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

On a winter morning, the wind in Beijing is as hard as a steel knife, stinging your face.

At this time of day, the area in front of the main hospital would usually be filled with the sound of old men sweeping fallen leaves with their brooms. But today, the vast square is eerily quiet.

"drop!"

A deep, guttural horn from a military jeep broke the silence.

The jeep with military license plates slowly pulled over. The door opened, and Gu Zheng jumped out first. He wasn't wearing his military uniform today, but a black pilot's leather jacket with the collar turned up, making him look like a drawn blade.

He walked around the front of the car, opened the passenger door, and with a swift movement, steadily pulled Ye Zhen out.

Ye Zhen was wrapped in Gu Zheng's thick military overcoat, the sleeves of which were a bit long, making her look even thinner.

As she looked up, her gaze was instantly met with a torrent of steel.

Gu Zheng tightened his grip, the warmth of his palm seeping through his gloves. He surveyed the endless sea of ​​bicycles before him—Phoenix, Forever, Flying Pigeon—a dense, dark mass. A flicker of shock crossed his deep eyes as he murmured, "This formation is even more organized than our regiment's emergency assembly."

Ye Zhen didn't speak. Her gaze swept over the thousands of bicycles and landed at the top of the steps.

There, hundreds of students sat in a dense crowd.

Some huddled together, hugging their knees, while others huddled back to back for warmth. Each person clutched a small aluminum lunchbox or a military water bottle tightly in their hand. Hearing the vehicle, hundreds of eyes turned to look.

There was no weariness from staying up all night in those eyes, only two flames burning in them, making one's heart ache.

Ye Zhen took a deep breath, the cold air choking her lungs and sending a slight shiver down her spine. She pulled away from Gu Zheng's hand and walked step by step toward the steps.

"Xiao Ye..."

When Zhang Guohua saw her, his voice was hoarse as if he had swallowed a handful of coarse sand, and his hand trembled as he pointed at the red cardboard box, "Look...look at these children..."

Ye Zhen walked to the box and bent down.

The box wasn't filled with neatly arranged "big unity" items; it was a mess, like a general store.

The coins and denominations were piled up like a small mountain, shining in the morning light. The crumpled small bills were mixed together, some still stained with the oil from fried dough sticks.

This is all they have.

These chosen ones, the future backbone of the nation, left the last warm coins in their pockets here.

Ye Zhen reached out her hand, her fingertips gently gliding across the rough red paper.

"The Heart of China".

The ink on those four characters had long since dried, yet they resembled a scalding brand, making her fingertips tremble.

When the wind blew, the lined paper, which was weighed down by pebbles, rustled loudly.

Ye Zhen picked up the small stone and unfolded the paper.

There are only two lines of text above, the handwriting is childish, yet the power is palpable:

"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."

Those two short lines were more weighty than any multi-million dollar contract she signed in Berlin.

Ye Zhen pursed her lips, her jawline taut like a fully drawn bowstring. She was used to wielding a scalpel, and could suture blood vessels only millimeters in diameter without trembling, but at this moment, holding this thin strip of paper, her fingers spasmed uncontrollably.

She didn't say anything, but very solemnly folded the note along the creases and put it into the inner pocket close to her heart.

Then, she gently patted that spot through her coat.

"Girl..." Zhang Guohua's eyes were red-rimmed. He took off his glasses and wiped his face haphazardly. "This is the will of the people. This time, we can't let them down!"

Just as Ye Zhen was about to speak, the sound of a tricycle rumbling suddenly came from the side of the square.

An old man selling soy milk and fried dough sticks came along, pushing a steaming tricycle.

Without any shouting, he parked the car, lifted the tightly covered quilt, and steaming white vapor rose instantly, like a white dragon, appearing particularly vivid in the chilly morning.

The old man didn't speak. He picked up a chipped, rough porcelain bowl, stirred it in the bucket with a large spoon, and scooped up a full spoonful of piping hot soy milk. He paused deliberately, skimming off the foam on top, leaving only the richest part.

He handed the bowl directly to the boy sitting at the front.

"Drink up, kid." The old man's hands were chapped like old tree bark, but his smile was honest and kind. "I'm not educated, and I'm not rich. But this soy milk is freshly ground, hot, and filling! We Beijing men can't let those who do real work get cold!"

The boy was stunned for a moment.

He had been sitting in the cold wind for half a day; his legs were long since numb, and his hands were so frozen they wouldn't obey him. With great effort, he reached out and took the bowl of scalding hot soy milk. The heat from his palms made him shiver involuntarily.

He didn't drink it.

He gritted his teeth, braced himself on his knees, and slowly stood up. His movements were somewhat stiff, yet they exuded a resolute determination.

He held the large, rough porcelain bowl in both hands as if it were some rare treasure. He turned around, facing the hospital building and Ye Zhen.

That's the direction where the sun rises.

"The clinical departments of Peking University, Tsinghua University, and Peking University Health Science Center are all present!"

The boy suddenly yelled.

His voice, hoarse and cracked from prolonged dehydration, carried a metallic tinge of blood, yet it boomed like thunder, piercing the entire square: "Yesterday, we screened 432 households, issuing one red card and one yellow card!"

He raised the bowl high in his hand, and a few drops of soy milk spilled out as he did so, landing on the dusty cement floor.

His eyes were bloodshot, veins bulging on his neck, and he roared, "This bowl is for Teacher Ye!"

"Respect to Teacher Ye!"

"Respect to Teacher Ye!"

It's like toppling the first domino.

In the square, hundreds of students suddenly stood up. The sounds of chairs overturning and aluminum lunchboxes clattering together were both jarring and pleasant in this early morning.

They held up their aluminum lunchboxes, military water bottles, and some even held up a half-eaten, frozen, hard steamed bun.

The sounds coalesced into a massive wave of sound, causing the old poplar trees by the square to tremble and making Zhang Guohua's scalp tingle, bringing tears to his eyes.

This is not a toast.

This is a rally!

It was a group of young soldiers saluting their general!

Ye Zhen stood on the high steps, looking at those young, tired, yet fervent faces.

In her past life, she was a solitary surgical master, working alone within the confines of the operating room lamp. Once the operating room door closed, the world consisted only of her and her patients. No one knew what she was thinking, and until she suddenly died on the operating table, she was still alone.

In this life, she thought she was just fighting for a way out for herself and for a better life, so as not to be controlled by that damned fate.

But until this moment.

Looking at the bicycles scattered all over the mountains, the piles of loose change in the red cardboard box, and the steaming bowl of soy milk.

She then understood—

She is no longer alone.

On this road, there are thousands of troops!

A strong, stinging feeling welled up in her nose and rushed to her eyes. Ye Zhen took a deep breath and forcefully suppressed the urge to cry.

A general on the battlefield must not shed tears.

She turned around and strode up to the old man selling soy milk who was still somewhat dazed.

"Grandpa, two bowls, please."

Ye Zhen reached into her pocket and pulled out a crisp, brand-new ten-thousand-yuan note. The bill was crisp and without creases. She slammed it down on the tricycle's counter, her voice clear and bright: "Keep the change."

The old man hurriedly scooped out two bowls, his hands trembling slightly.

Ye Zhen picked up one bowl and handed the other to Gu Zheng behind her.

Gu Zheng gave her a deep look and took the bowl. He didn't say anything, but silently took half a step forward, his shoulder almost touching hers—a standard guard's posture.

As long as she charges forward, his chest is her strongest support.

Ye Zhen, carrying the bowl, walked back to the edge of the steps.

The wind picked up, ruffling the stray hairs at her temples, with a few strands sticking to her face, but she ignored them.

She held the bowl with both hands and leaned forward slightly.

Facing all the students in the square, she straightened her back and bowed deeply and for a long time.

Ninety degrees.

Her demeanor was as impeccable as whenever she faced life on the operating table. There was no perfunctoriness, no condescension, only equal respect.

The square was deathly silent; even breathing seemed to have stopped. Everyone just stared at her, at this woman who, according to legend, could bring the dead back to life, now bowing her head to them.

After a long while, Ye Zhen straightened up.

Her eyes, which were usually as clear and cold as stars, now seemed to contain the entire rising sun, shining brightly, so bright that no one dared to look directly at them.

"This bowl is for you."

Her voice wasn't loud, but it was clear and melodious, reaching everyone's ears precisely.

"A toast to all the young men of this city."

"A salute to the patriotic heart of the Chinese people!"

After saying that, she tilted her head back and drank the scalding hot soy milk in the bowl in one gulp.

Without the slightest pause or hesitation.

The heat flowed down his throat and into his stomach, dispelling the chill that had lingered all night, and transformed into a raging fire that instantly spread throughout his body.

Gu Zheng looked at the woman beside him who was drinking heavily with her head tilted back, and at the taut lines on her neck. A faint but extremely proud smile appeared on his lips.

He followed Ye Zhen's example, tilted his head back, and gulped down the soy milk in his bowl.

"happy!"

Gu Zheng slammed the empty bowl down on the handlebars, making a crisp "clang" sound.

He turned around, his gaze sweeping across the entire room like a hawk's. In that instant, he was no longer the doting husband, but the commander who struck fear into the hearts of his enemies on the battlefield. The iron-blooded aura emanating from him sent a shiver down the spines of all the students, who instinctively straightened their backs.

"Listen up, everyone!" Gu Zheng's voice was steady and powerful, carrying an unquestionable command. "Since you're on the battlefield, don't be a deserter!"

"yes!!!"

His response was a roar that erupted from hundreds of throats, soaring into the sky.

Standing aside, watching this scene, Zhang Guohua suddenly felt his old bones burning with rage.

He knew that the deal was done.

With a group of people like this, there's nothing in this world that can't be accomplished!