The Godfather of Surgery

After completing rounds in the morning, the afternoon was a time for rest.

Since Zhang Lin had worked the night shift yesterday, he was off today according to the roster. Yang Ping, who had been on duty with Zhang Lin, naturally had the day off as well.

The schedule said "rest," but for doctors, rest is something just for show, it doesn't hold much practical meaning.

It wasn't until after three in the afternoon that Yang Ping finally had lunch, and he genuinely wanted to relax for a bit. He had just sat down at his place when the phone rang again.

An emergency surgery came in—severed fingers. Director Han specifically requested that Yang Ping be part of the surgery.

"Why are there so many severed fingers today? It's not like it's Double Eleven," Yang Ping muttered to himself.

He quickly walked over the footbridge, and as he descended on the other side, crossing a small square, he arrived at the emergency department.

Two security guards were stationed at the entrance, wearing helmets and protective gear, holding batons and shields, guarding the door like sentinels.

Inside, the spacious emergency hall was bustling with activity. People—doctors, nurses, and patients—moved quickly, and the noise was constant.

Some lives were hurriedly slipping away.

It was chaotic. Yang Ping's head buzzed with the cacophony. Fights, car accidents, drunks—shouts, arguments, and cries blended into one overwhelming mix. If you didn't have strong mental fortitude, you couldn't last in a place like this.

"You believe I'll kill you? I've got blood pouring from my head, and you're telling me to wait—wait until when? Do you want me to die here before you save me?" A man in his forties, his face marked with scars, was shouting at a pregnant nurse.

Why was a pregnant woman working the night shift? Damn. Unless you're far along, you'll still be on duty. Otherwise, how would there be enough nurses? Do you think the head nurse would pat you on the shoulder and say, "Oh, you're pregnant? Don't worry, take time off and don't work the night shift"? In reality, that kind of scene is straight out of a fairy tale.

Not only do pregnant women have to work night shifts, but pregnancy is also scheduled in advance. It's not a matter of personal choice—this year you're pregnant, next year she is. If you don't plan it, everyone could end up pregnant at once, and the department would collapse.

Hiring more nurses? Sure, if only it were that easy. Nursing is one of the most in-demand professions right now. I wouldn't be surprised if nurses are in the top ten on that list. Specifically, pediatric and emergency room nurses are in high demand.

"I'm sorry, but you need to wait your turn. The doctor is busy with an emergency right now," the pregnant nurse was nearly pleading.

The scarred man slammed his palm on the nurse's station in the emergency hall. "Wait my foot! You think this isn't blood?" He pointed to his own bleeding head.

If the nurse station's marble counter wasn't so high and wide, his hand would have hit the nurse's forehead.

Yang Ping was about to step forward to help calm him down when—

"Hey, what do you think you're doing? Watch your behavior," two security guards walked over, their batons at their waists, and heavy boots stomping on the floor. The scarred man backed down and stopped being so aggressive.

The hospital's security was impressive, Yang Ping thought with a nod.

The guy was really something else. The nurse had already helped him with basic first aid and bleeding control, but the bandage was slightly soaked with blood, probably waiting for the doctor to clean and stitch it.

Yang Ping shook his head. He was used to this kind of thing. He'd heard that some emergency rooms had windows in the doctors' offices.

Why? Because the ground outside the windows was cushioned with thick mats.

That's for the emergency room doctors to escape in case of an assault. If a crazy person starts attacking, they can jump out the window and land on the mat without getting hurt.

Yang Ping crossed the emergency hall and turned right into the surgical emergency room.

He swiped his access card, and the blast-proof door opened. The central circular island in the middle of the room was the workstation for doctors and nurses, with computers and phones evenly distributed. Around the emergency room were dozens of emergency beds, separated by curtains.

"Cardiac arrest, CPR, defibrillator!" A bed was in the middle of resuscitation, and the doctor was sweating as he pressed down on the patient's chest.

"Chest closed drainage, tension pneumothorax, consult with thoracic surgery," another bed was being sterilized, preparing for chest drainage.

"20% mannitol, rapid intravenous infusion."

"Tracheotomy."

"Ventilator."

The emergency department, especially the resuscitation room, was a battlefield with no smoke of war. Doctors and nurses were like warriors, fighting with death.

Phones kept ringing nonstop.

The nurse on duty was holding one earpiece to her ear, speaking loudly, while her hand was already reaching for another phone. Her eyes were scanning the next phone as it rang.

The phones were being juggled like props in a circus act.

"Bed 3!" Even though Yang Ping was a newcomer, the nurse quickly spotted his badge from a distance, recognized him as an orthopedic doctor, and pointed him toward a patient.

The attending doctor was speaking to Song Zimo: "A one-month-old girl, all five fingers on her left hand were severed—"

An infant lay on the bed, her left hand wrapped in gauze. Perhaps due to her age, the baby didn't cry or fuss; her eyes were wandering, seemingly searching for something.

"Where are the severed fingers?" Song Zimo asked.

The nurse pulled a transparent plastic bag from the small refrigerator, inside which were the severed fingers.

"Such small fingers?" Yang Ping thought, but didn't voice it. Of course, they were tiny—she was only two months old.

A woman in her thirties was sobbing beside the bed, her face swollen. A man was comforting her.

"Can you reattach them? Doctor, please, I beg you," the woman asked, her eyes red.

According to the emergency department doctor, the child's mother had been pushing the baby in a stroller while shopping at a supermarket. As the stroller descended on the escalator, the mother was distracted by her phone and didn't notice that the stroller tipped over. The baby's hand got caught in the gap between the elevator and the welcoming step, and all five fingers were crushed. The staff had to dismantle the elevator to retrieve the severed fingers.

Director Han was talking with Director Xiong from the emergency department.

The emergency doctor, holding the just-signed informed consent form, was hoarsely speaking to the mother, whose words were often interrupted by sobs.

"Yang, are you seeing the patient? Song Zimo will lead the surgery; can you assist?" Director Han called out as he noticed Yang Ping had arrived.

Director Han intended for Song Zimo to take the lead on the finger replantation. This kind of surgery was among the most challenging for severed fingers because of the tiny blood vessels involved, making it a high-risk procedure. Director Han knew Song Zimo's microsurgical skills were exceptional, and he could easily suture blood vessels as fine as 0.1 millimeters.

"No problem, I will fully cooperate," Yang Ping replied resolutely.

"Good!" Director Han said, his tone decisive and brisk. "Prepare for surgery right away. Head to the operating room. We've already had our snacks, but there are some high-calorie chocolates and compressed biscuits in the break room. Eat a few before heading over. This finger replantation is rare and challenging, so stay sharp."

"Understood. We'll get the job done," Yang Ping said, his expression serious.

Director Han was like a seasoned general—calm and efficient, without a single wasted moment.

He quickly gave final instructions to Director Xiong and hurried to the operating room.

Song Zimo's face looked slightly displeased as he followed Director Han, trying to say something.

"Director, Director, Director—"

"Should we ask Director Tian to help with the replantation? This difficulty is too high," Song Zimo finally voiced his concern.

This was a legitimate worry. Song Zimo was known for his exceptional talent and had practiced reattaching vessels as fine as 0.1 millimeters in diameter, even using simulated artificial blood vessels and having successfully reattached the tails of newborn rats.

Director Han stopped and thought for a moment, then said, "Director Tian can assist you with the replantation; you'll handle the blood vessels. He's just finished a complicated pelvic fracture surgery, so he's probably tired. Yang Ping handled the last finger replantation in just two hours, so he should be able to assist you fine. If necessary, I'll scrub in."

Having clarified the backup plan, Director Han's statement left no room for further objection. Song Zimo, though still a little unhappy, couldn't press the issue any further.

The usual preoperative tests were underway: complete blood count, blood type, liver and kidney function tests, coagulation profile, infectious disease screening, and ECG.

Despite the apparent chaos in the emergency department, every doctor and nurse knew exactly what they were doing, working in sync, each with precision.

Blood was quickly drawn through the scalp vein and sent to the lab, where it would undergo a series of automated tests.

The ECG machine was wheeled in, and the electrodes were quickly placed.

The paper rolled out with a characteristic squ

awk, producing the familiar wavy line.

"ECG normal," the doctor announced as he reviewed the results.

"The operating room is ready. Transfer the patient," called out the nurse at the central station.

The doctors gave a thumbs-up in acknowledgment.

The baby was wheeled toward the operating room along a designated path, using a special elevator.

The mother, still sobbing, wouldn't let go of the gurney. "Can I come in and watch?"

"No," the emergency doctor firmly replied, pushing the bed without stopping.

The father of the child tried to comfort her, but the mother wouldn't let go until finally, with some persuasion, she relented.

"Why cry now? Where were you when this happened? You can't even pay attention while riding the elevator, always glued to your phone!"

The child's grandparents, unable to hold back, began shouting at the mother as they watched the medical team push the gurney farther away.

"Mom, Dad, stop criticizing her," the father said, trying to mediate.

But the grandparents continued, berating the mother: "I gave birth to her, don't tell me not to scold her! And you—"