"Make sure cameras are ready when he walks out of the OR," the Director said with a proud look on his face.. "This will put us at the top."
The leather chair gave a long creak as the Director turned toward the door. His eyes landed on her.
She froze where she stood. Her skin looked pale, sweat rolling down the side of her face.
Her shoulders rose and fell fast, like she couldn't breathe enough air.
"Why are you here?" The Director's voice came sharp, snapping through the room. "You should be with my son!"
He slammed the receiver down hard and stood from his chair, his face red and tight.
The Director's brows pulled tight, his forehead wrinkled as he looked at her.
"Well? Speak!"
Her lips trembled. The words came out broken.
"Y-your… your son… called you…"
"H-he's making m-mistakes…The operation… it's not going well… we… we could lose the patient…"
The office went quiet. After she spoke, the sound seemed to stop. The words just stayed there, and nobody answered back.
The anger drained out of the Director's face. Panic came instead.
The anger faded from the Director's face little by little. His eyes lost their sharpness, his lips stopped pressing tight, and the red in his cheeks was gone.
What came over him now was not strength at all but panic, plain and clear on his face.
His mouth opened like he wanted to speak, but no sound came out.
His hands twitched at his side, fingers curling and uncurling without control. The proud look, the bragging smile he had worn just a moment ago — all of it was gone.
The truth hit him hard. He was not standing here like a father, not like a man helping his son in the hardest moment. He was more like a salesman, selling his son's name for the hospital's fame and money.
He didn't care if the patient lived or died. What mattered to him now was the reputation. The name. That was all.
All his pride, his name, his son's life, even the hospital's reputation — everything was on the stake. All of it was hanging on one man.
"Call him," the Director said at last, his voice low and heavy. "Now. Right away."
The nurse nodded fast, her hands fumbling with the phone, almost dropping it. "Y-yes, sir…"
The Director's eyes lost all light. His face looked stiff, serious, like a man who had no other option left.
His work, his pride, his son's life — everything now hung on one person alone. When he said the name, it wasn't just respect. It was need. Desperate need.
"The Surgeon… the one they call the Surgeon of Surgeons. Bring him here. No excuses."
Even without the name, the nurse understood. Everyone in the hospital would.
When the Director said the Surgeon of Surgeons, there was only one man he could mean. His son's life, the hospital's pride, all of it was hanging on that man alone.
Her body shivered. Her fingers pressed the numbers fast, slipping on the screen, her hands wet with sweat.
The Director's thoughts spun in circles, and without even trying the man's face came into his mind.
He could see him as clear as if he was standing right there. The Surgeon of Surgeons.
His sharp eyes, his steady hands, his calm way of speaking — all of it flashed in the Director's head while he spoke.
Just saying the words was enough to bring that image, because everyone in the hospital already knew who he was.
A legend. That's what people called him. A doctor whose hands could do things other doctors could not.
He stayed calm even when everything around him was falling apart. His stitches were so exact that people joked he could do them blindfolded.
His hands always moved the same way — quiet, smooth, never missing, like a snake sliding through the dark straight to its target.
They say he could hold a dying heart in his hand and make it beat again.
But even as he thought of that legend, a heavy feeling pressed inside his chest.
He remembered the warning. It was just yesterday, in the big meeting room where all the senior doctors had gathered to talk about the surgery.
The Director had spoken first, full of pride, saying his son would take the lead. No one dared to go against him.
Heads nodded, lips stayed shut. Everyone agreed like they always did, bootlickers afraid to lose their place.
But only one man spoke up. He stood there, calm, his words was sharp as blade. He had said the boy wasn't ready.
He had said this surgery was too much. He had warned them straight, not caring who sat at the head of the table.
And yet here he was, about to beg him. Not for glory, not for fame — but because his son's and hospital reputation was hanging by a thread.
On the other side, he lay on the roof with his legs dangling over the edge, swinging a little as the wind blew past.
A toothpick rested between his teeth while his white coat flapped again and again in the wind, the long ends snapping against his sides. Below him the cars looked like toys and the people moved like tiny ants in a maze, but even with the long fall right under him, he didn't move at all.
His long black hair flew across his face, strands brushing against his skin, yet his black eyes stayed fixed on the sky above, like nothing around him could shake him.
The phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn't move. The wind kept pulling at him, like it wanted to throw him off the roof, yet he only leaned back on his elbows, calm like it was nothing.
The buzzing carried on and on until at last he tilted his head, slow, just enough to glance at the screen. The name lit up clear — Nurse Li.
The name made him sit up a little, his eyes narrowing just enough to see the screen. He didn't need to hear words or excuses.
He already knew. Something had gone wrong inside the operating room. The Director's son had failed.
His lips curved into a small smirk, so faint it almost wasn't there. It was the kind of look that showed the chaos around him didn't matter.
The phone buzzed again in his pocket, but he didn't rush to pick it up. The corner of his mouth lifted a little more, like even now the world could wait one more second.
Back in the office, Nurse Li lowered her phone. Her face had gone pale again. "He… he didn't pick up."
The Director's eyes narrowed. He didn't ask. He didn't need to. He already knew. That man knew the truth. He knew that his son has failed to perform the surgery.
The Director's jaw set. "He'll be here soon," he said flatly.
Then he waved her aside. "Go. I'll handle this."
Deep inside, the Director was sure. Even if that man didn't pick up the phone, he could not ignore what was happening.
Whatever he looked like on the outside — careless, lazy, like nothing touched him — the truth was different.
The pride of a doctor was still inside him. The duty of saving a life was still stronger than anger or pride. The name Doctor carried a weight that even he could not turn away from.
The Director pushed out of the office, his shoes hitting the floor loud as he rushed toward the elevator.
His steps were fast and heavy, each one sounding like it carried all his fear. His face looked stiff, his jaw locked, like he was holding everything in.
Meanwhile, Wu Feng moved at his own pace, slow and steady, like nothing in the world could hurry him. His long fingers brushed over the elevator button, the touch calm and sure.
The bell chimed and the doors slid open. He stepped inside, straightened his white coat, and his long hair was still moving from the wind outside.
The elevator hummed as it went down. Numbers blinked on the display — 12… 11… 10… He didn't even look at them. His eyes stayed fixed ahead, cold and sharp, not moving.
When the doors slid open, he stepped out onto the operating floor. His shoes tapped steady against the tiles as he moved straight toward the theatre.
The doors burst open with a loud bang, the sound shaking the walls.
Wu Feng walked inside, his black eyes sweeping over everything at once — the machines, the nurses, the doctors, the open chest of the patient. Every corner of the room fell under his gaze. Nothing escaped him.
"Zhao Jun!" Wu Feng's voice cut sharp through the noise of the room. "What are you doing?! Move your hands before you ruin this completely!"
Zhao Jun's whole body stiffened at the sound. The scalpel in his hand shook, the metal tip trembling above the patient's chest.
His eyes went wide, staring without blinking, and sweat rolled down the side of his face, dripping onto his mask.
At the back, nurses and junior doctors leaned close to each other, whispering under their breath.
"It's him… Wu Feng is here…"
"Thank God… finally."
"I thought we'd lose the patient."