After the hustle and bustle, life returned to its ordinary rhythm.
For Yang Ping, the main melody of life was handing over shifts, ward rounds, and surgeries. Everything else was just a sideshow.
"Ding! Mission completed: 100 cases of severed finger reattachments, with a success rate of 100% within three months. Reward: 50,000 points."
The system suddenly issued a task. Yang Ping, however, was used to its unpredictable quirks.
But this mission was outrageous—100 cases? Even if he went out chopping people, he couldn't manage that many.
This was a general hospital, not a private hand surgery clinic.
Severed finger reattachments were generally monopolized by private hand surgery centers.
Was the system trying to force him to resign and work at one of those clinics?
It had taken him so much effort to land a position in a good hospital and secure his footing, only for the system to throw him this kind of task. Its intentions were outright sinister.
For a young doctor, the platform mattered tremendously. A large tertiary hospital like Sanbo could offer resources and opportunities far beyond what a hand surgery clinic could provide, despite the lack of immediate financial benefits.
Yang Ping didn't have time to dwell on it—there was too much on his plate.
After a full day in the operating room, he and the team only emerged at six in the evening. Director Han had to attend a hospital meeting, so Yang Ping took Little Wu to conduct the afternoon's ward rounds. They were accompanied by Song Zimo and Zhang Lin.
Yang Ping would stop, and so would they; Yang Ping would walk, and they would follow.
Somewhat puzzled, Yang Ping asked, "Why are you two tagging along?"
Song Zimo lazily replied, "Since Director Han's busy, why don't you take charge and lead the rounds for both groups? Senior brothers have their responsibilities, you know."
So, that was it. The guy wanted them to combine rounds for both teams.
Yang Ping neither agreed nor objected and continued with the ward rounds. Song Zimo and Zhang Lin trailed behind him. When it came to their patients, Zhang Lin would present the medical history, and Song Zimo would chime in with supplementary details, playing the role of a junior doctor.
One worker, who had a reattached thumb, was doing well enough to get out of bed in a few days. Beaming with pride, he showed them a photo: "This is my daughter. She just got into college this year. Now that my finger's reattached, I can rest easy. Thank you, truly."
The girl in the photo looked youthful and innocent. Yang Ping reminded him, "Absolutely no smoking."
The worker replied, "I quit years ago."
Meanwhile, a baby with reattached fingers was recovering remarkably fast. The tiny fingers were red and lively, and the baby wriggled on the cot while the young parents tended to him. Yang Ping noticed that the young mother had already swapped her smartphone for a simple Nokia phone for emergencies.
The group, including a few graduate students and resident trainees, finished their rounds and moved on to the Trauma ICU to check on Strong, the firefighter hero.
When they arrived, Director Pan personally briefed them on Strong's condition, earning Yang Ping respectful glances from the other doctors.
Strong was in great shape: the blood flow in his severed limb was excellent, and his kidney function was normal.
Yang Ping led a bedside dressing change for him. The wound was clean, with no signs of infection.
Hearing that Yang Ping was making rounds, ICU doctors and nurses gathered around to get a look at this "legendary" Dr. Yang. Some of the younger nurses even sneaked a few bold glances, though the face mask obscured much of what they wanted to see.
Strong was ready to be transferred to a general ward. However, given his special status, the hospital decided to keep him in the ICU for closer monitoring for a few more days.
Just as they exited the ICU, Zhang Lin received a call—there was a consultation request from the Emergency Department. The group hurried over.
The patient was a case of open tibia and fibula fracture, with extensive skin degloving and severe muscle crushing. The protocol for Trauma Rescue Center was initiated.
This case was clearly under Director Tian's jurisdiction, according to Director Han's team division. Song Zimo made the call to contact Director Tian.
As they left the resuscitation room, Yang Ping's peripheral vision caught sight of a business van screeching to a halt at the Emergency Department's entrance.
A young man with dyed yellow hair scrambled out of the car and dashed into the emergency hall, followed by a man in a suit and a doctor in a white coat.
"Doctor! Doctor! Help, please!" The yellow-haired man shouted as he ran.
The commotion briefly drew everyone's attention before they returned to their tasks. In the Emergency Department, cries for help were just part of the routine.
"Don't yell! I'm right here! What's with the rush?" Dr. Lü, who was on duty, noticed the young man holding up his right hand and clutching a plastic bag with his left. He quickly surmised the situation.
"The finger's here! Help me reattach it! Wait!"
As soon as the yellow-haired man saw the doctor, he handed over the plastic bag, took out his phone, and started flipping through it.
"Get a move on! Why are you playing on your phone now? Haven't you logged out of your game yet?" The company doctor, who had followed him, was getting anxious.
"I want this doctor!" The young man thrust his phone at Dr. Lü.
Dr. Lü took a look—wasn't this a picture from their hospital's report on replanting a severed hand into five segments? It was just a pair of hands under a microscope.
"Fine, fine!" the doctor said, hastily ushering him along. "Quick, get consent, blood work, ECG, and prep the OR."
"You know who I'm talking about, right? Don't screw this up—I'll be checking later," the yellow-haired man insisted.
Ignoring him, Dr. Lü passed the plastic bag with the severed finger to Yang Ping and waved him over. "Dr. Yang, perfect timing! Just about to call your team for a consult. A machine-severed finger just came in, and they specifically requested you."
Yang Ping examined the severed right index finger—the middle phalanx was cleanly detached.
"Schedule the surgery," Yang Ping instructed.
The wheels were quickly set in motion: blood tests, ECGs, X-rays, informed consent—no step was skipped.
"This is the doctor, right? I came all the way here just for him," the yellow-haired man confirmed before signing the forms.
Once assured, he signed decisively. As long as this doctor was the one operating, his finger was as good as saved. The man even began to play his mobile game again.
"Why are you standing there? Go pay the fees! And let me tell you, this is a work-related injury—I didn't violate any safety protocols. It's the machine's fault! Once this is over, I'm going to file a complaint with the labor bureau," he barked at the suited man.
The suit, tasked with handling workplace injuries for the company, was already stressed. "Relax, our contracted hand surgery hospital settles accounts monthly. I didn't bring cash. We could've gone to Yunjian Hospital, but you insisted on coming here."
"Hurry back and get the money! If anything goes wrong with my finger, I'll camp out at your house!" the young man threatened.
The surgery preparation began in earnest: anesthesia, positioning, scrubbing, sterilization, and setting up the microscope. The task at hand was clear.