Dr. Jiang Dapeng, Chief Physician, Doctoral Supervisor

@Shanghai Children's Medical Center

Dr. Jiang Dapeng is a Chief Physician and Doctoral Supervisor at the Shanghai Children's Medical Center, affiliated with Shanghai Jiao Tong University School of Medicine. He serves as the Director of the Second Oncology Ward, Secretary of the Surgical Party General Branch, and Secretary of the Oncology Party Branch. Dr. Jiang holds significant roles in various national and regional medical organizations, including as a member of the Expert Committee on Pediatric Hematology and Malignancies under the National Health Commission, a Council Member of the Shanghai Anti-Cancer Association, and the Secretary-General of its Pediatric Oncology Committee. Additionally, he is the Secretary-General of the Pediatric Surgery Alliance of Shanghai Municipal Hospitals, a member of the Surgical Group of the Pediatric Oncology Committee of the Chinese Anti-Cancer Association, and a Standing Committee Member of the Pediatric Oncology Committee of the Chinese Research Hospital Association. 

    He grew up in a gritty mining town nestled against northern mountains – a place where the sharp tang of sulfur in the air mixed with the scent of wild herbs, forever shaping his earliest memories of home. This industrial landscape was both harsh and strangely beautiful. 

    But life held other gifts. The fertile land whispered its secrets through every native plant. 

    While other children played on plastic playgrounds, this barefoot boy sprinted through rustling June wheat fields. He could trace the veins of wild hemp leaves with his eyes closed, count the hidden layers in a motherwort blossom. His kingdom was the dewy thicket of burdock bristling with seed, and the shimmering gold dust shed by ladybug wings at dusk. As twilight deepened over the corn, you’d find him crouched on a field ridge, fingertips brushing the shy, curled bud of a purslane flower – listening for the quiet breath of growing things.

    Back then, becoming a scientist, geologist, or botanist seemed his destiny. Life, however, loves a curveball. His path led him to medical school.

    He can still vividly recall the sharp sting of formaldehyde in Harbin Medical University’s anatomy lab. Yet, strangely, here he found a new kind of wilderness to explore.

     "Something clicked with those convoluted medical terms," he remembers. "While classmates burned the midnight oil before exams, I’d glance at a page in my textbook after lectures, and somehow, the knowledge just stuck." That freed up time for his true passion: devouring texts like the Compendium of Materia Medica – the ancient encyclopedia of herbs and healing that became his cherished "leisure reading." His childhood fascination with the natural world found an unexpected new channel.

   Five intense years transformed him, bridging biology and pathology, theory and clinical practice. He slowly discovered medicine's core truth. "Seeing a patient recover... that feeling is unmatched," Dr. Jiang Dapeng reflects, his gaze steady. "This white coat? It was meant to be worn for life."

The Unexpected Path: Embracing Pediatric Surgery

    Medical school flew by. Soon, graduation loomed, and Dr. Jiang stood at a crucial crossroads. With top-tier performance during his rotations, the obvious choice was adult general surgery – a prestigious, action-packed field often seen as the ultimate test of a surgeon's skill and grit.

    "A senior consultant sized me up," Jiang recalls, a hint of resignation still lingering. "He suggested my build might not be ideal for the physical demands – the stamina required, the height needed... especially for those marathon procedures." He unconsciously ran a finger along his white coat sleeve. The message was clear: that particular door was nudged shut.

    But sometimes a shut door reveals an open window. He secured a place in the Pediatric Surgery graduate program at Harbin Medical University, embarking on a path he hadn't initially charted.

   Suddenly, his world was filled with tiny patients. The challenge was profoundly different. "Pediatric surgery demands a different kind of precision," he explains. "Every single cut, every suture matters so much more. There’s absolutely no room for error. It’s about finesse and unwavering focus."

    So, the boy who might have become a botanist found his calling around another unexpected bend. With an innate sensitivity nurtured through years of close observation in nature, he embraced this new direction with remarkable resolve.

    In the pediatric OR, he first met Professor Han Fuyou. Han moved with startling efficiency and precision, treating every detail with the meticulous care of a master craftsman shaping a precious stone.

   "Professor Han set an incredibly high bar," Jiang admits. "He drilled into us: 'Every child placed in our hands demands perfection. A single stitch out of place is a stitch too many.'" Under this demanding mentorship, Jiang grew from an uncertain novice into a confident pediatric surgeon capable of handling complex cases alone.

    After completing his master's, Jiang faced another choice: accept a coveted faculty position or keep climbing. He chose the latter, pursuing his doctorate. "People saw me as easygoing," he confesses, "but underneath, there's a quiet stubbornness. My parents’ unwavering support gave me the courage to push higher."

   His doctoral advisor, Professor Li Zhaozhu, was a renowned master of pediatric hepatobiliary surgery. That same year, the university implemented a tough new rule: doctoral candidates must publish an English research paper to graduate. "The pressure was immense," Jiang recalls. "Some classmates moved cots into the lab. I pulled countless all-nighters, stumbling into the operating room straight from the lab bench."

   In those quiet, intense hours under the microscope, examining liver and bile duct tissues, he felt a profound echo of his younger self – that same patient, observant boy kneeling in the fields, utterly absorbed by the intricate mechanics of life. Only now, his scalpel was tracing the fragile pathways of human healing.

   "During long operations, Professor Han’s words still echo: 'A surgeon must be a craftsman, pursuing excellence relentlessly,'" Jiang says. "That’s the standard I hold myself to now, aiming for new heights in pediatric surgery."

Pressure and Perseverance: Finding His Footing

   2005, the year Jiang began his doctorate, felt like life on fast-forward. The next year, he married a fellow healthcare worker. But newlywed bliss quickly met hard reality. "My doctoral stipend was only around 260 yuan a month (then about $32). Even a 1-yuan bus fare demanded careful budgeting," he recounts with a wry smile. "For the first two years, starting a family was simply unthinkable."

   Harbin’s brutal winters mirrored the harshness of his journey. Yet, within this struggle, he found deep warmth in his mentors. "My advisors truly taught me ‘hand-over-hand.’ That wasn't a metaphor; it was exactly how they guided me," Jiang shares, gratitude evident. "Professor Han could be uncompromising about mistakes, yet when problems arose, he’d step in without hesitation to shield me." This fierce loyalty forged an unbreakable bond.

   Graduating in 2008, Jiang’s surgical skills had matured significantly. A newfound steadiness defined him. Meticulous preparation banished any trace of hesitation from his hands. "Earning the doctorate changed me," he observes. "I learned to see things from multiple angles, grew more patient, more empathetic. These shifts profoundly impact how I approach every surgery."

   An early test came during residency. His mentor entrusted him with a complex pediatric hip procedure. "It was a huge responsibility, a major challenge for a resident," Jiang remembers. "My mentor paced just outside the OR door, his presence a safety net." The surgery succeeded, the child recovered well... though the scar, Jiang admits with characteristic candor, "wasn't perfectly straight. Adrenaline, sweat pouring down my neck... it was intense."

A New Horizon: From Harbin to Shanghai

   In 2012, an 18-month fellowship took Jiang to Pittsburgh. There, conversations with colleagues from Shanghai sparked a fascination. "We’d chat about lifestyles in different cities during downtime," he explains. "Shanghai started to whisper a promise – a place that might be a better fit."

    By 2013, returning to Harbin held an undercurrent of restlessness. The pull of Shanghai grew stronger. Soon after, at a friend’s recommendation, he made the decisive move south. He joined the esteemed Pediatric Urology Department at Xinhua Hospital, affiliated with Shanghai Jiao Tong University School of Medicine. A new chapter was open.

   Jiang's deep connection to healing wasn't born solely in textbooks. He witnessed its impact firsthand through a revered elder in his hometown – a highly respected traditional Chinese medicine doctor whose skill and ethics inspired trust and profound gratitude among the villagers. Seeing the tangible relief brought by needles and herbs, the young Jiang glimpsed medicine as a bridge to hope, a tangible way to safeguard life.

   His own family faced the stark reality of scarce rural healthcare during a serious illness, a frightening time marked by desperate travels and helplessness. This searing experience, coupled with the elder’s quiet encouragement – "Study medicine. If only to give your loved ones, and yourself, a shield against suffering" – ignited a quiet flame within him.

   Determined to maximize his potential, he moved in with relatives who fostered an intense respect for learning during his formative years. Driven and disciplined under their guidance, he excelled, earning his way into the region’s top high school. 

    When university applications arrived, the decision felt natural. The seed planted by hardship and hope had grown. He placed medical schools as his top choice and secured admission.

   His dedication during medical school was absolute. Those five years, filled with relentless study and clinical immersion, earned him recognition as a top graduate. His thirst for knowledge wasn't quenched; the path led straight to graduate studies.

   Then came a pivotal moment: acceptance into the prestigious Shanghai Second Medical University’s master's program. For a student emerging from the less developed Northwest, this wasn't just an opportunity; it was a passport to the vanguard of medicine, a rare achievement for anyone from his region.

   The journey south was an odyssey itself. Days spent rattling along on a hard train seat became the rhythmic soundtrack of his ambition. Arriving in Shanghai, the iconic Huangpu River glittering under city lights, felt like landing on another planet. He and a few fellow newcomers navigated the neon glare, eventually finding their institute – and collapsing onto simple beds. Unprepared for the humid southern nights, they slept obliviously until dawn, only to wake covered in mosquito bites – a rough but memorable welcome.

   Fate wove another thread as he enrolled: the historic merger of his medical school with a powerhouse research university. Suddenly, resources and possibilities expanded exponentially.

   He dove in with the hunger of someone who knew opportunities like this were rare. Lectures consumed him; lab lights burned late. After foundational studies, he rotated through a major Shanghai teaching hospital (known especially for pediatrics and comprehensive services). Here, theory became visceral reality: rounds, patient interviews, observing surgeries. Guided by experienced physicians and forged through hands-on challenges, the core traits of a capable doctor – composure, meticulousness, responsibility – solidified within him.

   Another decisive moment arrived. Faced with multiple career avenues, he chose the immediacy of the clinic. He committed to practicing frontline medicine, joining the respected Sixth People’s Hospital, another institution known for deep expertise and clinical strength.

    The mantle of leadership settled upon Jiang Dapeng’s shoulders in the oncology department, a weight far heavier than any scalpel. He carried it with an ingrained sense of unease, a man perpetually braced against the encroaching shadows of his field’s uncertainties. To lead was to accept an unspoken covenant: to shepherd this collective of healers towards a future brighter, sharper, better.

    His compass pointed towards three beacons, their light defining his vision: Precision, Personhood, Partnership.

    Partnership, for Jiang, meant dissolving the ancient, invisible lines that divided surgeon from physician. “We must move as one organism,” he insisted, the clatter of the day’s consultations still echoing in his mind. “Not surgery dictating, not medicine prescribing in isolation. The strength lies in the confluence.” The future, he knew, demanded the seamless integration of minds and skills – physicians mapping the intricate terrain of disease with their diagnostics and potions, surgeons navigating the perilous rapids of tissue and blood. Only together could they steer the vessel towards safe harbor.

    Precision, then, became the relentless pursuit. “Our hands must be instruments of flawless intention,” he declared, a quiet intensity replacing his usual calm. “Each incision, a promise kept.” It wasn’t just about technique; it was about culpability. He envisioned a crucible of continuous learning – recruiting hands honed by complexity, fostering an environment where expertise was both demanded and cultivated. This department, under his watch, would be a forge, tempering the skills that granted fragile bodies a fighting chance.

    They needed signature strengths too, islands of mastery in the vast, stormy sea of cancer. Soft tissue sarcomas, he decided. Neuroblastomas. Territories often sidestepped by others for their devious contours and unforgiving nature. This choice came not from hubris, but from a whisper carried across provinces – the memory of a girl, thirteen summers old, from Guangxi’s green hills.

    Her back bore the cruel map of a previous surgeon’s inadequacy, a ragged scar testament to a tumor incompletely evicted. Jiang remembered the grim determination settling in his bones as he prepared her for the second act. “This time,” he vowed, his voice barely above the sterile hum of the OR lights, “no margin for error. Not one cell left behind. We cleanse.” Her arrival, seeking this specific refuge, was a fragile, potent affirmation – word was spreading. Hope was finding its way to their door. Yet, for every victory…

    …there was the Anhui boy. His neuroblastoma wasn’t a mass; it was an insatiable kraken, tentacles winding tight around renal arteries, the great aorta itself, the vena cava. To leave it meant death. To excise it meant navigating a minefield of vital currents. Jiang chose the impossible surgery. Success, measured in the boy’s continued breath, came with an agonizing currency: relentless seepage. For six months, a catheter wept its transparent dirge. Six months of a parent’s eyes heavy with doubt, raw fear transmuting into accusations barely voiced. Six months of holding the line – through outpatient visits, phone calls, the exhausting labor of reassurance. Then, the fragile bloom of understanding. “That period,” Jiang confessed later, the memory still leaching warmth from his voice, “drank parts of my soul I didn’t know I possessed. The abyss was choosing death. We chose the storm. Their trust… that was the life raft that kept us afloat.” Now, those parents became his heralds, sending others along the path forged by trust. Solidarity earned, drop by painful drop.

    He looked beyond mere survival. The scalpel might carve out cancer, but the poisons used to scourge it often left a desolate future in their wake – stolen fertility. Protecting this possibility became another battleground, one Jiang’s team entered early. “Who are we to deny them the chance of a tomorrow that holds laughter of their own children?” he mused. Yet, in those first tentative years, starting around 2021, the concept was a fragile seed. Battling for life now, parents argued, leaves little room for safeguarding lives imagined. Survival first, biology later. “A valid cry,” Jiang conceded, “born from raw terror.” But time, and the quiet persistence of care, shifted perspectives. Now, they came asking. The procedures, intricate dances of coordination more than sheer technical prowess, were small fragments of the overall mission. But they were fragments shimmering with profound significance – guardianship of futures unseen.

    Moments of respite found him often in the hushed corridor outside the operating suites. Alone. The fluorescent light casting stark shadows. Here, he would sometimes close his eyes, and the ancient words of his professional covenant would surface, silent and potent, fortifying his spirit against the tide. Often, the vibration in his pocket offered an unintended punctuation – a text, blurred under weary eyes: Coming home for dinner?. His thumb would find the worn screen: One more case. Then I’m yours. So familiar was this refrain, it had become a quiet anthem to the life chosen.

    “To stand between the child and the abyss,” Jiang Dapeng stated, “isn’t merely my calling. It is my debt. No matter the darkness ahead, no matter how treacherous the climb, this is the path. For every child whose gaze meets the dawn because we fought? I will climb until my strength fails for them.”