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"If you want more people to come to you for treatment, shouldn't you put some effort into your appearance?"
In the treatment room, Ash looked at the medical practitioner wearing a crow mask, feeling a bit puzzled, "Dressing like this, it's a wonder people don't suspect you of robbery or preaching, let alone seek treatment from you. Or is this just a meaningless tradition?"
"It's a tradition, and it has meaning," the medical practitioner said, "Think about it, what if... if by chance... I botch your treatment, and when you wake up, you find you're missing some parts, would you dare attack me when you see me looking like this?"
"Not really."
"That's the point."
The two stared at each other, and Ash suddenly realized, "So the scary attire and the eerie treatment room environment are all tools to improve the doctor-patient relationship... Wait, does this mean your treatment failure probability is high?"
"It's not very high, just a tiny possibility..." The medical practitioner spoke vaguely, not even daring to look at Ash, suggesting that this tiny possibility was about the size of the Milky Way.
Ash said, "Your service attitude is inadequate. I'm sure no patients seek you out outside, right? They must even accuse you of poor treatment, so you're forced to hide in prison to gain experience with us who can't complain, correct?"
The medical practitioner shamefully hung her head, clearly showing Ash had hit the mark, as she softly defended herself, "I did cure them, but they still complained and caused trouble everywhere, and some issues had nothing to do with me, they were self-inflicted... I only provided the most basic guarantee of treatment, yet they had so many demands..."
As if Ash had broken through her defenses, the medical practitioner poured her negative emotions on Ash like a trash can. Her story sounded like she deserved it: in an era where most medical practitioners would charge some fee for the diagnosis, she asked for nothing, even made house calls, and consequently got accused of inadequate treatment, unable to survive in the city, resorting to gaining experience in prison.
After listening, Ash thought for a moment and asked, "Do you know your flaw?"
"I know, it's my lack of precision..."
"It's that you don't speak confidently enough!"
"Huh?" The medical practitioner raised her head, her eyes behind the crow mask filled with confusion.
"You speak so meekly and without assertiveness; once a medical mishap occurs, the patients will undoubtedly trouble you. Even if you don't charge, you'll still get bullied," Ash advised, "When you say you might not cure the illness, you need to speak loudly, stand straight, and say it with confidence and pride."
"And that's only the first step. The second step is to find the patient's flaws. If the patient looks good, say they live too extravagantly; if they're ugly, say they have no sex life; if they're thin, say they're malnourished; if they're fat, say they're over-nourished. There's always a critique that fits. Nobody's perfect, and you'll certainly find something to put the patient down."
"As long as you follow these two steps, you can establish your authority, suppress the patient's status, and create an atmosphere where 'you should be grateful I'm willing to treat you.' Even if something goes wrong with the treatment, patients will not blame you and might even explain on your behalf."
The medical practitioner asked, "Does it really work?"
"Absolutely!" Ash nodded emphatically, "This is based on my many years of personal experience!"
Ash was well-versed in this kind of workplace PUA. First, pick out the other's flaws to suppress them, then release your own goodwill, making them grateful as if they have Stockholm Syndrome. Newly graduated students are almost defenseless against this tactic.
Using such a forbidden technique in the workplace should certainly be condemned, but as the saying goes, "A weapon's morality lies solely in the wielder's heart." For a medical volunteer like her willing to provide free medical care, even if there's a tiny bit of negative impact, Ash felt her career path should be smoother.
"So do you know what to do now?"
"What should I do?"
"No matter what surgery you perform in the future, always tell the patient, 'I've done my best!'"
"I've done my best."
"Louder, I can't hear you!"
"I've done my best!" the medical practitioner clenched her fist and said.
Ash nodded in satisfaction, "You can slowly understand the rest on your own. I should go eat..."
The medical practitioner was lost in thought, and as Ash put on his shoes and was about to leave, she suddenly stopped him and asked, "Are you sure you don't want cosmetic surgery? Looking at the face in the mirror, don't you feel it's disrespectful to others to go out in public like that?"
Ash's body shook, his eyes filled with the satisfaction of a promising student—goodness gracious, she was using the newly learned skill on her teacher already!?
If she joined our company, she'd at least be a team leader level expert!
"It's really about the lack of contrast causing no harm; compared to your crow face, I suddenly feel handsome. Maybe next time, when I feel ugly, I'll come to you for cosmetic surgery," Ash brushed off the suggestion.
"I'm not ugly, you're ugly!" the medical practitioner was so angry she wanted to take off her mask, but as soon as her hand touched the crow mask, footsteps sounded from upstairs.
She suddenly remembered something, "Oh, Ash, take this."
Ash was handed a nameplate with the number [222] written on it.
"What's this?"
The medical practitioner said, "It's my ID badge. Remember to carry it with you every minute of every day, even while sleeping, so everyone knows you're mine."
Ash blinked, "So, what are you actually, GG or MM? I'm a pretty casual person, but if your conditions exceed my bottom line, I'll have to charge extra..."
"You're not getting cosmetic surgery, so when you venture out, you'll scare others into fighting you seven or eight times. With my ID badge, when you're pummeled to a pulp, I'll have priority in treating you. If your face gets ruined, I can fix that cosmetically while I'm at it." The medical practitioner pushed him out, "Now go eat, the cafeteria is about to close..."
Ash thought briefly, put the nameplate in his pocket, and suddenly asked, "By the way, if I come back next time, could you cut an apple for me?"
The medical practitioner was stunned, "Sure."
Great, mission accomplished.
Don't think Ash was being trivial; this was his secret to workplace socializing—getting others to help him with a trivial matter strengthens the relationship. The 'feeling of being needed' is a high-level emotional need, and Ash used this tactic to win the most votes in the 'Top Ten Employees' poll, earning an additional six months' bonus.
"Let's have a meal together sometime, I'm off now," Ash said, "See you next time, [222]... Almost forgot to say, thank you."
"If you really want to thank me, let me give you a makeover—"
"Next time, definitely next time!"
After Ash left, the medical practitioner continued to tidy up the treatment room tools.
Suddenly, another door opened, and a tall medical practitioner walked in and sternly said, "Why are you still here?"
The medical practitioner glanced at his badge, which was [176].
Indeed, not only did the death row inmates not know the identities of the medical practitioners, but even the medical practitioners were unaware of each other's identities. Except in their own dorms, they had to wear their crow masks in any public location, identifying each other by their badges.
"A patient just woke up, which delayed me a bit. I gave him my ID badge to reserve his future treatments."
"You didn't chat with him, did you?"
The tall medical practitioner's tone became more serious.
"You know, conversing with prisoners is against the rules. Our identities must be kept strictly confidential. If news of our rituals here spreads, the Human Rights Association will dismantle the council..."
"I know." The medical practitioner stuck her tongue out behind her crow mask.
"Then quickly return to your room, and submit your 11-inch blood magic thesis by this weekend. Don't forget," the tall medical practitioner sternly said, "Don't think a little talent allows you to slack off. Without the team leader's permission, you'd have no qualification to be here..."
In the past, the medical practitioner would have been fearfully self-reflective when criticized by a senior. But after chatting with Ash, a thought suddenly popped into her mind.
"Is the senior deliberately criticizing my imperfections to establish his authority and suppress my status? My entry, facilitated by the team leader's concern, was beyond my influence and unrelated to my skills; he can always criticize me on this point."
Listening to the tall medical practitioner's empty remarks, the medical practitioner found herself missing Ash's pleasant words more and more.
Now that I think of it, Ash's recovery seemed much stronger than that of a typical body technique master, and the tactile feedback during treatment was really nice...
I genuinely hope Ash gets beaten almost to death soon, she thought.
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