In the afternoon, Yan Feifan learned from a call from Wang Chuan that Lo Jun had agreed to join the validation surgery.

The condition, however, was that Yan Feifan had to be his assistant.

Yan Feifan understood that he had essentially gained another mentor.

This condition wasn’t in his short-term plans, but it did align with his long-term goals.

Considering his own capacity to learn and adapt, and with Wang Chuan’s assurance over the phone that the senior doctors would help manage his time and energy, Yan Feifan agreed.

Just after six in the evening, Yan Feifan took a taxi to the East Sea Clubhouse, located four or five kilometers east of the Affiliated Hospital.

Guided by a staff member, he entered a tastefully decorated room, its walls adorned with several pieces of calligraphy and traditional paintings.

Inside, Lo Jun, Miao Quan, Liu Jin, Qee Sheng, Liang Zhao Kui, Qin Ying, Chen Yu, and Wang Chuan were already seated around a large, round dining table.

They were all senior figures, his mentors, so Yan Feifan greeted each of them respectfully before gingerly taking the only empty seat.

“Xiaoyan, did you diagnose a patient with Pingshan disease at noon?”

Faced with Lo Jun’s sudden question, Yan Feifan gave a brief reply. “At noon, in the small plaza next to the main cafeteria, I happened to run into a youth who looked like he had Parkinson’s, so I took a quick look.”

“Mr. Lo, has it been confirmed?”

Lo Jun chuckled softly. “One of my students, Xiao Yang, was covering the outpatient clinic today. As it turns out, he was completely shown up.”

“The patient came in and immediately asked if he had Pingshan disease!”

“Xiao Yang scolded him, telling him not to run to the internet to compare symptoms and diagnose himself at the drop of a hat.”

“If diagnosing illnesses were that easy, then our seven or eight years of medical school would have been for nothing.”

“But as it turned out…”

Lo Jun chuckled. “After a series of examinations, it turned out to be Pingshan disease after all.”

“Xiao Yang also told me that if the patient hadn’t mentioned Pingshan disease by name first, he likely wouldn’t have been able to make a diagnosis right away.”

“An embarrassed Xiao Yang questioned him further, only to find out the diagnosis didn’t come from the internet. It had been made at noon by a young man referred to as a ‘genius doctor’.”

Lo Jun looked at Yan Feifan with great satisfaction and said, “The moment Xiao Yang told me that, I knew it had to be you.”

At this, Qee Sheng spoke up. “Xiaoyan has a photographic memory and has read so much that no complicated case can stump him.”

“Honestly, he’s the best one to study under me and become my successor.”

Qee Sheng said with great regret, “It’s a shame, though. The kid prefers being a surgeon!”

He pointed a finger at Yan Feifan, chiding him for not living up to his potential. “What’s so great about being a surgeon? You’re just working yourself to death all day…”

“Hey, hey…”

Lo Jun cut him off. “Mr. Qi, are you trying to get jumped? Have you taken a look around? How many surgeons are sitting at this table?”

Not to be outdone, Qee Sheng retorted, “You think I’m scared just because you have more people? Right, Mr. Miao?”

Miao Quan just waved a hand. “Don’t you drag me into this. I’m staying neutral today…”

Just then, a waiter began to serve the food, and the debate between surgery and internal medicine fizzled out.

On the menu tonight was Huaiyang cuisine!

The conversation flowed back and forth across the table, dominated by the senior doctors.

It wasn’t Yan Feifan’s place to interject, nor was he particularly good at it, so he focused his attention on the exquisite and elegant spread of food before him.

Perhaps Yan Feifan was enjoying the meal a little too leisurely, because someone decided they couldn’t watch it anymore.

“Xiaoyan…”

Lo Jun first said Yan Feifan’s name, waiting for the others at the table to stop talking before he continued. “The knifework of Huaiyang cuisine is proclaimed to be the best in the world. And one of the signature dishes representing that knifework…”

He pointed to a blue-and-white porcelain bowl on the table. “…is this Wensi Tofu.”

“To prepare a single block of soft tofu to perfection, a chef must use a broad-bladed knife to make at least 88 horizontal cuts and 188 vertical cuts.”

“In just a few minutes, one fragile block of tofu becomes several thousand threads. When placed in clear water, each thread is distinct and uniform in thickness, as fine as a strand of hair. They must not stick together or be broken.”

Yan Feifan glanced at the scattered tofu threads in the porcelain bowl.

He noticed that while they were fine, they were nowhere near the level Dr. Lo had described—they were about as thick as sewing needles.

They were quite long, however, about ten centimeters or so.

Lo Jun sighed with feeling. “A chef, just for the sake of cooking, can hone their knifework to such a degree.”

“If we surgeons, who treat the sick and save lives, all had that same dedication, perhaps there wouldn’t be so many tragedies on the operating table.”

“Xiaoyan, you’re so confident in your surgical proposal. Your confidence must stem from your fundamental surgical skills.”

“How about this…”

Lo Jun used his chopsticks to pick out six threads of tofu, draping them over the rim of the porcelain bowl so they hung down the outside.

He looked at Yan Feifan and said softly, “Xiaoyan, percutaneous ethanol injection requires an extremely high level of skill with punctures.”

“First, let me see just how accurate your punctures are!”

Lo Jun placed his hand on the lazy Susan in the center of the table. “Counting from left to right, there are six threads of tofu hanging here.”

“When it spins in front of you, I’ll call out which one, and you will use a toothpick to sever that thread as quickly as possible.”

“You only get one attempt.”

“Can you do it?”

Yan Feifan was inwardly displeased with what felt like a pointless, circus-like test.

But his reputation wasn’t yet established, his skills weren’t trusted, and he was facing his seniors. He couldn’t very well refuse outright.

Yan Feifan took a toothpick from the holder, glanced at the hanging tofu threads, and said in a neutral tone, “Mr. Lo, I can give it a try.”

“Good. Then I’ll begin.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Lo Jun began to spin the lazy Susan.

He didn’t spin it very fast, just at a normal pace, causing the hanging tofu threads to sway gently.

Around the table, Miao Quan, Liang Zhao Kui, Qee Sheng, and the others watched with interest. Yan Feifan had narrowed his eyes, a toothpick pinched between the thumb, index, and middle fingers of his right hand, poised to strike.

As the lazy Susan spun, the blue-and-white porcelain bowl drew closer and closer to Yan Feifan…

“Four!”

The instant he heard the number from Lo Jun’s lips, Yan Feifan struck without the slightest hesitation.

His right hand shot out like a striking viper and retracted in a flash. Anyone who happened to blink would have thought his hand hadn’t moved at all.

Wang Chuan, sitting beside Yan Feifan, immediately called out, “It’s severed! The fourth thread!”

Lo Jun gave the lazy Susan another spin and saw clearly that the fourth thread of tofu hanging over the bowl’s rim was now half its original length.

He nodded lightly. “Not bad. Not bad at all!”

“There was almost no delay between my command and your action. Your information processing speed is far beyond that of a normal person.”

“And at that speed, the toothpick didn’t even touch the bowl. Your control over the force you applied is also incredibly precise.”

Lo Jun smiled again. “Xiaoyan, how about I raise the difficulty for another challenge?”

“Please do, Mr. Lo,” Yan Feifan agreed.

This time, Lo Jun spun the lazy Susan four or five times faster than before. The hanging tofu threads swung back and forth by two or three centimeters.

Yan Feifan maintained his ready stance, waiting for the blue-and-white porcelain bowl to spin before him…

“Two!”

But just before the number left his lips, Lo Jun, who had been preparing for this, suddenly slammed his hand down and stopped the lazy Susan.

The abrupt stop not only caused the porcelain bowl to skid slightly, but it also made the threads of tofu whip upwards from the inertia.

And in that very instant, Yan Feifan’s right hand, the one pinching the toothpick, moved…

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep