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

Beicheng Military Region General Hospital.

10:00 AM.

Zhou Hai pushed open the door to Ye Zhen's special consultation room, holding a piece of paper torn from the fax machine in his hand. The paper was still curled at the edges, and the smell of ink had not yet dissipated.

Ye Zhen sat on a wooden chair with a stack of post-operative follow-up forms spread out in front of her. A red and blue pencil was held between her right index and middle fingers, with the tip hovering above a certain data column.

She is checking the drainage volume change curve of yesterday's surgery.

Gu Zheng stood by the window, his hands in his military trouser pockets, his profile outlined by the sunlight streaming in from outside. His gaze fell on the engineering company soldiers who were setting up a temporary security checkpoint in the courtyard.

"Xiao Ye, take a look at this."

Zhou Hai handed over the fax paper, his voice low and hoarse, as if he hadn't slept enough, but his eyes shone with an unnatural brightness.

Ye Zhen took it with her left hand, glanced at it, and scanned it from the top of her head to the bottom of her head, which took less than five seconds in total.

The eyebrows didn't move.

Without stopping, the red and blue pencils in his hand continued to mark a data point on the follow-up form with his right hand, the scratching sound of the pen tip gliding across the paper was even and steady.

Gu Zheng turned his head from the window and caught a glimpse of Zhou Hai's expression, which seemed to indicate that he was holding back something important.

"Whose?"

Mayo Clinic.

Zhou Hai lowered his voice by half a octave.

"Graham Harrison is the one who wrote that open letter."

He swallowed hard.

"Apply for a seat in the public gallery from the summit organizing committee in a private capacity."

The office fell silent for a moment the moment those words were spoken.

Gu Zheng narrowed his eyes and his mouth twisted to one side.

"You've finished swearing and now you want to come to class?"

His tone was languid, yet every word was barbed.

Zhou Hai wiped the thin layer of sweat from his forehead.

"Xiao Gu, let Xiao Ye decide on this."

He rubbed his hands together; his palms were a little damp.

"As for political considerations... we have the upper hand now, so it's acceptable whether we give him face or not. Giving him face would make us seem magnanimous, and if we don't, no one can find fault with us."

After saying that, he glanced at Ye Zhen.

Ye Zhen didn't look up.

She casually placed the fax paper on the corner of the table, her gaze falling on the last two words of the letter.

I earnestly request.

Ye Zhen took note of this detail and continued annotating the follow-up forms.

A red pencil circled the blood oxygen data of the seventh patient, and two words were written next to it: "Re-examination".

"Dean Zhou, how many seats are there in the conference room?"

Zhou Hai was taken aback; he hadn't expected her first question to be this.

"The main venue has 120 official seats, plus the observation areas on both sides, for a maximum of 160 seats."

How many people have signed up so far?

Zhou Hai took out the roster he always carried with him from the chest pocket of his white coat and flipped through it.

"As of this morning, there are 153 officially registered representatives from 17 top heart centers in 12 countries."

He reached out and tapped the list, his fingers trembling slightly.

"On the Soviet side, Andrei led a team of 47 people, the most of any group. There were 12 academicians of the Royal College of Surgeons of Great Britain plus 6 accompanying members. France, Switzerland, Japan, Germany, Italy, Israel, South Korea, Australia, Canada, and Brazil each brought two to eight people."

He closed the register and looked up.

"In addition, there are experts from various provinces across the country and personnel from the Ministry of Health."

It paused for a moment.

"It's full."

Ye Zhen closed the follow-up form, her movements unhurried and deliberate.

"That means there aren't any extra chairs."

Zhou Hai's hand remained on the roster, unmoved.

Gu Zheng turned around from the window, took his hands out of his pockets, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and a very slight smile appeared on the corner of his mouth.

"Wife, what do you mean?"

"What I mean is, all 160 seats are already occupied."

Ye Zhen put down the red pencil, the pencil rolled half a circle on the table, and was blocked by the edge of the pencil holder.

"I won't refuse his invitation; the meeting will be open to the public."

She picked up the pencil and put it back in the pencil holder.

"But I'm not obligated to make room for him."

It paused for a moment.

"If you're coming, bring your own stool."

The office fell completely silent.

Zhou Hai's mouth opened, closed, and opened again, taking a full two seconds to find his voice.

"Bring your own stool?"

His voice rose half an octave without him even noticing.

"You want the president-elect of the American College of Cardiac Surgery...to sit on a small stool and listen to your lecture?"

Ye Zhen stood up, straightened the stack of follow-up forms, and tucked them into the kraft paper folder on the table.

"He questioned my qualifications in the world's largest circulation medical journal eleven days ago."

She spoke slowly, and every word was clear and distinct.

"If he wants to come and study now, fine, I won't hold a grudge."

"But I won't give up my official seat as an expert to him either."

Zhou Hai held the folder, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

He has been in this position for almost twenty years and has seen all sorts of ruthless people.

With minimal effort and without uttering a single dirty word, they utterly humiliated the world's top three cardiac surgery authorities.

This kind of ruthlessness was something he had never seen before.

"Write your reply with this meaning in mind. You can decide on the wording, but don't make it too awkward."

Ye Zhen paused.

"But don't be too polite."

"Okay, okay, I understand."

Zhou Hai turned around, took two steps, and then turned back.

"Should we inform Vice Minister Li?"

"Need not."

"The summit is managed by the organizing committee, and the number of participants is determined by the organizing committee; it does not require the approval of the Ministry of Health."

Zhou Hai left, his footsteps fading into the distance in the corridor.

There were only two people left in the office.

The clanging of steel pipes being moved by the engineering company could be heard outside the window, mixed with the sound of the squad leader shouting commands at the top of his lungs.

Gu Zheng leaned against the windowsill, his long legs crossed, watching Ye Zhen adjust the cuffs of her white coat.

"Comrade Ye Zhen."

"Um."

"You got one of the world's top three cardiac surgeons to bring his own stool to listen to your lecture."

Ye Zhen fastened the last cufflink and smoothed out the wrinkles on the cuff.

"He's not disabled, what's wrong with him sitting on a stool?"

Gu Zheng's lips curved slightly, a curve that was the kind of smile a man gives when he looks at his woman, a smile so proud it's beyond words, only revealed by the corners of his mouth.

"Have you never been afraid of anyone in your life?"

Ye Zhen did not answer.

She picked up the patient file from the table, tucked it under her arm, opened the door, and went out.

Her footsteps echoed down the corridor, unhurried, the soles of her shoes clicking softly on the terrazzo.

It was no different from any other ordinary workday morning.

Gu Zheng stood by the window for a while, then shook his head with a smile and followed.

That afternoon.

Gu Zheng's 761st unit set up military control lines on three streets around the main hospital, with armored personnel carriers parked across the intersections, their engines still running and white smoke billowing from their exhaust pipes.

Armed sentries stood every fifty meters, their eyes beneath their helmet brims fixed straight ahead.

Outside the main gate of the hospital, the engineering company spent six hours setting up a steel-framed security checkpoint. The metal detector gate and X-ray baggage inspection machine were brought directly from the 761 Unit's supply depot. That type of machine is usually only seen at the entrances of core military facilities.

Twelve new searchlights have been installed above the courtyard wall. When they are turned on at night, the area within a radius of two hundred meters is as bright as day.

Zhou Hai stood by the window of his office, looking down at the busy soldiers and military vehicles that kept coming in. He had his hands behind his back, his left hand gripping his right wrist, rubbing his fingers together until his knuckles turned red.

The head of the administrative department tiptoed over and whispered, "Dean, isn't that security checkpoint at the entrance a bit over the top? The attendees are all internationally renowned experts, not terrorists..."

Zhou Hai turned his head and glanced at him.

"Go tell Gu Zheng it's an exaggeration, and let's see how he responds."

The section chief shrank back and immediately shut his mouth tightly.

"Then... never mind."

Zhou Hai ignored him and turned his gaze back to the brightly lit construction site downstairs.

The engineers braved the wind, carrying steel pipes back and forth.

"Twelve countries, seventeen top-tier centers."

Zhou Hai lowered his voice by half a octave.

"The WHO Director-General came in person."

His gaze moved from the security checkpoint to the searchlight, then from the searchlight to the armored vehicle, and finally landed on the summit logo that had just been hung up at the main entrance. The red background and white lettering were particularly eye-catching.

"Not an exaggeration."