Heart Embroidery, Nightclub DJing

Medical Center.

Surgery.

In the corridor.

"Nicely done, Adam!"

The moment Cristina saw Adam, she immediately began praising him. "You really proved to us real doctors that real doctors are the ones who save lives."

"Enough, Cristina."

Meredith cut in helplessly. "Plastic surgeons are doctors too. Don't put down the entire Plastic Surgery Department just because he pissed you off."

"Was I wrong?"

Cristina sneered. "Only those who save people are real doctors. Mark Sloan only knows how to make money. If he's so capable, why doesn't he go save someone?

"When people face an emergency, all someone like him can do is stand around and watch, just like today.

"But it's no surprise.

"What, are we supposed to rely on him to embroider a flower onto a patient's heart or use brain nerves to paint a picture and save them?"

"Pfft!"

Adam burst out laughing and gave Cristina a thumbs-up without thinking. "Cristina, your tongue is vicious! That was awesome!"

"Can't be helped."

Cristina spread her hands. "Since people like him can't even see little nobodies like us, I have to be distinctive enough to make him remember who Cristina Yang is!"

"You really are angry."

Adam looked at Cristina in surprise.

Plastic surgery was indeed lower down the medical hierarchy, but in a society where everything revolved around money, plastic surgeons who made fortunes still held considerable status.

Um.

Cristina had long since set her sights on Cardiothoracic Surgery, so she stood from its lofty position and mocked Plastic Surgery, which was lower in the academic hierarchy.

It was like intellectuals mocking nouveau riche—envying their money while looking down on their vulgarity.

But she was only an intern, while Mark Sloan was a top plastic surgeon. The moment he entered the Medical Center, he had become Chief of