Chapter 401: Navigating Hospital Politics and Silent Battles

Back when I shadowed my mentor for consultations, I’d occasionally hear patients say they felt fine during the day but spiked fevers at night. Still, I never expected someone fresh from surgery to have this problem.

Even with her limited experience, as a doctor she’d at least heard of most symptoms.

“If the upper respiratory tract gets infected by viruses or bacteria, you get inflammation. Or, if someone’s had recent surgery, wound infections can pop up. Diseases like tuberculosis or tuberculous pleurisy are also culprits. Any of these could cause night fevers with normal temps in the day.”

Zhou Can shared everything he knew about the topic, holding nothing back.

After listening, Jiang Shuangshuang gazed at him with pure admiration. “Dr. Zhou, you really are one of the brightest young doctors at Tuyu Hospital—your knowledge is as deep as the sea. I never knew so many conditions could cause nighttime fevers while patients seem normal during the day. Do you think the patient in bed 6 has a postoperative wound infection?”

She was sharp, and her ability to learn was impressive.

Hearing Zhou Can’s explanation, she immediately connected it to the patient in bed 6.

Zhou Can’s opinion of her went up even more.

Doctors who get kicked out of other departments are, nine times out of ten, at the bottom for good reason.

Jiang Shuangshuang was a bit naïve—that was probably her biggest weakness.

On top of that, her medical foundation wasn’t as solid as he’d hoped. Not a great sign for an internal medicine doc.

With every department at Tuyu Hospital ruthlessly competitive, her elimination made sense.

“The surgical patient in bed 6 might not have a postoperative infection. Either way, just stay on top of things and keep a close eye on the patient.”

Zhou Can finished his explanation.

“Alright, if there’s nothing else, I’ll head to the OR. See you later.”

“Bye!”

She waved and watched Zhou Can walk away.

Judging by her expression, the weight on her mind had finally lifted.

When Zhou Can walked into the operating room, he found Ma Xiaolan diligently disinfecting the table and making up the bed, while Qiao Yu was getting the first set of instruments and meds ready.

Luo Shishen hadn’t arrived yet.

The mood in the OR was pretty harmonious.

“Morning, ladies!”

Zhou Can greeted them with a bright smile.

“Xiaolan beats me here every time. I come in early, and there she is, already checking every single cabinet.” Qiao Yu was clearly speaking up for Ma Xiaolan.

It was praise for her improvement.

“Nice job, Ma Xiaolan!”

Seeing real change in her made Zhou Can truly happy.

If she’d really been kicked out of the team, he would’ve felt awkward every time he ran into Ye Tingting later.

“Oh, please don’t praise me too much! Compared to Sis Qiao Yu, I’ve still got a long way to go. From now on, I’ll work hard and learn from her—maybe one day I’ll become a proper surgical nurse.”

Ma Xiaolan glanced at Qiao Yu as she said it.

The two exchanged a smile—no more tension now. Clearly, they’d cleared the air before he came in.

“Heh, you two really proved that sometimes you gotta butt heads before you become friends. I love seeing you team up like this.”

Zhou Can genuinely felt happy for both of them.

At that moment, he deeply understood how tough it was to lead even a small group.

“Morning, Dr. Zhou! Morning, ladies!”

Luo Shishen hurried in, breathing hard and clearly having run all the way.

“Can’t you get here a little earlier? Nearly every day you barely make it in time for surgery!”

Zhou Can shot him a stern look.

This guy was just like Dr. Lu—always clocking in at the last possible second and feeling cheated if he worked a minute over.

But unlike Dr. Lu, Luo Shishen never slacked off and treated patients very seriously. He was always responsible and took his work to heart.

“Give me a break! I spend every night reading, practicing suturing on pigskin, and even picking up beans with forceps. Most nights, I don’t sleep until midnight. If I started getting up even earlier, I’d probably keel over from exhaustion.”

Luo Shishen pulled a pitiful face.

For a clinical doctor, mastering suturing was non-negotiable.

Of the four fundamental surgical skills, suturing was the easiest to practice. Materials were cheap and always at hand.

But for things like anastomosis or hemostasis, they’d need mice or rabbits and the hospital’s research lab. Not everyone could afford an electrocautery knife setup like Zhou Can.

A lot of hospital training labs were stingy—not always open to interns.

Usually, the only chance to practice was during scheduled training sessions.

Most clinical teaching happened in the real OR, with crowds of interns watching the attending operate. It was a common sight.

Speaking of which, there was a running joke about this.

A pregnant woman had her water break early and got rushed to the hospital. An older female chief physician and her assistant went into the exam room to check her.

The poor woman was in agony and kept her eyes shut tight.

When she reopened her eyes, she was horrified to see both men and women in white coats crowding around the foot of her bed. She let out a piercing scream. Later, feeling her privacy had been violated, she took the doctor and hospital to court.

In the end, the hospital apologized but paid no compensation. That was where things ended.

Just imagine—having to expose your most private area, only to find it surrounded by a dozen young doctors. That pregnant woman probably carried that trauma with her for life.

The truth is, patients in teaching hospitals are treated like national treasures—constantly watched by medical students. It’s just how things go.

Even if they object, doctors will tell them, “If we don’t teach, where are the next generation of doctors coming from?”

Still, Luo Shishen putting in the effort at home to improve his skills was something Zhou Can truly respected.

Zhou Can let the issue go—as long as he wasn’t late, he could do as he pleased.

And so the day’s packed schedule began.

After his talk with Dr. Xu yesterday about the Emergency Department aiming for a Class 100 laminar flow OR, Zhou Can was more motivated than ever.

If they could secure that high-end OR in six months, it’d be a huge accomplishment. They could take on even more advanced surgeries.

With a Class 100 laminar flow OR, plus an endoscopy room, things would be nearly perfect.

Of course, nothing happens overnight—he’d have to tackle things step by step.

The hospital’s equipment department was full of ‘well-connected relatives.’ Getting them to agree on funds for new surgery equipment for the Emergency Department wouldn’t be easy.

Back when Zhou Can was just a lowly trainee—not even a real doctor—he couldn’t see any of the hospital’s dark side.

But after officially becoming a doctor, all sorts of unpleasant truths started surfacing.

Like the fact that General Services kept almost fifty people on staff with nothing to do. Learning that had blown his mind.

He used to think only the Medical Technology Department was a haven for nepotism.

Turns out he’d been way too naïve.

At least the ones in the Medical Technology Department, even if they got in through connections, showed up and did their jobs. Over in General Services, all the ‘big bosses’ did was make tea, chill, and wait for the clock to run out.

Some were even worse—they collected a paycheck without showing up at all.

And nobody dared challenge it—all those positions fed into the pockets of hospital leadership. Stir up that hornet’s nest in the morning and you’d be cleaning out your desk by afternoon.

Of course, permanent employees weren’t threatened by this. Those with job security didn’t fear being fired.

Still, if you crossed the wrong leader, you’d find yourself booted from your cushy job to the billing desk.

Why?

So you could collect payments.

But General Services was only the tip of the iceberg. The hospital had plenty of shady corners—people skipping work, sipping tea, reading newspapers, gossiping, flirting with nurses and trying to find mistresses. There was no shortage of these types.

The Medical Insurance Department was just as bad—everyone there thought they were a ‘leader.’

After running into these things again and again, Zhou Can realized he had no choice but to accept it.

Even though he was the hospital’s up-and-coming star—being groomed as a future medical expert at such a young age—as soon as he challenged any of this, he’d be out on his ear in no time.

There’s never a shortage of talent these days.

Whoever dared to mess with the leaders’ interests was signing their own death warrant.

All Zhou Can could do was survive in the cracks—keep his head down, keep getting better, and deliver great patient care.

If he made a name for himself, someday he could leave Tuyu and still have patients follow him. That’s when he’d really have leverage.

Then, his status and influence in the hospital would be on a whole other level.

He wanted to help Dr. Xu break free from the chains holding her back—but it was going to take a lot more work.

…

Finally, at lunch, Zhou Can found a moment to check his phone.

“Honey, I’ve finished my checkup and I’m heading home!”

Su Qianqian had sent a few messages—one letting him know she’d finished the tests.

She also sent in her bloodwork and kidney function reports—including urine specific gravity, sediment, and more.

After reviewing the results, Zhou Can’s heart sank a little.

His girlfriend had stopped her meds for a month, and her disease had bounced back. Her creatinine was slightly higher and her glomerular filtration rate dropped by three points. It meant she wasn’t cured after all.

Once off her medication, her condition would just start to get worse again.

There’s nothing harder than feeling hopeful, working for it, and then having that hope shattered again.

Looks like he had to find those two crucial herbs Mr. Chen Guoli mentioned. Only then might Su Qianqian’s kidney disease actually be cured.

She was already considered incredibly lucky.

A year’s worth of herbal medicine, nutrition, and all kinds of care had nearly restored her kidney function to normal.

“That’s still not bad. Let’s keep working together—we’ll beat this!”

He hesitated before sending that message back.

He preferred to shoulder the harsh truth alone. No need for Su Qianqian to carry that kind of psychological burden.

He’d make plans for it after work.

One of those key herbs should be available from Rui Enterprises. After his shift, he’d have to figure out a way to meet the boss.

He’d tried plenty of ways to meet her in the past, only to be shown the door time and time again. Eventually, he’d given up.

But now that he realized Su Qianqian couldn’t recover without those herbs, no matter how tough it was, Zhou Can had to find a way to meet Rui’s boss.

He’d already called in favors from everyone he knew—Mr. Li, Mr. Cui, and their friends—but none of them had any way to reach her.

Suddenly, Zhou Can remembered a phone number he’d tucked away ages ago.

Back in the Emergency Department, he’d once saved a pregnant woman whose father, Cao Zhengguo, was Director Zhu’s old boss. Maybe this guy could help him get in.

Of course, calling during work hours wasn’t a smart move.

He’d wait till after work to get in touch—bring a gift, pay a visit, and maybe that would go better.

He kept scrolling through his messages.

One was a voice message from Director Xueyan over in Cardiothoracic Surgery.

Thanks to WeChat’s transcribe feature, he listened in text mode.

After all, it was crowded and noisy around him. If she shared anything private, it’d be awkward.

“Zhou Can, Cardiothoracic Surgery’s patient volume dropped by 23% last month. This month may be even worse. Deputy Director Ye just called me in for a talk—the situation is dire. I’m really afraid our department won’t make it another three months before collapsing under my watch.”

She’d been under enormous pressure ever since taking the lead.

But who could she talk to?

If she was talking to Zhou Can now, things must be even more serious than he’d guessed.

“Don’t be so down. If you can pull off a few cutting-edge cardiothoracic surgeries, the department’s reputation will bounce back.”

That was Zhou Can’s advice.

“Did you read the paper? The Third Hospital just announced something huge—they’ve hired the top cardiac surgeons from Japan, brought in Japanese surgical assistants and anesthesiologists, and even shipped their whole operating room setup straight from Japan. It’s like moving Japan’s best surgical team right here.”

That was her reply.

“No, I haven’t read it yet, but I’ll look it up. The Third Hospital’s ruthless—they really know how to capitalize on everyone’s obsession with foreign expertise!”

Zhou Can had already tipped off Deputy Director Ye about the Third Hospital’s plans to poach top Japanese doctors.

But nothing seemed to come of it.

Now, a month later, the Third Hospital suddenly went public with it, making a big splash by importing both people and entire surgical setups.

Most Chinese believed foreign technology and medical know-how was far ahead of theirs.

Now, getting world-class surgery in China was just a phone call away. All those who needed heart surgery were bound to flock there.

No guts, no glory, after all.

This single move instantly elevated the Third Hospital’s cardiac surgery to the top tier nationally—and their reputation, too.

The cost was probably astronomical.

Wages were high in developed countries, and to convince someone to work abroad, you’d have to at least double their salary.

“They know what they’re doing—focusing on high-end cardiac surgery. Starting tomorrow, they’ll be open for consultations and offering the best endoscopic cardiac surgical services around. They even claim patients can return to regular life the day after surgery.”

Director Xueyan’s reply must have come through gritted teeth.

Her role as department head had become unbearably stressful.

Not long ago, Dr. Hu Kan—the department’s big draw—had been taken down. Now Xinxiang Maternity and Child Hospital and Provincial People’s Hospital were both going all-out in cardiothoracic surgery: recruiting experts, hiring PhDs and Masters, building superstar medical teams.

Provincial People’s Hospital was already a powerhouse. Once they started pushing, they brought overwhelming momentum with them.

On paper, the Third Hospital was nowhere near Tuyu or Provincial People’s. But now, with foreign experts and imported equipment, they were jumping right into the fray.

Every hospital was fighting tooth and nail, each with its own specialty and confidence.

It was just like the forest: when a towering tree finally falls, all the plants around scramble for sunlight and soil, racing each other to become the next giant.

Dr. Hu Kan’s defeat was the fall of the old towering tree.

Now, every hospital was rushing in, fighting for the biggest piece of the pie.

“Yanjie, don’t panic. I really believe there’s a way out. The most dangerous thing right now is losing your head—hold steady.”

That was all Zhou Can could say.

In a slaughterhouse full of fierce rivals, the moment you lose focus is the moment you lose everything.