The operating room was kept at a chilly 19 degrees Celsius.
For Gong Yi, dressed in sterile surgical attire, and the scrub nurse, the temperature wasn't an issue. However, the anesthesiologist, wearing a floral-patterned surgical cap, and the circulating nurse both donned long-sleeve green jackets to fend off the cold.
The circulating nurse sat under the operating room's timer panel, quietly scrolling through short videos on her phone while the surgery timer silently ticked above her head. Meanwhile, the anesthesiologist, reclined in a makeshift chair akin to a senior citizen's lounger, lazily flicked his gaze between the steady beeping of the anesthesia monitor and the 13th episode of a drama playing through a Bluetooth earbud lodged in his left ear.
On the operating table, Gong Yi, who habitually finished his main tasks before stepping away for a "relaxing break," was laser-focused on the "Teletubby team" in front of him. His right hand's index and middle fingers unconsciously mimicked a cigarette-holding gesture, a remnant of his smoking days, as he resisted the urge to cough from his dry throat.
In contrast, Deputy Chief Surgeon Tao Yubin, eager for Gong Yi to finish so he could also step down, was visibly restless. Beside him, Tian Zeguang, a non-smoker, observed with a thoughtful expression, occasionally narrowing his eyes as if playing a spot-the-difference game. Meanwhile, Li Zhong's face grew increasingly stern.
In the surgical field, the hierarchy wasn't determined by flashy titles but by skill—particularly the ability to wield the scalpel.
Within this team, the hierarchy was clear: Chief Surgeon Gong Yi, Deputy Chief Tao Yubin, and Senior Doctor Tian Zeguang.
Why?
Because Gong Yi could successfully perform a complex finger replantation with any assistant, whereas Tao Yubin could only complete such a high-difficulty procedure under Gong Yi's guidance.
Second-year master's student Zhou Yanqing was already adept at suturing skin flaps in August of his academic calendar. At this rate, he'd be suturing tendons by his third year, far surpassing Li Zhong's accomplishments. If this trend continued, Zhou Yanqing would soon overshadow Li Zhong's position within Gong Yi's team, leaving the latter with little to do.
Zhou Yanqing worked intently, too focused on his task to gauge the reactions of his superiors. He had no idea whether they were pleased, anxious, or worried.
After about twenty stitches, he used up his suture thread and finally allowed himself a breath of relief. "Nurse, can I get another suture pack?" he asked.
The specifications of the skin sutures had already been repeated twice—4-0 Vicryl for the flap edges—so there was no need to specify again.
As Zhou Yanqing paused, Gong Yi also took the opportunity to relax. Using toothed forceps, he lifted the previously sutured area of skin, checking for proper alignment. Satisfied that the tissues were not merely superficially aligned but also properly approximated internally, he gave a small nod of approval.
Turning to the anxious Zhou Yanqing, who seemed to be awaiting test results, Gong Yi said, "Not bad. You're not just someone who aces practice exams but fails in real situations. Keep it up!"
The worst-case scenario for surgeons was being exceptional in the training room but faltering under pressure in the operating theater, only managing to perform a fraction of their capability—or worse, completely botching the task.
"Tao, let's step down," Gong Yi finally said, now fully reassured.
"Great, Chief Gong," Tao Yubin, who had been waiting impatiently, backed away as if he'd been granted amnesty. He started untying his sterile gown strings with a broad grin.
After Gong Yi and Tao Yubin left, Zhou Yanqing continued suturing.
Flap suturing, unlike regular surgical wound closure or minor traumatic wound repair, required stitches spaced not at one centimeter but often as close as 0.5 or even 0.3 centimeters. If there were a corner or turn, the stitch spacing had to be carefully planned in advance.
As such, completing an edge-flap suture could require dozens or even hundreds of stitches, each demanding precision and care.
Gradually, other junior doctors arrived in the operating room.
Fan Ziwei and Zhao Gui cautiously pushed open the pressure-sensitive automatic door, sidestepped the anesthesia machine, and placed their phones on the storage counter before settling into optimal observation spots.
Fan Ziwei, pale-skinned and thin, whispered, "Gui, do you remember this time last year? Senior Zhou brought us here to watch Senior Huang close a surgical incision from this exact spot."
"At the time, Senior Zhou himself wasn't entirely proficient with full-layer orange peel sutures."
Zhao Gui, whose biceps bulged visibly even under his sleeves, rubbed his eyebrow and nodded slightly. "How could I forget? Senior Zhou even told us how Senior Huang taught him in this exact spot when he started his residency…"
Both entered the hospital last September—Fan as a specialized master's student and Zhao as a general orthopedics trainee. Back then, Senior Zhou was their mentor, showing them how Huang, then a third-year resident, adeptly closed surgical wounds.
Now, in June, Huang had graduated.
Soon, as September approached, Zhou Yanqing would officially become a senior student—the "big brother" of Gong Yi's student group.
And with that, Fan Ziwei too would rise to mentor status. Perhaps, by September, a new junior would join, and Fan and Zhao would stand in this spot, marveling at Zhou Yanqing's skills with the same awe they once reserved for Senior Huang.
It was like completing a perfect cycle.
As Zhou Yanqing worked diligently, Fan murmured, "Zhou is taking huge strides forward. I heard Senior Guo from the same year ended up splitting his pants while trying to keep up with Zhou."
"Just his pants?" Zhao chuckled. "I heard from Tang Wenquan that it went further—he tore a... you know."
Fan tilted his head, emphasizing his reliable source. "My classmate Tang was right there when it happened."
"Maybe both happened. My source was Zhu Qin, and he said Guo split his pants outwardly while also straining... internally."
And so, gossip began to spread.
Just as the chatter continued, Zhou Yanqing completed his stitching and called out, "Gui, could you help me with the transfer?"
"Coming!" Zhao jogged over, leaving Fan behind mid-gossip. Practical experience always trumped idle chatter—helping a senior might earn the rare opportunity to practice a stitch or two.