Xia Shu didn’t speak.
He continued to move forward, entering the operating room.
The water was cold, splashing on his hands, fully awakening him. He looked at himself in the mirror; his face was no longer the sa as when he first arrived. Back then, his eyes were filled only with admiration and longing; now, there was added confidence and composure.
After scrubbing his hands, he donned his surgical gown and gloves. He walked to the operating table, standing in the position of the chief surgeon.
Li Zehui stood in the first assistant position.
The shadowless lamp illuminated.
The patient was already anesthetized, lying there, chest gently undulating. The numbers on the monitor flickered—heart rate, blood pressure, blood oxygen saturation—each number representing a living life.
Xia Shu took a deep breath.
"Let’s begin."
The surgical knife descended.
The sternum was cut open in the middle, and the pericardium was opened. The failing heart was exposed under the shadowless lamp, larger than an average person’s, its color darkened, beating weakly.
"The donor has arrived," the patrolling nurse’s voice ca through the headset, "about twenty minutes to the operating room."
"Prepare extracorporeal circulation," Xia Shu said.
Cannulation, bypass, cooling. The patient’s heart slowly stopped beating, blood was diverted to the extracorporeal circulation machine, oxygenated, and then returned to the body.
The operating room was so quiet that only the machine noise remained.
Twenty minutes later, the donor heart was delivered.
A small incubator with a red label on the outside. The nurse opened the lid, revealing a transparent sterile bag, and inside it, the heart.
Twenty-two years old, male, university student.
Xia Shu received the heart.
It was still imrsed in preservation fluid, small, pink, silently as if in slumber.
He glanced at it.
Then he began to trim.
Left atrium anastomosis, right atrium anastomosis, aorta anastomosis, pulmonary artery anastomosis. Each stitch had to be precise; none could be wrong. If the anastomosis site bled, the patient would die on the operating table. If the anastomosis was narrow, the heart wouldn’t beat.
One hour. Two hours. Three hours.
The last stitch finished.
"Rewarm," Xia Shu said.
The blood gradually flowed back into the new heart. The temperature slowly rose.
On the monitor, the flat line began to fluctuate.
Once, twice, thrice.
The heart started beating.
Sinus rhythm, heart rate 92, blood pressure 110/70.
The anesthesiologist’s voice ca from beside: "Vital signs are stable."
Xia Shu didn’t speak imdiately. He watched the heart, observing it beating powerfully in the new body, staring for a long ti.
It was beating well.
"Close the chest," he said.
When the surgery ended and the patient was sent to the ICU, it was already 7 p.m. outside.
Li Zehui walked over, patting his shoulder.
"Go rest, I’ll watch over the ICU."
Xia Shu shook his head.
"I’ll take another look."
He walked into the ICU, sitting by the patient’s bed.
The patient was still under anesthesia, not awake, with a respirator on their face, and a drainage tube connected to a bottle on the chest. The numbers on the monitor were steadily jumping.
Xia Shu sat there, looking at those numbers, watching the trajectory of the heart’s beat, staring for a long ti.
The door was gently pushed open.
Zhou Zheng peeked half his head in and whispered, "Mr. Xia, you’re still here?"
Xia Shu nodded.
Zhou Zheng walked in, standing beside him, also watching the monitor.
"Mr. Xia," he suddenly said, "I’ve been thinking about a question today."
"Speak."
"You’re so young, yet you can be the chief surgeon for so many surgeries; how did you achieve that?"
He paused.
"Over at Anzhen and Fuwai, young doctors like you are still holding retractors and suturing skin. Let alone heart transplants, they’re not even allowed to be chief surgeons for a standard bypass. They all say it takes until at least forty plus to get a chance to independently perform a decent surgery."
He looked at Xia Shu.
"You’re only in your thirties; how did you do it?"
Xia Shu was silent for a few seconds and said, "It’s not because I’m better than anyone; it’s because Professor Yang lets , and Director Li stands by watching . If mistakes happen, they cover for . If it succeeds, the credit is mine."
He looked at the monitor’s steady curve.
"Elsewhere, young people must endure to gain experience. Here, young people learn skills."
He turned his head, looking at Zhou Zheng.
"As long as you work hard, you can do it too in the future."
Zhou Zheng nodded.
"I’ll definitely work hard."
---
A few days later, the patient was transferred to the general ward.
His daughter really ca. An eighteen or nineteen-year-old girl with a ponytail, standing by the bedside weeping uncontrollably. The patient lay on the bed, holding his daughter’s hand, with reddened eyes.
In the afternoon, the patient’s son delivered a pennant.
Eight words on the pennant:
"Heart is where the life is entrusted."
The pennant was hung in the most prominent place in cardiac surgery, alongside the previous one, "Between life and death, setting the heart as proof."
Yang Ping visited again.
He stood in front of the nurse’s station, looking at the two pennants for a long ti. Then he entered the office, looking at Xia Shu and Li Zehui.
"Just opened the departnt, and perford two world-class surgeries," he said, "one Cleveland didn’t dare to do, and a heart transplant. A very good start."
He looked towards Li Zehui.
"Professor Li, it seems the assistant I assigned you is quite competent?"
Li Zehui laughed.
"More than competent," he said, "Without exaggeration, Dr. Xia is of world-class caliber."
Yang Ping nodded.
"In the future, if nothing specific, I generally won’t co again," he said, "You can proceed without hesitation. If you need assistance from , just let know anyti."
He stood up, walked to the door, and turned back to look at Xia Shu once more.
"Rember to persist in reviewing and keep taking notes."
Xia Shu nodded.
The door closed, Xia Shu stood there, looking at the door.
He knew what it ant.
From today, cardiac surgery was truly handed over to him and Li Zehui.
Yang Ping would no longer do rounds, no longer provide guidance, and no longer watch over every detail.
He let go.
Xia Shu stood for a while, then turned and walked out of the office.
In the hallway, nurses were still busy. Zhou Zheng was at the nurse’s station talking to a few interns. Seeing Yang Ping co out, he imdiately stood straight.
Yang Ping walked past him, nodding.
Zhou Zheng stood there, stunned, not moving for a long ti.
Xia Shu saw Yang Ping off, returned to the ICU, and stopped by the bed of that heart transplant patient.
On the monitor, the numbers steadily jumped.
He stood there for a while.
Then he turned and walked out of the ICU.
In the cardiac surgery corridor, Zhou Zheng was still talking to those interns. Seeing him return, Zhou Zheng shouted:
"Mr. Xia, when do you have ti to go over tomorrow’s surgery plan?"
Xia Shu halted.
"Now," he said.
Zhou Zheng was taken aback.
He ran back to the office, carrying a stack of docunts over.
Xia Shu received the docunts and flipped them open.
Another complex case.
Another surgery to perform.
More notes to write.
He looked down at the data, the images, the problems waiting to be solved.
Then he raised his head, looking at Zhou Zheng.
"Co over," he said, "let’s look together."
Zhou Zheng’s eyes brightened.
He leaned over, standing by Xia Shu, looking at the case together.
Xia Shu’s fingers moved along the case file, his voice steady:
"The key point of this patient isn’t the degree of coronary artery stenosis, but the scar tissue left from two previous heart attacks. Look here, in this anterior wall area, the myocardium is dead, with no contractile function. When we do the bypass, what’s crucial isn’t reviving this area, but protecting the remaining myocardium from further ischemia..."
Zhou Zheng listened intently, nodding occasionally, sotis asking a question.
Outside the window, the sunset was red.
The lights in the glass corridor lit up one by one, like a warm necklace connecting the institute and the hospital, linking the past and the future, connecting what’s recorded and what’s happening.
Xia Shu finished discussing the last key point and closed the case file.
"Rembered?"
Zhou Zheng nodded.
"Go over it once more when you return."
Zhou Zheng nodded again, carrying the case file and leaving.
Xia Shu stood in place, watching his figure disappear at the end of the corridor.
Then he turned and walked back into the office.
On the bookshelf, fifteen notebooks were neatly arranged, with a new one added beside them.
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