godfather of surgery

Chapter 1378 The Moon Shines Brightest in My Hometown

Chapter 1378 The Moon Shines Brightest in My Hometown

Three days after the celebration party ended, Li Ze locked himself in his office and didn't go out for the entire afternoon.

He just sat there, his computer on, with an email on the screen that he had written and deleted repeatedly—a reply to several old colleagues in Cleveland.

The letter asked him: How have you felt since you returned to China over a year ago? Do you regret it?

He stared at the screen for a long time, then finally moved the cursor to the upper right corner and clicked close.

It's not that I don't want to reply, it's that I don't know how to answer.

The scene of the celebration party that day kept replaying in his mind.

He wasn't someone who hadn't seen the world. In Cleveland, he had received awards, made the news, and attended a celebration hosted by the hospital—a buffet, champagne, a few minutes of speaking, and then everyone socializing with their glasses in hand. Decent, restrained, and not overly enthusiastic.

But the scene on the day of Sambo was different.

It was a completely different kind of "respect." It wasn't politeness, but genuine pride; it wasn't routine, but truly treating you like one of their own. From the dean to the nurses, from the senior professors to the interns, the light in everyone's eyes was genuine. He had never felt that way in his twenty years in America.

He recalled that day when Yang Ping stood on the stage, wearing an ordinary blue shirt and no tie, and said a few simple words, yet some people in the audience had tears in their eyes.

He recalled when he first arrived, Dean Xia invited him to dinner and said something during the meal that he hadn't paid much attention to at the time, but now the more he thought about it, the more he felt its weight: "Professor Li, you made the right decision to come back. America is great, but that's their territory. This is your home."

In fact, he had his moments of wavering during the year or so since returning to China.

When he first came back, he did find it hard to adjust. Sometimes he wondered if he had made the decision too hastily.

But this wavering soon disappeared.

Li Zehui had only heard of Dean Xia before, knowing he was the dean of Sanbo and had a great reputation in the industry. But after actually getting to know him, he discovered that Xia's way of treating talent was unlike any other manager he had ever met.

On his first weekend back in China, while he was still jet-lagged, Dean Xia called: "Professor Li, are you free today? I'll take you to see some houses."

He was a little surprised: "Dean, there's no rush. I can stay in a hotel for now."

“Staying in a hotel is only temporary; it won’t be comfortable for long.” Dean Xia’s tone left no room for negotiation. “I’ve already had the office contact several agencies and selected a few that are close to the hospital and in good neighborhoods. Pick one, make a decision, and the hospital will handle the paperwork for you.”

He thought it was just politeness, but he didn't expect Dean Xia to actually accompany him to see the house.

He spent the whole day traveling from Dongcheng to Chaoyang, looking at seven or eight apartments. Dean Xia was even more attentive than him, meticulously inquiring about every detail of each apartment: lighting, ventilation, floor level, transportation, and surrounding amenities. The real estate agent, mistaking him for the buyer, kept introducing the apartments to him. He pointed to Dean Xia: "This is our dean." The agent paused, then whispered, "Your workplace must be incredibly well-off; the dean personally accompanies you on your apartment purchase?"

The final apartment we settled on was recommended by Dean Xia. "This neighborhood is quiet, the property management is good, and it's a ten-minute walk from the hospital. You'll be working a lot of overtime, so living close by will allow you to sleep in a bit more," he said. Dean Xia immediately turned to his office and said, "Pay as soon as possible."

He later learned that Dean Xia had sent his office staff to scout out the apartment a week in advance. They knew exactly which layout was best, which building was quiet, and which roads were congested.

On the day he moved in, Dean Xia came again. He didn't come empty-handed; he carried a bag of things—pots and pans, oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar, and even a kitchen knife. "You're new here, you probably haven't got everything you need. Use these for now, and let me know if you need anything." He stood at the door, looking at the bag, suddenly at a loss for words. A hospital director, overseeing thousands of people, personally bringing him pots and pans?

He had lived in the United States for twenty years and had never seen a department head help a new professor find housing, let alone deliver a pot.

But this is only the beginning.

In his second month back in China, his daughter ran into trouble with school enrollment. The international school was full. His wife was frantic; their child's schooling was a major issue. He mentioned it to Dean Xia, not expecting any help—in China, this kind of thing involved connections and favors, but he'd just returned; where would he find such connections?

After listening, Dean Xia immediately said, "This is something we should handle. How can you worry about it yourself?"

Three days later, the office informed him that there were available spots at the international school, and he could complete the enrollment procedures next week. He later learned that Dean Xia had used his old connections in the Education Commission, making seven or eight phone calls to secure a spot through other channels.

He called Dean Xia to express his gratitude, and Dean Xia said on the other end of the phone, "Professor Li, you've come back to contribute to the country. Your child is our child. If I can't handle this little thing, what kind of dean am I?"

He held the phone, remaining silent for a long time.

Another time, it was when his father was hospitalized.

My father went to the United States from Shanghai and had always wanted to return to China in his later years. He was overjoyed when he finally came back. My father's health had never been good, and one night he suddenly fell ill. Li Zehui was attending an academic conference at the time and was very worried when Dean Xia called: "I have already sent an ambulance to pick him up. The head of the cardiology department will personally see him. You can focus on your work. I will take care of the old man's affairs."

That night, his father was taken to Sanbo Hospital. The next morning, Dean Xia personally visited him in the ward and spent a long time giving instructions to the head of the cardiology department. When Li Zehui rushed back, his father had already been settled. Holding his hand, he said, "Your dean is such a good person."

He nodded, thinking not just of good people, but of people who truly understand talent.

Dean Xia never talked to him about grand principles. He didn't talk about "contributing to the country," "national rejuvenation," or "patriotism." He just did things quietly and efficiently, taking care of everything for him—the house, the children, the parents, and the daily life.

Once, during a conversation, Dean Xia said something that he has always remembered: "Professor Li, you people who have returned are not here to suffer. Whatever treatment you receive abroad, it will only be better in China. You just need to focus on your work, and I'll take care of everything else. I'm your assistant."

These words were spoken casually, but he knew their weight. This wasn't just polite talk; it was a promise. And over the past year, Dean Xia had been fulfilling that promise for him, one thing at a time.

It wasn't just Dean Xia; everyone at Sanbo was helping him integrate.

When he first arrived, his biggest worry was interpersonal relationships. Having lived in the United States for twenty years, he was used to that "everyone does their own thing" work style. Colleagues were polite, courteous, and maintained a certain distance. He was afraid that he wouldn't be able to adapt to this kind of interpersonal society after returning to China.

It turned out that it wasn't at all what he had imagined.

Director Han took the initiative to invite him to dinner. "Professor Li, you've been in the US for so long, you must be tired of Western food. I'll take you to eat authentic Cantonese cuisine." The meal lasted three hours, during which Director Han told him about the history of Sanbo and the customs of Nandu. At the end, he patted him on the shoulder and said, "If you don't understand anything in the future, just ask me, don't be shy."

Xu Zhiliang was always exceptionally enthusiastic whenever he saw him. Although he had difficulty speaking, he said, "Professor Li... Professor Li, do you... do you have time? I... I... I'll take you... to... have a look around."

Song Ziming was a man of few words. But every time they met, he would ask, "Professor Li, are you settling in well? Is there anything I can help you with?" Once, he casually mentioned that the chair in his office was uncomfortable, and the next day, a new chair was placed in his office. He didn't know how Song Ziming knew, nor who bought the chair; he only knew that he had bumped into Song Ziming in the corridor that day, and the other man had nodded at him without saying a word.

Dr. Jin, the head of spinal surgery, usually appears serious but is actually very meticulous. Once, during a meeting, Li Ze casually mentioned that he liked spicy food. The next day, Dr. Jin had a jar of homemade chili sauce delivered to him. "My wife made this. Try it, and let me know if you want more."

The young doctors, nurses, and administrative staff all greeted him with smiles. "Hello, Professor Li!" "Thank you for your hard work, Professor Li!" "Please call us if you need anything, Professor Li!"

He had never experienced this kind of atmosphere in America. America was good, but it was a cold kind of good. Everyone was professional, everyone was efficient, but everyone maintained just the right distance. After get off work, everyone went home and went back to their own families. Colleagues might have dinner together once a year. Here, it wasn't like that.

One night, after finishing surgery, he was exhausted and wanted to buy something to eat at a convenience store. As he approached, he bumped into a few interns. They paused for a moment when they saw him, then enthusiastically surrounded him: "Professor Li, you haven't eaten yet? We're hungry too, let's eat together!" That night, he sat on a plastic stool in the convenience store, eating instant noodles, drinking beer, and chatting with these young men in their early twenties. They asked him about America, and he asked them about their hometowns. They talked until 2 a.m., then walked back to the hospital arm in arm.

At that moment, a word suddenly came to mind: sense of belonging.

He had never felt this way in his twenty years in the United States.

Gradually, he integrated.

He started to know which food window had no queue, which elevator was less crowded, and which break room had the best coffee. He began to understand his colleagues' jokes and knew who got along with whom and who didn't. He started greeting people in the hallway without having to think of their names and asking them out for drinks after get off work without having to make up excuses.

He started to get used to this kind of life.

Once, he ran into Yang Ping in the operating room. Yang Ping asked, "How are you? Getting used to it?"

He said, "It's fine."

Yang Ping laughed and said, "It's not just good, it's better than I imagined?"

He smiled too: "Yes, it's better than I expected."

Yang Ping said, "I knew it."

That night, he remembered Dean Xia's words: "You just need to focus on your work, I'll take care of the rest."

He suddenly realized that this was not just Dean Xia's promise, but a promise from the entire hospital, the entire environment, and the entire country.

Because everything he needs is thought of for him. Everything he wants to do is supported by someone. His family is taken care of. His life is taken care of by someone.

He only needs to do one thing well: be a good doctor.

It's that simple.

Now, his team has expanded from the initial 5 people to more than 20. Some have returned from the United States, some from Europe, and some were trained domestically. The young people are full of energy and often voluntarily work overtime.

His first student was a boy from the countryside who had passed the college entrance exam and whose parents had both died. The boy was smart, hardworking, and talented, and worked quietly.

Li Zehui was deeply moved by his conversation with this student, who was essentially an orphan raised by the government. He received an education and completed his medical studies with the help of student loans. During his university years, the school provided him with many opportunities to work and earn money.

In the United States, a child like this would have been homeless long ago. How could he possibly go to college, let alone medical school? Impossible, absolutely impossible.

Even someone from a relatively well-off family like Li Zehui was overwhelmed by medical school loans. It took him many years to pay them off after graduation. Later, he learned that the loan for this student's medical studies was actually not much, not even a fraction of his own loan in the United States. He could easily pay it off in one or two years after graduation.

Later, many things made him understand the differences between China and the United States even more.

Convenient public transportation, cell phone signal everywhere, many things can be done on your phone, shopping can be delivered to your door, and you can go out for a walk or a late-night snack with peace of mind...

He used to think that Chinese people lived in information cocoons, but now he realizes that Americans are actually the ones living in information cocoons, yet they think they are so free and democratic.

Communicating with this child made him understand what socialism is for the first time, and it also made him more determined to stay.

Now he knows that the biggest stage is actually right here.

It's not because the stage is so glamorous, but because he is the protagonist standing on it.

Not a supporting role, not a cameo, not a "special guest".

He is the master.

He has people supporting him, people standing shoulder to shoulder with him, and enough resources at his disposal, giving him a sense of security.

That night, he sent Yang Ping a WeChat message: Professor, thank you for persuading me to come back.

Yang Ping replied quickly: You figured it out yourself.

He looked at the message and smiled.

Yes, I figured it out myself.

But if I hadn't personally witnessed Yang Ping standing on the stage, genuinely respected and loved by so many people; if I hadn't personally seen how Dean Xia cared for his house, children, and parents; if I hadn't personally felt how everyone in the hospital was helping him, caring for him, and treating him like one of their own...

He probably still can't figure it out.

The moon outside the window is very bright.

He suddenly remembered a line of poetry his father had made him memorize when he was a child: "The moon shines brightest in my hometown."

Back then, I just thought it was a textbook passage; now I realize it's real.