Surgery Godfather

Chapter 2217: Chapter 1448: Acting Director

Yang Ping turned lightly and left the Neurosurgery Operating Room.

He then went to the Cardiac Surgery Department Operating Room; Li Zehui was in the middle of an Aortic Dissection Surgery. The Major Vascular department had not yet been set up as an independent unit, so for the time being this type of Surgery was done by the Cardiac Surgery Department.

This Surgery was complex and dangerous; Aortic Dissection was known as the "Mount Everest of vascular Surgery," with extremely high mortality and an extremely high level of difficulty. But for Li Zehui, it was nothing much.

Yang Ping stood for a while outside at the observation window and did not go in to disturb him.

Then he went to the General Thoracic Surgery Department Operating Room; Director He was already on the table doing a Surgery, just in the middle of a lung cancer Radical Surgery. Director He’s movements were very standard; every step followed the textbook, not overstepping the line by even half a pace. Yang Ping watched for a while and thought to himself: There’s nothing wrong with Director He’s technique; what he lacks isn’t technique, it’s confidence. When one day he dares to break away from the textbook and do things according to his own understanding, his level will be able to rise by a notch.

Yang Ping walked out of the surgical center, changed out of his scrub suit in the Changing Room, and put his White Gown back on. He straightened his collar in the mirror and looked at himself.

On his way to the Institute, when he passed through the emergency hall, he saw Zhaxi debriding and suturing a trauma Patient. Zhaxi’s movements were very slow, but very meticulous; every step was done in place. He was as steady as ever, unhurried and unflustered, stitching every stitch neatly and properly.

Yang Ping didn’t disturb him; he merely watched from a distance, quite satisfied.

This Student Zhaxi did not have much talent, but he made up for it with diligence. He knew he was slow, so he worked harder than others. When others practiced once, he practiced ten times; when others read one book, he read three; when others rested on weekends, he worked overtime on weekends. Someone like this might never become a top expert, but he would definitely become a qualified Doctor.

That was enough.

When he got back to the office, the tea on his desk had long since gone cold.

He picked up the cup; the cold tea slid down his throat with a faint, elusive bitterness, but the aftertaste was sweet.

The phone rang.

Yang Ping glanced at the caller ID—Dean Xia.

"Professor Yang, are you at the Institute?" Dean Xia’s voice came through the receiver, carrying his usual crisp decisiveness.

"Yes, I’ve just come back."

"Please don’t leave yet, I’m coming over to see you, there’s something I need to talk about."

The call ended.

Yang Ping put down his phone and leaned back against the chair. When Dean Xia said there was "something," it certainly wouldn’t be a small matter. He knew this Elderly Director’s way of doing things very well; minor issues were settled over the phone and didn’t require him to make a trip in person.

In less than ten minutes, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

As expected, it was Dean Xia who pushed the door open. He was wearing a dark blue jacket; his hair was already streaked with some white, but his back was ramrod straight, and he walked with vigorous energy. Yang Ping noticed he was holding a rolled-up set of drawings, bound with a rubber band, the corners a bit worn, clearly having been thumbed through many times.

"Dean, please have a seat." Yang Ping stood up and offered his chair to Dean Xia.

Dean Xia waved his hand, didn’t sit, and directly spread the drawings out on Yang Ping’s desk. He took off the rubber band; the drawings unfurled with a rustle, covering more than half the Desktop.

"The floor plan of the new Institute, the first draft just came out. Take a look," said Dean Xia.

Yang Ping lowered his head to look.

The drawings were large, with details packed densely. He saw a cell Laboratory, a molecular biology Laboratory, an Animal Experiment center, an imaging platform, a biospecimen bank, cold storage, a sterilization room, a Meeting Room, offices... Every area was labeled; area, function, person in charge, all written clearly.

"This is?" Yang Ping asked.

Dean Xia said, "I’m about to start the fit-out. See if there’s anything in particular you want to specify."

Yang Ping’s gaze moved across the drawings, looking one section at a time, growing more satisfied the more he saw.

This new Institute was larger, more complete, and more advanced than he had imagined; it lived up to the name of "super Institute."

"Dean, isn’t this scale a bit too big?" Yang Ping lifted his head and asked, a little uncertain.

Dean Xia chuckled. "A bit big? The higher-ups are still complaining it’s too small, saying why we didn’t secure a bigger piece of Territory back then."

Yang Ping froze for a moment.

Dean Xia patted a certain spot on the drawing. "Look here. This is an apartment building specifically for recruited talent, right behind the Institute, a three-minute walk."

Yang Ping’s gaze landed on that label—"Expert apartments, several 12-story buildings, with a few hundred units."

"A few hundred?" Yang Ping was a little surprised.

"Is that a lot?" Dean Xia countered. "I think it’s still not enough. Think about it—how many people are there in the Institute now? Tang Shun, Lu Xiaolu, Jiang Jitong, Manstein, Weber... and later? For your theories to develop, to be translated, to be applied, how many people will you need? A few hundred units, by my estimation, will only be enough for five to ten years. But look, I’ve reserved a lot of land; if it’s not enough later, we can build more."

Yang Ping fell silent.

"If you have no objections, I’ll finalize the renovation plan?" Dean Xia asked again.

Yang Ping shook his head. "You decide."

"Good!"

Dean Xia briskly rolled up the floor plan and headed out.

Yang Ping checked the time; it was already seven in the evening. Things had run a bit late today; he should hurry up and get off work to rest.

He tidied up the Desktop, turned off the lights, left the office; the corridor was very quiet.

As he passed by Manstein’s Laboratory, he saw the door slightly ajar, with the sound of a keyboard clacking from inside.

Yang Ping gently pushed the door open and poked his head in.

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