The Deadlock

"Senior Song is amazing!"

"His reputation is well deserved!"

"Being recognized as a genius by Shanghai's Sixth Hospital, what more can be said?"

"Such god-like skills."

Song Zimo's hands moved with absolute stability. The second blood vessel was ready, and each stitch was flawlessly placed without any rework. Just like the first vessel, the second one was successfully reconnected.

Director Han's face broke into a smile.

The subsequent nerve suturing, tendon suturing, and skin suturing were all performed quickly by Song Zimo, as if it were an art form. The thumb replantation was completed, and they began work on the index finger.

The blood vessels in the index finger, however, were in worse condition than those in the thumb. The vessel walls were not only thinner but also fragile. Song Zimo carefully inserted the needle, but the positioning wasn't ideal, so he withdrew the needle, adjusted the tip, and reinserted it—just barely able to get it right.

As he tried to place the needle into the opposite wall of the vessel, an unexpected mishap occurred: the needle that had already entered the vessel tore the blood vessel wall, creating a small tear.

His hands were steady, his movements gentle, yet the vessel wall tore.

Director Han furrowed his brows, sensing the situation was becoming serious.

The blood vessel was too fine, with a wall that was paper-thin and brittle. It was likely that the infant was a premature baby, with underdeveloped blood vessels, which explained the fragility.

Song Zimo put down his instruments, glanced away from the microscope, and briefly stretched his neck to adjust himself before picking up the tools again and returning to the task.

Yang Ping, who had been waiting for his cue to assist, had refrained from cutting the suture as per Song Zimo's earlier request. He could only watch as Song Zimo continued, hoping for the right moment to step in.

The second stitch failed. Reluctant to give up, Song Zimo tried again, but it was unsuccessful. Each attempt tore the vessel wall more. This was just the index finger's blood vessel—imagine the condition of the other fingers.

"This gentle and still it tears."

"This is impossible to fix."

"Even a god couldn't do it."

The murmurs grew as the surgery reached an impasse.

Song Zimo felt a sense of frustration. He had practiced with similar blood vessels many times, even mastered the tail arteries of newborn rats. His technique was usually precise, and today, his hands were especially careful. So why were these vessels tearing?

"This is a premature baby. The blood vessels aren't fully developed. The walls are too thin and fragile. They are different from the vessels you usually work with or practice with," Director Han said, standing up.

"Song Zimo, wait here. Yang Ping, step down and rest."

Director Han needed Yang Ping to step aside to free up space for him to take over. Song Zimo, unable to continue, reluctantly put down his instruments, left the microscope, and placed his hands in the protective bag around his chest, waiting for Director Han to take over.

A system notification popped up on the screen: "Mission: Fix the premature infant's severed finger replantation. Reward: 2400 points."

It seemed like the missions were becoming the main focus of his life.

"Director, can I try?" Yang Ping asked with confidence and sincerity.

Director Han, who was about to leave to scrub in, paused and turned at Yang Ping's request.

"Let him try. His microsurgery skills are excellent. I've seen him perform before," Zhang Lin added, supporting Yang Ping.

Director Han thought for a moment before nodding. "Alright, try it. Take it slow."

With that, Director Han returned to his seat. The motion on the screen resumed, but this time it was Yang Ping's hands at work, not Song Zimo's.

Holding the micro forceps, Yang Ping inserted the needle and thread with perfect form, piercing the outer wall of the vessel, then coming out through the inner wall without any sideways pull. He then entered the inner wall from the other side, and smoothly exited through the outer wall, each movement done in the most optimal position.

Tie the knot!

With the needle holder in his hand, Yang Ping gracefully looped the suture, drawing it neatly and tying a perfect knot.

The two severed ends of the blood vessel were delicately drawn together, perfectly aligned.

Two more knots followed—just the right number.

Cut the suture!

Yang Ping then set the scissors down and effortlessly clipped the excess thread, without needing to look away from the microscope.

His movements were light, steady, and confident, without any tension or force that could damage the blood vessel wall.

How did he do that? Song Zimo could hardly believe it.

Director Han closely examined the second stitch, his hand stroking his chin thoughtfully. Then he turned to Yang Ping. "Yang Ping, switch places with Song Zimo. Continue the surgery."

The microscope had two eyepieces—one for the surgeon and one for the assistant. Now, Director Han had instructed Yang Ping to move to the lead surgeon's position to ensure a more comfortable and effective procedure.

The two doctors switched places, and the surgery continued.

Su Yixuan, who had been preparing to take a break, immediately perked up, ready to hand over instruments at a moment's notice.

Another stitch, another knot, and Yang Ping placed the micro forceps down, taking the scissors handed to him without even turning his head.

The scissors were placed into his palm, and he clipped the suture.

The process continued seamlessly. Micro scissors were quickly replaced with micro forceps.

Song Zimo, unsure whether he should continue assisting, found himself uncertain. He didn't know whether to step in or just step back.

The second stitch, third, fourth, fifth, sixth…

Director Han held his breath, trying to suppress his surprise.

The operating room was completely silent, except for the soft hum of the anesthesia machine. Tian Yuan and Fang Yan, working on the adjacent table, had both put their hands in protective bags, and they too were watching the screen closely.

In the adjacent teaching room, a crowd of young doctors and interns had gathered in front of the large screen.

"Wait a minute, that doesn't look like Senior Song anymore!"

"It must be Director Han!"

Someone peered through the glass.

"No, Director Han isn't in there. It's that new guy, Dr. Yang."

"He's that good? Even better than Senior Song."

They whispered quietly, careful not to make too much noise despite the distance.

The operation was flawless. Every stitch, every movement of the needle was perfect. When the final stitch on the blood vessel was completed, the lumen of the vessel aligned perfectly. If it weren't for the thin blue thread and the slight outward curvature of the incision, no one would have thought this was a reattached severed vessel.

No tear in the vessel wall, and no stitch had to be redone.

At that moment, Song Zimo's own doubts and pride began to dissipate like storm clouds after rain. What replaced them was genuine astonishment—could this really be done? Was this what true genius looked like?

Song Zimo had always thought of himself as a genius, but now he realized that perhaps he had only been a pseudo-genius—better than most, but not truly exceptional.

During his master's training, Song Zimo had performed microsurgical procedures on one hundred mouse tails, with a success rate of 100%. He had been the fastest among all the doctors in his training class.

He had independently performed his first severed finger replantation, and it had been at the average level for Shanghai's Sixth Hospital at the time. But today, watching Yang Ping's skill, Song Zimo realized that his own accomplishments were nothing compared to this level of expertise.

Several doctors had finished their own surgeries and came to the teaching room to watch. Their eyes were glued to the screen.

"My god, is this really how severed finger replantation can be done?"

"It must be Director Han performing it."

One of the doctors turned to look and saw it wasn't Director Han—he had been watching the procedure closely for some time—but Song Zimo and Yang Ping, though Song Zimo seemed to be sitting back, his hands in the protective bag, not operating.

It was Yang Ping doing the surgery.

Director Han swallowed hard, his throat tight as though something was lodged in it.