Yaxiu's Little Workplace Lesson

"If you want more people to seek treatment from you, shouldn't you put some effort into your appearance?" Inside the infirmary, Yaxiu looked at the healer in the crow mask, rather puzzled. "Dressed like that, you're lucky people don't mistake you for bandits proselytizing, let alone come to you for medical care. Or is this just some meaningless tradition?" "It is a tradition, and a meaningful one," the healer replied. "Think about it. If... by some rare chance... what if something goes wrong while I'm treating you, and you wake up to find you're missing a few parts? Looking at me dressed like this, would you dare attack me?" "Probably not." "Exactly." The two stared at each other. Yaxiu had a sudden epiphany. "So dressing so terrifyingly and making the infirmary look so eerie are just props to improve doctor-patient relations... Wait. Doesn't that mean there's a high probability of something going wrong with your treatments?" "Well, not a *high* probability, just a tiny possibility..." The healer mumbled evasively, not even daring to meet Yaxiu's gaze. It seemed this "tiny possibility" was roughly the size of the Milky Way. Yaxiu said, "With customer service like this, it won't do. You definitely had barely any patients outside, right? In fact, patients probably accused you of doing a poor job, so you were forced to hide away in prison to farm experience off inmates like us who can't file complaints?" The healer hung her head in shame. Clearly, Yaxiu had hit the bullseye. She muttered defensively, "I clearly healed them, but they still went around filing complaints and causing trouble! And some issues had nothing to do with me at all—they caused them themselves... I was clearly just providing basic medical coverage, yet they demanded so much..." It was as if Yaxiu had shattered her defenses. She treated Yaxiu like a garbage can, pouring out all her negative emotions. In Yaxiu's eyes, her plight was entirely of her own making: in an era when most healers charged a fee for consultations, she actually took nothing and was even willing to make house calls. The result was patients complaining that her treatments weren't good enough, making it impossible for her to get by in the city and leaving her no choice but to come to the prison to farm experience off inmate practice dummies. After hearing her out, Yaxiu thought for a moment and asked, "Do you know what your flaw is?" "I know. My technique isn't refined enough..." "It's that you don't speak with enough backbone!" "Huh?" The healer looked up, the eyes behind the crow mask filled with confusion. "The way you speak is timid and spineless. The moment a medical mishap occurs, the patient will definitely come after you, and even if you didn't charge a cent, they'll walk all over you." Yaxiu instructed, "Let me teach you: when you say you might not be able to cure them, your voice must be loud and clear, your back straight, and you must deliver it with confidence and pride. "And that's only step one. Step two: you have to find faults in the patient. If the patient is good-looking, say their lifestyle is too wild and dissolute. If the patient is ugly, say they have no sex life. If the patient is thin, say they're malnourished; if they're fat, say they're overnourished. There's always a criticism tailored just for them. Nobody is perfect—you'll definitely find something to tear them down with. "As long as you pull off these two steps, you'll establish your authority, suppress the patient's standing, and cultivate an atmosphere where they feel eternally grateful that you deigned to treat them at all. Even if an issue arises with your treatment, instead of blaming you, the patient will actually make excuses on your behalf." The healer asked, "Does that really work?" "Really!" Yaxiu nodded emphatically. "This is based on years of my own personal experience!" This sort of workplace gaslighting was second nature to Yaxiu. First nitpick and tear down their self-esteem, then show a glimmer of goodwill, and you'd have them weeping with gratitude like textbook Stockholm syndrome. Fresh college graduates were practically defenseless against such tactics. Using such a forbidden technique in the workplace naturally deserved a firing squad, but as the saying went, a weapon was neither good nor evil—it depended entirely on the heart of the wielder. For an altruist like this healer who was willing to offer free medical care, even if there were a few minor side effects, Yaxiu felt she deserved a smoother career path. "So, do you know what to do now?" "What should I do?" "From now on, no matter what surgery you finish, you must say to the patient: 'I did everything I could!'" "'I did everything I could.'" "Louder! I can't hear you!" "'I did everything I could!'" the healer said, clenching her fist. Yaxiu nodded in satisfaction. "You can figure out the rest on your own. I should get going to eat..." The healer remained lost in thought. Just as Yaxiu finished putting on his shoes and prepared to leave, she suddenly stopped him and asked, "Are you really not planning on cosmetic surgery? Take a look at your face in the mirror—don't you feel that walking out into public looking like that is actually disrespectful to others?" Yaxiu shuddered, his eyes brimming with the gratification of a teacher proud of an apt pupil. *Good grief, she just learned the technique and already turned it back on her teacher?!* *If she joined my old company, she'd be a powerhouse at least at the team leader level!* "Well, there's no harm without comparison. Compared to that ugly crow face of yours, I suddenly feel pretty handsome. Next time, okay? Next time I feel like I've gotten ugly, I'll come to you for plastic surgery," Yaxiu brushed her off. "I'm not ugly, you are!" The healer was so mad she almost tore off her mask, but just as her hand touched the crow mask, footsteps echoed from upstairs. She suddenly remembered something. "Oh right, Yaxiu, take this." A nameplate was thrust into Yaxiu's hand, inscribed with [222]. "What's this?" The healer said, "My number tag. Remember to carry it with you at all times, even when you're sleeping. That way, everyone will know you're mine." Yaxiu blinked. "So, what race are you anyway, and are you a guy or a girl? I might be an easygoing guy, but if your conditions cross my bottom line, that'll cost extra..." "Since you refuse plastic surgery, walking out there looking like that will definitely terrify people into challenging you to death matches seven or eight times. If you carry my number tag, when you get beaten to a pulp in the future, I'll have priority healing rights. And if your face is ruined, I can conveniently give you cosmetic surgery while I'm at it." The healer pushed him toward the door. "Alright, go eat already. The cafeteria is about to close..." Yaxiu considered it, slipped the nameplate into his pocket, and suddenly asked, "By the way, if I come back next time, can you cut an apple for me?" The healer froze for a second. "Sure." *Nice, objective achieved.* Don't think Yaxiu was just fooling around. This was his secret to workplace socializing—getting someone to help you with a tiny, trivial favor was the fastest way to build rapport. The feeling of being needed was a sophisticated emotional desire. It was with this very trick that Yaxiu had secured the most votes in the "Top Ten Employees" election, successfully bagging an extra six months' worth of bonuses. "Let's grab a meal together sometime. I'll take my leave then," Yaxiu said. "See you next time, 222... Almost forgot to mention: thank you." "If you really want to thank me, let me give you cosmetic surgery—!" "Next time! Definitely next time!" After Yaxiu left, the healer went back to tidying up the tools in the infirmary. Suddenly, another door opened. A tall healer stepped inside and barked at her, "Why are you still here?" The healer glanced at his badge. It was [176]. Indeed, not only did death row inmates have no idea who the healers were, but the healers didn't even know one another's identities. Except inside their personal quarters, healers were required to wear crow masks in all public areas and identify one another solely by their badges. "A patient just woke up, so I was held up a bit. I gave him my nameplate to reserve his future treatments." "You didn't chat with him, did you?" The tall healer's tone turned stern. "You know communicating with inmates is a violation of regulations. Our identities must be kept strictly confidential. If word gets out that we're conducting rituals here, the Human Rights Association will tear Parliament apart..." "I know," the healer beneath the crow mask said, sticking out her tongue. "Then hurry back to your room. Don't forget that your eleven-inch blood sorcery paper is due before the weekend," the tall healer said sternly. "Don't think having a bit of talent gives you the right to slack off. If not for the team leader's permission, you wouldn't even be qualified to be here..." In the past, when faced with a senior's criticism, the healer would have panicked and engaged in anxious self-reflection. But after chatting with Yaxiu, a sudden thought popped into her head: *Is Senior deliberately nitpicking my flaws to establish his authority and tear me down? Getting in through the team leader's favor is something I can't change and has nothing to do with my technical skill. He'll always be able to use that against me to criticize me.* Listening to the tall healer's empty, unsubstantial lecture, the healer found herself missing Yaxiu, who spoke so nicely. *Come to think of it, Yaxiu's body seems to have much stronger regenerative capabilities than ordinary body sorcerers, and the tactile feedback when healing him felt really great...* *I really hope someone beats Yaxiu half to death again soon,* the healer thought.