1. Gather the Seven Dragon Balls to Summon the Dragon King

Brown, green, red. Various certificates were laid out on the table. Medical license, physician’s practice certificate, intermediate professional title certificate—every type was present.

“Luo Hao.” Lin Yuming, director of the medical affairs department at the Coal Mine General Hospital, wore a stern expression. He pressed his right index finger hard on the last certificate. “This is what you wanted. I’ve gotten it for you again, and again, and again. I’m warning you, this is the last time!”

Luo Hao lowered his head, looking at the certificate beneath Lin’s pale finger, which had turned white from the pressure. A brilliant smile spread across his face.

Standing at one meter eighty-three, broad-shouldered and slim-waisted, he carried an air of a male model even in a simple T-shirt. His ordinary smile glowed faintly, truly pleasing to the eye.

“You still know how to smile! Only know how to smile!” Lin Yuming scolded unhappily. “Can’t you just be a good doctor? Everyone says the post-2000 generation is shaking up the workplace—can that be trusted? Why won’t you try to improve yourself? What’s wrong with you?”

“Uncle…”

“At the hospital, call me Director Lin!” Lin Yuming sternly warned Luo Hao.

“Director Lin, this is definitely the last certificate. I promise it’s the last one.” Luo Hao didn’t argue but gave his assurance, following Lin’s words.

His smile was pure and somewhat bright, making the sunlight in the medical affairs office seem even more radiant.

“You know how many face-to-face meetings I had to endure to get this intermediate-level license,” Lin Yuming complained. “You need to have continuing education experience. Since you completed your eight-year combined bachelor-master-doctorate program, you haven’t gone out for any further training…”

“The person in charge at the Provincial Health Commission is probably Teacher Ma,” Luo Hao whispered. “He should know me. My skills are better than those of a trainee doctor.”

“Hmph!” Lin snorted coldly.

Luo Hao had always been the exemplary child—excellent grades, admired by all. At seventeen, he was admitted to the elite eight-year combined medical program at Peking Union Medical College.

An academician was particularly optimistic about Luo Hao; with his endorsement, Luo Hao could have stayed at Peking Union after graduation.

But unexpectedly, Luo Hao chose to return to his hometown, to the declining Coal Mine General Hospital.

A few years ago, Luo Hao obtained an unactivated system, and the key to unlocking it was to acquire seven different medical specialty practice certificates.

Physician practice certificates specify clinical practice areas—surgery, obstetrics and gynecology, internal medicine, ophthalmology, otolaryngology, and dozens of other specialties.

The intermediate professional title certificates have even more detailed classifications, and the system activation requires the scope of practice indicated on the intermediate certificate.

Generally, a doctor will specialize in one field for life; it’s rare to change specialties.

Obtaining multiple practice certificates is possible but extremely difficult.

Staying at Peking Union would almost certainly mean never unlocking the system.

Luo Hao hesitated long between remaining at Peking Union and embracing the unknown system, finally choosing the latter.

His uncle, Lin Yuming, director of the medical affairs department at the mining hospital, happened to oversee this area and had some connections in the provincial capital.

Therefore, Luo Hao declined his mentor’s invitation, returning home to work at the mining hospital amid surprised looks and his mentor’s regretful pleas.

Lin Yuming didn’t disappoint; in less than two years, he had prepared seven “dragon balls” for Luo Hao to summon the dragon.

“Luo Hao, remember what you promised me.” Lin tapped the certificate with his finger, emphasizing, “Find a girlfriend soon, get married, have a child. Your mother’s had a hard time all these years.”

No matter what Lin said, Luo Hao nodded obediently, exceedingly well-behaved.

Lin sighed helplessly, seeing Luo Hao’s obedient nodding, knowing the boy didn’t truly take his words to heart.

Many young people today refuse to marry or have children, no matter how much you say.

High housing prices, expensive dowries, and doctors’ meager incomes in recent years... but none of these should be insurmountable.

Luo Hao’s father was also a doctor, heroically lost to floodwaters during a disaster when Luo was only two.

The boy was pitiful; his mother never remarried, raising him alone through hardship.

With his mother and uncle supporting him, Lin Yuming used some small tricks to arrange so many intermediate practice certificates for Luo Hao.

“Director Lin, shall I go now?”

“The obstetrics department exceeded its medical insurance quota again last month. The head of the insurance department has been nagging me for days. Go take a look.” Lin pushed the pile of certificates toward Luo Hao, closing his eyes to avoid a heart attack.

“All right.” Luo Hao smiled brightly, reaching for the certificates, but Lin blocked the last “dragon ball” just inches away.

“Go to obstetrics first, they exceeded their insurance last month.”

Luo Hao drooled helplessly, watching the last certificate so close yet so far away.

“What are you waiting for? Hurry up and go check on obstetrics.” Lin pressed his hand on the certificate, eyes closed, face strained as if constipated, scolding.

“On my way, on my way.”

Luo Hao cast a deep glance at the certificate and turned toward obstetrics.

...

The city Luo Hao worked in—Donglian City—is located in the northeast, once a major industrial base and nationally renowned coal production center.

The Donglian Coal Mine General Hospital had investment from the coal group about fifteen to twenty years ago. Both technology and equipment ranked in the top fifty nationwide.

Especially during the years of high coal prices, the affiliated public hospital thrived.

At that time, the mining general hospital was a large, excellent, public tertiary hospital.

But as coal prices fell, mining became harder and more costly, and environmental regulations tightened, the Donglian Coal Group fell into losses.

Struggling to survive, the group had no funds to invest in the hospital.

Consequently, the hospital inevitably declined.

With fewer revenues, more people left; key technical staff departed for the south.

A major tertiary hospital gradually fell into decay.

However, this had little to do with Luo Hao; even if he wanted to intervene, he couldn’t.

Now affiliated with the medical affairs department, his main duties were ensuring medical safety and managing insurance payments.

Stepping out of the administration building, the sky was dazzlingly blue, mirroring Luo Hao’s mood.

He wanted to quickly resolve obstetrics’ issue, obtain the seventh practice certificate, and activate the system.

Previously, the obstetrics department had two wards with forty beds each, performing nearly two thousand surgeries annually.

But with core staff leaving southward and declining birth rates, the department shrank to one ward, often with empty beds.

Luo Hao knew Lin didn’t expect him to “solve” anything but to deliver the message: “You’ve exceeded your insurance quota; be frugal.”

He hurried to the obstetrics ward entrance and saw Director Sun, still in work clothes, talking to a patient.

“Director Sun, our hospital can do laparoscopic surgery, right? I’d like minimally invasive surgery, not open surgery.”

At the ward entrance, a young woman whispered anxiously, her face pale and fearful.

“The laparoscopic equipment is broken; the hospital is looking for someone to repair it. How long it’ll take, no one knows,” Director Sun said helplessly. “If you’re not in a hurry, wait. If urgent, I can do an open surgery with a small incision, not a big cut. It won’t affect... well, not too much the appearance.”

“But my friend had laparoscopic surgery here last month. When I accompanied her, your doctors said there’s a difference between open and laparoscopic surgery,” the young woman said confusedly.

“Since then, the equipment broke down,” Director Sun replied, a bit embarrassed and irritated.

Claims about broken machines were just excuses; obstetrics had exhausted its insurance quota. Each laparoscopic surgery cost the hospital hundreds or thousands out of pocket.

Not unwilling or unable, but simply couldn’t afford it.

Luo Hao scratched his head, smiled his trademark smile, and greeted Director Sun.

“Oh, the boss is here,” Sun teased.

“Don’t call me boss. I’m just a messenger. The king sent me to patrol today.” Luo joked cheerfully before returning to the point. “Director Sun, you get busy. I’ll wait for you.”

Director Sun knew why Luo Hao came and brushed off the young patient, then walked with Luo Hao to her office.

“Xiao Luo, I guess Director Lin wants to reprimand me. Fine, a reprimand is a break for me,” Director Sun half-joked.

“You’re the backbone of our obstetrics department. Without you, the department can’t run, and patients have nowhere to go. No matter what, we’re a hospital. Without treating patients, we might as well close. Don’t you agree?”

The reprimand eased.

“Director Sun, I’m just here to ask about last month’s insurance situation. Any difficulties?”

“The situation?” Director Sun frowned. “Don’t you in medical affairs already know?”

“Last month, we did five surgeries on ovarian and cervical cancer patients over seventy. That’s why insurance overspent. You can check our medical orders—plain and simple, purely serving the people.”

“Serving the people, curing diseases, no rewards, and we have to bring our own supplies. Xiao Luo, does that make sense?”

Sun’s face reddened with anger as she spoke.

Luo Hao nodded repeatedly, obedient and understanding.

The DRG/DIP payment system doesn’t consider multiple diseases. The provincial payment standards average all ovarian cancer patient hospitalization costs, not isolating surgical cases.

Simply put, patients recovering or hospitalized for postoperative checkups in big cities spend little, dragging down the average amount for that disease group, resulting in extremely low insurance payments for some diseases.

Surgeries are done at a loss, so clinical surgical volumes have recently plummeted.

Southern provinces with more funds have sufficient insurance and higher reimbursement for similar diseases, so fewer such problems.

Northern regions face sharper challenges.

“You saw that young patient diagnosed with an ovarian cyst. Laparoscopic surgery, just over an hour, simple decompression. Can I dare operate now?”

“Doctors shouldn’t be calculating costs; we should be improving skills. Xiao Luo, what do you think of this?”

Before Luo could speak, Sun launched into complaints.

“Every month, our department gets money deducted. Having a baby deducts twenty or thirty, a minor surgery deducts two or three hundred, cancer surgery nearly a thousand. On average, everyone loses several thousand; bonuses are zero.”

“You know how little our basic wages are without me saying it. Frankly, our obstetric staff can hardly afford meals.”

“If this keeps up, I’ll have to take my team to private maternity hospitals.”

Luo Hao ignored the rant. Clinical work was tough, everyone knew that. The environment was harsh; no one could fix it.

To solve the ovarian cyst surgery problem, Luo felt the insurance payments must be raised.

After all, laparoscopic ovarian cyst decompression was mature and not difficult.

“Xiao Luo, speak up!” Sun pressed.

“Director Sun, the DIP payment for laparoscopic ovarian cyst surgery still has a decent core score,” Luo said.

“More new acronyms to deceive us. Those private hospitals fattening off insurance fraud never get investigated,” Sun fumed, face reddening.

She couldn’t say more, so she changed the subject.

“I mean ovarian cyst decompression. Look at the DIP payment…”

She pulled Luo’s white coat sleeve, leading him to the computer and opening the complicated DIP payment documents.

Other unspecified ovarian cysts: laparoscopic unilateral oophorectomy and salpingectomy, score 1267 points.

Insurance score times ten roughly equals the allowed reimbursement.

Twelve thousand yuan seemed substantial, but Luo understood Sun’s point—it didn’t include laparoscopic ovarian cyst decompression.

The documents clearly stated oophorectomy and salpingectomy.

“Decompression is categorized elsewhere. Look at the score for other ovarian cyst treatments.”

663 points.

That meant only 6,630 yuan was reimbursed; anything beyond was out-of-pocket.

“Now look at the score for appendicitis,” Sun said, pressing Ctrl+F with awkward fingers, finding “2035.”

“Our obstetrics department is treated like a stepchild, right? The same laparoscopic surgery, general surgery removes an appendix and gets 20,000 yuan reimbursement; we get only 6,000. How can we do surgery like this?”

“The more we do, the more they deduct.”

“Xiao Luo, why don’t you tell Director Lin to just reprimand me and come take over as director of obstetrics. Let’s see how your medical affairs department manages then.”

“Please calm down. Our hospital is the city’s maternal and child health center, and you are the city’s top expert. No one can replace you.” Luo’s clean, sunny smile was like a calming balm, quieting the enraged Sun a bit.

“I’m just here to understand the situation and will report to Director Lin. If we really have difficulties, the hospital can reallocate insurance quotas.”

“Every department complains. The crying baby gets the milk. I’ve been crying for over a year. Did they give me more quota?” Although still skeptical, Sun’s tone softened.

Luo took out his notebook and pen, asking Sun to list obstetrics’ difficulties.

He knew the problems well; this formal approach showed his seriousness.

Before leaving, Luo smoothly slipped Sun’s pen into his white coat pocket—a natural and effortless gesture.

“Xiao Luo, one more thing I forgot to tell you.” Sun caught him to vent more.

“Three months ago, a pregnant woman was admitted. After admission, relatives came to visit and went out drinking at noon. She got drunk and sat heavily on the patient’s belly.”

Luo was speechless.

“Emergency cesarean section. The baby was born with multiple fractures. We did our best to treat and discharged the baby. But all the rescue and fracture treatment costs were charged to our department, deducting a large sum from us.”

“That money should be refunded to us.”

Sun was starting to make demands.

Luo soothed her repeatedly.

He was just a young clerk, powerless to solve such big issues.

Better to report back to his uncle, Director Lin, for consideration.

For himself, he had informed Sun about insurance overages and now had to hurry back to explore the legendary system. For it, he had given up staying at Peking Union and returned home at great cost. There was no time to waste.

“Well, I won’t keep you from your shift handover.” Luo said politely and took his leave.

“Patient’s family member, wait!” An obstetrics doctor rushed out with a signature form.

Luo stepped aside and saw the doctor chasing a man about thirty years old.

“What’s wrong?” the man asked impatiently.

“The name you signed doesn’t match the ID information.”

“Of course not, I’m not her husband.”

Both the doctor and Luo were stunned.

“Then what’s your relationship with the patient?”

“I’m her ex-boyfriend.”

“Where’s her husband?”

“They’re fighting; he won’t come. She insisted I take care of her. How can I sign my own name? The child isn’t mine.”

Luo’s head ached at the complex relationships and quickly left the scene to avoid being asked for solutions.

Clinical work was difficult, and such messy situations happened daily. Luo dreaded obstetrics doctors asking him for help and hurried away.

...

What could be done about such matters?

Just stay cool.

Leaving the inpatient department, Luo returned to the medical affairs director’s office.

Director Lin was absent, and the certificates lay on the desk.

Luo picked up the certificates.

“Ding dong~”

As he took the last certificate, a clear sound rang in his ears. The upper right corner of his vision flickered, and rows of characters cascaded like a waterfall.

The system panel in the upper right corner displayed Luo’s digital attributes:

Stamina: 11
Intelligence: 12
Endurance: 11
Spirit: 14
Luck: 32

A value of 10 was standard for an adult male; Luo’s body was good, each attribute above average.

His luck was extraordinarily high.

Luo acknowledged this.

He had been top of his class since childhood.

Few were willing to study hard; he wasn’t a masochist but had no choice to be first.

He secretly sold homework solutions—nine yuan per copy, 180 monthly—to save money.

This was brand effect.

So while studying hard, he saved money.

In 2011, he discovered a small site called Zhihu.

With his luck, fate’s gears slowly turned.

In 2012, a college student asked how to invest a thousand yuan.

A response caught Luo’s attention: a crypto expert advised buying Bitcoin.

Back then, Bitcoin was $0.003 each, and most people didn’t know about virtual currencies.

Coincidentally, a classmate’s relative traded virtual currencies in Lijiapo. After learning more, Luo used his 13,241 yuan savings to buy virtual currencies.

He recorded the passwords but soon forgot until many started trading and mining.

When Bitcoin reached 15,000 yuan per coin, he cashed out, then bought trusts in Hong Kong.

Though Bitcoin later soared to over 500,000 yuan, appearing to have lost tens of times, Luo had long profited handsomely and didn’t care about the small remainder.

Young and financially free, Luo felt the system’s luck rating was still a bit low.

“Ding dong~”

At that moment, a crisp, pleasant voice sounded.

Lines appeared on the upper right screen:

【Newbie Task】

A task! Usually a newbie task meant a big reward pack. Hopefully, it wasn’t a trap requiring a 648-yuan recharge.

Luo’s eyes brightened and read on.

【Newbie Task: Complete 10 ovarian cyst treatment surgeries.

Task Time: 1 month

Task Reward: +1 random basic attribute point, +1 surgery skill level.

Special Reward: 1 newbie gift pack.】

This...

Just that?

Luo’s head felt like it split in two.

Not that he minded the small reward, but the task seemed hard. Though he had the certificate, operating independently so many times? He wasn’t sure.

Looking at the system panel in the upper right, Luo groaned.

Might as well buy a 648-yuan recharge and be done with it.

This was a newbie task?

Director Sun refused even one laparoscopic ovarian cyst decompression surgery. Could he do it?

Besides, would Sun allow him to perform so many surgeries alone?

The task looked easy, like a typical monster-fighting level-up quest, but it wasn’t simple.

Since the system issued a newbie task, Luo had to deepen his understanding and find solutions.

He found the skills option in the interface and clicked in with a thought.

Surgery skill level—3.

Not very high; full score was probably 10.

He thought his surgery skill was at least level 6 after eight years of system training, with countless cadavers and thousands of surgeries.

He was surprised the system rated him only 3.

Internal medicine skill—2.23.

Obstetrics skill—2.12.

Pediatrics skill—0.228.

Skills were precise to three decimal places, which embarrassed Luo.

He had no interest in pediatrics, so the skill was understandably low.

Ovarian cysts belonged to obstetrics, so Luo opened the obstetrics skill tree.

He imagined a dazzling array of procedures to choose and learn.

But most procedures were gray, unreadable; only vague words like quantum, RNA robot appeared.

Scrolling to the bottom, he found laparoscopic ovarian cyst decompression surgery.

Did he really have to use such a “backward” method?

Luo knew the problem wasn’t the difficulty. Though Director Sun was average, she could still perform basic surgeries like this.

But there were no other procedures listed; he sighed.

This lousy task was tough—an epic-level newbie mission. This system was truly mischievous.

Just as Luo was struggling, a pale white glow appeared on the skill tree screen.

A previously overlooked corner lit up.

...

Note: Apparently, certificate colors vary by province, hmm.