The door to the Director’s office of the Neurosurgery Departnt at Sanbo Hospital was open. Xu Zhiliang was sitting inside, with a pile of dical records spread out in front of him.
He had been sitting for an hour but hadn’t read through a single one.
Outside in the hallway, nurses were coming and going, the sound of footsteps, voices, and trolleys blended together. The unique bustle of a new departnt. No one dared to co in to disturb him—the new Director, people were still unsure about him.
Xu Zhiliang knew what they were thinking.
A thirty-four-year-old Doctor, who stutters, also becos the Director of Neurosurgery? Even though he is Professor Yang’s disciple, his qualifications are too shallow.
He thought of the conversation with Yang Ping three days ago.
Without any prelude or small talk, Yang Ping directly said, "The Neurosurgery Departnt needs a Director, you go."
Xu Zhiliang froze.
"Professor Yang, I—"
"How many brainstem surgeries have you perford?"
"Three hundred and forty-seven."
"How many in the country can perform brainstem tumor surgeries? How many have the surgery volu like yours? And how many have such a high success rate?"
Xu Zhiliang said nothing.
Yang Ping spoke for him, "You can count them on one hand, and you’re one of them, near the top."
Xu Zhiliang opened his mouth, wanting to say he had only studied for a few years, wanting to say what those senior specialists in neurosurgery would think of him, wanting to say many, many things. But Yang Ping didn’t give him the chance.
"Report next week," Yang Ping said, and then he left.
And so, he ca.
The door was knocked.
Xu Zhiliang looked up. Director Chen Houming stood at the door, he was the previous Director here.
"Director Xu." Director Chen smiled as he walked in.
Xu Zhiliang stood up.
"Director Chen, please have a seat."
Chen Houming waved his hand, not sitting. He walked around with his hands behind his back, looking around the office, his gaze circling Xu Zhiliang’s face.
He walked to the bookshelf, looking at the row of empty slots.
"Where are your notes?"
Xu Zhiliang was stunned for a mont.
Chen Houming laughed, "Don’t pretend, everyone in the hospital knows, Yang Ping’s disciples all take notes. Xia Shu has fifteen books, you have nineteen books, and Song Zimo has twenty-eight books."
Xu Zhiliang was silent for a second, then opened the desk drawer and cabinet, all the notebooks stacked inside, he pulled out a few and handed them over.
Chen Houming took them, pulled out a book, and opened it.
He read very slowly. Flipping through page by page, occasionally stopping, squinting to look at the scrawled handwriting and hand-drawn surgical illustrations.
After finishing one book, he picked up another.
Xu Zhiliang stood beside him, not knowing what he was looking for.
When he got to the third book, Chen Houming stopped.
On that page was a surgical approach diagram for a brainstem tumor, densely filled with words. Tumor location, size, boundary, relationship to surrounding structures, intraoperative surprises, handling thods, postoperative follow-up results.
Chen Houming looked at it for a long ti.
Then he closed the notebook.
"Director Xu," he said, his tone changed, "I’ve done neurosurgery for thirty years, and only perford forty malignant brainstem tumors. Those who’ve survived, seventeen. Those who can live normally, nine."
He looked at Xu Zhiliang.
"You’ve done over three hundred, all survived, and over two hundred seventy can live normally."
Chen Houming was silent for a few seconds.
Then he extended his hand.
"Welco, if you don’t do this Director’s job, I’m afraid no one in the world can."
Xu Zhiliang shook his hand. That hand was very thin, and the bones were distinct.
Chen Houming let go, turned, and walked out. When he reached the door, he stopped, looked back, and said:
"In the future, if I may copy your notes, I’ll be the first, second, or third assistant, it’s all fine, even wiping your sweat is no problem."
---
At two in the afternoon, the first surgery of the new Director.
The patient was forty-three years old, female, with a brainstem cavernous hemangioma, a history of three hemorrhages, and already experiencing left-sided hemiparesis.
This wasn’t a patient transferred by Yang Ping. It was a longti patient of Chen Houming’s, who had been waiting in line in the Neurosurgery Departnt for a long ti, specifically asking for Chen Houming to perform the surgery. Chen Houming pushed her to Xu Zhiliang.
The anesthesiologist was a veteran, having worked at Sanbo for twenty years, having seen it all. The instruntal nurse was an old-tir in Neurosurgery, having assisted in over hundreds of surgeries with Chen Houming. Two young residents stood in the corner, not daring to breathe. All the attending surgeons were present to see exactly what the new Director was made of.
The surgery began, Xu Zhiliang cleanly and smoothly cut the skin, separated the muscle, and opened the bone window. Under the microscope, the brain tissue was exposed, gray-white, soft, subtly rising and falling with the breaths.
The tumor was deep in the brainstem.
He had seen the images countless tis, simulated the surgical approach countless tis in his head. But once it’s actually opened, it’s always a different scenario.
The tumor was larger than expected. The compression range was wider than expected. The boundary was more blurred than expected. But for Xu Zhiliang, it was not a big deal.
The anesthesiologist watched the monitor, the nurse handed over instrunts, and the observing doctors held their breath. In the corner, Chen Houming had unknowingly arrived, standing there, saying nothing.
Xu Zhiliang didn’t look up. His entire attention was on that small visual field.
Separate, stop bleeding, separate again, stop bleeding again.
Gradually, the tumor was peeled away, and the brainstem slowly returned to its original shape.
Into the fourth hour, the last cut was made.
"Stop bleeding," he said.
Confird no active bleeding, flushed with warm saline, and closed the skull.
Chen Houming walked out from the corner, standing in front of him.
"I watched for four hours," he said.
Xu Zhiliang looked at him, said nothing; he didn’t like to talk with people, especially not unfamiliar ones.
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