National Doctor: When You Perfect a Skill

Chapter 17: Rushing Towards a Dream



[Skill Mastery Notification]

Task Completed: Achieve 10,000 Incision Practices (10000/10000). Reward: Incision Skill XP: 2 points. Medal Earned: "Skill Born of Practice." Medal ("Skill Born of Practice") Unique Effect: Every 10,000 repetitions of any medical skill grants 1 skill XP. Maximum XP gain per skill: 2 points. Incision Skill: Upgraded from Proficient (2/3) to Specialized (1/5). Unlocked: Premium Skill Hall. Details: Only skills at the Specialized level or above are recorded here. Skills passively "mature" over time. After 50,000 and 100,000 practices, an additional XP point is granted. Subsequently, every 100,000 practices grant 1 XP. New Task: "Ten Thousand Precision Techniques" Objective: Complete 100,000 Knot-Tying Practices (0/100000).

Zhou Yanqing felt overwhelmed by the sudden surge of notifications. After careful review, he realized that the medals "Skill Born of Practice" and "Forged Through Hard Work" were indispensable in the early stages, while the Premium Skill Hall was a treasure trove for the long haul.

Even though the system didn't offer shortcuts or effortless rewards, Zhou was satisfied. For most ordinary people, the hope that hard work would be rewarded was enough.

His incision skill had suddenly upgraded to Specialized (1/5), leaving Zhou unsure of his current standing. Regardless, he was exhausted from today's training. After hours of incision practice that nearly made him vomit, he decided to rest and regroup.

Returning to his dormitory, Zhou discovered the water dispenser empty. He went downstairs to buy a new bottle for six yuan, carried it back upstairs, and finally poured himself a glass of water. Sitting in his chair, he stared at the 2,000 yuan his father had transferred to him, lost in thought for a good ten seconds.

Shaking off the momentary daze, he picked up a thick, blue-covered Orthopedic Surgery Manual and began reading while sipping lukewarm water.

The oppressive August heat made the "room temperature" anything but. Zhou turned on the air conditioner, washed up, and returned in his pajamas with a towel around his head. Feeling refreshed, he called his parents on video chat.

"Dad, Mom, have you eaten yet?" Zhou asked.

On the other side of the video, the dim glow of an old incandescent bulb illuminated his parents sitting by a stream near their rural home. The water flowed from a cave, cool in summer and warm in winter. His father replied, "We've eaten, even had a late-night snack. Your second uncle's son got married today. We just got back and are washing our feet here."

The familiar sights and sounds of home—the rustic stream and summer nights—brought a sense of nostalgia. Zhou turned on his desk lamp so his parents could see his face clearly. Smiling, he said, "Dad, stop pressuring me to find a girlfriend. I can barely take care of myself, let alone add more burdens to the family."

At twenty-six, even with a "prestigious" master's degree in medicine, Zhou still relied on his parents financially. Doctoral students received stipends of four to five thousand yuan, which was sufficient to live on but only barely.

His mother chimed in, "If you can find someone, don't worry about the burden. I just think you don't want to look."

She added with a sigh, "More and more men are ending up single these days."

Zhou reassured her, "Mom, the chances of your son staying single are pretty low." He paused, then continued, "I actually wanted to tell you something—I plan to head to Beijing next month to try my luck at Jishuitan Hospital."

For any aspiring orthopedic surgeon in China, Jishuitan Hospital was a dream destination. If Tsinghua University and Peking Union Medical College were dream schools for ordinary students, Jishuitan's orthopedics department was the pinnacle for medical students.

While Zhou had worked tirelessly during his undergraduate years at Hengnan University, focusing on academics left him little time for practical training. Research opportunities during undergrad were nearly unattainable without connections or financial resources.

Doctoral admissions, unlike master's programs, were based on independent assessments by top schools like Peking University's affiliated hospitals or Peking Union Medical College. These institutions held their exams in September, prioritizing the nation's top talent.

"If you think it's worth trying, go for it," his father said firmly. "Your mom and I agree on this. While you're young, you should take risks—as long as you don't harm your health or exhaust yourself to the brink. Work hard, but not at the cost of your well-being."

His father's voice turned serious. "If there ever comes a day when you feel you can't go on, don't take extreme measures. Our greatest hope for you is your health, not your success. Do you understand?"

Zhou nodded. "I promise, Dad. If medicine doesn't work out, I'll come home and farm with you. I'd be happy to do that."

His father sighed deeply. "The only thing your mom and I can teach you is farming."

Those words broke Zhou's usually calm demeanor. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked up, took a deep breath, and steadied himself before replying, "I'm going to study now. You two rest early."

After ending the call, Zhou wiped his eyes with a tissue and turned back to his desk. Gazing at his task panel, he resolved to give his best effort at Jishuitan once more. Whether he succeeded or failed, it would bring closure to a long-held regret.

For Zhou, Jishuitan was not just a top orthopedic institution; it represented a personal dream. He recalled the words he'd heard after failing his previous interview:

"If Jishuitan's orthopedics doesn't conduct research, then China's orthopedic progress will stagnate. Jishuitan's orthopedics has never lacked top surgical skills. What we need are innovators, not people who simply replicate existing procedures."

This time, he vowed to make it count.


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