Chapter 199: A Step Toward Dreams and Duty

As soon as Qiu Hong left, Jin Mingxi came out carrying his laptop bag.

“I’ve finished organizing my materials. Gotta head to the department for my shift or my mentor’s going to chew me out.” With that, Jin Mingxi waved to Su Qianqian. “I’m on night duty tonight, Miss Su. Sorry, but I’ll be off now.”

“Go on, don’t worry! I’ll hang around until nine or so before heading back.”

The exchange between Su Qianqian and Jin Mingxi was always entertaining.

She seemed to know that Jin Mingxi was intentionally giving Zhou Can and her some private space.

Which was probably why she let Jin Mingxi know exactly when she planned to leave.

Watching Jin Mingxi go, Su Qianqian laughed. “Your roommate’s really considerate. Every time I visit, he’s either pulling a late shift or working overtime.”

Zhou Can smiled back. “Old Jin’s a real friend. Loyal, kind-hearted. The sort you want to keep around.”

They’d known each other for over a year, and Zhou Can thought very highly of him.

He was one of Zhou Can’s few close friends.

“Oh, almost forgot the main thing. The agency’s landed me a chance to play the third female lead in a TV series. Do you want me to take it?” Her eyes shone with hope.

For anyone in showbiz, roles in movies or TV are golden opportunities.

With Mr. Li looking out for her, she figured it couldn’t be some trashy gig.

Those lowbrow, sleazy, or worldview-shattering comedies—they’re what you’d call garbage productions.

Back in the day, lots of Hong Kong actresses made their name by taking their clothes off.

“It’s not like you’re my puppet. Why are you even asking me like that?”

Zhou Can guided her inside the room.

He closed the door, shutting out the world so it was just the two of them.

“I just don’t want to make you upset. Some people misunderstand acting, thinking the cast is a mess. All those kissing scenes, love scenes, even bed scenes—it makes actresses seem so… dirty to outsiders.”

You could tell she really treasured what she had with Zhou Can.

Their journey together hadn’t been easy—she wouldn’t be where she was without Zhou Can’s help.

Mr. Li might have discovered her, but Zhou Can was her real support.

“I get love scenes. They’re just memorizing lines. If you could fall that easily for another man, then maybe this thing between us wasn’t meant to last. When that happens, I’ll wish you well and let you go. As for kisses or bed scenes, if you really have to go through with those, my answer’s the same. We part ways.”

Zhou Can spoke calmly, almost without emotion.

He’d always valued relationships deeply, but he could be rational when needed.

After over a year together, what they had wasn’t easy to come by.

A forced relationship is never sweet.

They were both adults. In the end, it was her choice.

And let’s face it—they weren’t even married yet. Even if they tied the knot someday, Zhou Can wasn’t the wishy-washy type.

When it was time to cut ties, he wouldn’t hesitate. His heart would turn to stone if it came to that.

Su Qianqian paled at his words.

After so long together, she knew exactly what he was like. When he laid out the facts this clearly and calmly, he always meant every word.

In a way, Zhou Can had just drawn a clear line for her.

If she crossed it, the consequences were hers alone.

That was the message.

“If there are no love scenes, kissing, or bed scenes, would you be okay with it? The director said he picked me for my innocence and looks. He wants the third female lead to be something like a living goddess.”

She asked his opinion again.

“Now that, I can accept.”

Zhou Can immediately thought of the Goddess Guanyin from Journey to the West—a role that was always sacred, free from any of those muddled man-woman entanglements.

If she was just playing that kind of part, Zhou Can would back her all the way.

“So you’re okay with it? Tomorrow I’ll tell the company yes!”

Seeing Zhou Can agree made her break into a bright, happy smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine with it. As long as there’s no romance, no kissing, no bed scenes, I’m good. You know how to judge these things. Don’t expect me to watch my girlfriend flirt or get all close with other men—I’m just not that great a guy.”

This was the first time Zhou Can really laid his cards on the table with her.

Since they’d met, she’d always respected herself and acted with dignity.

That was why Zhou Can completely trusted her.

But now that she was reaching for bigger dreams, diving deeper into the wild world of movies and TV, they needed to be honest.

“What do you mean ‘getting all close’, as if it sounds that bad? My first kiss was stolen by you, you big meanie. This life—unless you dump me—I’m yours, and there’ll never be another man in my heart.”

She protested with a playful pout.

“Human nature’s never as strong as people think. Everyone has the right to chase their dreams. If you really want a promise, here’s mine—if you don’t wrong me, I won’t wrong you.”

Zhou Can gave her his answer.

Since they started dating, the little spats happened—but never anything serious.

They trusted and loved each other deeply.

Both Zhou Can and Su Qianqian silently guarded their love.

“Thank you. Thank you for giving me peace of mind and your promise.”

They shared a heartfelt hug.

After a while, they separated. Zhou Can sat on the bed reading, while she leaned against his shoulder, headphones on, studying advanced music techniques and vocal skills.

This warm, romantic moment became one of their most treasured memories.

Side by side, each chased after their own dreams.

……

The next morning, Zhou Can arrived at the exam location around eleven.

He had one unit to test on today, three more tomorrow.

The place was already packed with candidates.

There weren’t just candidates for clinical medicine, but also dentistry, public health, clinical assistants, traditional Chinese medicine, and more.

Almost everyone looked like they were facing a great enemy. Some were deadly serious, others visibly nervous, a few frantically swiping through questions on their phones or cramming tough knowledge points.

It was after four in the afternoon when Zhou Can finally made it into the exam hall.

Pretending not to be nervous would be a lie.

But once he started answering, he realized it wasn’t as tough as everyone had warned.

An hour and a half later, he strolled out looking completely at ease.

No surprise—Director Xueyan from Cardiothoracic Surgery had personally helped him set up a study plan. Nearly every question was something Zhou Can had covered.

Director Xue really had an uncanny grasp of the exam.

Some rejoiced, others despaired.

Zhou Can came out relaxed, but plenty of candidates looked defeated, heads drooping in disappointment.

If you know it, it’s easy. If you don’t, it’s impossible.

Exams have always worked this way—the weakest get left behind.

They’re like a merciless sieve, always shaking and filtering out the unfit.

After a night’s rest, he dove into a full day of solid testing the next day.

By the time the fourth unit was done, Zhou Can’s brain was buzzing.

Scoring a perfect grade was definitely out of reach.

He knew he’d missed or outright blanked a few questions.

But there weren’t many he truly struggled with.

So overall, those four rounds of medical comprehensive testing felt pretty manageable.

He actually felt quite confident about his results.

When he got back to the apartment, Jin Mingxi was practicing his ‘Steady Technique,’ his daily routine.

“You’re back! How’d the exam go?”

Jin Mingxi asked Zhou Can, genuinely concerned.

“Not bad! There were a few questions I didn’t know, but the rest I handled pretty well. Unless I get super unlucky, I should pass the first round.”

Zhou Can sounded sure of himself.

“When do results come out?”

He asked Jin Mingxi.

“For me, results showed up online about a month after the first test. The second round gets a lot tougher, so don’t lose momentum. Keep grinding like you have the past two months.”

Jin Mingxi offered advice from personal experience.

“Got it!”

No way Zhou Can would start slacking now.

After his exams, the person he wanted to thank most was Director Xue.

He checked the time—she’d probably gone home by now. He sent her a message, both to thank her and update her on his progress.

“If you stick to the study plan I made for you, you’ll clear the exam. Stay strong.”

She texted Zhou Can back.

Clearly, she had a lot of faith in the study plan she’d tailored for him.

Zhou Can kept his nose in the books with fresh enthusiasm.

During the day, he shadowed Dr. Jia in Gastrointestinal Surgery for hands-on training. At night, he hit the medical basics hard back at the apartment.

If something stumped him, he’d dig up answers online.

If the internet didn’t help, he’d collect his questions and ask Director Xue.

Even after leaving Cardiothoracic Surgery, she was always willing to help whenever Zhou Can sought advice.

Like a caring older sister, she supported him without reservation.

Surgery cases were plentiful in Gastrointestinal Surgery, and Dr. Jia loved to train successors—he wasn’t shy about letting new doctors take the lead.

There was just one condition: don’t screw things up.

If you had the skills, there’d be plenty of chances to prove yourself.

Zhou Can got the opportunity to participate in nearly every type of procedure.

As time passed, his reputation in Gastrointestinal Surgery soared. Whether for department consultations or surgeries, his involvement was always high.

And as for endoscopic procedures? He practically owned those.

During a colonoscopy, Zhou Can displayed such impressive skill that Dr. Jia was amazed.

Doctors gifted in both traditional and endoscopic minimally invasive surgery were incredibly rare.

From then on, Dr. Jia gave him more autonomy in endoscopic surgeries.

That sent Zhou Can’s advanced medical skills skyrocketing.

The most common cases in Gastrointestinal Surgery were ulcers and cancer, along with chronic problems like intestinal obstruction, gastritis, and enteritis.

Dr. Jia’s clinical experience was vast—patients with tough cases that even other hospitals couldn’t solve often found answers under his care.

At the very least, he could pinpoint the cause and prescribe the right treatment.

Within three months shadowing Dr. Jia, Zhou Can studied over a thousand complex cases.

That averaged more than ten cases a day.

If he’d worked at a county-level hospital or anywhere smaller, he couldn’t have imagined this volume.

Only a top-tier, provincial hospital like Tuyu could attract so many patients with challenging conditions. Each year, Tuyu Hospital performed over a hundred thousand surgeries.

Judging by the 30:1 ratio of outpatient visits to surgeries, Tuyu treats more than three million patients a year. (Thanks to readers for your feedback! Corrected.)

That massive patient flow creates learning and advancement opportunities for doctors at every level.

No exaggeration—Zhou Can gained as much knowledge and clinical experience in three months of Gastrointestinal Surgery as most would working a lifetime in a small county hospital.

If you want to become a top doctor, you have to work at a major hospital.

No matter how fierce the competition, squeeze your way in. Once you’re inside, you’re on a fast track.

Why do Tuyu’s doctors in their twenties or thirties earn so much recognition elsewhere? Because they’ve really got the goods.

Doctors trained by top hospitals—even those who washed out—are still in high demand outside.

As Zhou Can’s residency neared its end in Gastrointestinal Surgery, the second round of his medical exam loomed even closer. He started studying harder than ever.

This day, he was once again assisting Dr. Jia at the clinic.

He and Senior Sister Qiu Hong worked side by side, supporting Dr. Jia.

Since visiting Zhou Can’s dorm that time, Qiu Hong had become warmer and more helpful at work.

She often advised and guided Zhou Can in the clinic.

With his youth, wealth, and talent, she found herself increasingly drawn to her junior.

On top of that, she clearly had a knack for endoscopic surgery. Not long ago, she’d scored a chance to perform endoscopic suturing and did an amazing job.

Given time, she was bound to achieve great things.

That was when a patient was carried in by family right into the consultation room.

Zhou Can eyed the patient several times. Underneath his clothes, he looked frail to the extreme—his outfit practically hung off him. His exposed wrists were alarmingly thin.

You could see every knuckle, every wrist joint.

Not a single ounce of flesh on his face.

He was nothing but skin and bones.

The patient looked to be fourteen or fifteen, but his excessive weight loss made him much smaller than other kids his age.

His parents brought him in, their faces etched with worry and exhaustion.

Any parent would be anxious if their child was in this state.

“Doctor, please take a look at my son! He’s seventeen now. Two years ago, he was healthy and stocky. Then, out of nowhere, the diarrhea started, his appetite shrank, and he began wasting away. We’ve gone to every hospital we could, but no one could cure him. Two weeks ago, a specialist in Tuyu Hospital’s Gastroenterology Department couldn’t pin down a cause. He suggested we get an appointment here in Surgery. Maybe you can help.”

After so many failed hospital visits, the family was clearly running out of hope.

For them, even a one-in-a-million chance was worth pursuing.

This is what it means to love your child unconditionally.

A mother can raise seven sons, but seven sons may not care for their mother.

Every good parent is a Buddha to their kid, but the reverse is rarely true.

In the hospital, Zhou Can saw more cases than he could count where long-term illness revealed a lack of filial piety.

When parents grow old and sick, too often their children respond with nothing but complaints and resentment.

He’d even seen a thirty-something son beat his ailing father right there in the hospital bed, forcing the nurse to call the police. The son was taken away, but later released.

Why?

Because someone still had to care for that elderly man.

Even if he treated his father badly, he was the only son. The old man’s food, drink, bathroom breaks—everything depended on him. Who paid the bills—the son or the father’s pension—nobody knew.

Most parents in Huaxia make sure to set aside money for retirement after helping their children settle down, so they won’t become a burden in old age.

That’s the greatness of parental love—giving everything, wanting nothing in return.

They raise children into adults without expecting a thing back.

This boy’s parents had probably dragged him through every hospital they could, desperate for a cure.

Just look at how many folders they’d brought with them.

Each one was packed with test results from different hospitals.

Here’s something you have to mention: some hospitals really exploit their patients. Even when someone’s already done all the tests elsewhere, if you want to see a doctor, they’ll make you do them all over again.

Doctors with integrity—especially senior ones or specialists—rarely do that.

It saves the patient time and unnecessary costs. CT scans, MRIs, other tests hit you with strong radiation; repeating them too soon can really harm the body.

Even if the films were shot at a top hospital, some doctors would insist they weren’t valid, forcing patients to redo everything.

Patients in a weak position rarely have the power to refuse.

Even if they’re cursing a storm inside.

That’s why patients line up for specialists and professors instead of regular appointments. It’s not just that the experts are better; too many ordinary doctors abuse their authority and treat patients coldly.

There are two professions in the world that should never be tainted by money.

One is teaching. The other is medicine.

Yet sadly, both have slowly been corrupted. Professional ethics are fading away.