After being separated from my family, I became a darling of the military region thanks to my medical

The operating room doors slammed shut, shutting out all the noise and cold.

The operating lights came on, and with a "snap," a pale beam of light shone onto the operating table, enveloping the little girl who was as thin as a withered branch.

"Initiation of anesthesia induction." Ye Zhen's voice was as steady as a mountain.

Behind the glass observation windows on the second floor, the once empty lecture hall was now packed with heads. Those students who had been stunned in the emergency room were now holding their breath, staring intently at the green figure below.

They wanted to see if this woman, who was supposedly "deified" in Berlin, really had three heads and six arms.

"Open chest."

Without a word, Ye Zhen's scalpel sliced ​​across the skin as smoothly as a brushstroke on rice paper, without the slightest hesitation. The amount of bleeding was astonishingly small. The hissing sound of the electrocautery and the acrid smell in the air sent chills down the spines of the medical students in the observation room.

too fast!

It would take an average person twenty minutes to cut the skin and saw open the sternum, but she only took five minutes!

"Establish extracorporeal circulation."

Following Ye Zhen's instructions, the priceless German machine began to operate. Dark red venous blood was drawn out, turned bright red through an oxygenator, and then pumped back into the little girl's body.

At this moment, the heart must stop beating.

"Block the ascending aorta and infuse myocardial protective fluid."

As the cold medicine was injected, the little heart, which was already struggling, trembled a few times, and then slowly and completely stopped.

Behind the observation window, a suppressed gasp escaped. Although everyone knew it was a routine procedure, witnessing someone's heart stop still sent a chill down their spine, filling them with a profound sense of awe for life.

"Right now, we're racing against time with the King of Hell."

Ye Zhen didn't look up; all she could see was that heart, which was only the size of a pear.

"Scissors."

The sharp Metzenbaum shears were inserted into the right ventricle, cutting through the thick muscle bundles.

This is the most dangerous aspect of Tetralogy of Fallot—the heart has complex internal malformations, a huge ventricular septal defect, and the aorta straddling it, like a house where the load-bearing wall has collapsed and the water pipes are connected backwards. What she had to do was to perform the most delicate "reconstruction of illegal buildings" on this stopped heart.

Ye Zhen's fingers were long and slender, and although her gloves were stained with blood, she moved with the dexterity of someone threading a brocade.

"4-0 slide rail, with washer."

Repairing the ventricular septal defect was the main task. It was a hole with a diameter of more than 1.5 centimeters, which was a deadly abyss for such a small child.

Ye Zhen took the needle holder and flipped her wrist.

Insert the needle, remove the needle, and tie a knot.

The movements were fluid and fast, almost blurry. The Tsinghua University student in the observation room pushed up his glasses and pinched his thigh hard—this wasn't surgery, it was performing art!

The spacing between each stitch is as precise as if measured with a ruler, and each knot is as stable as a rock.

"Unblock the right ventricular outflow tract."

She removed excess muscle and widened blood vessels. Like a sculptor with divine power, she reshaped the pathways of life with millimeters of precision.

Time ticked by. The clock on the wall ticked away, each tick feeling like a blow to everyone's heart.

Three hours.

For three whole hours, Ye Zhen remained motionless, her head bowed and back bent. Sweat streamed down her forehead and into her eyes, but she didn't blink once, only slightly turning her head. The circulating nurse immediately stepped forward to wipe it away.

"Repair complete."

Ye Zhen let out a long breath, her voice still calm, but with a barely perceptible hoarseness, "Prepare to jump again."

This is the final judgment moment.

The ascending aorta opens, and warm blood flows back into the coronary arteries.

Everyone held their breath. The students behind the observation window even stood up, pressed their faces against the glass, their breath blurring their vision, which they then frantically wiped away.

That stagnant mass of flesh and blood, nourished by the blood, gradually turned rosy in color.

a bit.

Another one.

"Thump...thump...thump..."

On the monitor, what was originally a straight line suddenly jumped up with a peak, and then turned into a regular wavy line.

That heart started beating again! Strong and powerful, no longer the struggle of a dying man, but full of the rhythm of new life!

"Resuscitation successful! Blood pressure 90/60, blood oxygen saturation 98%!" The anesthesiologist's voice trembled with excitement.

Ye Zhen gently placed the needle holder in the curved tray with a "clang". She raised her head and looked at the dumbfounded young faces on the second floor through the thick glass, a slight smile playing on her lips beneath her mask.

That was a silent declaration:

The King of Hell wants people? You'll have to get past the knife in my hand first!

……

No one was walking in the corridor.

Even after the surgery was over and the red light went out, dozens of students remained rooted to the spot. Some leaned against the wall, others sat on the ground, clutching cold steamed buns in their hands, yet their eyes burned with two flames of "faith."

No one spoke, but something had completely changed.

If they were stirred by Ye Zhen's speech in the auditorium before, then now, after witnessing the miracle of resurrection, that passion has become a red-hot branding iron, deeply imprinted on their bones.

In the shadows of the corner, Gu Zheng leaned against the wall, fiddling with a metal lighter in his hand, making a "click, click" sound.

He stared at the operating room door, as if he could see through the thick lead plate and witness how that figure had just stood shoulder to shoulder with a god within that small space, with a mortal body.

……

That night, no one in the dormitories of major universities in Beijing was destined to sleep.

The telephone line was so hot that the dormitory's late-night chat went on until dawn.

Room 302, male dormitory at Peking University Medical School.

"You didn't see it!" The boy who had been there sat on the lower bunk, gesturing wildly with his hands, spitting as he spoke, his eyes gleaming eerily. "His heart had stopped! The blood had stopped flowing! We were just separated by a pane of glass, not daring to breathe. But Teacher Ye's hands, really, faster than a sewing machine! In just a few minutes, she had patched up that huge hole!"

"Is he really alive?" The guy in the upper bunk poked his head out, his voice full of disbelief.

"He's alive! I saw the ECG jump with my own eyes!" The boy slapped his thigh, the slap stinging, but he seemed oblivious. "Do you know what's most amazing? That kid's family was poor and couldn't afford it. Teacher Ye slapped the bill into the dean's arms and said she'd pay for it!"

The dormitory fell silent for a moment.

"Five thousand dollars..." a weak voice rang out from the corner, "My dad couldn't save five thousand dollars in his whole life."

"This is what we're supposed to do." The boy stopped gesturing, lowered his head, looked at his hands that were blistered from carrying bricks all day, and said in a low voice, "How many children like that did we see during the screening today? Do we have to wait for Teacher Ye to pay for every single one of them? Even if she had mountains of gold and silver, she couldn't fill this hole."

Silence engulfed the small dormitory like a tide.

After a long while, the squad leader, who hadn't spoken until now, silently pulled a small cloth bag from under his pillow. It contained his living expenses for the week, along with a few grain coupons valid throughout the province.

"I won't die from skipping a couple of meat meals." He placed the money on the scratched wooden table, making a slight sound.

"I still have some."

"This pen was a gift from my second uncle; it should be worth a few dollars."

There were no grand pronouncements or eloquent speeches.

On this bitterly cold winter night, countless scenes like this unfolded in every corner of Beijing. Those poor students, who usually haggled over a few cents for food, pulled out the last bit of their warm belongings from their pockets.

The next morning, just as dawn was breaking and the east was beginning to lighten, the sky began to turn a pale white.

Zhang Guohua, who got up early, arrived at the hospital as usual, carrying the soy milk and fried dough sticks he had just bought. He froze as soon as he reached the entrance, nearly dropping the fried dough sticks.

The once empty square was now densely packed with bicycles.

Phoenix, Forever, Flying Pigeon… hundreds of bikes? No, thousands! A dark, overwhelming mass, like a torrent of steel. It was a massive army of bicycles from all the universities in Beijing!

On the high steps of the emergency building, there was a huge cardboard box sitting all alone.

It was a corrugated cardboard box used to hold a large color TV, which had been carefully covered with a layer of red paper, with a hole cut in the middle.

The words "Heart of China" are written in calligraphy above.

The box was open, exposed to the first rays of morning sunlight.

Zhang Guohua walked over, glanced inside, and his nose suddenly stung with tears, his eyes instantly turning red.

There was no "Great Unity" in the box.

There was a jumble of crumpled, loose change piled up there.

There were one-cent, two-cent, and five-cent coins, as well as one-mao and two-mao banknotes. Some of the banknotes had oil stains on them, and some of the coins were worn shiny.

In addition, there were also colorful grain coupons, cloth coupons, and meat coupons.

There were several aluminum lunch boxes that were washed clean and not a speck of oil.

There were several old-looking fountain pens that were polished to a shine.

There were even a few Shanghai brand watches, their straps worn out, yet they were still carefully placed inside.

This is the entire fortune of an era.

They were a group of students who still had to ask their families for living expenses, and they were saving every last bit of food they had.

The wind was a bit strong, making the receipts in the box rustle. On top of a pile of coins, there was a lined piece of paper torn from a notebook. To prevent it from being blown away, a clean pebble was placed on top of it.

Zhang Guohua reached out his trembling hand and picked up the paper.

The handwriting is somewhat immature, but it is written neatly and meticulously, with each stroke appearing as if it were engraved:

"We don't have 100 million marks."

"But we have money for breakfast."

"Teacher Ye is right, we can only save lives if we are well-fed. But if we eat one less bite, those younger brothers and sisters can live one more day."

The signature had no name, only five characters, written very large and forcefully:

Chinese college students.

The biting wind stung his face. Zhang Guohua took off his fogged-up glasses, wiped his face haphazardly with his sleeve, and bowed deeply and deeply to the red box.

What is the destiny of a nation?

This is.

This is the heart of China.

That's the true value of that 100 million marks.