Chapter 623: The Weight of Legacy

“I…”

Zhou Can had just opened his mouth to politely refuse, but Director Zhu waved him off and instantly took control of the conversation.

“Hear me out before you decide. I know you’re single-minded about honing your medical skills and saving lives.”

Director Zhu had presided over Tuyu Hospital for years, sitting in a position of power as steady as the mountains.

He naturally carried an extraordinary level of ability and charisma.

Most days, Zhou Can hardly interacted with him and thought little of it.

But now, sitting across from Director Zhu and talking business, he suddenly understood why the man commanded the entire hospital with nothing more than a word or a glance.

His aura was overwhelming—a single glance was enough to leave people speechless.

Zhou Can’s own net worth was already over a hundred million, and he’d spent over a year managing teams in both his department and the hospital. He liked to think his own presence was impressive. Yet facing Director Zhu, he could keenly feel that suffocating sense of pressure.

“No matter how hard you work at surgery, how many patients can you actually save in a day? Let’s talk numbers. Take the type of level-three surgeries you do most often—if you pulled off five in one day, that’s a lot, right? Then, after your shift, you slip over to Cardiothoracic for two more level-four surgeries as a stand-in. Seven in total. Even if your surgical quality is outstanding with a success rate over ninety-five percent, at best you’re saving seven people a day. And that’s not counting the whole perioperative team and their efforts, before and after the OR.”

Director Zhu understood every detail of Zhou Can’s work.

He even knew exactly how many level-three surgeries Zhou performed daily and how he picked up extra level-four operations in Cardiothoracic.

When it comes to legendary insight, it fits every wise leader.

If Zhou Can hadn’t spoken with Director Zhu today, he would’ve gone on thinking the director was aloof, too busy or too distant to even notice someone like him.

Turns out, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Every step he took was right under Director Zhu’s watchful eye.

Pulling off seven complicated surgeries a day wasn’t just top-tier in Tuyu Hospital; it was exceptional by national standards.

Most chief physicians could barely handle two such surgeries in a day and would be exhausted afterwards.

Compared to Zhou Can, they didn’t even come close.

“If you look back at history, Zhuge Liang in the Three Kingdoms period was a talented leader, handling everything personally—yet what happened in the end? He drove himself to an early grave and still couldn’t unite Shu Han. Many blame Emperor Liu Shan, calling him foolish and useless, a dead weight. But according to reliable history and sources I’ve read, Liu Shan was an enlightened ruler, just as capable as Liu Bei.”

Trying to win Zhou Can over, Director Zhu even pulled out historic figures as his argument.

Not something you see every day.

Debates around Emperor Liu Shan have never really died out.

For generations, most have been shaped by the popular tale ‘Romance of the Three Kingdoms,’ convinced Liu Shan was dropped on his head—hopeless from the start.

But that wasn’t really the case. After Liu Bei died, he still managed to keep the likes of Zhuge Liang, Jiang Wei and Wei Yan loyal, obedient and in line. If he hadn’t been talented, he’d have been dead long before.

At the very least, he would have been sidelined like the Han Emperor controlled by Cao Cao.

Later on, the Sima family took over Wei and ultimately achieved unification.

During that process, the armies pressed hard against Shu Han.

Shu’s mountain fortresses were nearly impenetrable, easy to defend, hard to attack—a single soldier could block thousands.

Had Liu Shan chosen to resist to the bitter end, unification would’ve been nearly impossible for Wei, with enormous casualties.

Liu Shan went against the advice of many and led his people in surrender, all to spare the lives of Shu’s citizens.

If Wei had broken through at a heavy cost, their fury would have made massacres inevitable.

Liu Shan’s surrender earned him centuries of scorn, but in truth, he saved countless Shu civilians and soldiers.

Of course, every story has two sides. Most people call him weak or a disgrace, and they’re not entirely wrong.

But Director Zhu wasn’t comparing Zhou Can to Liu Shan—he was comparing him to Zhuge Liang.

His point: even if Zhou Can gave everything to surgeries and saving patients, he’d never save that many lives. He’d only wear himself out.

“Let’s talk about our hospital’s Pharmaceutical Division.”

The groundwork was set. Director Zhu finally got to the heart of the matter.

“You probably know the history. The Pharmaceutical Division started as an official dispensary in the Ming and Qing dynasties—it was the biggest in the province back then. Later, it became privately managed, and many traditions have been passed down for generations. Even in wartime, the research into herbal medicine never stopped. Whether in plagues or on battlefields, it always played a huge part in healing and saving people.”

That kind of legacy means everything.

It’s the very symbol of deep history.

“Over the years, traditional medicine has been on the decline, nearly vanishing more than once. Even today, it often carries a bad reputation.”

Whenever there’s a tough or incurable case, doctors will often suggest trying herbal medicine.

To most doctors, herbal remedies are nothing but a joke.

But few would ever dare say that out loud.

No one wants to be branded unpatriotic or accused of rejecting Chinese traditions.

“Despite the chaos of history, our Pharmaceutical Division has kept complete ancient formulas and built decades of deep research and clinical validation into herbal medicine—everything from processing to optimal harvest times, proper storage, compatibility, and dangerous mixes—it’s all been studied in depth. I won’t claim we’re the best in the country, but we definitely hold our own in Chinese medicine enterprises.”

“Generations of our predecessors poured their hearts, souls, even their lives, into passing down this heritage. It’s reached us now. We cannot let it fade on our watch.”

Director Zhu looked him in the eye with genuine sincerity.

“From the day I took over Tuyu Hospital, the previous director told me to protect the Pharmaceutical Division and let it shine. If we grow it well, it could become the very foundation of traditional medicine. Every director at Tuyu has shared this mission—passing it down generation after generation.”

Listening to this, Zhou Can felt the burden settling on his shoulders—heavier than a mountain.

So many directors, so many generations of pharmacy experts had carried this dream and worked to make it thrive.

Anyone would feel crushed by that kind of responsibility.

If he messed up, he’d become a sinner in the eyes of history, shunned for centuries like Qin Hui.

“Zhou, you need to know this isn’t just a whim or a lack of other candidates. I’ve discussed it with department heads and consulted former leaders. Your support rate was over eighty-five percent. So I’m handing this responsibility to you—as someone about to retire, I sincerely ask you to take the baton.”

And who was Director Zhu?

Retired or not, he’d always wield massive influence at Tuyu Hospital.

For someone of his stature to humble himself before Zhou Can—it was no small thing.

Zhou Can couldn’t help but feel moved.

“I…”

He still wanted to refuse, but the resistance was fading.

“As long as you agree, the hospital and even high-level regulators will greenlight everything for you. You’d pay only about forty-five percent of the public price to acquire the Pharmaceutical Division. Its estimated value is about 271 million, but you’d only need to pay 120 million or so. Every piece of talent, research, and knowledge would be yours—with added clauses in the contract to protect these legacies.”

“For example, it can’t be sold to foreigners, and the key traditions, techniques, and knowledge must be preserved.”

The hospital wanted Zhou Can badly enough to offer a deal most people would call unbelievable.

This was, after all, a public hospital.

Selling off the Pharmaceutical Division would have to pass a mountain of approvals and hurdles.

If the leadership hadn’t believed in Zhou Can’s character and ability, this deal would never have happened.

“I can come up with the 120 million, but I lack management experience and I don’t have the time or energy for something like this. What if I screw up and become a historical villain?”

Money never meant much to Zhou Can.

His net worth was far higher than a hundred million.

Even if this 120 million was a total loss, he could take it.

When Li Lao pulled him in to cofound Jin Yu Interactive, it wasn’t just for profit—he needed Zhou Can’s help, too. Starting capital came from both of them, and it worked out better for everyone.

Su Qianqian was Zhou Can’s girlfriend. If he hadn’t joined, her contract with Jin Yu would have let her leave whenever she wanted.

If Jin Yu raised her as a star only for her to bail, breaking into the entertainment scene would’ve been nearly impossible.

Zhou Can’s and Li Lao’s partnership had both brotherly trust and mutual benefit.

Even now, Su Qianqian was crucial to Jin Yu Interactive.

A single superstar could carry an entire entertainment company—no exaggeration.

Nowadays, Jin Yu was stronger than ever.

Every year, Zhou Can’s cut of the profits blew his mind.

That’s why money didn’t concern him anymore—a lifetime’s worth and then some.

He never chased after the excesses of luxury, either.

“You don’t have to manage the company yourself. You can hire a professional manager. Your role would be to control the overall direction and strategy. If a manager doesn’t work out, you can replace them anytime.”

Director Zhu had thought this through for him.

“Now let me tell you why we’re so eager to sell off the Pharmaceutical Division as a whole.”

Seeing Zhou Can’s resolve was wavering, Director Zhu pushed harder.

It was obvious from Zhou Can’s expression that he was considering the offer, maybe even leaning toward it.

“First, there’s the system itself. Tuyu is a public institution, so the Pharmaceutical Division is restricted by rigid management structures that hurt its growth. Market rules are the only way to thrive. The division loses money every year—it’s a huge burden. As long as I’m in charge, I can keep the critics quiet and ensure its budget stays afloat.”

“But the next director has a powerful background and unpredictable motives. He could easily dissolve the division, restructure, or push for modernization—none of which we want. And frankly, that’s likely to happen.”

“If we sell it off, it goes on my record as an achievement before retirement, and it avoids enormous risk down the line.”

Director Zhu’s concerns weren’t baseless.

On the eve of leaving, he knew plenty about his successor.

He didn’t even bother hiding his motives: selling off the Pharmaceutical Division was his final accomplishment.

After years of major financial losses, it had become a massive burden on both Tuyu Hospital and the treasury.

“What’s more, once you own it, those restrictions are gone. You can overhaul the structure and implement an incentive system. You could commercialize quickly—only that way can those ancient formulas finally make their mark on the market. If you get that self-sustaining cycle going, herbal medicine could really flourish and take the lead nationwide.”

“I’ve done my own research abroad. For example, in Japan, they’ve already done wonders with herbal decoctions. They’ve formed integrated systems for crops, harvesting, processing, formulating teas—selling them just like bottled beverages. Anyone can walk in and buy the remedy they need on the spot.”

That’s exactly the direction herbal medicine needs to go.

The sad thing—foreign competitors have surpassed the birthplace of traditional medicine.

In China, the most successful product so far is probably herbal tea.

After hearing all this, Zhou Can fell into deep thought.

Director Zhu let him be—waiting patiently.

“Can I give you my answer in a couple days?”

Zhou Can decided to consult with Li Lao before giving Director Zhu his reply.

“Of course. No one can force you, and there’ll be no moral pressure. But I do hope you take up this responsibility.” Director Zhu sipped his tea.

This was the classic gesture to signal the end of a meeting.

It meant the talk was over, time for the guest to leave.

“Thank you for your trust and the support of everyone else. I promise to think this over carefully. If there’s nothing else, I’ll excuse myself for now.”

Zhou Can stood up and took his leave.

Unusually, Director Zhu walked him straight to the door.

That was a show of respect for Zhou Can’s achievements.

Not everyone could claim a net worth in the hundreds of millions.

With his wealth out in the open, even if he was just a deputy chief in Emergency, Zhou Can clearly deserved Director Zhu’s respect.

Leaving the director’s office, Zhou Can didn’t forget his patients.

He made a point to visit the inpatient ward in Emergency and held a long conversation with the family of the child with high-level paraplegia, explaining every detail of the treatment plan.

The family trusted him. After a quick call with the child’s grandparents, they agreed right away.

Now it was time for anti-tuberculosis treatment.

It would take a while—at least a month or two, maybe six months or more.

After wrapping up at the hospital, Zhou Can had something big left to do.

That was to seek advice from Li Lao about taking over the Pharmaceutical Division.

He’d been so swamped lately that he hadn’t had time to catch up at Li Lao’s place. Zhou Can decided to bring Su Qianqian along for a visit.