Chapter 563: Let Your Kindness Carry a Sharp Edge, Trouble Arises

From Zhou Can’s perspective as an outsider, her family hardly deserved the title. Their exploitation of this daughter was downright outrageous.

They knew full well she was drowning in mortgage debt after buying a house, yet they still borrowed 700,000 in high-interest loans under her name without a shred of concern for her wellbeing.

They simply assumed that with her doctoral degree, she must be raking in money.

In essence, they were forcing her to cough up cash to repay those predatory loans.

In reality, she was in such dire straits that she had to sell her only home to cover the debt.

How could she possibly have hidden savings?

“Alright, I should get going. Remember, don’t go out drinking alone again. It’s dangerous for a girl!”

Zhou Can stood up to take his leave.

“Boss, if my mom comes crying to me again, begging for money to help my brother, and I give in out of guilt, would you be disappointed in me?”

She asked softly.

“You’re an adult with your own judgment and thoughts. I won’t meddle in your family affairs. And no, I wouldn’t be disappointed—just a bit regretful. You could handle this unbalanced, toxic family dynamic in a healthier way and normalize your life. Do you have paper and a pen?”

Zhou Can inquired.

“I do!”

She pulled out paper and a pen from her shoulder bag.

“Here!”

She handed them to Zhou Can.

“I’ll give you a piece of advice to help you deal with the extreme exploitation and demands from your parents and brother. If you can follow it, I’m confident you won’t lose family ties. Instead, they’ll learn to respect you in time.”

With that, Zhou Can quickly scribbled a sentence on the paper.

She narrowed her almond-shaped eyes to read it.

Then she read aloud, “People can be kind, but let your kindness carry a sharp edge!”

That was the line Zhou Can gifted her.

A piece of wisdom to help her navigate her family issues.

“I’ll remember it. Thank you for going out of your way to help me.”

She stood up to see Zhou Can off.

There was no trace of romantic tension between them—just a genuine friendship.

And that’s precisely why her gratitude toward Zhou Can ran so deep.

If Zhou Can had been after her body, no matter how much effort he put in, it would’ve felt like a transaction.

“I reckon the mastermind behind the scenes will be desperate to have you testify soon. Stay calm, and remember what I told you: take the money first, then act.”

Zhou Can couldn’t help but remind her one more time before leaving, still a bit worried.

“Got it! I understand!”

She nodded firmly.

As Zhou Can stepped out, he told her not to see him off and thoughtfully closed the security door behind him.

Such a small, warm gesture was enough to deepen her trust in him.

…

Over the next few days, Zhou Can began using his off-hours to perform surgeries for the Cardiothoracic Surgery Department, tackling one complex case after another. In an unprecedented move, he had Director Xueyan reach out to the hospital’s Publicity Department to heavily promote their work externally.

His goal was singular: to strike a nerve with the Third Hospital.

The stronger Tuyu Hospital’s Cardiothoracic Surgery Department became, and the more impressive their results, the more restless the Third Hospital would grow.

“Zhou Can, the postgraduate entrance exam results are out. Check your score.”

That day, as usual, Zhou Can had just stepped out of the Operating Room when Director Lou notified him to look up his exam results.

Zhou Can had long been eager to advance his academic credentials.

With a racing heart, he checked his score and was stunned. He’d scored an incredible 427 points. In his mind, anything above 350 would’ve been a miracle, like his ancestors blessing him from above.

With such a high score, he was basically guaranteed a spot.

Even if he flunked the interview round, the hospital would find a way to help him secure a place elsewhere. As for the interview itself, that was the least of his worries.

“Looks like my skills have truly improved by leaps and bounds!”

After calming down, he reassessed his own growth.

Over the past few years, he’d been diligently studying theory and honing his practical skills. A day or two of effort might not show much, but years of persistence had yielded remarkable results.

He used to have glaring gaps in his knowledge.

Now, he’d patched them up one by one.

On top of that, his practical skills had reached the level of a Chief Physician, which in turn deepened his understanding of theoretical concepts.

So, scoring over 400 wasn’t surprising at all.

When he reported his score to Director Lou, the man seemed even more thrilled than Zhou Can himself. After all, Zhou Can was now a pillar of the Emergency Department, groomed as the face of the team.

With only a bachelor’s degree, in this era obsessed with credentials, he fell just a tad short.

Sure, many of Tuyu’s Director and Vice-Director held bachelor’s degrees, but they were over fifty. A young man like Zhou Can couldn’t compare himself to them.

Nowadays, the hospital set the bar at a master’s degree for recruiting young doctors.

In the future, the requirements might climb even higher.

After all, with so many people taking postgraduate exams each year and succeeding, university graduates—once a rare breed—were now a dime a dozen on the streets.

In another decade or two, a master’s degree might become as common as a bachelor’s.

If Zhou Can wanted greater achievements, he had to adapt to society’s rules.

He wasn’t in a position to change the broader trends.

Of course, there was growing talk in the medical field about breaking free from this credential obsession. Perhaps one day, those with exceptional skills but lacking formal degrees would get a fair shot.

But that was just a possibility.

Regardless of future shifts, Zhou Can’s success in this exam was undoubtedly a major win.

Now, all he had to do was patiently wait for the interview round.

It would come quickly, just a month away.

At 4:11 PM, Zhou Can was in the Operating Room performing an endoscopic surgery on a patient with appendicitis when the Cardiothoracic Surgery Department called.

Ma Xiaolan, now the dedicated Circulating Nurse for Zhou Can’s team, typically handled communications for him.

Especially during surgeries, since Zhou Can didn’t carry his phone for safety reasons.

It wasn’t until he finished the appendectomy that Ma Xiaolan spoke up. “Boss, Cardiothoracic Surgery called earlier. They said a patient who had surgery recently is in critical condition and they need you for a consultation.”

“Was the surgery done here or transferred from an external hospital?”

Zhou Can’s heart skipped a beat.

He’d performed several highly challenging major surgeries in recent days. Could one of those patients be in trouble?

First off, he was confident in his skills and experience—there was no issue there.

But some surgeries carried inherent high risks.

No matter who performed them, complications could arise.

“They didn’t specify, but from the nurse’s anxious tone, I’d guess it’s a surgery done here.”

Ma Xiaolan replied.

Some things didn’t need to be spelled out—everyone understood.

For patients transferred from external hospitals, already in bad shape, accepting them was a huge favor. If something went wrong, Tuyu bore little responsibility.

So while the staff would do their utmost to save the patient, they wouldn’t be in a frantic rush.

But for surgeries done in-house, it was a different story.

If a patient died or was disabled, the hospital would shoulder some blame.

Even though patients signed consent forms for surgery and anesthesia risks, and the hospital wasn’t legally liable for post-op deaths, it still affected staff evaluations.

That directly impacted the doctors’ and nurses’ personal interests.

They couldn’t help but be anxious.

Zhou Can wasn’t sure about smaller hospitals’ evaluation systems, but Tuyu’s was notoriously strict. He’d heard of a Neurosurgery Department doctor who was highly skilled.

He’d made a name for himself in the field.

At just forty-one, his future had seemed boundless. Everyone had high hopes for him.

But then he hit a rough patch. Whether he’d been too reckless or just had bad luck, seven patients died under his care within a single month.

The Quality Control Office ordered the Medical Department to investigate.

Later, they revoked his surgical privileges. He’d already been promoted to Deputy Director of the General Surgery Department, but that was rescinded too.

His name was removed from the list of team leaders as well.

The final investigation results were never made public. Only the doctor himself and a few hospital leaders knew the details.

That once-promising surgeon was forced to pivot to research and teaching, completely stepping away from clinical work. It was a tragic and sobering tale, highlighting Tuyu Hospital’s strict stance on medical safety.

In smaller hospitals, or even at a provincial top-tier hospital like Tuyu, a surgeon of that caliber would typically receive leniency.

Minor surgical errors might be swept under the rug by the hospital.

Even major mistakes would often be downplayed or resolved quietly.

After all, training an exceptional surgeon was no small feat.

Studying medicine required talent, luck, money, time, and relentless hard work. That’s why hospitals often shielded their top doctors.

If this patient in Cardiothoracic Surgery was one Zhou Can operated on and passed away, it would undoubtedly impact him.

It would also drag Director Xueyan down with him.

After all, nearly all level-four surgeries were done under her name, completed with her ‘guidance.’

…

After informing Dr. Xu, Zhou Can hurried to the Cardiothoracic Surgery Department.

“Can, get to the ICU quickly. Director Xue and the others instructed that you head straight there when you arrive.”

The nurse at the Nurse Station, who usually called him ‘Dr. Zhou’ or ‘Can’ with a sweet tone and often chatted casually, didn’t waste a single unnecessary word this time.

Thanks to the joint efforts of Zhou Can and Director Xueyan, the Cardiothoracic Surgery Department’s cohesion had become remarkably strong.

Whether doctors or nurses, everyone took pride in being part of this department and consistently showed a sense of ownership in their work.

When a patient was in trouble, every doctor and nurse who knew about it banded together to save them.

They all understood that each patient death dealt a heavy blow to the department’s reputation and ratings.

Zhou Can rushed to the ICU.

It was essentially a small ICU built by the Cardiothoracic Surgery Department itself.

Back when the Third Hospital poached staff, they’d taken two Chief Physicians and a Head Nurse from this very ICU.

Fortunately, Zhou Can had a good relationship with Director Liu from the Critical Care Department. Swallowing his pride, he’d asked for help, ensuring the Cardiothoracic Surgery ICU could function smoothly.

Sometimes, leveraging connections paid off.

For the ICUs in both Cardiothoracic Surgery and Emergency Departments, Zhou Can had sought Director Liu’s aid twice.

Not only did Director Liu not mind the hassle, he seemed pleased.

Human relationships could be oddly wonderful like that.

He might’ve felt that Zhou Can turning to him in times of need was a sign of closeness.

Some connections, if left unused and without regular contact, could easily grow distant. There’s truth to the saying that relationships have an expiration date.

Zhou Can changed into sterile clothing and followed strict disinfection protocols before entering the ICU ward.

He immediately spotted a cluster of doctors and nurses surrounding a bed.

Seeing this, he knew the patient at that bed was in the midst of an emergency rescue.

“Sis Yan, sorry I’m late. What’s the patient’s condition right now?”

Zhou Can saw the urgency and kept his greeting to Director Xueyan brief, cutting straight to the point.

His gaze shifted to the patient being resuscitated, and his heart sank hard.

It was just as he’d feared.

This was indeed a patient he’d operated on.

A full left lung removal.

The patient was elderly, and the lung cancer had spread across the entire left lung. Simply removing a lobe or clearing lymph nodes wouldn’t prevent the cancer cells from metastasizing.

In truth, cancer cell spread was insidious and cunning.

Tumors visible to the naked eye were already cancerous. But the hidden cancer cells—undetectable by the eye or even advanced equipment—were the real terror.

You never knew when they’d silently multiply, rapidly replicate, and form new cancerous tumors.

For local metastasis, the best option was complete removal.

If it spread systemically to multiple sites, the advice was often to comfort the patient—eat well, drink well, travel, and see the world while they could.

Only unscrupulous doctors would push patients with systemic metastasis to keep treating, dragging them through torment until both money and life were gone.

“The patient’s main issue is respiratory. Their blood oxygen saturation is alarmingly low. I discussed with a few other directors just now, and we’re planning to put the patient on an extracorporeal lung membrane. But the family balked at the cost—it’s too expensive for them.”

Director Xueyan spoke with a heavy, worried tone.

The startup cost for an extracorporeal lung membrane was around 70,000, with daily operational costs of 10,000 to 20,000, not to mention additional medication and treatment fees. It was far beyond what most ordinary families could afford.

While life is priceless, in reality, the vast majority of patients faced with such costs ultimately chose death due to financial constraints.

In a hospital, the harshest truth was a lack of money.

For an average person, a monthly salary of 10,000 was considered high. But in a hospital, it might not even cover half a day’s treatment. For major surgeries or high-tech equipment like the extracorporeal lung membrane, the costs were often staggering.

Some say the best investment is health.

And they’re right. Without health, no amount of money matters.