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

It's 11 p.m.

North City.

Ye Zhen sat at her desk, the lamplight illuminating half of the surface. A large sheet of white paper was laid out on the desk, and a half-drawn cross-section of a heart in red and blue pencil occupied the center of the paper.

That was the pre-operative plan for the Moscow baby.

Less than two hours after Andrei left in the afternoon, Moscow confirmed the flight time: a Soviet Air Force An-124 transport plane carrying a full set of neonatal life support equipment was expected to arrive at the North City Military District airport in sixteen hours.

Ye Zhen is not a fast drawer.

Before each stroke, she would mentally calculate the anatomical layers that the line would pass through.

His heart, eleven days after birth, was about the same size as the gold star medal in his coat pocket.

Gu Zheng is not here.

I received a phone call half an hour ago saying there was a security matter that needed to be coordinated, so I went out.

The room was quiet, with only the scratching sound of a pencil on paper.

the phone is ringing.

Ye Zhen put down her pencil and picked up the receiver.

"Dr. Ye, this is Zhou Hai."

Zhou Hai's voice sounded like it had been sanded with sandpaper; it was terribly hoarse.

"Dean Zhou, what's the matter at this hour?"

"I just received a call from Director Fang of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs."

Zhou Hai paused for a moment, as if he was choosing his words.

Ye Zhen waited for him to speak.

"There's been a problem at WHO headquarters in Geneva. Your nomination as a founding member has been postponed at the suggestion of several members."

Ye Zhen remained silent.

Zhou Hai continued, "It all started with an open letter, published two days ago in the New England Journal of Medicine. The writer is Graham Harrison from the Mayo Clinic—"

"Chief cardiac surgeon at the Mayo Clinic, president-elect of the American College of Cardiac Surgeons."

Ye Zhen continued the sentence.

Zhou Hai choked for a moment.

"You know him?"

"I know. He did a lot of solid work on the radical treatment of right ventricular outflow tract. His 1981 paper on right ventricular outflow tract patches is among the top three most cited in the world."

Ye Zhen's voice was completely devoid of any emotion.

"What did the letter say?"

Zhou Hai roughly recounted what Director Fang had relayed: insufficient sample size, lack of randomized control, long-term data gaps after surgery, and that unnamed implication at the end.

After listening, Ye Zhen remained silent for a few seconds.

Where is the original fax copy?

"Director Fang said it could be transferred from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs—"

"Too slow."

Ye Zhen thought for a moment.

"Dean Zhou, could you please find Williams for me? He should still be awake at the guesthouse. Have him contact London and fax over the original article from that issue of the NEJM magazine. It's afternoon there now, so there's enough time."

"Okay, I'll contact them right away."

Zhou Hai was about to hang up when he hesitated for a moment.

"Xiao Ye, Vice Minister Li has also received the news. He said there will be an emergency meeting first thing tomorrow morning—"

Tell him not to rush.

Ye Zhen picked up the pencil, held it between her fingers, and twirled it halfway around.

"Let me read the original text first."

I hung up the phone.

Ye Zhen put the receiver back, sat for a while, and then her gaze fell on the half-drawn heart diagram on the table.

The baby in Moscow will be born in less than fourteen hours.

Andre's infant case, Harrison's open letter.

A creature flew over and begged her for help.

Someone across the Pacific Ocean questioned her qualifications.

She picked up her pencil and continued drawing.

Forty minutes later, the door opened.

Gu Zheng walked in.

He glanced at Ye Zhen in front of the desk, then at the white paper covered with lines on the desk.

"Still not asleep?"

"Wait for a fax."

"What fax?"

Ye Zhen briefly explained the situation.

Gu Zheng took off his coat and hung it on the hook behind the door. He walked over, bent down, and glanced at the preoperative plan diagram on the table from behind.

He didn't understand medicine, but he could tell that the lines on this picture were denser than any of the previous ones.

The route of every blood vessel in that heart, and every abnormal branch, was clearly marked.

What do you think of that letter from the American?

Ye Zhen's pen never stopped.

"He wasn't just spouting nonsense."

Gu Zheng raised an eyebrow.

"The sample size is indeed small, and long-term follow-up data is indeed not yet available; that is a fact."

After marking the last number on the drawing, she put down her pen and stretched her wrist.

"But he chose to release it at this time not for academic discussion."

"What is that?"

"Seize the right to speak."

Ye Zhen turned her chair around to face Gu Zheng.

"For the past thirty years, American cardiac surgery has been the standard-setter in the industry. If Mayo says it's okay, it's okay. If Mayo says it's not okay, nobody can do it. Now someone outside their rules is saving a patient they've given up on, using methods they've never seen before."

She paused.

"He's not questioning my data; he's telling the world that we Americans are the ones who set the rules."

Gu Zheng sat down opposite her, stretching his long legs under the table, almost kicking the table leg.

"So what do you plan to do?"

"Read the original text first."

"and then?"

Ye Zhen did not answer immediately.

She glanced at the ultrasound image of the Moscow baby on the table; the twisted little heart was barely recognizable as normal in the gray-white image.

"Then, I saved the child's life."

Gu Zheng looked at her.

"Live case studies are more effective than ten thousand academic papers."

Ye Zhen gathered the ultrasound images aside.

"Harrison said my sample size was too small, okay, I'll add another case. And it's a terminally ill newborn who was rejected by top centers around the world, and was sent to China by a special Soviet Air Force plane for treatment."

She leaned back in her chair.

"He questioned the level of cardiac surgery in China, while the whole world is sending its most difficult patients to China. Putting these two things together, anyone can see which one is more convincing."

Gu Zheng's lips curved slightly.

"So you're not planning to respond to that letter?"

"Reply to what? Engage in a war of words with him in a magazine?"

Ye Zhen shook her head.

"I'm a surgeon, not a debater. The outcome on the operating table is my response."

A series of hurried footsteps came from the doorway, followed by a knock.

Gu Zheng got up to open the door.

A young soldier from the main hospital's reception office stood outside the door, clutching a roll of fax paper that was still warm to the touch.

"Chief Gu, Mr. Williams called from the guesthouse, saying it's something Dr. Ye wanted."

Gu Zheng took it and closed the door.

He handed the roll of fax paper to Ye Zhen.

Ye Zhen unfolded the three pages of white paper, which were densely covered with English text, with the journal header "NEJM" printed in the upper right corner.

She started reading from the first word.

Gu Zheng did not urge him.

He walked to the table, took the cold enamel mug, filled it with hot water, and placed it next to Ye Zhen.

Then I sat back down in the chair opposite me, placed my hands on my knees, and waited quietly.

Ye Zhen read it word by word, very slowly.

She spent only two minutes on the academic discussion section on the first page.

On the second page, she dissected the questions raised about the methodology of evidence-based medicine, underlining certain sentences with her fingertips.

She stopped when she reached the last paragraph on the third page.

My finger is on that line of text.

Scientific progress should be based on repeatability and rigorous verification, rather than being swayed by other factors.

She stared at that sentence for five seconds.

Then neatly fold the fax paper and place it on the corner of the table.

"Finished watching?"

Gu Zheng asked.

"I've finished watching it."

"How so?"

Ye Zhen picked up the enamel mug and took a sip of hot water.

"His first two points of criticism are academically sound, and I will address those sooner or later. But his third point is that he has crossed the line."

She put the cup down.

"He implied that my achievements were inflated by nationalist sentiment. This is something that Andre should hear, that the Duke of Cavendish should hear, and that bunch of Englishmen in Brompton who are lining up to submit their data should hear."

"Every child I've saved with my scalpel is the best proof."

The phone rang again.

Ye Zhen glanced at the clock on the wall; it was 12:20 a.m.

She picked up the receiver.

"Xiao Ye, it's me."

Vice Minister Li's voice was tinged with barely suppressed anger.

"Zhou Hai told me about that open letter, and I also received a notification from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs that the WHO is going to suspend your nomination."

He took a breath.

"I'll call a meeting first thing tomorrow morning to finalize our stance, and then formally engage with Geneva through diplomatic channels—"

"Vice Minister."

Ye Zhen interrupted him.

"Never mind him, the summit preparations will proceed as planned."

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone.

"But what about the WHO—"

"If the WHO postpones it, so be it. A few more days won't make a difference."

Ye Zhen spoke at a moderate pace.

"So, how do you plan to deal with this?"

Ye Zhen picked up the ultrasound image of the Moscow baby, looked at it under the light, and then put it back.

"Deputy Minister, a Soviet Air Force transport plane will land at the North City Military District airport tomorrow afternoon. There is a baby on board, and no one else in the world can save him."

Her voice was steady as she spoke each word clearly.

"After I save this child from the operating table, you can go and talk to Geneva."

"At that time, you don't need to say anything, just send the surgical records over."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.

When Vice Minister Li spoke again, his anger had subsided considerably, replaced by a calm demeanor that came from being persuaded.

Okay. I'll wait for your reply.

He paused for a moment.

"Xiao Ye, I won't say anything more. The whole of China is watching."

"I know."

Ye Zhen hung up the phone.

Gu Zheng sat opposite him the whole time, without saying a word from beginning to end.

After she put down the receiver, he stood up, walked behind her, and placed his hands on her shoulders, with a light touch.

"Time to sleep, there's a tough battle ahead tomorrow."

Ye Zhen looked down at the half-drawn preoperative plan diagram on the table.

Red arteries and blue veins intertwine and crisscross under the light, occupying the entire white sheet of paper.

She nodded and stood up.

Gu Zheng reached out and turned off the table lamp.

His voice was low in the darkness.

"young married woman."

"Um?"

"The whole world is talking about it, you've heard it."

He bent down and rested his chin on the top of her head.

"Tomorrow, let them shout even louder."

Six thousand kilometers away in Moscow, a huge An-124 transport plane is flying towards the northern city.