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

Ivan's face went from red to white, and then from white to ashen.

Like a color palette, it changes color every second.

"Impossible!" he blurted out in Russian. "The ultrasound didn't detect anything! How could you possibly conclude this just from these basic data—"

The second half of the sentence got stuck in his throat, and he couldn't get it out.

This is definitely a fluke.

He clenched his teeth tightly, desperately trying to save face.

It must have been a fluke.

Andrei's voice was already hoarse.

It's not the kind of hoarseness caused by smoke.

It's the kind of hoarseness that comes from being punched in the throat, causing your vocal cords to tremble.

That's what he wanted to ask too.

How can a diagnosis be made without seeing any images?

Ye Zhen didn't even spare Ivan a glance.

Long, slender fingers tapped on the first page of the medical record.

"Your ultrasound did not capture that incision."

She tapped the paper.

The fingernails tapped on the medical record paper, making a crisp "tap-tap" sound.

"But it says here—"

"The inner diameter of the aortic root is 6.2 millimeters."

"Left crown trunk starting angle—"

She paused for a moment.

"It's off by a full fifteen degrees."

Ye Zhen raised her eyes.

His cold gaze was fixed directly on Andrei.

There was no provocation, no smugness.

Just watch.

It's like a teacher looking at a student who should have answered correctly but handed in a blank paper.

"Academician Andrei, you have been working in cardiac surgery for thirty years."

"Tell me—what is the normal coronary artery origin angle in a newborn?"

Andrei's Adam's apple bobbed violently twice.

His voice was as dry as a withered branch being snapped in winter.

"Zero...zero to ten degrees."

"very good."

Ye Zhen leaned back in her chair.

"A deviation of 15 degrees proves that the coronary artery originates in the wrong location."

She gave no one a chance to breathe.

The logic chain begins to close in.

One link leads to another.

Airtight.

"If the origin is incorrect, there are only two possibilities from an anatomical perspective."

"Or, speak from a higher position."

"Or, walk inside the wall."

"Your ultrasound scan did not detect a high-level opening on a standard section."

She tilted her head slightly.

"The answer..."

"Isn't there only one left?"

Elimination method.

The simplest, most basic, and most unassuming method of elimination.

Others used equipment worth hundreds of thousands of dollars to scan for two weeks and still couldn't find it.

She used a pencil, a medical record, and the futuristic human anatomy computer in her mind—

It was launched in three seconds.

Ivan stood frozen in place as if struck by lightning.

His mouth was open.

It can't be closed anymore.

It's not that we don't want to cooperate.

My jaw is acting up.

Who can tell him what it feels like to be absolutely outmatched in intelligence?

That's worse than being slapped ten times in public.

The slap landed on the face.

This cut removes bone.

Faced with absolute technological superiority.

All doubts, all arrogance, all self-righteousness are just paper.

It pierces through with a single poke.

Andrei fell completely silent.

He stared blankly at the hand-drawn sketch on the table, then looked at the medical record whose fatal flaws had been pointed out by Ye Zhen with two fingers.

The back of my shirt was soaked through, clinging to my spine, icy cold.

But he felt even colder inside.

If it weren't for today's trip.

If they really do take this medical record back to Moscow.

On the operating table at the Bakulov Center, the incision was made according to the pre-arranged plan...

That child.

The baby who hasn't learned to say "daddy" yet.

He would have died by Andrei Popov's blade because of this 15-degree deviation.

He died silently.

The cause of death will also be written as "force majeure during surgery".

Andrei took a deep breath.

His hands trembled as he reached for the expensive leather briefcase beside the chair.

Unzip the zipper.

He pulled out a black hard-cover notebook.

Turn to a blank page.

Unscrew the pen cap.

A corresponding member of the USSR Academy of Sciences.

He was the undisputed leader in the entire Eastern European cardiac surgery community.

His back was ramrod straight at that moment.

He lowered his head.

Each stroke, one character at a time.

Start taking notes.

His posture was exactly the same as it was fifty years ago in the freshman class at the Leningrad Medical College.

This lasted a full forty minutes.

Ye Zhen started by discussing the most advanced modifications to coronary artery transplantation, then moved on to the suturing sequence for aortic root reconstruction, and finally to the precise medication gradient for the 24 hours following surgery.

Every piece of data, every step of logic, every operational detail she casually mentioned.

It would be enough to fill a chapter in any international textbook.

But in this conference room.

She spoke slowly, and Andrei would write down each sentence she said.

They didn't even dare to breathe loudly during that time.

I was afraid that my breathing would be too loud and drown out even half a syllable.

The expressions of the two young Soviet men standing behind Andrei can be summed up in four words:

Soul out of the body.

My values ​​are not just shattered.

It was smashed into dust with a hammer and scattered.

The person in front of them, with a full head of silver hair and frantically taking notes, is their mentor.

The medical banner of the entire Eastern European socialist bloc.

The living legend of the Soviet Union.

A cough at an academic conference is the kind of cough that silences the professors in the first three rows.

now.

In a Chinese military hospital.

Like a first-year graduate student who's afraid of failing a course.

He frantically copied the blackboard notes.

The handwriting was hasty and rapid, the pen tip scratching the paper with a rustling sound.

He was so eager that if Ye Zhen spoke even a single word quickly, he would practically break his pen in half and use both hands to write it down.

Ivan stood in the corner.

He had forgotten how many times he had practiced the phrase "I am the future star of Soviet cardiac surgery" in front of the mirror on the plane before he came.

Now, I put those words back in my mouth and chewed them again; they tasted so bitter they made my tongue numb.

When Ye Zhen talked about the compatibility rate of autologous pericardial valve conduits in newborns, Andrei suddenly raised his head.

The pen hangs in mid-air.

A drop of ink condensed on the tip of the pen, teetering precariously.

"Dr. Ye, could you...?"

He got stuck.

For someone who has spent his entire life on the operating table, wielding absolute power and having the final say.

The word "hesitation" should not have appeared in his dictionary.

But it did happen.

"Could I—see your surgery in person?"

There are several ways to express "request" in Russian.

The word Andrei chose was the most humble one.

Devotion.

restraint.

The sense of propriety in leading pilgrims to kowtow at the threshold before entering the temple.

Ye Zhen looked at him for two seconds.

"There are two 'Heart of China' machines scheduled for tomorrow morning."

Her tone was so indifferent, it was as if she were just saying that the cafeteria had braised pork today.

"You may enter the observation room."

Andrei nodded so hard his head almost dislocated, like a prisoner receiving a pardon.

Just then.

The meeting room door was pushed open.

Gu Zheng's tall figure peeked in halfway.

Dark eyes swept over the heads of the people in the room—there was a white-bearded academician, a Soviet youth standing dumbfounded, and a translator clutching a notebook.

I didn't watch any of them.

First of all.

It landed directly on Ye Zhen's face.

I scanned it from top to bottom.

He made sure his wife wasn't tired, hungry, or annoyed by these foreign old men.

Ok.

His complexion was normal, and he seemed to be in good spirits.

okay.

He leaned lazily against the door frame, his long legs crossed, his posture as relaxed as if he were taking a stroll in his backyard.

His gaze casually swept over the densely written notebook in Andrei's hand, and he raised an eyebrow, a roguish smile slowly spreading across his lips.

"Are you done talking?"

"More or less," Ye Zhen replied.

"Let's go then. We've saved you a hot meal from the cafeteria."

Gu Zheng strode over.

As Gu Zheng passed by Andrei, his eyelids drooped slightly as he glanced at the pages of Russian notes that looked like scribbles.

I don't recognize a single letter.

But this does not prevent Gu Shao from asserting his sovereignty.

"Old sir."

He spoke. His voice was neither too loud nor too soft, just loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

"No matter how well I learn—my wife hasn't had dinner yet."

The translator reflexively relayed the information in Russian.

Andrei was so startled that he jumped up from his chair and waved his hands repeatedly.

Gu Zheng stretched out his long arm.

He put his arm around Ye Zhen's shoulder.

The force was not strong.

But with five fingers resting on the shoulder, neither too tight nor too loose, they encircle the person completely.

It's that kind of domineering attitude that says, "You can do whatever you want with the rest of the world, but only I can touch this person."

The two walked out side by side.

Gu Zheng paused as soon as he reached the door.

Look back.

Chong, who was still sitting behind the table, gave Zhou Hai a wink.

"Old Zhou..."

He dragged out the words, his voice languid, as if he had just woken up.

"You know, now all the old men in the world are lining up to have a private chat with my wife."

"Should I set up a stall outside the conference room and charge admission?"

Zhou Hai was holding an enamel mug to his lips when he almost spat out a mouthful of tea onto the table.

"Cough, cough cough."

He choked and his face turned red. He frantically wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glared at Gu Zheng.

It's both frustrating and funny.

Andrei couldn't understand the Chinese sentence.

But he's not blind.

He stared intently at the hand that Gu Zheng had around Ye Zhen's shoulder.

The fingers are long and slender with distinct knuckles, appearing relaxed and casual.

But the area enclosed and the force applied were so precise, it was like demarcating territory.

The old academician lowered his head.

He glanced at the notebook in his hand.

He closed the notebook silently.