Surgery Godfather

The video’s comment feature is activated. To avoid distracting the viewers, the comments are moved to a dedicated area under the video.

Since no one can see each other in this virtual meeting, everyone is unrestrained, and the comments section quickly comes alive.

“What the hell, why did he start with the tendon rather than blood vessels first? Must be a rookie?”

“Yeah, probably a newbie.”

“Why would they let a newbie live stream at such a high-profile conference? Is this some kind of joke?”

“Must have sponsored the conference and trying to advertise.”

“They failed to mention from which hospital they are.”

“Silence!”

“Look at his speed.”

“Just a few seconds, and he finished suturing a tendon. A perfect junction. A rookie?”

“A rookie with such speed?”

“This isn’t the usual order of suturing. It’s organized by layers, not everyone dares to do it this way.”

“Fasten your seatbelts!”

“He’s starting on the blood vessel now!”

“His skill level will be evident from the quality of the vascular anastomosis.”

The last surgery was a baby’s finger replantation where the surgeon’s speed was hindered by the thin veins. But this time, they are suturing an adult’s blood vessels, the blood vessels of the forearm no less. The speed can certainly be accelerated.

“You can judge someone’s surgical skill from a forearm blood vessel surgery? Ridiculous.”

“Again, just a few seconds to suture each one, am I seeing this right?”

“He’s suturing the nerves now. Looks like he’s gearing up to suture the median nerve.”

“Damn! Is he planning to use an epineural suture?”

“In a five-part dissection, he dares to use epineural sutures? Is he trying to commit suicide?”

—

“Are you crazy? Planning to use epineural sutures?” Song Zimo quietly asked.

Old Han stroked his chin, tapping his fingers on his thigh, peplexed: “For a five-part dissection, using an epineural suture is unwise. What’s this kid trying to do?”

Old Han knew that the live-streamed surgery was being viewed by surgeons nationwide. But Yang Ping didn’t know. He couldn’t tell him, fearing the pressure might get to him.

Epineural suture? Hong Zhigang unscrewed his bottle of mineral water, took a long gulp, and leaned in. For such a surgery, everyone would choose perineural sutures, no one would use epineural sutures. The reason is simple: it takes too much time. For instance, an arm has three main nerves–the median, ulnar, radial–each with tens of bundles inside.

It’s like a thick electrical cable composed of tens of thinner cables. When you suture perineurally, you just suture the outer casing of the whole bundle. However, if you use epineural sutures, you have to suture each individual nerve bundle, the ‘casing’ on each ‘thin cable’.

With perineural sutures, a problem can typically be solved in about 12 stitches. With an epineural suture, you’re looking at more than ten times the number of stitches. Can you imagine the difference? If you needed one stitch for a perineural suture, you’d need more than ten for an epineural one.

Such a surgery is already time-consuming, spanning tens of hours. If one were to use epineural sutures, they might not even be finished by tomorrow. How could this friend of ours make such a basic mistake?

Hong Zhigang started feeling confused, and so did everyone else.

Everyone wanted to see what would happen to this irresponsible surgeon! Replanting five parts was already pushing the industry’s limits, let alone using epineural sutures. Overconfidence would sink the ship.

He’s sure to fail, just doing it for the shock factor. Hong Zhigang thought, and most people probably thought the same.

“The higher you fly, the harder you fall!”

—

The live-stream continued!

The tiny nerve sheaths were gripped by a microscopic tweezer. Like following a predetermined path on repeat, the needle thread never veered off course as it went in and out, pulling and knotting.

The air seemed to solidify in the operating room. No one spoke; everyone treaded lightly, afraid to disturb Yang Ping.

Yang Ping was breathing evenly. Inside the system, after 5000 simulated finger reattachments, he had learned to tune his body to an effortless state, not tense, but not relaxed either. His movements were neither stiff nor erratic.

This was high-level coordination between the brain and muscles.

Every command from the brain went through the nervous system to the muscles. The muscles controlled the fingers, which then controlled the surgical tools, transmitting the commands from the brain to the tip of the surgical tool almost without loss.

His hand speed began to increase. Song Zimo couldn’t keep up with the pace anymore. He put the microscopic scissors by Yang Ping’s right hand. Every time Yang Ping finished a stitch, he would replace the forceps with the scissors to cut the thread, then replace those with the forceps to keep suturing. He never took his eyes off the surgical field during the entire process, and he never messed up switching the forceps and scissors.

Su Yixuan was highly focused, trying to anticipate Yang Ping’s next move. She was trying to understand what each of his movements and expressions meant.

She held her breath, feeling both nervous and excited. Nervous because she had never put so much effort into assisting a surgery before, and excited because she was able to keep up with his rhythm.

“I’ll be damned, the speed? Is this a joke, are they fast-forwarding the video?”

“I also noticed it, it’s sped up! Mother F, they even fake this?”

“What happened to the live broadcast? Why is it fast-forwarding?”

“It’s live!”

“Don’t kid yourself. As an attendee from Beijing, my hospital ranks in the top three in suture skills and I can’t even reach that speed. Are you still gonna say it’s not fast-forwarding?”

“Stop bullshitting, brains are a good thing, some people just don’t have one! Look carefully, in the same shot, another pair of hands is clearly moving at a human speed. They’re struggling to keep up with the rhythm. So I ask you, the one saying it’s sped up, how would you speed up one pair of hands but not the other in the same shot? If you can’t do it, don’t say others can’t either.”

“Merlin’s beard, I thought we had a rookie here, but this is clearly a master.”

“I haven’t seen such a smooth surgery in many years.”

“Not a single unnecessary movement, every stitch is like a precise machine at work, perfect! Art! Please accept my meniscus-injured knee in respect. Oh, my God.”

—

The first break point had been perfectly sutured – blood vessels, nerves, and tendons all secured – and now they were starting on the second. Five sections had been severed: two breaks at the forearm, one in the palm, and two fingers. The thumb was missing, not found at the site.

Each break at the forearm needed six blood vessels, three nerves, and seventeen tendons reconnected; the palm and the fingers required even more connections, and each one was a delicate blood vessel or nerve.

Hong Zhigang held a bottle of mineral water, several times intending to unscrew the cap but hesitating each time. His heart was restless. In the video, that pair of hands continued the operation mostly by themselves.

What had happened to his junior over these years? His microsurgical skills had become so breathtakingly adept. Ten years ago, when the mentor stepped down from the director’s position, the successor should have been Han Jiangong. Hong Zhigang had used some methods to force Han Jiangong to leave the Magic City Sixth Hospital. Naturally, Hong Zhigang became the successor.

Hong Zhigang’s lips trembled. In reality, he hadn’t wanted things to turn out that way. But as events spiraled out of control, his junior was forced to leave.

He had always wanted to explain to Han Jiangong, to say sorry. But in ten years, the two men had not been in contact. Even at academic conferences, they merely smiled at each other like unfamiliar colleagues, a way of saying hello.

This time, when he received an invitation from the G City government for remote guidance of a rescue operation, Hong Zhigang did not call Han Jiangong.

Hong Zhigang took out his phone, flipping through his contacts. He saw Han Jiangong’s number and gave a bitter smile. The man was in surgery, and besides, he might have changed his number already.

“Teacher Hong!” a student approached, quietly asking a question

Today was Sunday. Except for the duty doctor, all other doctors were in the conference room participating in an online conference. Magic City Sixth Hospital was the host.

“What is it?” Hong Zhigang was pulled from his thoughts.

“The conference attendees strongly request that the live broadcast continue!” the student said.

Hong Zhigang glanced at the screen and said, “Isn’t the video being live-streamed continuously?”

The student replied, “They worry that it will be cut off due to the duration.”

“All right! Continue then.”

“What about the other conference items?”

“Condense them! Explain this to everyone.”

“Ok.”

—

Comments:

“Exciting! Major event! I’ve prepared cola and fries.”

“I’ve already found someone to cover my shift, and my phone is switched off.”

“Quick question, is this level of skill enough to contend for the Golden Knife Award?”

“Huh, I was thinking the same.”

“Which hospital is this?”

“No information so far.”

“What the hell, an emergency surgery, at this time.”

“I’m not going, let the director do it.”

“I am the director!”

“Let the dean do it.”

“The dean specializes in gynecology.”

—

The comments were afire, the atmosphere more intense than any previous online conference. Hong Zhigang looked back to see everyone riveted to the screen, no one leaving. Even if an individual had to use the washroom, they ran there and back.

Old Han watched with a smile on his face, lightly humming a Peking Opera tune and rhythmically tapping his fingers on his thigh. He turned and glanced at Yang Ping–this kid, who had the audacity to do this, was something Old Han himself wouldn’t dare to do even if he were twenty years younger.

The anesthetist would occasionally glance at the screen but, duty-bound, soon turned back to focus on the patient’s vital signs.

Su Yixuan’s eyes often stole glances at Yang Ping. She didn’t know why she was so bold today, but since he was focused on the surgery and couldn’t see her, she allowed her gaze to wander back to him.

Sanbo Hospital’s spacious conference room in the surgical building was now packed. Official media such as the city’s newspaper and television station had been invited and were legally present. Other journalists, such as those from online media, had managed to infiltrate by becoming tea and water servers through various connections.

For an event this big, everyone wanted the latest information first hand. One must know, for some websites, a heavyweight news piece that attracts attention could bring immeasurable traffic.

Secretary Luo sat in the front row, in the middle of Dean Xia. Policemen, Public Security Bureau staff, Health Bureau staff, newspaper staff, and TV station staff lined up on both sides.

Secretary Luo was nervous. He had been in politics for many years and had developed a composure that was difficult for ordinary people to match. He had handled countless public events, but he still felt tense.

After the accident, the First Deputy Mayor went to the scene to command Rescue; the other leaders of the municipal government went to various hospitals to direct rescue operations. Secretary Luo was assigned to Sanbo Hospital.

“Want some water?” Dean Xia pointed at the mineral water.

Secretary Luo realized that he hadn’t drank any water from the bottle in front of him.

He slowly unscrewed the cap, took a sip, and coughed a few times.

The operation continues!

The comments continue!

“They’ve started on the palm.”

“The rhythm is so clear.”

“After the palm, there are five fingers left. Each has two joints, so it’s like dealing with ten fingers. My scalp is tingling!”

“It’s four fingers, which is like eight.”

“What about the thumb?”

“Didn’t you read the case summary? They didn’t find the thumb at the scene, they’ll probably have to do a stump repair.”

Stump repair is when the stump doesn’t have a finger attached, and the wound is simply cleaned up and sutured closed.