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

Ye Zhen has been sitting in the special clinic for several days in a row.

Every day, families of children with congenital heart disease from all over the country come to visit. Today, she watched the children from eight in the morning until noon, only managing to drink two sips of the cooled jujube tea in between.

When Zhao Lanlan brought in the forms for the day, Ye Zhen was resting with her eyes closed on her desk, with a stack of medical records spread out beside her.

"Sister-in-law, this is the last batch today. All three children from out of town have been admitted to the wards."

Zhao Lanlan placed the list on the corner of the table and then took out a brown paper envelope from her bosom.

"This letter was sent from overseas by airmail. It has several postmarks. Sister Liu from the nurses' station said it arrived this morning, but she hasn't had time to give it to you yet."

Ye Zhen opened her eyes, took the book, and flipped through it.

The envelope bore the emblem of the Royal College of Cardiothoracic Surgeons of London, and Sir Williams' personal seal was in the lower right corner.

She used a paper cutter to cut open the seal and pulled out a thick stack of printouts.

On the title page, a line of cursive English was handwritten in blue ink, which roughly translates to: Dear Dr. Ye Zhen, enclosed is the first draft of the surgical paper. I respectfully request your review and revision, and authorize you to submit it to The Lancet as the first author.

Zhao Lanlan leaned over and took a peek.

"Sister-in-law, has Sir Williams written to you?"

"Yes, he wrote a paper about your surgery."

Ye Zhen put the letter aside, opened the main text, and read it page by page.

Zhao Lanlan stood to the side, not daring to disturb her. She could only see Ye Zhen's brows furrowing slightly and relaxing at times, her fingers occasionally pausing on a certain line as she wrote a few words in the margin with a pencil.

About twenty minutes later, Ye Zhen closed the manuscript and leaned back in her chair.

"Well written, with detailed data and a very complete case description."

Zhao Lanlan's eyes lit up.

"Then can't we just send it directly?"

"Send it directly?" Ye Zhen shook her head. "There are three things that need to be changed."

She turned back to page fourteen and pointed to a section in the middle.

"Here, when he describes the surgery, he uses the concept of continuous suturing, but in actual operation I use a mixed technique of interrupted mattress suture and continuous suturing. The tension distribution of the two is completely different and they cannot be confused."

Zhao Lanlan only half understood what she was hearing, but she nodded seriously.

Ye Zhen turned to page twenty-one.

"Here, the hemodynamic monitoring data from the third day after surgery is based on the reference range for standard valve replacement surgery. However, your surgery preserves the autologous valve, and the blood flow models for the two procedures are completely different. The reference values ​​need to be recalibrated."

"On page 28, in the discussion section, he mentions postoperative anticoagulation regimens, comparing my low-dose regimen with the standard-dose regimen, but he missed a key variable."

Zhao Lanlan couldn't help but ask.

"What variable?"

"The patient's genotype." Ye Zhen circled it in the margin with a pencil. "Patients with Marfan syndrome have abnormal connective tissue metabolism and are twice as sensitive to drugs as the average person. If this information isn't included, other doctors might copy this treatment plan and end up with excessive dosages, which could easily lead to bleeding."

Zhao Lanlan gasped.

"If this leaks, wouldn't it endanger people?"

"So it needs to be revised." Ye Zhen put down her pencil. "With papers, even a single missing data point can be fatal."

She picked up the letter and reread Williams' handwritten note, then pulled out a sheet of paper from the drawer and began writing her reply.

Zhao Lanlan peeked over and noticed that Ye Zhen was writing in English, with neat handwriting but at an extremely fast pace, laying down line after line.

Zhao Lanlan didn't understand, so she greeted Ye Zhen and went to have dinner with Gu Yue.

Halfway through writing, the door was pushed open.

Gu Zheng stood at the door holding an enamel lunchbox.

"Dinner's ready."

Ye Zhen didn't even look up.

"Put it there."

Gu Zheng placed the lunchbox on the table, opened the lid, and found half a bowl of white rice inside, topped with two pieces of braised pork ribs and a handful of stir-fried vegetables.

Ye Zhen was still writing letters.

Gu Zheng waited a few seconds, then pushed the lunchbox toward her.

"Eat first, it's hard to digest if it gets cold."

"Wait a minute, this part is finished."

Gu Zheng glanced down at the kraft paper envelope and the stack of English printouts on the table.

Who sent it?

"Williams".

Gu Zheng picked up the envelope and flipped through it. He narrowed his eyes when he saw the line of cursive English on the title page.

"What did you say? Didn't you bring your entire fortune last time? What's there to squeeze out this time?"

Ye Zhen's pen never stopped.

"He wrote Zhao Lanlan's surgery into a paper and wants to submit it to The Lancet, and he wants me to be the first author."

Upon hearing this, Gu Zheng raised his eyebrows.

"First author? He at least has the self-awareness to admit it."

"He kept the corresponding author position for himself, and I got the first author position; it was a win-win situation."

After writing the last line, Ye Zhen put down her pen, folded the letter in half, and stuffed it into the envelope.

"He needs the weight of this paper in The Lancet, and I need this procedure to be standardized and promoted internationally, so that no one will imitate it and cause medical accidents."

Gu Zheng flipped through two pages of the printed manuscript. Although he didn't quite understand the technical terms, he could roughly judge the significance of the paper.

"That old man has a good eye. Last time we took advantage of him, and this time he's come to us willingly, offering his pen to write your manuscript."

Ye Zhen finally picked up her chopsticks, took a piece of pork rib, and put it in her mouth.

"He's not at a loss either. With this paper in The Lancet, his academic standing in the UK will rise even higher. I'm not at a loss either. Zhao Lanlan's surgical technique can be written into international textbooks, so that Marfan syndrome patients all over the world will have a basis to follow in the future."

Gu Zheng leaned against the door frame, watching her eat.

"So what did you change for him?"

"Three places," Ye Zhen repeated succinctly while chewing on a rib, "The description of the suturing technique was inaccurate, the reference range was wrong, and the anticoagulation protocol omitted the genotype variable."

Gu Zheng's lips curved slightly after hearing this.

"Well, this old man wrote a paper, and you changed it into another paper with just a few strokes."

"Aside from the other article, he organized the framework and data, which shows his skill and ability. It's just that he lacks a bit of finesse in the details; after all, some things can't be seen just by looking at them."

Ye Zhen shoveled the last mouthful of rice into her mouth and then took two sips of water from the enamel mug on the table.

"Oh, right."

She bent down and pulled a magazine from a canvas bag under the table, then waved it at Gu Zheng.

Gu Zheng took it and saw that the cover was printed with the Chinese Journal of Surgery, and below it was a line of small print: Special Issue on Congenital Heart Disease.

"Send this to Williams so he can see our paper on Tetralogy of Fallot, which is entirely in Chinese."

Gu Zheng flipped through two pages; the paper was thick, and the color anatomical diagrams were printed with exquisite detail.

"You're letting a British person read a Chinese academic paper?"

"If he really wants to learn, he'll naturally find someone to translate it." Ye Zhen closed the lunchbox lid.

Gu Zheng stuffed the magazine and the reply letter into his satchel.

"Okay, send it by air to London."

Ye Zhen handed him the empty lunchbox.

"I'm done eating. Let's go. I still have two medical records to review."

Gu Zheng took the lunchbox and looked down at the dark circles under her eyes.

"Can I postpone tomorrow's outpatient appointment?"

"We can't postpone it; all the pre-operative assessments must be completed by tomorrow."

Gu Zheng didn't say anything more, turned around and left.

In the corridor, he tossed the lunchbox into his satchel, took out the Chinese Surgical Journal, and glanced at it again.

A line of tiny print is printed in the corner of the cover: "Written by Ye Zhen, with the joint signature of thirty-seven experts."

He stuffed the magazine back in and walked towards the stairwell.

Xiao Wang peeked out from the duty room.

"Commander, shall we go back?"

"No rush." ​​Gu Zheng handed him the bag. "Send this package to London via military mail. The address is on the envelope."

"To whom should it be sent?"

"Sir Williams of England."

"Yes, send the magazine along with the reply. Remember to put a note on the outside of the package that says..."

Gu Zheng thought for a moment.

"Just write, a Chinese textbook is included, please bring your own dictionary."