The Unopened Door

Doctor Liu felt a bit wronged, like he’d swallowed a cold, hard bun that lodged in his chest, neither going down nor coming up.

This day was no different from usual. Just as dawn broke, he was pedaling his old '28-inch' bicycle—the kind where everything rattled except the bell—through the alleys still damp with dew, heading to the hospital. Xiehe was a top hospital, but the sheer number of patients was overwhelming, swarming like a temple fair. He changed into his white coat, put on his mask, and sat down in his consulting room, becoming just another cog in the assembly line, so busy he could barely keep up. Check patient, write prescription, check another patient, write another prescription. His ears buzzed with the sound of people—coughing, sighing, anxious questions, and the irrepressible crying of children.

At noon, he quickly shoveled down a few mouthfuls of canteen food and was just about to lean back in his chair for a five-minute nap when Nurse Xiao Zhang called him: "Dr. Liu, Bed 16 is calling for you, hurry over!" Right, no rest then. He rubbed his eyes and plunged back into that sea of white, a mixture of disinfectant and sorrow.

It was just as he came out from Bed 16's room, his mind still calculating the patient's dosage, rushing towards the next consultation room, that a figure approached him in the corridor, face wreathed in a smile, seemingly wanting to greet him. The person looked vaguely familiar, maybe a patient's relative? Or perhaps a pharmaceutical sales rep? Dr. Liu's mind was racing at that moment; his peripheral vision caught the person, but he didn't stop, didn't respond, didn't even clearly see who it was before rushing past like a gust of wind. The things weighing on his mind felt monumental. The patient's condition, the family's expectations—they pressed down on him, leaving him breathless. Where was the spare energy to acknowledge every smiling face? That's how it was, he thought.

But in that fleeting moment of distraction, trouble arrived.

The next day at work, he immediately sensed something was off. The way his colleagues looked at him was... evasive, yet curious, like eyeing freshly made hot tofu, wanting a taste but fearing the burn. Nurse Xiao Zhang quietly pulled him aside, lowering her voice, "Dr. Liu, you... you've gone viral!"

"Viral?" Dr. Liu was stunned. "What did I do to go viral? Got a fever?" He subconsciously touched his forehead.

"No," Xiao Zhang handed him her phone. "See for yourself."

On the screen was a short video. It showed the scene from the hospital corridor yesterday. A well-dressed young man held up his phone, filming himself. In the background, there he was—Doctor Liu—expressionless, hurrying past, "ignoring" the young man's outstretched hand and enthusiastic greeting. The video's caption roughly read: "Came for a check-up, wanted to say hi to this familiar-looking doctor, but he completely ignored me. What an attitude!" The comments section below had already exploded.

This young man's surname was Xiao, his name Xiao Fei. He was a minor internet celebrity, an influencer who had gained several hundred thousand followers by filming things like store reviews and comedy skits. He had been accompanying a friend to the hospital that day and filmed the clip on the fly.

In the comments, opinions were all over the place.

One faction cursed Dr. Liu: "What kind of person is he! Thinks he's somebody just because he has a little power!" "Where's the medical ethics? Basic human respect?" "This kind of doctor should have his license revoked!"

Another faction, surprisingly larger, supported Dr. Liu: "Doctors are busy saving lives, who has time for a preening influencer like you?" "Who does Xiao Fei think he is? Does the world revolve around him?" "The doctor was working, you interrupted him, serves you right for being ignored!" "I love doctors like this who don't play favorites and just focus on their work!"

Well, wasn't this something. Dr. Liu was dumbfounded. He hadn't intended to 'acknowledge' or 'ignore' anyone; he was simply... busy. Busy like a spinning top, whipped into motion by patients' suffering and his own duties, unable to stop himself.

What was even more bizarre was that over the next three days, his name—or rather, the symbol of 'the Xiehe doctor who refused to greet the influencer'—skyrocketed. His follower count soared from zero (he didn't even have a social media account before; helpful netizens had 'created' one for him) to over 53,000! Some people even dug up stories from his past, like quietly sponsoring underprivileged students or paying medical bills for patients who couldn't afford them, molding him into a moral exemplar: 'a healer with a benevolent heart, indifferent to fame, dedicated to his profession.'

Reporters came too, blocking the hospital entrance with their cameras and microphones, asking him: "Dr. Liu, why did you ignore Xiao Fei?" "How do you feel about unexpectedly going viral?" "What do you think of the current online environment?"

Dr. Liu was thoroughly intimidated by the commotion, pushing his bicycle and almost fleeing in panic. What could he say? That he hadn't seen him? That he was thinking about a patient? Who would believe him? In the pre-written scripts of public opinion, he was either 'arrogant and rude' or 'righteous and unyielding.' There was no option for 'too busy to notice.'

He sat at home in his creaky old rattan chair, watching the grey, hazy sky outside, feeling even more stifled. What kind of mess was this? He had just gone to work, seen patients, fulfilled his duties as a doctor, like any other day. Just because, at that specific time, in that specific place, he hadn't smiled or nodded at a specific person, he was swept into this huge, noisy, utterly incomprehensible whirlpool.

He felt like a puppet, pulled by countless invisible strings, performing a role he didn't even recognize on a stage called 'Public Opinion.' The likes, the follows, the praise or curses—they fell on him like snowflakes, cold and heavy, yet strangely ephemeral and unreal. He was still the same Doctor Liu, riding his battered bicycle every day, worrying about his patients' conditions, but somehow, he wasn't anymore. He had become 'the doctor who refused Xiao Fei,' a symbol, a label.

Even the way his neighbors looked at him changed. Before it was "Hello, Dr. Liu." Now it was "Well, well, celebrity Dr. Liu!" with a hint of jest, yet also a touch of awe, making him feel thoroughly uncomfortable.

He thought of the numb onlookers described by Mr. Lu Xun, craning their necks to watch the fates of others with relish. Now, he himself had become the one being watched. Except this watching was cloaked in the guise of 'justice' or 'individuality.' Those who supported him felt he was defending some kind of 'purity'; those who opposed him felt he was challenging some kind of 'rule.' But what about him? He was just living his life, the busy and ordinary life of a common doctor.

Another day, he went to work as usual. Walking down the same corridor as yesterday, his steps subconsciously slowed. He could almost see the young man named Xiao Fei standing there again, face wreathed in a smile. He even thought, maybe this time, I should take the initiative and greet him? 'Hello, Mr. Xiao, sorry about yesterday, I was just too busy.'

But as soon as the thought surfaced, he shook his head with a wry smile. Greet him? And then what? Get filmed again for a 'Celebrity Doctor Reconciles with Minor Influencer' segment? Or be cursed as 'arrogant before, obsequious now, clearly just chasing clout'?

He realized that the door, the one leading back to 'normalcy,' seemed to have been slammed shut—unintentionally, by himself, or perhaps, by this era. He had been pushed into the spotlight, but the lights were too bright; he couldn't see his surroundings clearly, nor could he find the way back.

He sighed, tightened his white coat, and quickened his pace towards the next consulting room. Inside, patients were waiting for him. Perhaps this, this was the only real thing. As for the clamor outside the door, the labels, the numbers game of followers gained and lost... perhaps it was like the autumn wind in Beijing—it blows for a while, then disperses. Maybe. He thought this to himself, but that feeling of the hard bun stuck in his chest seemed even heavier. He had a vague sense that once you get swept into certain things, you can never truly go back, even if you never intended to push open that door in the first place.