13 Titles Across Different Eras

“Teacher Liu, perhaps we should proceed with the surgery first,” Luo Hao suggested. “I’ll ask your colleague to wait for about ten minutes before we update them. How does that sound?”

Liu Haisen nodded in agreement.

A delay of one or two minutes was understandable to the patient, but any longer would inevitably cause issues, and no doctor would take such a risk.

After all, the patient was lying in bed awaiting surgery. No one would want to be the one lying there while the doctor fussed over other matters.

Luo Hao slipped Liu Haisen’s phone into his white coat pocket, then gently tapped Chen Yong’s hand, who was holding the probe. He said nothing.

Chen Yong shot a displeased glance at Luo Hao but said nothing in front of the provincial expert.

The puncture and sclerosis procedure concluded smoothly, without any turbulence.

“Luo Hao, come with me. For the next patient… that young man, you handle him first,” Liu Haisen said, grabbing Chen Yong’s assistance and leading Luo Hao out of the treatment room to an office.

Liu Haisen reviewed the imaging data sent by his subordinate.

Luo Hao’s earlier explanation had been somewhat vague, but a doctor of Liu Haisen’s caliber didn’t need every detail spelled out. He was no medical student. One clear direction was enough for him to think through the case.

Indeed, his subordinate had missed the diagnosis.

The prenatal ultrasound had shown only one umbilical artery in the transverse section of the free segment of the umbilical cord, but no blood flow signals indicating the umbilical artery wrapping around the bladder on either side—or the artery was too far from the bladder. This required dynamic tracking of the umbilical artery’s course in the fetal abdomen’s coronal section to further clarify the type of single umbilical artery (SUA). Types II, III, and IV SUAs are often associated with severe fetal malformations.

Therefore, after identifying the SUA type, a more detailed prenatal fetal anomaly screening is necessary to provide an objective basis for clinical prognosis assessment.

“We almost misdiagnosed it,” Liu Haisen said with a frown, clearly displeased.

“Old Liu, your subordinate is good, and so are you,” Lin Yuming said earnestly, without simply agreeing but genuinely praising.

Liu, the deputy director, was momentarily taken aback.

“Many junior doctors won’t report or consult their seniors unless absolutely necessary. Many senior doctors have bad tempers and will harshly scold juniors during consultations, saying their nose isn’t a nose or their eyes aren’t eyes,” Lin Yuming said.

“We have a director who, if anyone reports urgent patient condition changes after hours or on holidays, will curse them out without hearing the details first.”

“What’s the point of a senior doctor if they don’t need to be consulted or reported to?” he added.

Hearing Lin Yuming’s words, Liu’s expression softened considerably.

“Old Liu, I thought you’d let it go to your head after becoming technical director. Turns out you’re still the same guy.”

“Ah, Boss Lin, what are you saying?”

“Honestly, your subordinate could’ve skipped reporting this since he didn’t catch it himself. Just telling the pregnant woman there’s a fetal defect, an NT issue, would suffice,” Lin Yuming said. “But he was cautious enough to call and report to you.”

A faint smile of relief appeared on Liu’s face.

“Impressive. That’s the level a senior hospital expert should have. By the way, we have a doctor who returned from training and stopped writing medical records altogether, saying records at top hospitals are just sloppy.”

“…”

Luo Hao scratched his head and chuckled when he noticed Lin Yuming looking at him.

“Too many patients, no choice,” Luo Hao mumbled. “As long as nothing goes wrong, a sloppy record is acceptable.”

He preferred not to talk about his own embarrassing matters.

“Back when records were handwritten, I heard from my teacher about a trainee who left twenty-plus records unwritten before leaving, which infuriated his mentor,” Luo Hao gossipingly added.

“Hahaha,” Lin Yuming laughed heartily, then brought the topic back. “Luo Hao, do you think this fetal anomaly requires special treatment?”

“I don’t think so,” Luo Hao replied, “but we still need experts and professors from the First Medical University to consult and decide on the appropriate treatment plan.”

Lin Yuming was quite pleased with Luo Hao’s cautious, diplomatic answer—perhaps even more so than if he had given a direct diagnosis.

That was a necessary skill for any doctor.

Liu and Luo Hao then briefly discussed the early pregnancy NT measurements and the various types of single umbilical artery indicated by mid-pregnancy ultrasounds.

After ruling out types II, III, and IV SUAs, Lin Yuming tactfully led Luo Hao away, leaving Liu Haisen to discuss with his subordinate.

“Little Snail, nice job—you even researched the NT examination,” Lin Yuming said, patting Luo Hao’s shoulder approvingly.

“I only know a little,” Luo Hao replied modestly.

“That last line of yours was excellent. From now on, always try to pass the responsibility... I mean, aim for collective decisions, don’t play the hero alone,” Lin Yuming earnestly advised.

“Mm-hmm,” Luo Hao nodded obediently.

Meanwhile, Liu was communicating with his subordinate doctor.

“Director, you’re truly amazing!” the ultrasound doctor praised over the phone. “I tried my best to send you the data but didn’t expect you to spot the problem.”

“Encountered someone who knows their stuff—just a glance and they know what’s wrong,” Liu said, slightly dazed.

“Whoa!” the doctor exclaimed. “Director, didn’t you go to Donglian City? Did you meet a veteran from the capital or the magic city?”

“…”

Liu understood the young doctor’s slang for “veteran.” The younger generation wielded such terms effortlessly, without hesitation.

But Luo Hao’s youthful face and bright smile simply didn’t fit the image of a veteran.

When Liu was young, he and other young doctors privately called top experts “old rogues.”

This wasn’t a literal insult but derived from the nickname given to NBA’s Michael Jordan—someone so adept he could effortlessly outperform and toy with opponents, thus earning the moniker.

Every era had its own term for such figures.

“Veteran, huh,” Liu smiled knowingly.

“Director, I want to study further. What books should I read? Any suggestions? Or…”

“Should I ask the veteran for you?” Liu asked with a smile.

“Heh, if it’s convenient.”

“Go get to work.”

Liu hung up, his mind filled with Luo Hao’s sunny smile.

A veteran.

Liu mused about how Luo Hao was wasted at the Mining General Hospital and secretly planned to bring him under his wing at the First Medical University.

But no matter what, the surgery had to be done first. Transferring someone to the First Medical University, even for a technical director like Liu, was a daunting task.

It required careful planning.

If it weren’t for Luo Hao’s exceptional abilities—despite being Boss Lin’s nephew—Liu wouldn’t even entertain the idea.

But Luo Hao was so outstanding that after several interactions, Liu’s impression of him soared sky-high. The thought of replacing the young doctors around him with Luo Hao made his fingers itch.

If all else failed, Luo Hao could be sent for further training; after all, Lin Yuming was the director of the Mining General Hospital’s Medical Affairs Department and wouldn’t pressure Luo Hao to return immediately.

Back in the ultrasound room, Liu saw his casually assigned doctor adjusting the phone on the stand, apparently recording the ultrasound images.

Despite Mining General’s decline, their doctors were truly diligent learners.

Unfortunately, after mastering their skills, southern hospitals often poached them, making retention difficult.

Liu merely glanced at the masked doctor, leaving a deep impression, but didn’t dwell on it and continued the surgery.

The preoperative preparations were thorough. Luo Hao had considered nearly every detail and cleared potential obstacles in advance.

The more Liu observed Luo Hao, the more impressed he became. The more impressed, the more he felt Luo Hao was underutilized at Mining General and the stronger his desire grew to bring Luo Hao to the First Medical University.

Even if Luo Hao became a perpetual trainee, it was better than staying at Mining General.

In his heart, Liu had already designated Luo Hao as the “black doctor.”

---

Several hours later, after surgeries on more than a dozen patients were completed, Liu warmly invited Luo Hao to join him for a meal.

“Teacher Liu, I have a class reunion today. May I take leave?” Luo Hao asked awkwardly.

“Is your high school crush going to be there?” Liu teased. “Class reunions are perfect for making dreams come true. Seize the opportunity and don’t waste such a good occasion…”

“Nonsense,” Lin Yuming scoffed, seeing Luo Hao’s embarrassment. “Back then, you wrote how many love letters to Duzi? At the reunion, you didn’t even dare sit next to her. And now you’re saying that?”

“…”

Liu was speechless.

Nothing was worse than an old friend spoiling your bragging.

Lin Yuming knew all of Liu’s embarrassing past, including some love letters he had asked Lin to deliver to his secret crushes.

Liu’s face burned with shame, and he was at a loss for words.

Lin patted Luo Hao’s shoulder. “Go check on the patients first. If anything happens, report to Teacher Liu. If not, turn on your phone and enjoy the reunion.”

---

Luo Hao did his rounds, checked the patients, changed, and left.

In the general surgery ward, Chen Yong continued observing a patient, leaving only three hours later.

The obvious truth was clear: the patient showed no adverse reaction after the puncture and sclerosis procedure, lying in bed idly, even contemplating whether to go home for dinner.

Chen Yong repeatedly warned the patient to stay for at least a day of observation before discharge.

The surgery wasn’t particularly difficult. Recalling the procedure, Chen Yong felt confident he could handle it himself.

Instead of going home, he visited Jiang Wenming’s residence.

“Master, the surgery is done.”

Chen Yong recounted the entire procedure, emphasizing Luo Hao’s “consultation,” while playing the ultrasound video on his phone.

Jiang Wenming sat comfortably in his ergonomic chair, legs crossed, watching the video on his phone.

“Master, the surgery wasn’t hard—pretty simple. Given the chance, I’m sure I can do it independently,” Chen Yong concluded with certainty.

“You’ve improved,” Jiang said with satisfaction after watching. “Look here.”

He casually dragged the progress bar back to 12 minutes and 12 seconds.

“There’s a small artery near the cyst. When you were about to insert the needle, you changed the probe’s angle to fully expose the small artery on the image, avoiding accidental damage during surgery.”

“Well done, very well done!”

Jiang was generous with his praise.

Chen Yong was momentarily stunned.

This…

During surgery, after Luo Hao’s “consultation,” he had casually tapped Chen Yong’s hand holding the probe.

Chen Yong had thought Luo Hao was just showing off his presence, like Director Wen assigning trivial tasks to assert authority. He hadn’t paid much attention.

But his master saw through it.

That subtle gesture had exposed a small artery!

“You’ve been delving into imaging, and the results are impressive. The skill lies in the details. That little movement shows your level matches Director Li from ultrasound,” Jiang praised.

Chen Yong blushed deeply.

Without his mask at Jiang’s home, his redness was unmistakable.

“What’s wrong?” Jiang asked, puzzled. He glanced at the computer, relieved to see only documents and no media player.

“Scared me,” Jiang joked, then added, “By the way, the RB girls have recently upgraded—quality keeps improving.”

“Master, the detail you mentioned was Luo Hao’s doing.”

Though embarrassed, Chen Yong refused to take credit and carefully recounted the scene.

Jiang was silent.

Chen Yong rarely saw his master so seriously contemplative.

He didn’t dare interrupt, quietly sitting in a corner of the sofa, waiting.

After a long pause, Jiang sighed.

“No wonder doctors from Peking Union Medical College look down on graduates from other schools—even Peking University grads—calling their basics shaky. Now I see, those guys are extraordinary, like they’ve hacked the system.”

---

Unaware of this praise, Luo Hao’s talent was being discussed by Doctor Jiang and his apprentice.

The Gregorian New Year was approaching, and the high school class president organized a reunion.

Over the years, many young people had left Northeast China, with Donglian City hit hardest. Only a dozen or so classmates remained.

Setting his GPS to the Peugeot 307, Luo Hao headed for the restaurant.

He rarely dined out, preferring to rest at home, train in the virtual operating room, or read in the system’s library.

To others, his life seemed austere.

From one perspective, Luo Hao was a laid-back homebody—ascetic, abstinent, and reclusive.

Donglian City wasn’t bustling but had its advantages—plenty of parking, unlike the capitals where parking was a nightmare.

Just ten meters from the restaurant entrance were several parking spaces. Luo Hao parked and manually locked his car with the key.

“Luo Hao, is that your car?” class president Wang Zhi asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” Luo Hao smiled.

“Uh, that’s pretty low-key,” Wang Zhi said, scratching his head.

Especially the manual locking—strange for this era. Most cars had electronic locks. This car looked like a model from over a decade ago.

Wang’s classmate grinned mockingly.

Back in school, Luo Hao’s grades were stable—always first in class, top three in the year group.

To maintain such rankings in a provincial key high school for three years meant he was a genius.

But so what? After eight years at Peking Union Medical College, he returned home driving a second-hand Peugeot 307 with a manual transmission.

Nowadays, cars had all sorts of fancy features; finding an original manual car was harder than a million-dollar luxury car.

Wang Zhi peered through the untinted window, sighing. “It’s not even semi-automatic. Luo Hao, you’re really... retro.”

“Just for commuting, whatever’s convenient,” Luo Hao replied.

“You must have learned to drive only the manual coach car at the driving school,” teased another classmate.

Suddenly, a deafening roar echoed down the street.

A limited-edition 2.3L Ecoboost Mustang in Ocean Blue thundered past without slowing.

“Screech!”

The Mustang braked sharply, stopping steadily in front of Luo Hao’s Peugeot.

The limited-edition Ocean Blue Mustang radiated youthful arrogance, especially rare in color and sound, drawing all eyes.

“Luo Hao, long time no see,” said a man wearing sunglasses with a cool expression, rolling down the Mustang’s window.

---

Wearing sunglasses in the middle of winter looked a bit pretentious.

“Long time no see,” Luo Hao smiled, waving.

“I always thought your brain would have made you financially free by now. Why are you still driving a manual car?” the man said sarcastically, stepping out.

“Not yet. Financial freedom is too far off. Being a doctor is more interesting,” Luo Hao answered frankly.

Suddenly, he realized his slight change.

Under his mother’s advice, he had been low-key. Otherwise, with his trust fund’s monthly income, he wouldn’t be driving a used manual Peugeot 307.

But faced with old classmates’ teasing, he couldn’t be smooth.

Maybe it was his level four acting skills, he thought.

Thinking of acting as a somewhat useless skill, Luo Hao chuckled at how unreliable the system was.

“Doctors are poor? Don’t joke,” the man in black sunglasses said in disbelief.

Luo Hao forced a smile, locking the Peugeot again with the key, testing it repeatedly.

The classmates were stunned.

Originally, they had only mildly resented Luo Hao, seeking some superiority.

Back in school, their meager allowances were all spent on Luo Hao’s monthly “subscriptions.” Even after so many years, some still felt uneasy.

But seeing the once-genius boy now "down on his luck," class president Wang Zhi reacted first.

“Chengzi, cut it out,” Wang Zhi said, putting an arm around Luo Hao’s shoulder, smiling. “We’re old classmates here to reminisce. That was the purest time. If we can help, we will. If not…”

His voice trailed off, sensing he might embarrass Luo Hao.

The man in sunglasses looked awkward, removed them, and patted Luo Hao’s shoulder.

“Little Snail, get a designated driver later; let’s have a drink tonight.”

“I can’t drink.”

The man froze, then realized no one could see his expression behind the sunglasses. Removing them, he glared at Luo Hao, showing his disapproval.

Luo Hao lifted his phone and sighed, “My phone must stay on 24/7, always on call. If the department calls, I have to rush to emergency surgery. Though I rarely operate now, when a case comes with no name, and the medical affairs office intervenes, I must go immediately. If I don’t, doctors won’t go up, causing delays. Sorry.”

“!!!”

“!!!”

Several classmates stared in disbelief.

“Little Snail, don’t talk nonsense. The city’s top surgeon is friends with my dad. I’ve seen him drink a bottle and still operate. Surgeons can drink; why can’t you?”

“That was then,” Luo Hao shrugged. “Drinking too much can cause mistakes. An old doctor once operated and removed the wrong kidney.”

Awkward silence.

Class president Wang Zhi smoothed things over. “Thanks for your hard work. Come on, let’s head inside.”

The man in sunglasses was unsure if Luo Hao was telling the truth, watching his back with suspicion.

This Luo Hao was different from the one he remembered.

After over a year back, this was Luo Hao’s first reunion, and he seemed to be doing poorly.

Thinking this, the man smiled.

No wonder Luo Hao never attended reunions before—being a top student didn’t guarantee success; sometimes you fall hard.

Feeling this way, the man resolved to treat Luo Hao better.

“Cheng, Luo Hao’s doing badly now. Let’s tease him a bit later.”

Another laughed.

“We’re all classmates; no need for that,” the man said. “When I applied for college, my parents wanted me to study medicine. Luckily, I didn’t get in, or I’d be as miserable.”

“Just thinking about Luo Hao taking my pocket money every month for his little Water Margin cards makes me uncomfortable. No offense, just a eulogy for my cards.”

“You didn’t study well yourself,” the man scolded.

The other’s mouth twitched, wanting to retort but held back.

“Originally, I wanted to embarrass Luo Hao, make him regret studying hard all his life. But I didn’t expect him to be doing this badly…”

He glanced at Luo Hao’s manual Peugeot, sighing.

“Listen, the reunion’s for catching up. Old friends, close bonds. Laughing at someone’s misfortune isn’t nice. If one day you need Luo Hao, it’ll be awkward.”

“Got it, Cheng.”

They headed upstairs. Over a dozen classmates chatted in the private room.

The man in sunglasses remained suspicious, sitting beside Wang Zhi, scrutinizing Luo Hao.

But Luo Hao showed no cracks—he was genuinely struggling, as all the details indicated.

Having watched too many novels and dramas, the man feared Luo Hao might be playing possum.

If so, he’d never recover from it.

His emotions were complicated.

“Cheng, I heard you and your uncle are building projects and making good money,” a steady-looking classmate asked.

“Not bad, making some pocket money. Construction is different now—bidding and all…”

The man spoke at length, fingers lightly tapping the car keys.

“Who says construction doesn’t pay? By the way, Luo Hao, doctors were awesome before. Why are you struggling so much?”

“I couldn’t stay at Peking Union Medical College. My skills aren’t enough.”

Hearing Luo Hao’s candid admission, no one dared say anything.

Wang Zhi knew some classmates wanted to embarrass Luo Hao; others lacked social tact.

But Luo Hao had always been the class focal point, and even after so many years, he remained so—just not in a good way lately.

Wang tried to ease the tension, not wanting any trouble at the reunion.

The private room door opened, and a refined man entered.

His expression was neutral, his gaze subtly condescending but not overt, his smile somewhat warm.

“Old Zhou! You finally came!” the man in sunglasses stood eagerly, approaching.

He reached to put an arm around the newcomer but was stopped by a cold glance, his raised hand awkwardly hanging mid-air.

“Tian Ci, I thought you wouldn’t come,” Wang Zhi laughed, standing.

“How could I not? I wanted to see old classmates,” Zhou Tianci replied with poise.

Though he said this, everyone sensed an invisible gulf between him and the others.

The man in sunglasses had a noticeably humble demeanor, no longer arrogant, visibly flattering Zhou Tianci.

Zhou Tianci scanned the reunion attendees, then sat beside Luo Hao.

“Luo Hao, long time no see. Although we’re neighbors, you come and go early and late. We barely see each other all year,” he said.