godfather of surgery

Chapter 1349 Returning After Completing Studies
From Nandu to Beiqiao County, it takes four hours by high-speed rail, followed by a two-and-a-half-hour bumpy bus ride on mountain roads.

Li Min sat by the window, a slightly worn black backpack resting on his lap. The bag contained little luggage: a few changes of clothes and a stack of study notes he had compiled under Professor Yang Ping's guidance. The notes were heavy; he couldn't bear to check them in and carried them with him the whole way.

The highway winds its way along the mountains, with one bend after another. Li Min knows this road well; he has traveled it for ten years.

Most of the passengers on the train were dozing off, with only a few young mothers with children gently soothing their babies. The carriage was filled with the mixed smells of instant noodles and oranges. Li Min pushed open the window a crack, and the wind outside rushed in, carrying the scent of earth.

This was a familiar taste to him.

He closed his eyes, but another image appeared in his mind.

In the demonstration room of the Sanbo Institute, Professor Yang Ping stood in front of the whiteboard and personally taught him. The teaching materials used were personally compiled by Professor Yang Ping. He never thought he would receive such treatment, with a world-class medical scientist teaching him step by step.

Subsequently, memories of his advanced training at Sanbo Hospital replayed in his mind: the care he received from his senior colleagues, the personal guidance from the department heads during rotations, and Professor Yang's encouragement to speak up during case discussions...

The car jolted suddenly, snapping him out of his reverie.

The ticket seller leaned over and asked, "From Guandu? Are you getting off at the next intersection?"

"Get off, get off!" Li Min quickly got up and put on his backpack.

The roadside is right at the entrance to Guandu Town. Two hundred meters ahead is the town's only main street. After getting out of the car, Li Min didn't immediately walk towards the health center. Instead, he stood by the roadside, staring blankly into the distance.

There, on the eastern side of the town, where there used to be a wasteland, now stands a brand-new, white, eight-story building. The exterior walls are painted with light gray stone paint, which stands out almost starkly against the backdrop of the surrounding gray houses. At the very center of the top of the building are four dark red characters: Guandu Hospital.

Li Min's throat bobbed.

He had seen the building's renderings in Sanbo's news feed and had also received an invitation to the opening ceremony personally sent by Chairman Cheng Liquan. But seeing it in person was a completely different and shocking experience. It was so big, so new, so unlike the Guandu Town Health Center he remembered, with its peeling walls, dimly lit corridors, and only one old X-ray machine that frequently broke down.

He stood there for a long time before taking a step towards the health center—no, it should be said that he was heading towards the "new hospital."

The old health center was still on the same site. He turned into the alley he had walked for ten years and saw the peeling green iron gate ajar in the distance. Old Wang, the guard, was squatting at the door, basking in the sun.

"Old Wang," Li Min called out.

Old Wang looked up, squinted for a couple of seconds to make out who it was, and then suddenly stood up: "Dr. Li! Dr. Li is back!"

His voice was loud, startling several sparrows sunbathing on the wall. Immediately afterward, a commotion erupted in the outpatient building: the sound of running footsteps, the clatter of something falling to the ground, and then the old director rushed out of his office on the second floor.

Li Min had never seen the 71-year-old dean run so fast. Holding onto the stair railing, he rushed down the stairs, taking almost three steps at a time, his white coat billowing in the wind like a worn-out flag.

“Dean…” Li Min went up to greet him.

The old dean stopped in front of him, panting, unable to utter a single word. He simply stared intently at Li Min's face for a long time. Something was slowly welling up in his cloudy old eyes, but he desperately suppressed it.

Then, the old dean stretched out his hands, which were covered with age spots and slightly deformed from years of holding a scalpel, and grasped Li Min's hand.

He didn't speak.

Li Min remained silent.

A group of people gathered in the corridor—Dr. Zhang from internal medicine, Nurse Wang from obstetrics and gynecology, Sister Liu from the pharmacy, and several other young faces who had just graduated and been assigned there. Everyone watched this scene in silence.

A tear slid down the corner of the old dean's eye.

He didn't wipe it away; he just let it slowly trickle down the deep wrinkles on his face to the corner of his mouth.

"Good!" the old dean finally spoke, his voice hoarse, "Good! It's good that you're back."

He repeated it again, as if confirming something: "You're back!"

Li Min's eyes also reddened; he knew that the old dean meant more than just "Li Min is back."

The old dean said: Finally, one of them has returned.

Guandu Town, Beiqiao County, is one of the most remote towns in Nandu Province. It takes two and a half hours to drive there from the county seat, including forty minutes of winding mountain roads without guardrails, which are prone to landslides during the rainy season. There is no train station or highway exit in the town; the nearest bus stop is in a neighboring town 32 kilometers away.

Guandu Town Health Center is located at the end of such a road.

Li Min arrived at the age of twenty-one, while the old director was sixty-one, well past retirement age, but hadn't retired because he had no successor. The first thing he said to Li Min upon their first meeting was, "I'm sorry to have put you through this!"

Li Min said, "I'm not wronged!"

He stayed at the town's health center for ten years. During those ten years, he saw eight young doctors leave to work there; seven resigned and went to the city, and one went on to graduate school and never returned. In those ten years, the old director's hair went from gray to completely white, and his back went from straight to hunched over.

Five years ago, the former hospital director made a decision. He sent the hospital's only three young core staff members at the time—Li Minghui from internal medicine, Wang Zhiqiang from surgery, and Chen Yao from obstetrics and gynecology—to pursue further studies in batches. Some people objected, but the former director only said one sentence: "If we can't retain people, it's not the young people's fault; it's that we can't retain people here."

After Li Minghui finished her advanced training, her family helped her find a doctor in the county town. Wang Zhiqiang went to a private hospital after his training. Chen Yao did return, but after less than a year, she couldn't bear the long-term separation from her husband and resigned to work at a clinic in the provincial capital.

The old dean didn't say anything, but from then on, he never mentioned sending people for further studies again.

Li Min is the fourth.

On the day I left, the old dean said, "Go, and come back when you've learned your lesson."

Li Min said, "I will come back."

That night, Li Min received a text message from the former dean on the high-speed train; it contained only six words:

"I believe you, you must come back."

Li Min read those six words many times and kept them.

At that moment, the old dean stood in front of him, his face covered in tears.

Dr. Zhang, who was standing nearby, said softly, "Dean, Dr. Li just got off the train and is very tired. Let him go in and sit down first."

The old dean seemed to wake from a dream, nodding repeatedly: "Yes, yes, sit down, sit down." He took Li Min's hand and pulled him into the office, pressing him down in the old rattan chair he had sat in for thirty-two years, and then hurriedly went to pour water.

Li Min stopped him: "Dean, don't bother, I'm not thirsty."

The old dean ignored him and stubbornly picked up the enamel mug with the words "Advanced Worker" printed on it. With trembling hands, he poured a cup of boiled water from the thermos and presented it to Li Min with both hands.

Li Min took the cup; the water was very hot, burning his palm through the cup's surface, but he didn't let go.

"How is the hospital now?" Li Min asked.

The old hospital director sat down opposite him and sighed, "Still the same old story. Forty or fifty outpatients a day, and seven or eight inpatients. Old Zhang and his team are holding the fort, it's tough on them." He paused, as if making a huge decision, before saying, "The new hospital...you've seen it all?"

Li Min nodded: "I saw it, it's very beautiful and very big."

“Beautiful, big,” the old director said, “but I dare not move it.”

Li Min was stunned. The old dean looked out the window, towards the brand-new white building in the distance. The setting sun shone brightly on its glass curtain wall, reflecting a golden light.

“I dream of moving in,” the former hospital director said, “but I don’t dare. The new hospital is several times bigger than the current one, and its equipment is the most advanced among all township hospitals in the province. It also has two Class 100 laminar flow operating rooms. Do you know what a laminar flow operating room is? Our county hospital doesn’t even have one.”

His voice lowered, as if he were talking to himself: "But where are the doctors? Where are the nurses? Who will use the equipment? Who will stand at the operating table?"

Li Min remained silent.

The old dean turned his head and looked at him. In his cloudy old eyes, besides tears, there was a kind of almost fragile expectation that Li Min had never seen before.

"It's so good to have you back now," the old dean said happily. "You've learned something from Professor Yang, haven't you?"

"I've learned something," Li Min said.

Is it enough?

"That should be enough!"

The doctors and nurses around looked on with envy. It was unlikely that a doctor from a township hospital could get a training course at a provincial hospital, let alone be personally taught by Nobel laureate Professor Yang.

After thinking for a moment, Li Min told the old dean about his learning experience.

The old dean listened attentively, nodding occasionally and asking a question or two now and then.

The old dean stood up and walked to the window. His silhouette was outlined by the setting sun, thin and hunched, yet still upright.

"Chairman Cheng and General Manager Huang both came to the donation ceremony for the new hospital." He said with his back to Li Min, "Professor Yang didn't come. He sent Dr. Li Guodong in his place. Dr. Li Guodong said that Professor Yang has something to tell you."

Li Min raised his head.

The old dean turned around and looked at him.

Professor Yang said: "After Dr. Li returned, he was not fighting alone. Sanbo Research is his eternal support."

The old dean's voice trembled, but not from sadness.

“Li Min,” he said, “we are no longer a forgotten corner.”

That night, Li Min didn't go back to his dormitory. Instead, he sat in the old dean's office for a long time, opening the textbook that had been printed on A4 paper.

Outside the window, the night in Guandu Town is very quiet. There are no neon lights or traffic in the city, only the occasional bark of a dog and the sound of the wind blowing through the trees.

He recalled the brightly lit nights at the Sanbo Institute, the figures discussing cases in the demonstration rooms, the surgeons' faces with only their eyes showing in the operating room, and the young faces in the cafeteria arguing about academic issues while holding their trays. It was the forefront of world medicine, and everyone working there was participating in changing the landscape of humanity's fight against disease.

The place he was about to return to was the most peripheral and inconspicuous point on this map. There were no gene sequencers or digital surgical navigation systems here. There were only the old hospital director's hands, only his own hands, and only rows of villagers waiting to see a doctor, to pick up their medicine, and to be told that "this disease can be cured."

This is not a sense of loss, it is a mission.

The next morning, Li Min got up very early. He changed into a clean white coat and carefully buttoned each button in front of the tattered mirror in the dormitory.

The outpatient hall gradually filled with voices. A queue formed at the registration windows, and a young woman in a brand-new uniform nervously directed the first patient to the appropriate department at the information desk. A cleaning lady pushed her cleaning cart down the corridor, the wheels making a soft rustling sound on the floor.

Li Min took a deep breath and walked towards the dean's office.

The old dean was already there. He was wearing a brand new white coat today, and his hair was neatly combed. When he saw Li Min come in, he stood up and straightened his back.

“Comrade Li Min,” his voice was serious and solemn, “Li Changgeng, the Party Branch Secretary and Director of the Guandu Town Health Center in Beiqiao County, welcomes you back to work at Guandu Hospital on behalf of the more than 30,000 residents of the town.”

Li Min stood at attention and nodded slightly.

"Doctor Li Min, reporting to the hospital director."

The old dean looked at him, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something. But in the end, he just nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s begin.”

At 8:00 a.m., Guandu Hospital welcomed its first batch of outpatients after the completion of its new facility.

The first patient was an elderly woman in her seventies, helped in by her son. She sat down shakily opposite Li Min, placed her old rural social security card on the table, and said in a thick local dialect:
"Dr. Li, I heard you were back, so I came all the way from Qingshi Village."

Li Min recognized her. Zhou Guiying, 76 years old, suffers from chronic heart failure and renal insufficiency, and has been seeing him for eight years.

He didn't rush to prescribe medicine. He asked about her diet, her sleep, and her mood. The old lady kept talking, while her son impatiently urged her on, saying they had to rush back to the construction site.

After listening, Li Min wrote a few lines on the prescription slip, then crossed them out and rewrote them.

The old lady's son leaned over and asked, "Dr. Li, what medicine did you prescribe? Is it expensive?"

Li Min handed him the prescription: "It's not expensive, and medical insurance will cover a lot of it. Go to the pharmacy on the first floor to get the medicine, and come back for a follow-up visit after a week."

The prescription only had two medications: a diuretic, with the dosage reduced by one-third; and a very inexpensive adjunctive medication to improve metabolism.

There was another line of text for the pharmacist:

"The patient has been making his own pickled vegetables for many years. He is advised to limit his daily salt intake to less than 5 grams and his family is advised to help supervise him."

The old lady was illiterate, but she trusted Li Min. She carefully folded the prescription and tucked it into her pocket.

"Old man, you should eat less salt and avoid pickled vegetables. Your meals should be bland," Li Min said, then added to his son's instructions.

His son nodded and took the old lady to get the medicine.

“Dr. Li,” she turned back again, “you’re not leaving again this time, are you?”

"I'm not leaving," he said.

The old lady smiled, revealing her missing gums.

"That's fine, that's fine."

She slowly walked out of the consultation room, her son following behind, still grumbling incessantly.

Li Min opened the medical record book and wrote the first outpatient record for the new campus of Guandu Hospital.

Outside the window, on the winding mountain road in the distance, a farm vehicle was churning uphill, with several villagers on their way to the county town market sitting in the back.

The sun rose over the mountaintop, bathing the entire brand-new white building in a warm golden light.

This is an ordinary day, and this is a brand new day.