It's late at night, and only the emergency lights are still on in the office building.
Security guard Lao Liu was making his rounds as usual. When he reached the medical area on the third floor, he suddenly heard muffled yet distinct sounds coming from the consultation room—heavy breathing, soft moans, and the faint noise of bodies colliding. Lao Liu froze for a moment, then peered through the crack in the door and instantly went rigid.
The lights inside weren't all off. A man in a white lab coat was entangled with a 'patient' on the examination bed, their movements intense, completely oblivious to anyone outside.
Old Liu's face turned pale. Without another word, he turned and left, rushing straight into the surveillance room to call the building manager.
The next day at work, the building manager invited that doctor to the office.
The manager placed the folder on the table, expression serious: 'Doctor, last night a security guard reported that you and your patient were having sex in the consultation room. Do you have any explanation?'
The doctor sat upright, looking perfectly composed: “What’s wrong with that?”
The manager frowned: 'We don't allow this kind of behavior in this building. This is a formal business tower, not that kind of place.'
The doctor was unmoved, even leaning slightly forward: “Which law did I break by having a relationship with my patient?”
The manager was silent for two seconds, finally sighed, reached out and patted the doctor's shoulder, his tone helpless yet carrying a hint of speechlessness:
“Legally... I really don’t think you’re breaking the law.”
But this is immoral.
You're a veterinarian."
The office instantly went quiet.
The doctor’s expression slowly changed from justified confidence to embarrassment, and in the end he could only cough awkwardly and look away.
From that day on, the door to the third-floor clinic was required to be kept locked at all times, and the night-shift security guard would deliberately quicken his pace when patrolling the building. And the story of the “veterinarian and the patient” became the most widely circulated, and also the most laughable, taboo joke in the whole building.
Whenever someone mentions 'that incident in the consultation room,' someone always adds:
"The problem isn't making love,
And lies in this... the patient has four legs.”
This sentence seemed to grow legs, quickly spreading throughout the entire building.
At first, it was just Old Liu the security guard and a few familiar colleagues whispering privately. Later, even the cleaning auntie knew. Then later, even the designers upstairs and the coffee shop owners downstairs would exchange knowing smiles when they met. Someone deliberately asked in the elevator, "Is the 'special treatment' on the third floor still available lately?" Immediately, it provoked a round of suppressed laughter.
The person involved—that veterinarian, Dr. Zhang—didn't show up again for three whole days.
The building manager had originally wanted to suppress the matter, but the discussion was simply too big. He had no choice but to invite Dr. Zhang back to the office again, and this time even the property legal counsel sat beside him.
“Doctor Zhang,” the manager rubbed his temples, “we are not trying to pursue your legal issues. But the building has an image, and the tenants have their perceptions. You yourself know that if this matter keeps fermenting, it won’t be good for anyone.”
This time, Dr. Zhang didn't sound so righteous. He sat in his chair, unconsciously twirling a pen with his fingers, and remained silent for a long time before speaking:
“That day... it was a golden retriever. The owner brought it in for an overnight observation, saying it had separation anxiety. I only meant to comfort it, but then...”
Legal counsel interrupted him: 'Calm down to the examination bed?'
Dr. Zhang's face instantly flushed red, and he swallowed the rest of his words.
The final outcome was: Dr. Zhang's clinic terminated the lease early and moved out within a month. The building management posted an additional notice emphasizing that 'all medical-related tenants must strictly adhere to professional and ethical standards.' Although no names were mentioned, everyone knew who it was referring to.
On the day he moved out, Dr. Zhang cleaned the consultation room alone. The examination bed was dismantled, and the smell of disinfectant was strong. Standing in the empty room, he suddenly felt both absurd and powerless.
Security guard Lao Wang happened to be making his rounds and ran into the two of them in the hallway. The atmosphere was a little awkward.
Old Liu spoke first: "Dr. Zhang, actually... I didn't mean to harm you on purpose. The noise was too loud that day, I was really afraid something might happen."
Dr. Zhang smiled bitterly: 'I know. It's my fault for not closing the door properly, and also for losing my head at the time.'
Old Liu hesitated for a moment, then couldn't help but ask: "That Golden Retriever... what happened to it later?"
“I sent him back to his owner's home. The checkup form says 'emotionally stable, recommend more companionship.'” Dr. Zhang paused, “I didn't dare write anything else.”
Both fell silent for a few seconds, then both let out low laughs. After laughing, it only got more awkward, and they could only hurry to say goodbye.
After Dr. Zhang moved out, the third floor remained vacant for two months. Later, new tenants moved in—an ordinary dental clinic. On the first day of opening, someone joked: 'At least the patients this time have two legs, right?'
The dentist looked completely bewildered, having no idea what everyone was laughing about.
And the former security guard, Old Liu, became the 'living dictionary' of this building. Every time a new employee joined, some old staff would pull him aside and, lowering their voices, recount the complete 'veterinarian incident.' When they got to the last line, 'You're a veterinarian, after all,' no listener could keep from laughing.
Once at the company annual party, the host even adapted this incident into a skit. As soon as the actor came on stage, they imitated the manager's shoulder-patting gesture, reciting the lines word for word. The whole room laughed so hard the tables shook, but the property manager sitting in the corner had a complicated expression—wanting to laugh yet feeling he hadn't handled it quickly enough back then.
As time passed, this incident gradually transformed from a 'scandal' into a 'classic anecdote in the building.' No one truly condemned Dr. Zhang anymore; instead, there was a touch of sympathy for the crook—after all, in the late-night consultation room, a person doing that to an anxious Golden Retriever seemed, no matter how you thought about it, permeated with an indescribable absurdity and sorrow.
Later someone anonymously posted online and wrote out what happened, with the title 《I Caught the Veterinarian and His Patient in an Office Building》. The post became popular for a few days, and the comments section was polarized. Some cursed it as perverted, some laughed so hard they banged the bed, and others seriously discussed whether “animals can consent.”
When Dr. Zhang saw the post, he was giving a physical exam to a cat at his new community clinic. He stared at his phone screen for a long time, and in the end, only replied with one sentence:
"Next time, I'll make sure the door is shut tight."
Then placed the phone face down on the table and continued with my work.
And from then on, the third floor of that building had an unwritten rule: during night patrols, whenever passing the former veterinary clinic, security guards would instinctively lighten their footsteps and double-check that the door was securely closed.
Some stories will pass, some jokes will remain.
What remained was that eternally exasperating and amusing summary—
The problem isn't about having sex,
And lies in this: the patient has four legs.
That line, 'The problem isn't the sex, it's that the patient has four legs,' eventually became the building's signature catchphrase.
During training for new security guards, Old Liu would treat this sentence as essential exam content. He always tells the whole story with a stern face, but by the end, he can't hold back himself, laughing and concluding: 'So, patrolling the building involves three checks—check if the door is closed, check if the lights are on, and check if there are four legs inside.'
Newcomers often listen with a complex expression, finding it absurd yet unable to hold back a laugh.
After Dr. Zhang left, few people saw him again. Some said he went to the suburbs to open a pet hospital; others said he switched careers and became a pet food agent. Until a year later, at the building's annual party, someone ran into a familiar figure in the elevator.
It's Dr. Zhang.
He had lost a little weight, was wearing casual clothes, and was still holding a file on the new tenant. It turned out he had come back to help a friend inspect the vacant storefronts in the building, never expecting to run into an old coworker.
The two looked at each other for three seconds in the elevator, and the atmosphere grew subtle.
Dr. Zhang spoke first, his voice a bit dry: '...Are you okay?'
The other party was stunned for a moment, then chuckled softly: 'That's good. And you? Do you still treat patients?'
“To people? No.” Dr. Zhang shook his head. “I only see ones with four legs. And the door is especially tightly shut now.”
The elevator arrived, and the two walked out together. The sunlight in the corridor was good. Dr. Zhang stopped and suddenly said seriously:
“Actually, after that day I thought about it for a long time. I wasn’t regretting getting caught; I was regretting that I’d really lost my head then. When an animal trusts you, you should be even more careful to hold the line.”
The other party nodded and didn't ask for further details.
Before leaving, Dr. Zhang added one more line: “Next time if someone makes fun of me again, please tell them for me — I already know how to close the door.”
After saying that, he waved his hand, turned around, and entered another elevator.
Since then, the building had one more joke ending.
Some people would add at the end: 'Later, that veterinarian came back once, saying he now only treats four-legged creatures, and he keeps his door shut extra tight.'
People listening often laugh at first, then after laughing feel a bit moved.
After all, even the most absurd stories sometimes leave behind a trace of seriousness.
And the former consultation room on the third floor has now become an ordinary office. People come and go normally every day; there are no more gasps in the dead of night, nor security guards pressing their ears against the door.
Only the old employees who passed by occasionally would subconsciously look at that door, then silently recite that old saying in their hearts:
The problem isn't about having sex,
And lies in this—the patient has four legs.
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