Little Meteor Chapter 5
byChapter 5 Excessive Testing
Shen Mu hadn’t slept well all night, and when he woke up the next morning, he felt completely adrift.
Nowadays, everyone says you should love yourself and focus all your attention on yourself, but who told him to like Jiang Chengxuan? No matter how clear-headed and restrained he tried to be, it was useless.
Shen Mu felt that he had been unlucky since childhood; good fortune never seemed to land on him. Therefore, he always prepared for the worst. Jiang Chengxuan asking him if he had a partner was probably just a casual question, without any deeper meaning.
He found Jiang Chengxuan truly annoying. He could always easily disrupt his emotions. Once he encountered Jiang Chengxuan, everything controllable in his life became uncontrollable.
When Shen Mu went downstairs, he saw Jiang Chengxuan standing there, looking down at his phone, his finger hovering above the screen as if about to dial. Hearing the movement, he looked up. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes when he saw Shen Mu, but he quickly returned to normal: “Morning. I was just about to call you. Let’s go grab breakfast together.”
He instinctively wanted to refuse, but if he refused, then what? Go back upstairs and continue letting his mind wander while staring at the ceiling? He felt a sense of powerlessness, like giving up entirely.
Shen Mu sighed silently: “Okay, let’s go.”
Jiang Chengxuan took him to a newly opened fish noodle shop. The shop was small but clean and bright.
The signature dish was hot and sour fish noodles. Shen Mu ordered a bowl without hesitation; he needed a strong flavor to stimulate his numb nerves right now.
“The same,” Jiang Chengxuan told the owner.
Shen Mu looked up at him, slightly surprised: “I thought you didn’t eat spicy food.”
He remembered clearly that the old Jiang Chengxuan preferred mild flavors and always kept his distance from spicy and stimulating food.
“I really didn’t before,” Jiang Chengxuan said calmly. He turned and bought a cup of warm soy milk from the adjacent window and handed it to Shen Mu. “Now, I guess I can’t avoid eating spicy food.”
People’s tastes naturally change. After so many years, anything could be different.
Shen Mu understood this logic, but he also found it hard not to make associations. Who was it for? Who made Jiang Chengxuan accustomed to a taste he once rejected? Who had the ability to change his habits?
He took a bite of the fish noodles. The hot and sour flavor, which he had found appetizing moments ago, now made it hard to swallow.
Fortunately, Jiang Chengxuan explained quickly: “I had a young patient before, a teenager with a glioma. He needed a biopsy for examination, but he wouldn’t cooperate. Neither coaxing nor persuading worked. Later, I found out he was particularly craving the spicy tripe dish from the Sichuan restaurant outside the hospital. I told him, ‘If you finish the examination nicely, I’ll eat it with you, extra spicy.’ That’s when I discovered that eating spicy food wasn’t as difficult as I imagined, and I gradually accepted it.”
Shen Mu had at least researched some medical knowledge before writing this script. His heart sank when he heard the words “glioma,” and he instinctively pressed: “What happened later?”
Jiang Chengxuan’s chopsticks paused. He looked up at Shen Mu, a very slight curve at the corner of his mouth: “Diffuse glioma, Grade IV. Surgery was pointless. The family chose radiation therapy. Now… he’s probably gone.”
Doctors are accustomed to life and death; too many things cannot be reversed.
Shen Mu hesitated, then reached out and patted Jiang Chengxuan’s hand: “Don’t take it too hard. You did your best.”
Jiang Chengxuan smiled. When Shen Mu withdrew his hand, Jiang Chengxuan caught it, rubbing his thumb twice over the back of his hand: “What were you just thinking about?”
Shen Mu wanted to pull his hand away but failed. Jiang Chengxuan stared at him as if trying to see through all his little secrets. Shen Mu suddenly felt very irritable. Meeting his gaze, he countered: “What do you think I should be thinking about?”
He spoke with complete candor, and Jiang Chengxuan’s smile gradually faded. He let go of Shen Mu’s hand: “My apologies, I misunderstood.”
Neither of them spoke after that. After finishing breakfast, they walked toward the hospital together. The sun made Shen Mu surprisingly drowsy. He covered his mouth and yawned. Jiang Chengxuan turned his head to look at him: “Didn’t sleep well last night?”
Admitting he hadn’t slept well felt too pathetic. Shen Mu quickly blinked away the moisture in his eyes, trying to keep his voice steady and natural: “Yeah, I stayed up late rushing the script.”
Fortunately, Jiang Chengxuan didn’t press further. Jiang Chengxuan had rounds to do, so he quickly said goodbye to Shen Mu upon reaching the hospital and hurried off.
The progress of the film crew was relatively smooth, but Shen Mu’s script ran into a problem.
A section of Shen Mu’s script dealt with the issue of excessive testing in hospitals. The director didn’t have much of an issue with it, but the Dean/Director of the Hospital read the script and was quite displeased.
The Dean invited Shen Mu to his office and spoke in a gentle tone: “Screenwriter Shen, your script is excellent overall, but regarding this description of testing, forgive me for being frank, but the doctor-patient relationship is already sensitive. Writing it this way could easily cause misunderstandings among the audience, making it seem like all doctors are engaging in excessive medical treatment. If this is put on the big screen, it could cause significant negative impact on the image of medical professionals. So, please revise this section.”
Shen Mu was silent for a moment. He took the script from the Dean’s hand: “I understand. I will revise it.”
The creation of medical dramas indeed required extra caution, as many topics were inherently sensitive. Shen Mu could understand the Dean’s concerns.
However, the problem of excessive testing genuinely existed. While supervision was strict in large city tertiary hospitals, and the situation might be better, the further down you went to small county hospitals, the more prevalent this phenomenon became. Most people seeking treatment there were ordinary citizens with low incomes. A complete set of diagnostic procedures could easily cost thousands of yuan, which was a heavy burden for many families. Many patients gave up immediately upon hearing the required procedures, not even wanting to see a doctor.
Yet, the reality was that they couldn’t get to a better hospital immediately and had to seek local solutions first. When similar situations accumulated, it was natural for the public to form the impression: are doctors ordering so many tests just to get more commission and generate more revenue?
While this perception was biased, patients couldn’t be entirely blamed for being suspicious. Ultimately, this was caused by a series of deep-seated issues, including the allocation of medical resources, hospital operating mechanisms, and even performance evaluation methods. It was the entire environment that fostered this widespread distrust, and ordinary people were simply reacting most directly within this structure.
Shen Mu felt this section couldn’t be changed. If he deliberately avoided real-world problems and only showed the glamorous side, the story would feel fake.
In principle, the Dean did not have the power to interfere with the script. However, the crew was filming on location at the hospital, and every aspect relied on the hospital’s support and cooperation. The crew was actually quite poor, with limited funding. They had originally planned to build a dedicated medical set, but the cost was too high. If the Dean hadn’t generously helped by offering to temporarily rent the newly constructed, yet-to-be-used ward area to the crew for filming, the show might not have even started production.
He was the humble乙方 (contractor/service provider), so he could only agree to revise it, but he genuinely didn’t know how to change it.
“What are you thinking about?”
Shen Mu snapped back to reality. Jiang Chengxuan had already placed his tray and sat down across from him. Seeing that Shen Mu hadn’t touched the food on his plate, he smiled: “Is there nothing you like today?”
“No,” Shen Mu poked his chopsticks at the food a few times, then suddenly looked up and asked: “What is your view on doctors performing excessive testing?”
Jiang Chengxuan pondered for a moment before answering: “That phenomenon certainly exists, especially in small counties. But speaking from a doctor’s perspective, many times it’s because the patient’s condition is complex, and it’s difficult to pinpoint the cause immediately, so we have to rule things out step by step. Especially in our hospital, many patients come from rural towns where primary care conditions are limited, and test results are sometimes inaccurate or need re-evaluation. To outsiders, this process can easily be misinterpreted as excessive testing.”
“And if that situation occurs, how do you explain it to the patient?”
Jiang Chengxuan smiled: “In fact, the vast majority of patients are very reasonable. It’s just that sometimes doctors are too busy, seeing many patients that day. They hand out the test slip and ask the patient to leave so the next patient can come in quickly. The patient then feels like you only asked about symptoms and immediately gave them a test slip without looking at anything, which naturally causes frustration. If the doctor just took one minute to explain why this test is necessary, most patients would understand. All the patients I’ve encountered before were like that.”
He paused, then added: “In many cases, the trust between doctor and patient is often established in that one minute.”
Shen Mu said, “Oh, I see.”
Jiang Chengxuan, who was picking up a piece of green vegetable, stopped his movement: “See what?”
Shen Mu didn’t answer, only saying: “Your office… is it empty before the afternoon shift? Could I borrow it? I want to use this lunch break to revise the script.”
Jiang Chengxuan looked at the dark circles under his eyes: “You have to revise the script even during lunch?”
“Yes,” Shen Mu quickly shoveled two bites of rice. “Who told me I’m the humble 乙方.”
Jiang Chengxuan said: “Well, eat first. I’ll take you there after we finish.”
After eating, the two delivered their trays to the collection point and walked out of the cafeteria side by side.
The hospital corridor was quieter during the midday break than in the morning, but medical staff were still hurrying along, and family members were slowly strolling with patients.
They went up two floors and turned into the Neurosurgery Department ward area. Nurses were still busy at the station. Seeing Jiang Chengxuan, they nodded and greeted him: “Doctor Jiang, have you eaten?”
“I have,” Jiang Chengxuan replied gently.
Jiang Chengxuan really had good rapport with people, Shen Mu thought.
“I’ll probably be back around 1:30 PM to prepare for the afternoon clinic,” Jiang Chengxuan checked his watch. “If you’re tired…” His gaze swept over the narrow cot in the corner of the office, used for short rests during night shifts: “Just rest your head on the desk, it might be more comfortable.”
Shen Mu said: “I don’t plan on sleeping.”
Jiang Chengxuan smiled, not exposing his obvious dark circles: “Alright, then you get busy. You don’t need to lock the door; a nurse might come in later to drop something off.”
“Got it.”
Jiang Chengxuan’s gaze lingered on his face for a moment before he turned and left, closing the door very softly behind him.