National Doctor: When You Perfect a Skill

8:27 PM, Hand Surgery Training Room.

Zhou Yanqing noticed that his mentor, Gong Yi, had been alerted by a junior's WeChat message. Gong Yi had rushed to the training room wearing pajamas, his expression stern as he addressed Fan Ziwei: "Ziwei, isn't this unnecessary?"

"Is it really different to show the master today versus tomorrow?" Fan Ziwei responded.

Zhou Yanqing, adopting the authority of a senior, straightened Fan Ziwei with a single sharp look. Yet, Gong Yi, rubbing his eyes, laughed and scolded, "Zhou Yanqing, you're acting more dignified than me already, huh? Starting to throw your weight around now?"

"I'm telling you, seeing it today and seeing it tomorrow aren't the same. Seeing it live and seeing it in a video are two entirely different things!"

Having finished rubbing his eyes, Gong Yi took several deep breaths to steady himself before continuing. "Yanqing, do you realize that in our group, Li Zhong, Director Dong's newly minted doctoral student Zhu Qin, they're just now tackling the challenge of 'gelatin suturing,' and they're nearly thirty years old!"

"But you? You're only twenty-six!"

Zhou Yanqing had spent five years in undergraduate studies and was now in his third year of graduate school, making him twenty-six.

"In terms of suturing skills, you're already close to the standard of turning a doctoral supervisor into a 'technician.' Do you really think climbing this academic ladder is easy?"

"I can tell you clearly: the promotion path in our hospital's hand surgery department is just two levels above your current suturing skills. And that system was specially designed to recruit doctoral candidates and secure more talent funding for our department," Gong Yi explained with remarkable clarity.

Medical expertise isn't a game, and a doctor's career isn't about leveling up in stages. Each step in improving medical skills requires painstaking effort over many years.

Of course, exceptional geniuses do exist. They're rare, but they do exist.

"More gelatin! It's here again!" After Gong Yi finished, Zhao Gui, a small training resident, brought over standardized gelatin samples.

Gong Yi rolled up his sleeves without delay, declaring, "The master will personally make the cuts for you."

He then picked up a scalpel, and with steady precision, made three incisions in the gelatin. Turning to Zhou Yanqing, who seemed hesitant to speak, Gong Yi placed the scalpel down and gestured grandly. "Don't worry about wasting material. Usually, you'd make eight or nine cuts on one block of gelatin for practice."

"But from now on, Yanqing, practice at this three-cut-four-piece standard. I'll reimburse you for the materials," Gong Yi said with a smile of approval.

Seeing Gong Yi's pride and encouragement, Zhou Yanqing nodded and got to work without further ado.

After completing the practice session for deep suturing tofu blocks, the challenge advanced to pre-tension elastic sutures—specifically, gelatin suturing.

The brittle texture of gelatin made it more prone to tearing under the needle, marking it as a milestone skill that symbolized the maturity of a surgeon. It was a skill achieved through thirty years of rigorous training by senior surgeons like Li Zhong and doctoral students like Zhu Qin.

Those with ordinary talent could only rely on years of hard work to progress step by step, while geniuses would take a leap forward through their innate ability.

With every stitch, Zhou Yanqing worked methodically, gradually stitching the gelatin block together.

Gong Yi, Fan Ziwei, and Zhao Gui all held their breaths, careful not to disturb him.

In truth, Zhou Yanqing had already achieved exceptional results in previous attempts. To pass this stage, he needed to complete three incisions on four pieces of gelatin, stitching six sides with a total of ninety stitches. A 95% success rate was required, leaving room for only two or three errors.

Previously, Zhou Yanqing's error rate had been only one or two.

Time flowed like water, and forty minutes passed in a flash.

Ninety stitches at twenty seconds each, completed without pause or interruption, required about thirty minutes in theory.

Reality, of course, wasn't theory.

Yet despite the lengthy process, when Gong Yi inspected the final result, his face lit up with a smile that nearly turned his face into a chrysanthemum.

"Master, I'm finished!" Zhou Yanqing stood at attention, awaiting his teacher's judgment.

"Very well done," Gong Yi praised. Then, glancing at Fan Ziwei and Zhao Gui, he added, "You two can play with the leftover gelatin. Don't worry about ruining it; buy more supplies if needed. Send me the bill later."

Turning to Zhou Yanqing, he said, "I need to talk to your senior."

Gong Yi led Zhou Yanqing out of the room.

Fan Ziwei whispered cheekily, "Looks like Master is taking Senior into the woods for a private chat."

"What did you say?" Gong Yi turned back and playfully kicked Fan Ziwei.

"Master, I was wrong…" Fan Ziwei started reciting a nonsensical chant: "I love gelatin, I eat gelatin without spitting out the fatty bits…"

Outside the Functional Studies Lab Building

Under the silent night sky, lit only by the faint glow of streetlights, Gong Yi spoke solemnly. "Yanqing, I feel deeply guilty."

Zhou Yanqing raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "Master, please don't say that…"

Gong Yi reflected on the constraints he faced as a master's advisor, his limited funding, and the inadequate resources available to his students. Yet despite these limitations, he acknowledged that Zhou Yanqing's talents had brought hope—a glimmer in the darkness.

"Master, perhaps now, there's finally a bit of hope," Zhou Yanqing replied calmly.

With those words, he returned to the training room to continue practicing. For him, time was precious. Gong Yi, watching his disciple disappear into the distance, sighed and rode his scooter home, casting three backward glances before plunging into the dark night.