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

The day after surgery.

In the ICU, the blond boy's blood oxygen level remained stable at 97%.

Heart rate 82, sinus rhythm, waveform as beautiful as a textbook illustration.

After Liu Jianmin finished his rounds, he ran into Gao Haiping in the corridor. The two stopped, looked at each other, and simultaneously let out a long sigh of relief.

"He's alive," Gao Haiping said.

"He's alive." Liu Jianmin nodded.

Just two words.

But the suffocating feeling of not daring to breathe loudly during those four hours on the operating table is completely conveyed in those two words.

The news couldn't be kept secret.

The Duke's private secretary had barely sent the results back to London when the entire European cardiac surgery community erupted in shock.

The Cavendish family's intelligence network was faster than MI6's—in less than six hours, the telephone lines were burning hot from London to Paris, and from Paris to Zurich.

Then it's the United States.

The Mayo Clinic's chief cardiac surgeon was woken up by a phone call at 2 a.m.

After hearing what happened, there was a full thirty seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

"Impossible."

It's over.

It dialed back five seconds later.

Where is the surgical video?

The chief surgeon at the National Circulatory Center in Japan was even more straightforward. Before dawn, a fax, its wording humble to the core, was slipped into the machine at the Beicheng Military Region General Hospital's mailroom.

The content consists of only one sentence—

I urge you to share the surgical records and preoperative anatomical deduction data.

By the afternoon of the following day, the phone at the main hospital's reception office was practically smoking from all the calls.

France, Switzerland, Australia, and Canada.

Seventeen top heart centers in twelve countries around the world sent requests through various channels.

The wording is varied, but the core demand is only one thing—

I need to see Ye Zhen's six hand-drawn diagrams and surgical records.

"Old Zhou, how much rice paper has that lousy fax machine at your main hospital spit out today?"

When Vice Minister Li called Zhou Hai's office, his voice was so loud it could shake the microphone off its hinge.

Zhou Hai held the receiver, glanced at the mountain of fax papers piled on the table, and smiled wryly.

"Deputy Minister, I didn't count. The people at the gatehouse have already changed three rolls of toilet paper."

"Let me tell you—the Ministry of Health is in an uproar too!" Vice Minister Li's voice rose half an octave. "Those people from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs were blocking my office door early this morning, saying that the British Embassy had made three phone calls, and the French cultural attaché was even more audacious, coming to my door in person to 'discuss academic cooperation matters'."

Vice Minister Li paused for a moment, then let out a cold snort.

"Academic collaboration? He's kidding me. These people are just after Ye Zhen's surgical diagrams."

Zhou Hai remained silent for two seconds.

"Vice Minister, those pictures..."

"You know better than I do what those pictures are."

Vice Minister Li's tone suddenly softened, as if he were afraid of being overheard.

"Dr. Ye's hand-drawn anatomical reconstructions are more accurate than the 3D reconstructions that Brompton produced using a 500,000-pound computer."

It paused for a moment.

"Old Zhou, that's not a diagram. It's a whole advanced surgical theory system."

The phone went silent at both ends.

Zhou Hai picked up his enamel mug and took a sip.

The tea has gone cold and is bitter.

"You mean—"

"What I mean is," Vice Minister Li said, emphasizing each word, "those six sheets of paper will be treated as classified documents starting today."

When the news reached Ye Zhen, she was in the ICU checking the boy's chest drainage volume.

Gu Zheng leaned against the wall of the corridor outside the ICU, one long leg propped on the ground, holding a stack of faxes forwarded by Zhou Hai in his hand, turning the pages one by one.

Ye Zhen came out.

Gu Zheng handed the stack of faxes in his hand to her.

"Take a look at this first."

Ye Zhen glanced down at the screen.

Mayo, Tokyo, Paris, Zurich, Sydney, Toronto.

Seventeen letters.

All of this requires surgical diagrams and complete records.

The wording ranged from "earnestly requesting" to "eagerly hoping," employing a variety of creative techniques. Two letters even included conditions for cooperation—Mayo promised two visiting scholar positions and a state-of-the-art cardiopulmonary bypass machine; the French side was even more generous, directly offering 300,000 francs for "technical consulting fees."

Ye Zhen shoved the fax into Gu Zheng's hand.

"No."

Gu Zheng raised an eyebrow.

Not even one?

Not a single one will be given.

Ye Zhen adjusted the collar of her white coat, speaking slowly but each word was delivered with conviction.

"The transapical approach, autologous pericardial valve conduit, and manual valve repair—these three technologies combined are at least ten years ahead of the international level."

She turned her head and glanced at Gu Zheng.

"Give it away for free?"

There was a pause.

"I'm not running a charity."

Gu Zheng smiled.

"So what do you plan to do?"

Ye Zhen leaned against the wall of the corridor, tilted her head and thought for two seconds before her gaze fell on the fluorescent light at the end of the corridor that was flickering on and off.

"You can see the pictures if you want."

"I'll set the terms."

That evening.

Zhou Hai's office.

The enamel mug on the table was still steaming, and the light from the old-fashioned lamp cast long shadows of the two people.

Ye Zhen walked over and slapped a handwritten A4 sheet of paper on the table.

"Smack."

The handwriting on the paper was neat and crisp, just like her style of cutting—not a single stroke wasted.

Zhou Hai leaned over and looked at the first one.

His expression changed.

Upon seeing the second one, his hand rested on the edge of the table, his knuckles unconsciously clenching.

See the third one—

He almost jumped off his chair.

"Xiao Ye, you...you're going to—"

Three lines were written on the paper.

First: Technical information is limited to first publication in academic journals led by China; any reprint in international journals must be approved by China.

Second: If any country needs to learn this technique, it must send a medical team to the Beicheng Military Region General Hospital to participate in standardized training for no less than three months. The training quota will be allocated by the Chinese side.

Third: For each training slot, the corresponding country must offset the "technology licensing fee" with equivalent medical equipment or scarce medicines. A detailed list is attached.

Zhou Hai turned to the second page.

The list contained more than thirty items.

His eyes scanned down line by line.

Siemens' latest nuclear magnetic resonance coil—is available.

Bayer's cardiovascular contrast agents—are available.

Membrane oxygenators from Terumo, Japan – are available.

Mechanical valves from Edwards Institute in the United States—yes.

These are all cutting-edge consumables that cannot be purchased domestically even with foreign exchange reserves.

Each item is followed by its quantity, accurate to the last digit.

Zhou Hai's hands began to tremble.

It's not fear.

It was excitement.

The kind of excitement that comes from being hit head-on by a genius's crazy idea, and having your whole being ignited.

He slowly raised his head and stared at Ye Zhen.

"Xiao Ye...you're using a scalpel to force the whole world to pay tuition for China."

Ye Zhen casually tucked the red and blue pencil into the breast pocket of her white lab coat. The movement was as effortless as tucking in a pair of chopsticks.

"Dean Zhou, I saved the son of a British nobleman. Seventeen top hospitals around the world are vying for my information."

Her voice wasn't loud, but every word was perfectly timed, as steady as the stitches in her hands.

"This situation may not occur again for another hundred years."

It paused for a moment.

"If we don't take this opportunity to improve our foundation, we won't be able to get anything in return once the technology spreads."

Zhou Hai stared at that piece of paper for a long time.

Under the light, his eyes were red-rimmed.

His biggest worry as a hospital director was the lack of equipment, medicine, and consumables. He submitted reports every year, but they were never approved. After returning from an overseas study trip, seeing the equipment in other people's operating rooms made him so envious that he tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep.

Now, someone is telling him that he doesn't need to beg, buy, or kneel.

Let them come to us.

Zhou Hai took a deep breath and reached for the telephone receiver on the table.

"I'll call Vice Minister Li right now."

---

The next morning.

A red-headed document bearing the official seals of both the Ministry of Health and the Commission of Science, Technology and Industry for National Defense was delivered to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs through confidential channels.

The document title has sixteen characters.

It was stamped with three "Express" stamps.

Provisional Regulations on the Management of Core Technical Data and International Exchange and Cooperation for Transapical Radical Cardiac Surgery

When the young soldier in the mailroom delivered the latest batch of international faxes to Zhou Hai's desk, the stack of papers underneath was already so thick that it could hardly fit into a folder.

The young soldier counted them.

Thirty-four letters.

Germany, Italy, Israel, South Korea, and Brazil have been added.

Zhou Hai locked the fax in the drawer with a click and turned the key.

He picked up the enamel mug and blew away the foam.

I took a sip.

This time, the tea is scalding hot.

It's powerful.

At the other end of the corridor, Ye Zhen had already changed into her surgical gown and was walking towards operating room number two.

There are still three more surgeries scheduled for children with congenital heart disease at "Huaxia Heart" today.

She walked at a moderate pace, the hem of her white coat swaying with each step. Her shoulders were thin, and her back was straight.

As I walked past the nurses' station, all the nurses on duty stood up.

Ye Zhen nodded without stopping, her footsteps echoing on the terrazzo, steady as a metronome.