Chapter 622: The Weight of Responsibility

No matter how you look at it, losing a top-tier talent is far less damaging than losing an entire key department.

“Director Zhou, if you’re going to take on this matter, you’ve probably got at most two years left to do it.”

Wu Baihe added, almost as an afterthought.

“Why’s that?”

Zhou Can’s heart skipped a beat.

He’d been preparing for this for years. As his reputation grew, he’d carved out a name for himself at Tuyu Hospital, even gaining some recognition across the province.

A few patients from the Imperial Capital had even come all this way just to see him, but those cases were still rare.

Most people sought him out after watching that live-streamed cardiothoracic surgery.

To outsiders, Zhou Can simply had gifted hands, but those in the know categorized his skills. Excelling in cardiothoracic surgery didn’t necessarily mean he was top-tier in neurosurgery.

That patient Dr. Xu left disabled—his nerves were damaged.

And most likely, it was central nerves—brain or spinal cord.

If Zhou wanted the family’s blessing to operate, he’d have to establish himself in the neurosurgery field.

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Truth is, he’d always had a gift for nerve anastomosis.

Where others could barely restore minor nerve function in a mouse’s tail, he managed to get them moving again—back when he was just prepping for the residency exam.

Now, his anastomosis technique had soared from an intern’s skills all the way up to chief physician level. The difference was like a rookie cultivator compared to a seasoned grandmaster.

“You’ll be promoted to attending physician this year at the latest, right?”

“Exactly! I’ve already passed the exam. My official contract should arrive next month.”

Zhou Can never boasted about these things around other doctors.

It too easily came off as showing off and invited envy.

But chatting with Wu Baihe was different. He was already a senior chief physician. Even if Zhou got promoted, Wu wouldn’t envy him.

The higher someone’s station, the less likely they are to feel jealous.

When faced with someone more skilled than themselves, real heavyweights simply learn from their strengths in silence.

It’s the small-minded who are always bitter.

Petty people have two major traits: when others struggle, they mock. When others succeed, they seethe with envy.

For someone as exceptional as Zhou Can, getting promoted to attending wasn’t much of a challenge.

Other experienced residents, even after serving as chief resident and passing all their exams, were left waiting for openings—the hospital simply didn’t have enough positions available.

And it wasn’t just other major departments; even the Emergency Department had several lining up for their turn.

Zhou was essentially cutting the line.

But don’t think it’s unfair. If those waiting were as exceptional as Zhou Can, no one would make them wait.

That’s how it is in every workplace.

The more average your skills, the less people value you.

You’re easily replaceable.

If just anyone can fill your spot, why should leaders care?

But someone like Zhou Can, nearly irreplaceable, is a major loss if he leaves. Any wise leader would treasure such talent.

Take Zhou Can, for example—he’s already well-known hospital-wide. If Deputy Director Han or Director Lou forced him out, the higher-ups would almost certainly hold them accountable.

“Once you’re an attending and you’ve got two years of experience as deputy director, you’ll likely be considered for department head. Deputy Director Han is about to hit retirement age, likely by next April. The other deputy director spot looks empty but is quietly held by Dr. Xu. Of course, you know Dr. Xu’s situation. He can only serve unofficially—has the authority but can’t be made public about it.”

“And Dr. Xu isn’t qualified to take over as head, so you’re really the only candidate.”

Wu Baihe is really redefining the phrase ‘old and wise’ for Zhou Can.

Though he spent his days in surgery and handling all things neurosurgery, who would’ve guessed he kept such close tabs on the Emergency Department’s personnel?

For a long time, the Emergency Department only had one deputy director.

That’s just not normal in any department.

Turns out, it was because Dr. Xu’s unique status meant one deputy role was given to him discreetly, but couldn’t be shown on paper.

Thanks to Zhou Can’s leadership, the department grew and finally earned the chance to appoint another deputy director.

That’s how Zhou Can became Emergency’s Deputy Director.

“Now’s your time to really make an impact. Even if things don’t work out, the department won’t collapse. When you take action, plenty of people will help, and even if it goes south, you won’t face the fallout alone. At the very least, you’ll never end up like Dr. Xu.”

Wu Baihe continued.

Catching the hint of confusion in Zhou Can’s eyes, Wu knew exactly what was on his mind.

He spoke with a deeper meaning: “Justice lies in people’s hearts. We’re all doctors here; everyone sympathizes with Dr. Xu’s situation.”

Some things can’t be spelled out and are better left implied.

The point was, plenty of doctors thought Dr. Xu had been wronged and were eager to help if they got the chance.

People’s hearts are like water, public opinion drifts like smoke.

Sometimes folks can’t openly say what they think, but they always have an internal scale.

Just imagine, if disaster like this fell on someone else, could they handle it any better?

For anyone, it would be the crisis of a lifetime.

Doctors are willing to take risks for their patients, but when things go wrong, all the consequences fall on the doctor’s shoulders.

That just isn’t fair.

“Thank you for your guidance. I know what I need to do. If I can’t reach the skill required to solve this in the next two years, I won’t take over as Emergency Director or any other top role at the hospital.”

Zhou Can understood the stakes.

Wu Baihe’s advice today was invaluable.

He now had a more comprehensive plan for tackling the problem.

“You’re welcome to come shadow my surgeries any time. It’s a good chance to really dig into neurosurgical procedures. Neither Dr. Xu nor the late Hu Kan could teach you the advanced skills, but I can.”

Wu Baihe had never said anything like this to Zhou Can before.

Most of the time, Zhou Can approached him as an eager student, always humble and cautious during their case discussions.

Wu, for his part, kept things strictly professional.

Not only did he never invite Zhou to join him in the OR, he didn’t even often ask him in for tea.

Everything was strictly business.

Maybe it was today’s talk about redeeming Dr. Xu that finally broke down the formal walls between them.

For once, Wu Baihe let his guard down and offered Zhou real support.

“Honestly, I’ve wanted to ask for ages, just never dared. Once I get past these busy days and my wedding, I’ll definitely come learn neurosurgery from you.”

Zhou Can had way too much on his plate lately, and there just weren’t enough hours in the day.

After all, everyone’s time and energy are limited.

No matter how many resources you throw at someone, they can only use so much at once.

Like dumping a whole pot of food and meat in front of a beggar—he’ll be stuffed after two bowls.

The rest? He’ll just have to eat it gradually, meal by meal.

…

When Zhou Can left neurosurgery, he finally had a clear plan for treating the sick child.

There was no shortcut—he’d have to tackle it step by step.

First up, anti-tuberculosis treatment. Then see how things progress, and if the TB is under control, they could consider surgery.

As for the exact treatment plan, he’d need to have a serious conversation with the family before moving forward.

But for now, he had to head to Director Zhu’s office.

Or maybe somewhere else, depending.

He dialed Director Zhu.

“Hello, Director Zhu? I just finished meeting with Director Wu. Where should I come find you?”

Rule number one when calling a higher-up: never ask where they are.

They might be belting out songs at a karaoke bar or meeting a lady at a hotel. Whatever it is, it’s their personal business.

Asking outright where they are will only put them off.

The way Zhou phrased it was much more professional.

“I’m in my office. Just come straight here.”

“On my way!”

Zhou hurried towards the director’s office.

It was rare for Director Zhu to call him in on his own. What could it be about this time?

Thinking it through, the only big issue Zhou could recall was what Head Nurse Niu Lan had mentioned this morning.

The hospital’s pharmaceutical department was about to be sold off.

There weren’t many people both trustworthy and capable enough to take over.

When he arrived, Hospital Assistant Qin was still working.

With both the director and assistant still at their desks, no one else dared to leave. No surprise—the office lights burned late.

Compared to this, the hospital’s admin offices rarely worked late.

Usually, once the clock hits quitting time, everyone’s gone.

Meanwhile, clinical departments working overtime was just everyday reality—no escaping it.

“Still hard at work, Assistant Qin?”

Zhou greeted him with a grin.

“There’s a lot going on lately. Until it’s done, my whole team has to pull extra hours.” Assistant Qin’s tone towards Zhou was much warmer these days.

“Don’t let me hold you up—I’ll go see Director Zhu.”

Pushing open the wooden door inside the assistant’s office, he walked down a winding hall, about six or seven meters long, entering the director’s main office.

This kind of layout might have taken inspiration from old government offices.

A winding corridor leading to a tranquil space.

Top officials always worked at the back—only heading out front to preside over major meetings.

There, he saw Director Zhu hunched over paperwork, a deep frown creasing his forehead.

Tuyu Hospital was a big, busy place. The weight of its affairs pressed heavily on Director Zhu.

Being the hospital director might look glamorous, but it’s a tough job.

“Knock, knock, knock!”

Zhou tapped lightly at the door.

“Come in!”

In the past two years, Zhu Xueyang had aged rapidly—white hair covered his head, with deep furrows across his brow and crow’s feet at his eyes.

“Ah, Xiao Zhou, come on in. Have a seat. Let me just finish this file.”

Director Zhu welcomed him warmly.

Then he bowed his head, returning to the files in front of him.

With retirement looming, it was no wonder he had endless tasks to wrap up.

The new successor was arriving from elsewhere—a true outsider. That always brought plenty of uncertainties.

If the new director started his tenure by coming after his predecessor, Zhu could land in real trouble.

So he had to tie up every loose end—no room for error.

Only by clearing out any potential skeletons could he ensure a peaceful retirement.

Ever since he got entangled in the scandals involving the Security and General Services Departments, Zhu’s promotion hopes had been dashed. He’d visibly aged since.

These two years had brought tremendous mental strain.

Anxiety and regret were a constant shadow, with hospital business wearing him down daily. It was no wonder age was catching up fast.

After about ten minutes, Director Zhu finally finished reading the documents.

He set them aside, then personally made Zhou a strong cup of tea.

The director’s tea was always the good stuff.

Most visitors would never get this kind of hospitality.

Given Zhou Can’s unique standing and his close ties to Zhu’s old mentor, Cao Zhengguo, Zhu had always treated him with extra kindness.

“Getting old messes with your memory. If I read files halfway and stop, I’ll forget. I have to finish them all at once and deal with them right away. Otherwise, I’d have to start over. Sorry to keep you waiting!”

Director Zhu actually apologized for such a minor thing, and Zhou felt honored by it.

“You’re the sun of our hospital. Getting to soak up your radiance for a few extra minutes is a privilege. While I waited, I learned a lot about your thorough work attitude and razor-sharp focus. It’s all been a big help to me.”

Zhou Can put his legendary flattery skills to use.

“Ha! You really know how to sweet-talk. Have some tea—this is premium oolong. Even Directors Ye and Bai never get this.”

Flattery: always effective.

Director Zhu burst out laughing, making his feelings clear.

His look toward Zhou grew even warmer.

Zhou sipped the tea—it really was top quality. Enjoyment showed on his face.

Whether he was acting or truly enjoying it didn’t matter. The point was to show his gratitude.

“Xiao Zhou, it’s just the two of us here. I’ll be direct. Whether you agree or not, please keep this strictly confidential.”

“Of course. I can keep a secret.”

Zhou took on a focused, respectful posture.

“I’m sure someone’s mentioned it already—about the proposal to sell off the hospital’s pharmaceutical division. After careful thought, I think you’re the most suitable candidate for this.”

Director Zhu certainly didn’t beat around the bush.

He didn’t bother with preamble—just told Zhou straight up he was the best pick to take over.

At least he wasn’t being asked to play dad. Taking over the pharmaceutical division—well, he could at least hear Director Zhu out.