"Xiao Zhou, achieving shallow tofu sutures at your age? That's just unreasonable!" Zhu Qin exclaimed, tilting his head as he scratched the back of it so hard that it hurt.
Progress in medical techniques required painstaking effort over time.
For most hand surgery master's students, even at top institutions like Xiangya Hospital, completing partial-thickness orange peel sutures by graduation was considered excellent. Managing deep tofu sutures was extraordinarily rare, a mark of exceptional talent.
Hengnan University, while not Xiangya, was still a top-tier institution, producing outstanding hand surgery graduates. However, reaching the level of "extraordinary" required not just effort but raw talent.
Yet here was Zhou Yanqing, at the end of his second year, having already mastered shallow tofu sutures—a skill that placed him well beyond "extraordinary."
No wonder Guo Congyu had been so shocked that his trousers ripped under the pressure.
"Thanks for the compliment, Qin-ge. I've made some progress," Zhou replied, his expression calm but genuinely pleased. His tone neither feigned modesty nor bordered on arrogance.
The awkwardness in the training room dissipated, and Zhou's junior, Tang Wenquan, asked hesitantly, "Qin-ge, how does Zhou-ge's suturing compare to the legendary skills of the 'Dong God' you mentioned?"
Zhu Qin, a Xiangya Hospital PhD and part of Director Dong's team, had once spoken of his fellow alumnus, a master's student nicknamed the "Dong God," who might apply to Hengnan University's First Affiliated Hospital.
After some thought, Zhu Qin answered, "If we're talking about suturing alone, Zhou Yanqing is currently slightly better than my junior Dong."
"Dong only managed partial-thickness orange peel sutures this January. At best, he's now capable of 1cm-deep tofu sutures."
Zhu's careful choice of words—emphasizing "only" and "currently"—hinted that there was more to the story.
"But in..."
Before Zhu could finish, the sharp ring of a phone interrupted him.
"It's not until you fall that you fly, when your dreams come alive, you're unstoppable..."
The ringtone was loud and jarring.
Tang Wenquan, who wasn't wearing gloves, dutifully retrieved the phone from Zhou's locker. "Zhou-ge, it's Director Gong calling," he said, glancing at the screen.
Zhou quickly removed his gloves, placed them on the operating table, and answered, "Hello, Shifu... Yes, I'm in the training room. Okay, I'll come right away."
After hanging up, Zhou turned to Zhu Qin. "Qin-ge, my mentor called. I'll clean up the station when I return—don't take any photos!"
The training room was a shared space, and leaving it untidy was a serious violation. One instance meant a one-month ban; three instances, without a valid excuse, could lead to a permanent ban for "character issues."
"Go ahead. Do I look like someone who takes pictures like Teacher Chen?" Zhu joked, masking his unease.
As someone who had also been a student under a demanding mentor, Zhu understood the unspoken rule: when a mentor called, you dropped everything.
Hand Surgery Department – Senior Office
"Shifu, you called?" Zhou asked, stepping into the office and carefully closing the door behind him.
Gong Yi sat in a chair with lumbar support, a teacup in one hand and a cigarette stub in the other, which he tapped into an ashtray. Wisps of smoke rose lazily before dissipating.
"You've been practicing in the training room again, haven't you?" Gong asked, his tone a mix of concern and reproach.
"Did you eat today?"
The hospital's recent recruitment notice had spurred Zhou and his peers into a frenzy of effort. Earlier in the month, Zhou had skipped both breakfast and lunch, nearly fainting from hypoglycemia—a common occurrence among overworked residents.
"I had fish noodles for breakfast," Zhou replied, standing attentively by Gong's side.
Heng City's fish noodles were a local specialty, a favorite among those accustomed to its unique flavor.
"Hard work is good, but you need to take care of yourself," Gong advised, his voice soft but deliberate.
"Have you considered pursuing a PhD? Any university will do," Gong added, his tone carrying a deeper implication.
Zhou hesitated, immediately grasping his mentor's intent.
The October recruitment round for the department's sole master's slot was a hotly contested opportunity. It was likely to attract numerous high-caliber candidates from prestigious universities, particularly those with local ties to Hunan Province.
For many, securing a job offer wouldn't conflict with pursuing a PhD later. The competition would be fierce, possibly even more so than Zhou had anticipated when he first consulted Gong.
"Shifu, isn't getting a PhD even harder than staying here?" Zhou asked cautiously.
A PhD was the ultimate "door-opener." If Zhou could secure one, returning to Hengnan University's hospital—or even moving up to provincial-level hospitals—would be far easier.
But PhD programs prioritized research over clinical skills. Zhou's academic output—a single third-tier SCI research article and a meta-analysis written on his own—was respectable but insufficient for elite programs.
In the ultra-competitive world of PhD applications, Zhou's CV might not even make it past the initial screening.
With the academic year nearly over, it was too late to generate new research.
Gong sighed deeply. "A PhD is hard, but it might actually be easier than this year's recruitment."
"I know how much you want to stay, how hard you've worked for this chance. But I just confirmed some unfortunate news."
"A former master's graduate, already accepted into dual PhD programs at Ruijin Hospital in Shanghai and Xiangya Hospital, contacted Director Dong. He's decided to forgo his PhD due to a family emergency... and apply for this position instead."
"This candidate entered those programs through a special professional track and has four or five SCI articles under his belt. His clinical skills are extraordinary."
"Competing with him is neither wise nor worthwhile," Gong said, his tone grave.
"Ah?!"
Zhou's usually composed demeanor faltered, his right foot scraping loudly against the floor as his body tensed.
For the first time, he felt a shiver of despair.