Director Han has been in a good mood these days.

He gets up in the morning, practices a round of Tai Chi Fist on the balcony, goes downstairs to have breakfast, and then strolls to the hospital. Although he says he’s going to the hospital, there’s actually nothing specific he needs to do. His official position is "Chief Expert of the Sanbo Hospital Expert Group," which sounds impressive but is a technical advisory role with no actual responsibilities. No outpatient consultations, no surgeries, no morning meetings, no document reviews. He can come and go as he pleases. The hospital-assigned car remains parked in the garage because he finds it troublesome and prefers to walk.

Of course, if he wants to perform surgery, he can do so anytime. If he wants to participate in an outpatient consultation or make his presence felt at a conference, he can.

If he’s invited to an orthopedic academic conference, whether domestically or internationally, he is treated as a special guest by the organizers.

It’s a twenty-minute walk from his home to Sanbo. He crosses an old street, turns onto a sycamore tree-shaded avenue, and after passing a traffic light, he can see the outpatient building of Sanbo. He’s taken this route for over a decade and could navigate it with his eyes closed.

Today is Thursday, and as usual, the outpatient hall is bustling with activity. Director Han is wearing a gray jacket and carrying a cloth bag, leisurely making his way through the crowd.

Occasionally, someone calls out very respectfully, "Director Han," which he enjoys. He takes the elevator to the fifteenth floor, to his office. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

It’s more of a study than an office. A forty-plus square meter south-facing room with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the entire city. Against one wall is a row of bookshelves filled with various orthopedic specialties and journals, some dating back to when he was earning his doctorate, their spines yellowed with age. Opposite the bookshelves is a wide office desk with a computer and a pen holder. Next to the desk is a set of tea utensils, made of purple sand clay, which have been nurtured by tea for over a decade, giving them a glossy sheen.

Director Han places the cloth bag on the desk and brews himself a cup of tea. The water was boiled in the morning and is at the perfect temperature. He carries his teacup to the window, watching the ant-like flow of people below, lost in thought for a moment.

Below is the entrance to the inpatient department, with ambulances constantly arriving, and relatives of patients carrying large bags coming in and out. This city witnesses stories of birth, aging, sickness, and death every day, and Sanbo is one of the most important stages for these stories.

After watching for a while, he suddenly remembers something and picks up the phone, dialing a number.

"Xiao Yang, where are you?"

The voice of Yang Ping comes from the other end: "Director, I’m in the operating room, just finished up. Do you need anything?"

Director Han says: "No, just checking in. Do you have time at noon? Let’s have lunch together."

Yang Ping replies: "Sure, I’ll come over after I’m done here."

Director Han hangs up the phone, a relaxed smile spreading across his lips.

Yang Ping is his most outstanding student, unmatched.

In fact, he has only supervised two doctoral students in his life. One is Song Zimo, and the other is Yang Ping. Song Zimo was only half because he was originally another mentor’s student and switched midway. The only one he guided entirely from start to finish was Yang Ping.

One is enough.

Actually, he didn’t do much for Yang Ping; it was all due to Yang Ping’s high talent.

Director Han puts down the teacup, walks to the bookshelf, and opens the bottom drawer. Neatly stacked inside is a pile of photo albums. He flips through them, finds the thickest one, and sits back on the sofa to slowly look through it.

The first photo is from the year Yang Ping first came to Sanbo. Back then, Yang Ping was twenty-seven or twenty-eight, wearing a white gown, standing at the door of the orthopedics doctor’s office, with a slightly reserved smile. Standing next to him is Director Han himself, with a crew cut and a straight posture, looking spirited and vigorous.

Director Han turns the page, and the next photo is from Yang Ping’s doctoral period. In the picture, Yang Ping is wearing scrubs, standing in the operating room, with mask marks still on his face. It was taken after they completed a several-hour surgery on a six-year-old child with congenital spine deformity, whom several hospitals had refused to admit. Yang Ping was the chief surgeon, and Director Han was the assistant. They stood from eight in the morning to nine at night, only drinking a few sips of water and eating a few biscuits in between. After the surgery, the child’s spine was successfully corrected. Director Han was so exhausted he could barely stand straight, yet Yang Ping continued to watch the monitor for data, like a tireless machine.

It wasn’t just that Yang Ping could endure hardship; it was also his passion for medicine, his curiosity about the unknown, and his obsession with perfection. On the operating table, others might consider eight out of ten is good enough, but he insists on achieving nine or ten. Where others might think something is "good enough," he would repeatedly ponder and scrutinize. Once, for an improvement plan on a surgical approach, he spent an entire month working on it, drawing hundreds of diagrams. When he finally showed it to Director Han, the director scrutinized it for a while and said: "Kid, you’re much better than me."

Turning another page, the next photo is from Yang Ping’s graduation day. In it, Yang Ping is wearing a doctoral gown, holding his degree certificate, standing next to Director Han, smiling brightly.

Yang Ping progressed from an attending surgeon to a director at Sanbo and then became the head of the institute. From an ordinary surgeon, he grew into a top domestic surgical expert and a world-class scholar. The surgeries he performed, the papers he published, the awards he received, and the students he trained—each is enough for an average person to brag about for a lifetime. But he never brags, just focuses on his work like the young man who first arrived at Sanbo, always learning, always thinking, always ascending.