Chapter 322: A New Challenge for Dr. Zhou

After work, Zhou Can returned to his apartment and picked up his Rapid Surgical Technique practice, which he’d neglected for days.

Just then, his phone rang.

To his surprise, it was Section Chief Tang from Xinxiang Maternity and Child Hospital calling.

“Hello, Section Chief Tang!”

With his growing skill and reputation, Zhou no longer felt the need to be as humble when talking to people like Section Chief Tang. Confidence came easily now.

“Oh, Dr. Zhou! I see you’ve even saved my number! That’s a real surprise!” Section Chief Tang was a natural diplomat—his words always dripping with honey. Most of what he said was just to make people happy.

Best not to take him too seriously.

“You gave me your number last time so I saved it. But you’re a busy man, so I’m guessing this call isn’t just for a chat.” Zhou had no patience for small talk.

“Haha, Dr. Zhou, you really are sharp! I do need a favor from you.”

What could Section Chief Tang want from him?

“Go ahead, I’m listening.”

Zhou’s eyes narrowed, his expression turning serious.

If he was trying to poach him away to Xinxiang Maternity and Child Hospital, Zhou had zero interest.

“I heard you performed surgery today with Dr. Zhang on that child with the hand deformity! Dr. Zhang couldn’t stop praising your surgical skills, and the rest of the medical team was just as impressed. Everyone said your technique was outstanding.”

It wasn’t a shock that Section Chief Tang would know about it.

“Haha, they’re just being generous. Don’t take it too seriously!”

Being complimented made Zhou genuinely happy.

His exceptional surgical skills had always been a source of pride.

“Turns out I know a doctor at Tuyu Hospital, so I asked around about you. Word is, you’re great with traditional surgery and your endoscopic work blows people away.”

Section Chief Tang didn’t mention which doctor he knew at Tuyu Hospital. He was protecting his source.

Despite their recent collaboration, the two hospitals still saw each other as competitors.

Some things were better left unsaid.

“There’s a lung cancer patient at our hospital who still hasn’t had surgery. The patient and their family are really anxious, but our Director Meng Chun is studying abroad and hasn’t returned. To make it worse, skilled staff for endoscopic surgeries are scarce—we simply can’t find a suitable chief surgeon right now.”

So that’s why Section Chief Tang was calling Zhou for help.

“If you’re confident you can handle the surgery, would you be willing to come over and help? Don’t worry, I know the rules—I’d never ask you to work for free. If the operation goes well, besides the regular consultation red packet, you’ll get an extra surgical bonus. If anything goes wrong, you won’t have to take responsibility—we’ll handle it on our end. One thing though, since you’re officially a resident, under the safety access policy, you can’t be the listed chief surgeon for this level of operation.”

“So we’ll need to put Director Hu Wanjun’s name down. On paper, she’s the lead surgeon but you’ll actually be handling the endoscopic part.”

Section Chief Tang had clearly thought through every angle before reaching out.

Getting to actually take charge of a lung cancer resection, especially via endoscopy, was an irresistible opportunity for Zhou.

He could already guess that if he succeeded, he’d get at least 100 points of medical experience, if not more.

All his medical skills were now at level five, but leveling up from here on required a whopping 100,000 experience points.

For him, every chance to earn 100 points of experience was precious.

Even if the surgery failed, he wouldn’t have to bear the responsibility.

As for getting credit for the surgery, he honestly didn’t care. With real skill, reputation would follow soon enough.

Once he made associate chief physician, his surgical skills would become downright legendary.

A few tough cases, and he’d be famous far and wide.

“I’m truly honored you trust me with such an important surgery. I’ve thoroughly reviewed that lung cancer patient’s case—can’t make big promises, but I’m confident there’s a 60-70% chance of success.”

That was basically Zhou saying yes.

Section Chief Tang was beyond pleased.

“Fantastic! I knew I picked the right man for the job. A 60-70% success rate is already amazing. When are you available to do the surgery? We can prep everything in advance.”

They couldn’t poach Zhou, but asking him to operate was proving easy.

With this lung cancer surgery, it would be their second time working together.

“I work pretty much every day—you think it’s possible to schedule at night?” To be honest, life as a resident could be rough, even if Zhou’s situation was much better than most.

He was hardly ever put on night duty.

Both the chief resident and his department doctors were in on it—they rarely assigned Zhou to night shifts or overtime.

If overtime was needed, usually his mentor would take him along for difficult surgeries.

“You doctors at Tuyu sure work you hard—no proper days off! You ought to have at least two or three days off a month!” Section Chief Tang sympathized with him.

Trainees and interns had little say in their schedules.

In theory, when the mentor rested, the trainee could rest too. In practice, though, almost none of them actually got time off.

Even if the mentor was off, they’d still keep trainees working overtime.

Sometimes, they pulled 24-hour shifts back-to-back.

“It’s rare, but not unheard of, to schedule surgery at night. I’ll talk to Director Hu and ask her to work overtime too. So, we’re agreed then?”

Section Chief Tang sounded worried Zhou might back out.

Director Hu was an in-house doctor, easy to coordinate with. As long as Zhou agreed, everything else would fall into place.

“Alright. Once you’ve settled on a time, let me know in advance. Sometimes I assist my mentor with surgery or emergencies, so I may not finish on time. But most days, I clock out right when I should.”

With that, Zhou and Section Chief Tang had reached a verbal agreement.

He was genuinely looking forward to this lung cancer operation.

…

The next morning, Zhou headed to the Gastroenterology Department bright and early, handed off his patients, and then rushed to his pediatrics clinic shift.

Now that he was more skilled and respected, life was only getting busier.

Today would be his first time taking outpatient appointments at his own hospital.

Really, it was his first time seeing patients completely on his own.

At Xinxiang Maternity and Child Hospital, he’d leaned on Dr. Zhang Bihua and other experts’ reputations and some aggressive hospital advertising to attract patients.

If he ran into a case he couldn’t handle, he’d just pass it to another specialist.

This time was different.

Now he had the backing of Tuyu Hospital and was working at home base. Patient volume was much higher than at Xinxiang Maternity and Child Hospital.

But he didn’t have any expert team’s name to borrow—he had to rely entirely on himself to attract patients.

Would his clinic be deserted? Honestly, he had no idea.

It wasn’t time for outpatient hours yet. Opening the hospital’s appointment app on his phone, he checked if he’d been given a clinic number.

He tapped the department guide and chose Pediatrics.

Five pediatric subspecialties popped up, but there wasn’t one for Pediatric Orthopedics.

All he saw were Pediatric Hematology, Respiratory, Neurology, Neonatology, and Critical Care.

Director Tang Fei had only told him to see patients in Room 17 of Pediatrics, without specifying a particular subspecialty.

Zhou clicked on Pediatric Hematology first. The top five doctors were all chief or associate chief physicians—their ranks made him feel a bit under pressure.

The lowest registration fee among the top five was fifty yuan, while the highest soared to six hundred. And those were all listed as specialist appointments—the six hundred yuan one was a premium specialist.

Zhou felt a bit envious. If only he could become a premium specialist one day, life would be sweet.

Imagine—six hundred yuan just for seeing a patient.

Scrolling down, there were another seven regular doctors.

And there was Zhou’s name, at the very end of the list.

Tapping a regular doctor’s slot showed the available appointment times, but not how many slots were left. All it showed was a green dot, indicating you could book an appointment.

The Health Ministry had long mandated that outpatient doctors see no more than thirty-six patients per day.

That meant you could only see thirty-six in one day, max.

It was supposed to protect doctors from overwork and ensure each patient got high-quality care.

Unfortunately, no hospital could really stick to it.

The daily patient load was so high that if they really capped slots, more than half the patients wouldn’t even get in.

During his general surgery trainee days, Zhou had heard attending physicians complain about having to see over a hundred patients a day. By the time they got home, they didn’t even want to talk.

It wasn’t about being cold to their families—they’d just spent the entire day talking to patients.

All they wanted to do when they got home was rest.

Knowing they’d probably be right back at it again tomorrow.

Funny how that works, isn’t it?

Doctors without outpatient qualifications fight tooth and nail to get them. But those who succeed end up resenting the workload that comes with it.

It’s human nature—grass always seems greener on the other side.

Every new step up comes with a fresh set of demands and worries.

Employees envy bosses for having it easy. Bosses, in turn, envy workers for the security and regular paychecks.

Not showing how many appointment slots remain is actually a common backroom trick in hospitals.

If they really displayed “120 slots remaining,” someone could screenshot it and report them, leading to hefty fines and having to make changes. Plus, it helped prevent patients from only picking certain doctors.

Well-known regular doctors had their appointments snapped up fast. Others just went along with the crowd and booked whoever was popular.

That left newcomers and lesser-known doctors to languish without patients.

Too many with none, too many with too much—it didn’t benefit the hospital.

Seeing his name on the hospital website—and in the outpatient system—gave Zhou an undeniable thrill.

He’d taken a crucial step forward.

After almost three years of hard work, his name was finally listed on Tuyu Hospital’s website.

He wasn’t a nameless nobody anymore.

He clicked on his own name.

Zhou Can, Pediatric Hematology physician. Specialties: Pediatric joint dislocation, lumbar and cervical sprains, all types of emergencies and complex cases.

Below that was a more detailed personal profile.

Zhou Can, male, physician. Graduated in 2020 from the Clinical Medicine Department at Tuyu Medical University…

Compared to the impressive titles of other doctors, his credentials looked a little thin.

Luckily, he’d earned a few honors during his training. Otherwise, he’d truly be “just another doctor”.

The path to becoming a renowned physician was long—he’d have to keep working hard.

Outpatient clinic hours: Wednesdays, all day.

Many other doctors got at least three clinic days a week. Zhou had few honors or titles, but somehow had the same clinic hours as top-tier experts.

That made him feel a little embarrassed.

He worried people would say he had the perks of a prince without doing the work.

But he couldn’t really be blamed; his situation was unusual. After his residency, he’d likely get more clinic days—up to three or more each week.

For now, Wednesday would be his regular clinic day.

It showed that he could take appointments for the day.

Next Wednesday’s appointments were also open for booking.

Exiting Pediatric Hematology, he checked out Pediatric Respiratory—and couldn’t help but smile. The hospital was really looking out for him.

Except for the pediatric ICU, his name appeared as a bookable doctor in all four subspecialties.

No other doctor received this kind of support.

Usually, there were two stages for residents. First, the initial three years of broad-based training, where you learned a bit of everything without specializing.

After that came two years as a resident, where you picked a specialty.

That meant doctors rarely got to run clinics in two different departments at once.

“Hey, Dr. Zhou! You’re here early!”

He turned and saw it was Director Dai from Pediatrics.

“Morning, Director Dai! It’s my first time at clinic, had to come early. Honestly, I’m a bit nervous,” Zhou replied with a smile.

“With your skills, there’s nothing to be nervous about. Let me tell you, my first time in clinic, I secretly hid a pediatrics handbook in my coat because I was terrified I’d run into something I couldn’t handle. I’ll be here in clinic today too. If you get a tough case, just give me a call.”

After working together at Xinxiang Maternity and Child Hospital, Zhou and Director Dai had become friends.

Now, she was acting like an older sister, offering Zhou a safety net.