I Am Diagnosed as a Medical Titan

Chapter 59: Chapter 59: Which of Us Is the Fifth-Year Student?

「In the stands, a few minutes earlier.」

Wang Xiaoqing exclaimed in amazement, ”This kid, he’s finished writing already?”

Yang Xu asked with a smile, ”I heard he was the first to turn in his paper during the preliminaries, too?”

Wang Xiaoqing nodded, her voice filled with emotion. ”Yes. Back then, I really didn’t expect a third-year student to turn in his paper in just forty minutes and actually get the first perfect score in the history of Southern Medical University. To be honest, Old Yang, if it weren’t for that brilliant performance in the preliminaries, seeing him turn in his paper this early now, I’d definitely suspect he was just messing around and giving up.”

Hearing this, Yang Xu just smiled and nodded without saying a word.

He leaned back in his chair, feeling a secret sense of satisfaction.

After all, Wang Xiaoqing was praising his own student.

He was actually considering whether he should tell Wang Xiaoqing about Jiang He’s other accomplishments.

But after a moment of thought, he decided against it.

’It’s not that I don’t want to brag, the time just isn’t right...’ This was what made Yang Xu more mature than Chen Hao. He knew that when you show off, you have to save it for one big, impressive reveal.

Down on the floor, Jiang He had already entered the practical skills area.

Wang Xiaoqing commented softly, ”His procedure is textbook, completely correct. For an undergraduate who’s never been at a real operating table, that’s incredibly rare.”

Yang Xu said, ”Textbook is one thing, but the key will be his subsequent resection margins and anastomosis technique. That’s where his true skill will be tested.”

Beneath the shadowless lamp.

Jiang He’s world was completely silent.

He had blocked out everything around him.

Compared to real human tissue, the silicone model offered more resistance and lacked resilience. It didn’t have the slick feel of warm blood either.

But the path of Jiang He’s scalpel showed no hesitation.

Incision, dissection.

He used a full-thickness, interrupted, inverting suture technique.

Needle in, a flick of the wrist, needle out.

He pulled the suture, crossed his hands, tied a square knot, and then added an extra single knot to create a reinforced triple knot.

Cut the thread.

Needle in again, another knot.

His movements weren’t the least bit flashy, just supremely steady.

On both sides of the stands.

The third and fourth-year students were discussing in hushed tones.

”That’s Jiang He from Class 2, right? His suturing speed... isn’t it a little too fast?”

”Yeah, and he’s so steady, not a single tremor. The last time I sutured a rabbit’s abdomen in the functional experiment lab, I snapped two threads...”

”With this kind of interrupted suture, he doesn’t even need to measure the stitch interval?”

On the left side of the audience, the class monitor, Zhou Yang, opened his mouth but couldn’t think of a single point of rebuttal for a long time.

Lin Yue glanced at him and nodded. ”Indeed.”

Zhou Yang: ”?”

’I didn’t even say anything. What is she agreeing with?’

He suspected Lin Yue was deliberately teasing him for fun, but he had no proof...

In the VIP seats.

Professor Xiaoqing had fallen silent.

She was observing intently...

Even tension, no stenosis, no eversion of the tube wall, and certainly no missed stitches.

Wang Xiaoqing took a deep breath, turned to Yang Xu, and said in a stunned voice, ”These fundamentals... Old Yang, has our university’s teaching standard reached such a high level now?”

Yang Xu was also staring intently at the screen, the smile on his face now completely gone.

He recalled what Jiang He had told him in the office earlier: the bottom-up retrograde resection method.

At the time, hearing the idea, Yang Xu had indeed thought it had potential.

But in the field of surgery, theory is theory, and skill is skill.

When an undergraduate who had never even been a chief surgeon proposed a revolutionary surgical method, Yang Xu subconsciously felt it was likely just empty theorizing.

But now, Yang Xu was starting to have doubts...

’This kid... he might actually be able to pull off that modified technique on an operating table.’

’But how could he be so proficient?’

In 2008, the direct consequence of increased enrollment at Southern Medical University was a strain on teaching resources.

In anatomy class, several students had to share a single cadaver, and animal experiments at the Skill Center were also extremely limited.

Where could a third-year student get so much practice with a scalpel?

Yang Xu narrowed his eyes slightly.

’To develop this kind of feel, how much hardship must this kid have endured in private?’

Numerous scenes surfaced in his mind:

A medical student at a farmers’ market in the early morning, plastic bag in hand, buying unwanted, discarded pig intestines from a butcher’s stall. Under the dim light of a desk lamp in his dorm room, while others played video games, he held forceps and a needle, suturing those foul-smelling intestines again and again. Or perhaps buying a large bag of cheap grapes, peeling their skins to practice fine suturing on the delicate flesh. Just like that, wearing out countless silicone pads and practicing on who knows how many pounds of fresh pig trotters.

Theoretical talent might be a gift from the heavens, but the tedious, day-after-day practice behind it could not be faked.

A profound appreciation for such a talent welled up in Yang Xu’s heart.

’Thankfully, he’s already my student...’

「Meanwhile, in the written exam area outside the screen.」

Pan Wen finally let out a long, heavy breath and put down his pen.

He raised the back of his hand to wipe away the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead.

That question was just too difficult, completely beyond the scope of an undergraduate-level exam.

If he hadn’t spent a solid half-year rotating through the emergency department at Affiliated Hospital No. 1, he would have had to turn in a blank paper for the first question about the preliminary diagnosis.

Acute superior mesenteric artery embolism.

He was certain he had grasped the core of the problem.

Although he had been a bit vague on the specific centimeter margins for the extended resection of the necrotic bowel and the details of the anastomosis, and wasn’t very confident about it.

But no matter what, he had gotten the general framework right.

As long as he got to the practical skills area, getting a high score wouldn’t be a problem, relying on the suturing experience he’d accumulated at the operating table during his fifth-year internship.

Pan Wen turned in his paper and strode toward the practical skills area behind the screen.

Following the protocol his supervising instructor had taught him during his internship, he headed straight for the sink in the corner to begin a rigorous pre-operative scrub.

As he went to wash his hands, he noticed someone else out of the corner of his eye, also washing their hands.

It was that student who had turned in his paper so quickly earlier.

Pan Wen was slightly surprised.

’Forget about entering the practical area early—he’s already done with the suturing too?’

’How long has the exam even been going on? That’s impossible, right?’

With these thoughts running through his mind, Pan Wen squeezed a pump of hand soap into his palm, preparing to begin the first step of scrubbing.

Out of curiosity, he glanced over again, wanting to see how this junior was performing his pre-operative preparation.

In the next second, however, Pan Wen saw Jiang He dipping his hands under the running water, washing them in a slow, methodical manner.

He didn’t use much soap; he was clearly performing a post-operative wash.

’Huh? Does this mean... he’s really finished?’

Pan Wen’s gaze followed to Operating Table No. 1, where Jiang He had been.

On the operating table, the silicone intestinal model had been neatly severed and then perfectly reconnected with an exceptionally beautiful interrupted suture.

In the tray to the side, the needle holder, forceps, and scalpel were arranged in perfect order.

And in the trash bin next to the table lay a pair of discarded gloves, turned inside out.

Pan Wen: ”?”

The sound of water rushing from the faucet still echoed in his ears.

He stood frozen on the spot. After a brief mental crash, a powerful sense of absurdity washed over him.

Two people stood before the sinks.

He was washing his hands, preparing to begin.

The other was also washing his hands, yet he was already finished.

’Is this right? Between the two of us, who’s the fifth-year student?’