The Surgeon’s Studio

points in the System.

Below the price tag lay a brief introduction of the item.

There was a vast collection of general surgical instruments, many of which were unknown to Zheng Ren, and they had various functions such as automatic disinfection, mild repair of damaged structures after separation of the connective tissues, and so on.

Those were some good stuff, but they were currently beyond Zheng Ren’s affordability.

The Shop not only offered instruments and equipment for general surgery, but also other specialties as well.

Their functions were almost similar, but there were subtle differences which Zheng Ren would learn and require only after his skills had improved further.

With the extra-long large curved forceps as an example, Zheng Ren had profound knowledge in its manipulation after his arduous training in the System, but the forceps available in Sea City General Hospital were atrocious and nearly cost him two perfect surgeries last time.

Well, all of these had to wait until he had saved up enough experience points.
Besides, even if he did purchase instruments from the System, how was he going to bypass the rules and bring his own instruments into the operating theater?

However, this trouble was none of his concern at the moment.

The last mission’s reward—intensive training in the System’s operating theater for twenty days—was exactly what Zheng Ren yearned for the most.

He had no idea how to activate this reward, which seemed to have no real form; perhaps it was not a physical entity at all, despite searching in the System for a long time.

“System, how do I activate the reward for intensive training?” asked Zheng Ren, who had failed to locate the operating theater after exploring the tiny area in the mysterious world.

The System was cold and apathetic as usual as it responded to Zheng Ren’s question with glacial silence.

Well, there was nothing he could do about it.
After contemplating for some time, Zheng Ren decided not to add his 150 skill points into the general surgery skill tree.

What would he do if the System had a crazy energy spike again and assigned him another mission which would result in death upon failure? It was better to save up some skill points as they could prove useful later on.

After admiring the surgical instruments in the Shop again, Zheng Ren left the cold and deserted mysterious world, drooling.

“Hey, don’t play dead.
It’s time for surgery.” The anesthesiologist woke Zheng Ren up by kicking his thigh gently.

Zheng Ren woke up from a ten-minute rest and realized that time normally passed at the same rate in both reality and the System.
If the System was trying to freeze and maintain static spacetime just like how it did in his previous intensive training, its energy reserve would be depleted as if it was some sort of emergency response.

Every cell in Zheng Ren’s body was brimming with energy as he got up off the floor, presumably due to faster energy restoration in the System.
He might need to experiment on that theory some other time.

“Alright, I’m getting up now,” said Zheng Ren.

“Are you sure you can do it?” asked the anesthesiologist.

After all, Zheng Ren had performed almost forty surgeries in one night, which was something unheard of in the anesthesiologist’s entire life.
Logically speaking, Zheng Ren should be worn to bits by now.

“I can do it even if you can’t.
How can a man say that he can’t do it in any situation?” replied Zheng Ren with a grin.

Making dirty jokes was one of the special cultures of the operating theater.
There was no study or theory supporting this statement, but every operating theater around the globe seemed to share the same culture as well.

A surgical scrub was performed, the operative site disinfected, the surgical drapes placed, the surgical gowns worn, and another appendectomy surgery commenced.

The inflamed appendix, becoming obedient under Zheng Ren’s sharp scalpel, was resected and thrown into a specimen container.
Everything was done within minutes, short and sweet as usual.

A new day had begun, and more viewers started entering the livestream in Xinglin Garden.

A live broadcast of forty appendectomies without break was considered a first-time magnificent achievement in Xinglin Garden.

Xinglin Garden aside, even the doctors who watched the live broadcast at this instant had never experienced this sort of situation in their lives.

Approximately ten appendectomies within twenty-four hours? Most surgeons had achieved this.

Anyone who had gone through this situation would be able to boast about their experience—during such-and-such time, I had performed ten appendectomies in just one night—while they drank beer and ate at a roadside barbeque stall.

Ten appendectomies were more than enough to be anyone’s bragging rights.

However, it was not worth mentioning at all compared to this livestream in Xinglin Garden.

The number of surgeries had reached forty-one but the surgeon continued to make that number bigger and more terrifying.