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

Two days later.

Beicheng Military Region General Hospital.

Ye Zhen was reviewing the surgical records from the afternoon in the special consultation room.

The door was suddenly pushed open.

Williams burst in, sweating profusely, carrying a thick fax in English. Anderson followed closely behind, panting heavily.

"Dr. Ye!" Williams disregarded the etiquette of knocking and rushed to the table, slamming the fax onto Ye Zhen's face.

He was bent over, panting heavily, his words coming out in a mix of Chinese and English:

"Brombton Hospital... just called internationally! A child with severe late-stage Tetralogy of Fallot, right ventricular failure, and blood oxygen below 75% - no hospital in the entire UK dares to perform the surgery."

Ye Zhen didn't look up. The pen in her hand was still on the medical record page, and her gaze remained fixed on the line she had just been looking at.

"Then?"

"Dean Edward contacted me personally." Williams braced his hands on the edge of the table, his knuckles clenched white.

He took a deep breath, as if to pour out the rest of his words in one breath:

"The child's family is the Cavendish family from the UK—an old ducal family. After the child was diagnosed, the family used all their connections and first sent him to the Mayo Clinic in the United States. The Mayo's cardiac surgery team evaluated him for three days and finally concluded that 'the risks of surgery are uncontrollable, and conservative treatment is recommended.'"

"Conservative treatment?" Liu Jianmin couldn't help but interject.

"To put it bluntly, it's just waiting to die." Williams gave a bitter smile and continued, "The family was unwilling to give up, so they went to the National Cardiovascular Disease Center in Japan. They were willing to try, but after the second round of preoperative simulation, the chief surgeon personally called a halt—the pulmonary artery was too underdeveloped, and he wasn't confident in establishing effective forward blood flow."

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand: "France, Switzerland, Australia... I've contacted all the top heart centers I could reach. Nobody dares to take the case."

Williams straightened up, looked at Ye Zhen, and his eyes burned with a fierce light:

"In the end, it was Dean Edward who made the decision. He said that there might only be one person left in the whole world who could save this child."

"It's you."

There was a moment of silence in the special consultation room.

Liu Jianmin's pen hung suspended in mid-air. Several interns observing the patients also stopped what they were doing and dared not breathe.

At the time, they were still discussing whether they should translate the paper into English and submit it to a foreign journal for recognition.

just now.

The knife Mayo dared not use, the surgery the Japanese stopped halfway through, the dead end that no one in Europe dared to touch—in the end, after going around in circles, they finally came here.

The balance of power shifts entirely within Ye Zhen's scalpel.

Ye Zhen picked up the fax on the table. It was a thick stack of lab reports, echocardiogram reports, and cardiac catheterization data, all in English.

She turned three pages.

"A typical case of severe pulmonary atresia complicated by right heart failure." Ye Zhen put the fax back on the table. "It can be done."

Two words.

It was a light, airy comment, like saying the steamed buns in the cafeteria were pretty good today.

But to Williams, it hurt more than anything.

A dead end that top experts worldwide were shaking their heads in disbelief. She flipped through three pages and said, "It can be done."

Williams' eyes lit up: "Then I'll reply to Edward right now! Please prepare your visa as soon as possible; they will send a private plane to pick you up!"

"I'm not going to London."

Ye Zhen interrupted him.

The tone wasn't harsh, but there was absolutely no room for negotiation.

"Wherever my patient is, that's my operating table. If you need treatment, send them here."

Williams was stunned: "But... the child's condition is extremely unstable, and the risks of long-distance transport—"

"China is not responsible for the patient's life or death during the transfer. I will take over once the patient lands in Beicheng." Ye Zhen unscrewed the cap of her pen and continued writing on the medical record.

The scratching sound of the pen nib across the paper was particularly clear in the quiet consultation room.

"And one more thing," Ye Zhen raised her eyes, her gaze cold, "Foreign guests receive no special treatment. Once you arrive at the military hospital, everything will be done according to my rules."

Williams wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Having spent most of his life in England, he knew all too well the temperament of the Cavendish family—an old aristocratic family with an inherent arrogance and a sense of superiority ingrained in their very being.

How could the Duke be expected to follow the rules of a Chinese female doctor?

Williams swallowed hard, a sudden thought flashing through his mind.

But when he looked into Ye Zhen's unwavering eyes, he swallowed back the concerns that were on the tip of his tongue.

"...I'll call back right away."

He nodded emphatically, then turned and ran out of the consultation room with Anderson.

The door closed behind him.

Liu Jianmin finally let out a long sigh and wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand. He turned his head and glanced at Ye Zhen.

She lowered her head and continued flipping through the next medical record.

It seems that the conversation just now—about the British Royal Hospital, the American Mayo Clinic, the Japanese National Center, VIP charter flights, and international medical treatment—had absolutely nothing to do with her.

Liu Jianmin opened his mouth, then closed it again.

On the flight route from London to the North End.

A chartered plane is flying through the clouds at an altitude of 10,000 meters. The fuselage is white, and the Cavendish family's intricate iris emblem is painted on the tail.

The cabin had been modified, with the front half vacated to house a temporary intensive care unit. The little boy lay on a medical bed inside, his face ashen, like a sheet of paper. IV lines, ECG monitor leads, and an oxygen mask were wrapped around his thin body.

Dean Edward, along with six top British medical staff, stayed by his side, their eyes never leaving the numbers on the monitor. During a refueling stop in a Middle Eastern country, the boy's blood oxygen level dropped to 51%, and it took the six of them twenty minutes of frantic effort to stabilize it.

In the rear half of the cabin, the Duke of Cavendish sat alone in a leather seat. He held a glass of whiskey in his hand, the amber liquid swaying slightly with the airflow.

He didn't drink a drop.

His face was so dark it looked like you could wring water out of it.

From London to New York, from New York to Tokyo, from Tokyo to Paris—he took his son on a journey across most of the world. Each stop was a top-tier medical institution globally, and each time the response was the same: Sorry, we can't help.

Finally, his son was put on a plane bound for China.

China.

In his understanding, it was a developing country where even basic medical and health care was not yet widespread.

"Edward," the Duke's voice came from the rear cabin, neither too loud nor too soft, carrying the characteristic reserve of British aristocracy, "a surgery the Americans dared not perform, a surgery the Japanese abandoned halfway through—tell me, what makes a female doctor from a Chinese military hospital dare to take it on?"

Edward did not turn around.

He stared at the increasingly weak heartbeat waveform on the monitor, remained silent for a few seconds, and then spoke:

"Your Grace, why? You'll find out when you see her."

The Duke gave a cold snort.

"If, after we land, that doctor surnamed Ye can't show me a miracle—" His hand holding the wine glass tightened slightly, his knuckles turning white, "I will make everyone involved in this farce pay the price."

Edward didn't reply.

He knew the Duke meant what he said.

But he also knew that if he hadn't come, the blond boy wouldn't have survived the month.