Xu Chen strictly followed the seven-step hand-washing technique to prepare. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the female doctor with a ponytail standing to the side, a competitive fire burning within him.

After washing his hands, he put on sterile gloves.

The thought of what he was about to say made Xu Chen want to laugh.

Then, he quickly composed himself, his expression turning cold. He glanced in Wang Xiaoqing’s direction and said, "Non-toothed forceps."

Wang Xiaoqing was baffled.

She didn’t react at first.

The air turned awkward.

For a full five seconds.

Xu Chen thought Wang Xiaoqing was preoccupied and hadn’t heard him clearly.

After all, when Jiang He had called for an instrument earlier, Wang Xiaoqing had passed it to him without a second thought.

He raised his voice a little. "Professor, non-toothed forceps."

He was met with silence.

In truth, Wang Xiaoqing was still fuming.

Never mind that Jiang He was a once-in-a-century genius—it was normal for geniuses to have their quirks.

Besides, Jiang He had called for the instrument subconsciously; it likely wasn’t intentional. She’d handed it over, and that was that. Thinking back, not only did she not find it offensive, but she actually felt the kid was a natural-born surgeon.

’But who the hell do you think you are, Xu Chen?’

’You’ve barely touched a scalpel, you were just being passive-aggressive about someone else not having published any papers, and now you’re trying to act all high and mighty? You’re just asking for trouble.’

Wang Xiaoqing almost blurted out, "Are you a fucking idiot?"

But with so many students around, she swallowed the profanity to maintain her professorial dignity.

She said nothing.

But the look in her eyes said it all...

Xu Chen was utterly mortified.

Especially since the girl he liked was standing right there, watching.

The suffocating feeling of his failed attempt to look impressive made him want to crawl out of his own skin.

"The instruments are on the tray. Get it yourself," Wang Xiaoqing finally said.

Xu Chen muttered an "oh" and reached for the non-toothed forceps himself.

His mind was already a mess.

Naturally, the simulated surgery turned into a disaster.

"BEEP BEEP—"

The monitor blared an alarm as the simulated blood pressure on the screen plummeted.

Patient in hypovolemic shock. Procedure failed.

Time elapsed: one minute and twelve seconds.

Wang Xiaoqing mercilessly pressed the stop button. "Next."

Xu Chen retreated to the side, completely dejected.

To this day, there was one thing he couldn’t understand.

’Why? Why could Jiang He get the professor to do his bidding, but I can’t? ARGH...’

...

Meanwhile, Jiang He had already left the academic building and was walking toward the library.

Along the way, he could feel a change in the atmosphere around him.

For example, as he passed the anatomy building, a few girls walking toward him suddenly stopped, nudged one another, and couldn’t stop sneaking glances his way.

"Hey, is that him? The one from the ’06 clinical medicine class?"

"It’s got to be him. He got first place in both the preliminaries and the finals, and... he’s so handsome..."

"Finishing the exam in just over forty minutes... that’s just insane..."

"Hey, go ask for his QQ."

"No way! That would be so weird!"

Jiang He ignored the whispers, his heart perfectly calm.

As his reputation grew, it was inevitable that he’d become a campus celebrity, even the dream guy in the eyes of many girls.

When it came to such things, it was best to just ignore them.

He knew exactly what he wanted and was striving to achieve it with all his might. Everything else was unimportant.

When he arrived at the library, he saw a newly posted official notice on the bulletin board:

"Decision on Commending Outstanding Individuals in the Clinical and Pathological Reasoning Competition"

Jiang He stopped to take a look.

[Congratulations to Jiang He of the ’06 Clinical Program, Class 2, for demonstrating an exceptionally solid theoretical foundation and outstanding clinical deductive abilities in this reasoning competition. With the excellent result of first place in both the preliminaries and the finals, he has won this year’s championship...]

Regarding the scholarship and research credit rewards, the university had issued a special directive:

[In light of Jiang He’s outstanding performance, the university has decided to designate him as the core seeded contestant for next month’s South China Region Clinical Competition. The associated prize money (10,000 yuan), eligibility for the national scholarship, and research credits will be deferred until the conclusion of the South China Region Competition. They will then be awarded cumulatively based on his final ranking.]

Jiang He raised an eyebrow slightly.

’So the university is putting pressure on me.’

Withholding the money and credits was a clear sign of their high expectations. They believed he could dominate the competition in the South China Region and achieve a high ranking. Then they could bundle the university award with the regional one, create a major news story, and bring glory to Southern Medical University.

This was actually perfect, Jiang He mused.

Once he won the South China Region championship, he could negotiate with the university and see if he could exchange these rewards for access to the national special talent track.

To put it bluntly, he wanted to start his hospital internship early.

A one-year clinical internship was a mandatory graduation requirement, something not even a genius like him could get around.

But this was 2008, a golden age before the three-year standardized residency training program had even been conceived.

So, the path he had planned for himself was:

Use this competition as leverage to complete his undergraduate theoretical credits ahead of schedule, allowing him to jump directly into the clinical phase of the seven-year integrated bachelor’s-master’s program.

As long as he entered the master’s program’s clinical rotations early, he could take advantage of the policies of the time and register to take the National Medical Licensing Examination while still a graduate student.

By the time he graduated early with both his degree and his license, he would be an official doctor with the legal right to prescribe medicine...

...

The day flew by in a blur of focused study.

At 9:30 p.m., Jiang He packed his things to head back to his dorm, planning to take a short break.

For him, "resting" meant going to "the Garden" to answer questions.

He opened his inbox. As luck would have it, the newest message was from the boyfriend of this morning’s severe pancreatitis patient.

He clicked it open.

A long wall of text appeared.

[Great God Zhiyu... I’m begging you, please, please save my girlfriend again!]

[This morning, the doctors reviewed the step-up, minimally invasive approach you suggested. They said it was a great idea and decided to try it, but... it was too late. This afternoon, her condition suddenly took a turn for the worse. The infection spread rapidly, triggering multiple organ failure.]

[She’s been moved to the ICU now. The doctor just came out and gave us a critical condition notice. He said that with the current medical options, it’s practically hopeless.]

[Great God, I really don’t know what to do anymore... I’m a clinical student too, a fifth-year. I’ve memorized every page of our thick anatomy textbook. I know all the mechanisms in pharmacology like the back of my hand. I get first place on my exams every year, but...]

[I can’t save her. I can’t save her.]

[Great God, you have to have another way, right? Is there some powerful drug still in the trial phase? Or some new technology from overseas? Please, just tell me there’s another option. I just want her to live... Please, I’m begging you, please...]

Jiang He sat in front of his computer, his heart clenching painfully as he read the words.

’What’s the point of studying medicine? I can’t even save her...’

He had felt the exact same way in the winter of 2014.

The despair of watching the life fade from the person you love most, while you can only stand by, utterly helpless... no one who hasn’t lived through it can ever truly understand.

Jiang He was silent for a moment.

Then, he quickly typed back a reply:

[Send me all of the patient’s biochemical markers. Immediately.]