In the hospital room.
"To put it simply, my personal recommendation is a total hip replacement. Although the cost is higher, you’re only forty-seven years old. If you get a partial replacement, the artificial femoral head will grind against your natural acetabulum. The lifespan of that joint might be less than ten years."
"But with a total replacement, even though the surgery is more invasive, you’ll have an artificial part grinding against another artificial part. The joint’s lifespan could be thirty years or even longer. At your age, you might never need a second procedure for the rest of your life."
Chen Yu explained, holding a model of a hip joint for the middle-aged man on the hospital bed.
The middle-aged man looked at his wife beside him, then at his three children of varying ages, and said, "In that case, I’ll choose the total hip replacement."
"Alright. We’ll get you scheduled for surgery."
Without another word, Chen Yu packed up his things and prepared to leave.
However, just as he was about to leave, the middle-aged man on the bed suddenly said, "I’m sorry, Dr. Chen. Those newspaper reports... they really have nothing to do with us. We can go to the reporters and explain things for you."
His face was full of apology and shame.
Chen Yu turned to look at him and refused flatly. "That won’t be necessary."
With that, he led William out of the room.
"Boss, if Morris could come forward and explain to the reporters, they probably wouldn’t keep writing all this nonsense, right?" William said hesitantly.
He couldn’t help but sigh. "These reporters are just awful."
Chen Yu walked over to the nurses’ station and began filling out the patient’s chart.
On the television mounted on the wall behind the nurses’ station, the news was playing.
As it happened, a segment about Chen Yu came on.
The video clip showed Chen Yu pointing at Morris, berating him loudly. "Fine. Just like you said, there are plenty of other hospitals. But when you have avascular necrosis of the femoral head, and it can’t be cured, and you end up disabled, lose your job, lose your source of income, can’t pay your mortgage, and you and your family are reduced to living on welfare—don’t come looking for me. Because I won’t treat a bastard who doesn’t know how to respect others."
The scene switched to interviews with people on the street.
"I just can’t imagine a doctor saying something like that."
"These despicable doctors! They suck the blood of us poor people to drive luxury cars and live in mansions. They’re a bunch of demons."
"You know, the last time I had a headache, I went to the hospital. The doctor talked to me for ten minutes, gave me some painkillers, and sent me home. Then I got a bill for five thousand US dollars! My God, they’re murderers! Do you understand? Murderers!"
"They’re just lapdogs for the rich. Look at his arrogant face. He forced an ordinary person to apologize to a pervert. It makes me sick."
"He’s a disgrace to our profession. If it were me, I would never do such a thing," said a doctor who appeared on camera for an interview.
William’s expression changed, and he hurriedly asked for the remote to turn off the TV.
"Don’t."
Chen Yu held out a hand to stop him, put down the patient chart, and crossed his arms to watch the television.
’Let’s see what other new tricks these guys can come up with,’ Chen Yu thought.
On the TV, the host announced to the camera that they had secured an exclusive interview with the family member of a patient who wished to remain anonymous.
In the video, the family member’s face was blurred out. Facing the camera, they accused, "My husband is paralyzed and bedridden. We saw the news that he woke up a person in a vegetative state and was openly recruiting patients with high-level paraplegia. We went through a lot of trouble to sign up."
"But after he admitted us, he would stick my husband with these long steel needles every day. My God, my poor husband can’t even move, he could only endure the pain passively. He even deceived us, saying it was some kind of mysterious treatment method."
"Three months later, my husband was still paralyzed, but he kicked us out of the clinic. Then we received a massive bill for seven hundred thousand US dollars! The insurance company investigated us and refused to pay, saying we had received treatment that wasn’t covered by our plan."
"Now we’ve sold our house and are crammed into a motel, suffering every day. This is all because of him! He’s not a Miracle Doctor at all, he’s just a sanctimonious fraud!"
On screen, the blurred-out family member was sobbing, tears streaming down their face as they spoke.
"Bastards! This is slander!" William slammed his hand on the counter in anger.
Although he wasn’t entirely sure why Chen Yu had taken in a group of patients with high-level paraplegia, occupying the clinic’s few precious beds, or why he treated them whenever he had a spare moment.
But William knew the situation very well. Setting aside whether these special patients were cured or not, the claim about a seven-hundred-thousand-dollar bill was complete bullshit. These patients all received preferential treatment at the clinic, and their fees were very low.
A year’s stay would probably only cost a few tens of thousands of US dollars.
"Hey, don’t get so worked up." Chen Yu smiled and waved his hand dismissively. "Freedom of speech. You can’t stop people from talking."
Still fuming, William said, "Boss, what they’re saying is already affecting our clinic’s normal operations. It’s also a huge smear on your personal reputation. We should sue them."
"It’s not that serious."
Chen Yu was still smiling.
’Affecting the clinic’s normal operations? What a load of crap.’
The clinic was still packed with patients. With the Summer offseason approaching, they needed to free up space for the athletes who would be coming in. Plus, with his wedding coming up, Chen Yu had already told his staff to slow down on scheduling new appointments.
The appointment book was already filled well into next year.
’The only problem is having too many patients to see. How is that "being affected"?’
Speaking of lawsuits, the camera cut back to the host on TV, who dropped another bombshell.
A man claiming to be from the Kraft Group’s public relations department faced the camera, angrily accusing Chen Yu of using the weight-loss show to publicly slander their product.
He held up a lab report from a professional, authoritative institution, proving that their salad dressing had no issues and, contrary to what Chen Yu claimed, was not high in calories, making it a perfect partner for a low-fat meal.
Of course, at the end of the video, he arrogantly announced that they had assembled a legal team and would be suing Chen Yu.
"Ha."
When the weight-loss show blew up, Chen Yu had anticipated that these food corporations wouldn’t let him off the hook. It seemed they were just waiting for the right opportunity to pounce.
’A lawsuit, huh? Who are they trying to scare?’
’You have a legal team, and I don’t?’
’It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say a lawsuit like this could drag on for ten years.’
On the television, the host shrugged his shoulders and asked in a mocking, skeptical tone, "Miracle Doctor?"
William clenched his fists, his face filled with rage.
Just then, a gentle voice came from behind them.
"Chen, I’m sorry!"
Chen Yu turned his head and saw it was Michael Jackson.
After they finished filming the show two days ago, Chen Yu had arranged for his surgery.
The back problem was easy to fix. The main issue was the compression of the cutaneous nerves in his scalp. Chen Yu had performed an initial tissue release and removed some scar tissue, but the results remained to be seen.
"What are you doing out here? Didn’t I tell you to rest quietly?" Chen Yu hurried forward.
Michael Jackson was in a wheelchair. His head was shaved and wrapped in gauze from the surgery. The hospital gown hung loosely on his frame; he had a serious weight problem—he was far too thin.
Chen Yu was already planning to create a dietary regimen for him.
But what he needed most right now was rest.
Michael Jackson glanced at the television. On the screen, the words "Miracle Doctor" appeared in a cartoonish font before being splattered with a pool of blood.
A flash of pain crossed his eyes. "Chen, it’s all my fault. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have to endure all this slander."
Michael Jackson knew very well that he was the root cause of everything Chen Yu was suffering.
It was the unscrupulous media, using this as a pretext to slander Chen Yu as his lapdog, but their ultimate target was him.
"Chen, I’m planning to check out and go back to my own home. My being here is already affecting your normal work."
Even now, the area outside the clinic was swarming with reporters. They were there every day, mobbing anyone who came in or out.
Michael Jackson had even heard that someone had smashed the windshield of Chen Yu’s car with a rock this morning.
If things continued like this, it would no longer be a matter of a ruined reputation but could escalate to physical attacks.
"So you want to leave the hospital, thinking that once you’re gone, these reporters will just disperse?" Chen Yu asked in return.
Michael Jackson didn’t speak, but it was obvious that was what he thought.
Chen Yu shook his head firmly. "No, Michael. I’ve always told you that we need to face our problems head-on. That’s why, especially in a situation like this, you absolutely cannot leave."
Pain flashed in Michael Jackson’s eyes again as he shook his head. "I’m sorry, Chen. I know everything you’re saying is right, but I just can’t do it."
That day, in front of everyone, Chen Yu had been like a ray of sunlight in the dark night, forcing Morris to apologize to his face. For a moment, it had healed him.
But soon after, when the vicious rumors swirled around Chen Yu, when he was implicated and his reputation and honor were all smeared, a sense of powerlessness and self-blame nearly consumed him.
Michael Jackson was used to being slandered, but what he feared most was this kind of baseless defamation dragging down the people around him and hurting those he cared about.
He would rather bear it all himself.
"Come with me."
Chen Yu suddenly stepped forward and began pushing Michael Jackson’s wheelchair toward the exit.
William, Kevin, and the bodyguards all paled and hurried to follow.
Just like that, Chen Yu pushed Michael Jackson straight toward the clinic’s main entrance.
"Chen, what are you doing?" Michael Jackson asked in a panic. He could already see the surging crowd of reporters and angry fans outside the iron gate in the distance.
Chen Yu didn’t say a word, simply wheeling him to the iron gate.
Leaving Michael Jackson on this side of the gate, Chen Yu walked straight toward it.
"Open the gate!"
Chen Yu looked at the security guard.
Outside the gate, every reporter’s camera was aimed in their direction. The sound of shutters clicking was incessant.
The fans, who had grown tired of shouting, were instantly re-energized. They raised all sorts of homemade signs and chanted in unison, shouting "Pervert," "Killer," "Trash," and every other foul word imaginable.
"Dr. Chen, maybe you shouldn’t," the security guard said, extremely nervous.
With a scene like this, he couldn’t even imagine what would happen if he opened the gate.
Chen Yu glanced at the surging sea of heads outside the gate, his expression unreadable. "Open it."
The guard gritted his teeth and signaled to the guardhouse to open the gate.
As the gate slowly opened, the police officers maintaining order outside immediately rushed over to form a protective line in front of Chen Yu.
Chen Yu had held a free clinic at the police station before. They didn’t care what the media said; they knew what kind of person he was.
Even they didn’t have a favorable impression of this pack of reporters.
The reporters pushed forward frantically.
The fans angrily hurled insults at Chen Yu.
As if he heard nothing, Chen Yu walked straight out.
He stopped right at the gateway, put his hands in his pockets, and stood still.
Three seconds. A minute.
As the police struggled to hold back the crowd and reporters scrambled to shove microphones forward with their questions, an eerie silence gradually fell over the scene.
Chen Yu just kept standing there. Two minutes. Three minutes. The noise gradually died down.
Chen Yu still didn’t move.
After five minutes, there was dead silence. No one made a sound.
The cameras were all trained on Chen Yu. Everyone, their throats raw from shouting, stared at him, baffled.
Then, Chen Yu moved again. He walked right past the police cordon and stood before everyone.
This time, no one surged forward. Under Chen Yu’s unwavering, calm gaze, the people at the very front even subconsciously took a step back, giving him space.
"Is that all?"
Chen Yu scoffed contemptuously, his sharp gaze sweeping over everyone.
Someone subconsciously started to speak, but the words died in their throat.
Chen Yu shook his head slightly, turned around, and walked back to Michael Jackson.
"See?" Chen Yu asked.
Michael Jackson stared at Chen Yu, a blank look on his face.
Chen Yu glanced back at the still-silent crowd, then said, "See? Facing them directly isn’t so hard. I can do it, and so can you."

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