yao finished speaking, he didn’t give Jiang Heng time to react.
He bowed in a perfunctory manner and turned to head back the way he came.

However, just as he had taken about ten steps, Jiang Heng called him back.

“Ji Yao,” Jiang Heng said.

Ji Yao’s footsteps hesitated slightly, and he turned his head to look at him.

“Why didn’t you stay in Beijing, go to Peking Union Medical College Hospital, and instead came all the way to Shanghai?” Jiang Heng suddenly said.
“This isn’t consistent with your original plan.”

This was the first time they had explicitly brought up the past since reuniting.

Ji Yao wasn’t sure about Jiang Heng’s intention when he asked that question.
Separated by a short stone path, Ji Yao locked eyes with Jiang Heng, trying to discern whether Jiang Heng was just playfully trying to amuse himself in the moment or if he genuinely sought an answer.

Jiang Heng didn’t avoid Ji Yao’s gaze; instead, he met it head-on with an open and candid expression.

Odd, Ji Yao thought, wondering whether he truly didn’t understand Jiang Heng.

Based on what he knew about Jiang Heng, Jiang Heng was the type of person who would never voluntarily utter such words.
He never clung onto past connections; he was always carefree.
He developed and ended relationships quickly, believing that fixating on trivial matters would only slow down life’s efficiency, as he once put it.

Hence, his single period was short, and he never had any disputes with past partners.
After breaking up, he’d simply retreat to being friends, avoiding any attempt to rekindle old feelings.

Even though their relationship had long surpassed its “best before” date, Ji Yao only believed it persisted because Jiang Heng’s interest hadn’t waned.
He never considered himself different from Jiang Heng’s previous partners, nor did he think Jiang Heng would genuinely be preoccupied with him.

Furthermore, the scene of their breakup was so ugly that Ji Yao didn’t think Jiang Heng was magnanimous enough to have already forgotten everything about that day.

So, what was Jiang Heng preoccupied with now, Ji Yao wondered, and what could this question possibly mean to him?

“…Do you want to hear the truth, or a lie?” Ji Yao asked.

Jiang Heng smiled, saying, “You know I don’t like lying, nor do I like hearing lies.”

For no apparent reason, Ji Yao remained silent for a while.
Then he turned around, and a shallow smile graced his lips as he faced Jiang Heng.

“Because you said you’d never return to Shanghai,” Ji Yao said.