Chapter 100:

“Chaoyu, what do you think of the organizer’s requirement? If I had to figure it out with my brain, I might spend a year and still not understand it.” Kong Han stared eagerly at Qin Chaoyu, hoping for some answer from her.

Yin Ledan had some vague guesses in her mind, but she wasn’t certain, so she also looked at Qin Chaoyu, waiting for her response.

Unconsciously, Qin Chaoyu had become the leader of the three, with both Yin Ledan and Kong Han placing great trust in her.

“I have some thoughts—I don’t know if they’re accurate, but you can take them as a reference,” Qin Chaoyu said. “As doctors, our patients are our primary responsibility. Since we’re serving them, isn’t their satisfaction crucial? Some patients come from financially struggling families and don’t have enough money for treatment. So, when treating them, shouldn’t we find the most suitable approach? Whether it’s using affordable yet effective medication or eliminating unnecessary procedures, prioritizing the patient’s well-being is the essence of medical ethics.”

Yin Ledan and Kong Han fell into thought.

After speaking, Qin Chaoyu checked her phone—it was already ten o’clock, her usual bedtime. She urged Yin Ledan and Kong Han, “Alright, since you’ve gained something, go back and think it over. I need to rest.”

Having lived together for a while, Yin Ledan was familiar with Qin Chaoyu’s habits. She stood up first and said goodbye, “Then we’ll take our leave. Goodnight.”

With that, she pulled Kong Han along as they left.

While Yin Ledan and Kong Han tossed and turned that night, trying to decipher the organizer’s intentions, Qin Chaoyu slept soundly.

Of course, those who could sleep peacefully that night either already had a clear understanding or simply didn’t overthink it. Most didn’t sleep well. They had come this far—one more step and they’d succeed. No matter what, they had to give it their all and ensure they didn’t fail over trivial matters.

The next day, all the traditional Chinese medicine practitioners, even those who hadn’t slept well, put on a spirited front and headed to their assigned hospitals with high morale. They were confident—after all, treating ten patients shouldn’t be a problem. Hospitals were crowded with patients; ten, even a hundred, wouldn’t be hard to find.

But by the end of the day, everyone was disheartened. True, the hospitals had plenty of patients, but what good did that do? They couldn’t even get close to them, and the patients didn’t trust them enough to accept their treatment. At this rate, forget ten patients—they might not even treat one.

This outcome was predictable. The hospitals knew these interns were top students from prestigious schools, highly talented. But what use was talent? Talent didn’t equate to experience, much less medical skill. Every doctor capable of treating patients had spent years as assistants before being entrusted with cases. Who in their right mind would let newcomers treat patients right away? Even the organizers wouldn’t dare make such a demand. This wasn’t some game—mistakes couldn’t be undone.

Most workplaces treated them as ordinary interns, assigning them menial tasks rather than entrusting them with patients.

Those who initially thought the organizer’s final selection task was too easy now felt their faces burning.

*TMD, this is simple?!*

Ignorance truly was bliss—they had been too naive back then.

But giving up was out of the question. The only way forward was to create opportunities and prove their worth.

~

Qin Chaoyu was assigned to Jinghai Hospital, one of the top three hospitals in the capital and a dream workplace for many medical students. A large hospital meant many doctors, which further reduced the likelihood of Qin Chaoyu being given significant responsibilities. Her daily routine consisted of menial tasks typical for an intern.

She was also pondering how to create opportunities, but she hadn’t expected one to come so suddenly.

It turned out to be thanks to Wei Bolan’s help.

After the conference, Wei Bolan hadn’t left the capital immediately. He had been urgently invited by Yu Minglü, the director of Jinghai Hospital’s ICU, to assist with a critical surgery.

The operation was highly complex, with a high risk of complications, especially since the patient was elderly. A misstep could lead to fatal cerebral hemorrhage.

The patient’s family had agonized over the decision, but without surgery, death was certain. With it, there was at least a chance of survival. So, they gritted their teeth and agreed.

Normally, a seasoned director like Yu Minglü wouldn’t be this nervous—he had performed countless surgeries, some even riskier. But this patient’s status was special. If the surgery failed, his position as director would be over, with or without the family’s complaints. Bringing in Wei Bolan was meant to increase the odds of success.

As a Western medicine practitioner, Yu Minglü had heard of silver needle hemostasis but knew the technique was largely lost—otherwise, most TCM doctors would be capable of it.

Then, out of the blue, someone mentioned that a doctor at Yuzhou Hospital had achieved it, successfully stopping massive bleeding during an emergency surgery and saving a life.

The first name that came to Yu Minglü’s mind was Wei Bolan.

Among those he knew, Wei Bolan’s acupuncture skills were unparalleled, having saved countless lives. Plus, Wei Bolan was affiliated with Yuzhou Hospital.

Upon arrival, Wei Bolan learned why Yu Minglü had summoned him in such a panic. But he had to disappoint him: “Director Yu, I’m truly sorry, but I can’t help you. That surgery you mentioned wasn’t performed by me. You’ve got the wrong person.”

“What?” Yu Minglü felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him. If not Wei Bolan, then who? What was he supposed to do now?

Wei Bolan didn’t understand Yu Minglü’s devastated expression. Since he couldn’t help, he felt awkward lingering and prepared to leave.

Just as he reached the door, he suddenly remembered Qin Chaoyu. Her medical skills were beyond his own, and she also worked at Yuzhou Hospital. Could she have been the one behind that surgery?

Mentioning this to Yu Minglü, the desperate director decided to take a chance and summoned Qin Chaoyu.

When Qin Chaoyu arrived, she was accompanied by an observer assigned by the organizers.

Yu Minglü didn’t mind the extra person, but the moment he saw Qin Chaoyu, he regretted his decision. She looked barely twenty—how could she possibly possess such a skill? *Forget it, the surgery might not even result in major bleeding. Maybe I’ll succeed without needing her.*

Calming himself, Yu Minglü maintained his composure, though he didn’t show outright disdain. After all, Wei Bolan had recommended her, and he didn’t want to offend a well-meaning helper. He asked perfunctorily, “Young lady, do you know silver needle hemostasis?”

He expected nothing, but to his shock, Qin Chaoyu replied firmly, “Yes.”

Yu Minglü stared at her, torn between disbelief and hope.

Seeing his skepticism, Qin Chaoyu wasted no words. She picked up the fruit knife on Yu Minglü’s desk and swiftly slashed her own wrist.

Blood gushed out—the cut was deep, and the flow was heavy.

The move was so sudden that neither Yu Minglü nor Wei Bolan reacted in time. Seeing the blood, they panicked, scrambling for bandages. The observer, horrified by Qin Chaoyu’s boldness, rushed out to fetch supplies at Yu Minglü’s order.

Wei Bolan roared in anger, “What kind of reckless stunt was that? You don’t just slash yourself with a knife! A young girl like you—what if it scars? You’ll regret it! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!”

Despite the bleeding, Qin Chaoyu remained unfazed, as if the wound wasn’t hers.

Without a word, she produced a silver needle and, in a flash, inserted it into an acupoint three centimeters above the wound. The steady stream of blood gradually stopped.

“This…” Yu Minglü’s eyes widened as he rushed to her side, examining her wrist in awe. After a long pause, he murmured, “It really stopped… This is incredible!”

Wei Bolan was equally stunned. Though he had suspected Qin Chaoyu might know the technique, seeing it firsthand was another matter. He itched to question her but held back out of respect for Yu Minglü, though his eyes kept darting to her wrist, burning with curiosity.

“Seeing is believing.” After letting Yu Minglü observe the stopped bleeding, Qin Chaoyu retrieved a tiny wooden gourd-shaped vial from her pocket. Inside was her specially formulated hemostatic powder—not only did it stop bleeding effectively, but it also promoted rapid healing without scarring.

She uncorked it and sprinkled a small amount on the wound. The white powder worked instantly—she had to be sparing, as this version was ten times more potent than the one she’d given Han Yixun. Too much, and the wound would heal unnaturally fast, which would raise too many questions.

When the observer returned with bandages, Qin Chaoyu wrapped her wrist, removed the needle, and asked coolly, “Convinced now?”

Though he had witnessed it, Yu Minglü, ever cautious, remained hesitant. Stopping blood in the brain was far more complex than in an arm.

His face clouded with uncertainty.

“You called me here because you heard about that surgery at Yuzhou Hospital. The patient had a cerebral hemorrhage and was elderly. I was the one who stopped the bleeding.” Qin Chaoyu wasn’t one to boast, and her cheeks flushed slightly as she spoke—something Yu Minglü missed, as he was deep in thought.

The observer, tasked only with recording Qin Chaoyu’s performance, remained silent like a background prop. But he noticed her blush and found it oddly endearing. Throughout his observations, she had always been composed, unlike a typical young woman her age. This rare moment of shyness reminded him that she was, after all, only twenty.

Seeing Yu Minglü still wavering, Qin Chaoyu suggested bluntly, “If you still don’t believe me, go ask around at Yuzhou Hospital. You’ll get your answer.”

“Fine!” Yu Minglü hadn’t reached his position by being indecisive. Earlier, his anxiety had clouded his judgment, but now, rationality returned. He trusted Qin Chaoyu’s words about seventy percent and agreed, “Then please wait for a bit. I’ll give you an answer as soon as possible.”