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

The fluorescent lights on the ceiling of the emergency room were old and dilapidated, flickering and hissing. The pale light shone on the mottled iron poles of the stretcher, casting an unsettling glow.

A emaciated boy, about six years old, lay sprawled on the stretcher. His face was ashen, as if covered with a layer of dead skin, and his lips and fingernails were a deep purple. His chest heaved violently, each breath coming in a choked, gurgling sound, like a leaky bellows.

The high-flow nasal cannula was pressed tightly against his face, the mist completely wetting the inside of the mask, but the blood oxygen level on the monitor couldn't be stopped and kept dropping.

Sixty-four.

Sixty-two.

A rural woman in her thirties knelt beside the stretcher, her hands gripping the child's withered wrists tightly. The bones in her knuckles protruded high, her skin was cracked and rough, and black dirt that could not be washed off was embedded in her fingernails.

Several crumpled lab reports lay scattered on the cement slab on the ground, their edges curled up from being stepped on.

She muttered nervously, her voice urgent and fragmented: "Doctor, we didn't cut in line... the doctor from the screening team let us come, we have the forms, we didn't come here on purpose to cause trouble for the leaders..."

When Ye Zhen pushed the door open, there were three nurses and a resident physician on duty in the emergency room.

Upon seeing her enter, the resident physician hurriedly stepped forward, swallowed hard, and said, "Dr. Ye, the child suffered two episodes of oxygen deprivation during transport. High-flow oxygen was completely ineffective; the blood pressure plummeted from 85 to 72 and is still dropping!"

His throat tightened: "The anesthesiologist said they absolutely dare not intubate him in this condition, for fear he would die as soon as he was put into induction."

Ye Zhen didn't respond; she had already strode over to the stretcher.

With his left hand, he deftly flipped open the child's eyelids to check the pupils, while with his right hand, he warmed the cold head of the stethoscope by holding it for two seconds before quickly placing it against the chest wall.

After listening for three seconds, I moved to the second intercostal space on the left side of the sternum.

Next, cut to the fourth intercostal space.

She pulled off the stethoscope, and without hesitation, pressed her right fingertip against the lower edge of the child's right costal arch, then traced two fingers down along the liver border.

The entire set of movements was fluid and smooth, taking less than thirty seconds.

"Severe FALOS, pulmonary hypertension crisis." Ye Zhen straightened up, hung the stethoscope back around her neck, her eyes cold and deep. "The right ventricular outflow tract is almost closed, with collateral circulation compensating, but it can't hold on any longer."

She glanced at the lab report on the table, then slammed it down: "Prepare for surgery."

The moment those four light, airy words hit the ground, the woman kneeling there shuddered violently.

Her first reaction wasn't to thank God, nor to ask if the surgery would be successful. Instead, she frantically reached her hands into the inside of her tattered cotton-padded coat and, with trembling hands, pulled out a wad of cash from a small cloth bag sewn into the lining.

The crumpled banknotes, damp from her body heat, had long since stuck together. She pulled and tugged at them one by one to peel them apart.

Three bills, each worth ten yuan.

Five yuan each.

One piece, three pieces.

There were also six small bills and a small stack of yellowed national grain coupons wrapped around the outside.

She carefully spread the money, which smelled sour and sweaty, on the iron railing of the stretcher, and then pushed it towards Ye Zhen in despair.

"Doctor, here's a total of twenty-three dollars and sixty cents." The woman's voice cracked, as if she had a piece of raw iron stuck in her throat. "We know that a high-ranking foreign leader is coming to the hospital today. We're worthless, and we shouldn't be here causing trouble at this time."

She kowtowed deeply, her forehead almost hitting the iron frame: "Please... could you please give the child a breath to save his life, just to let him recover? We'll sell everything we own to raise the money for the surgery!"

The emergency room was deathly silent. The youngest of the three nurses suddenly turned her face, her eyes already red.

Ye Zhen bent down and carefully gathered the stack of money and grain coupons together, then pushed them back into the woman's rough palm, intact.

"The Heart of China is here to save children like you."

Her voice was extremely steady, carrying a powerful, unwavering strength: "You've come at the perfect time today."

Ye Zhen turned to the nurse on duty, her voice suddenly quickening: "Notify the operating room, prepare operating room number one immediately, pre-charge the cardiopulmonary bypass machine, and call Director Gao from the anesthesiology department right away!"

"The blood bank needs four units of red blood cells and two units of plasma, quick!"

The nurse received the order and ran off like a gust of wind.

Three minutes later, the door to the observation room on the second floor was pushed open.

Mahler led the way, followed closely by Williams and Andrei, with Harrison in fourth place. Gao Haiping and Liu Jianmin led seven or eight of the country's top experts, each clutching a pen and notebook tightly in their hands.

Mahler pulled out a chair in the first row and sat down without saying a word, his hands clasped on his knees.

Andrei sat to his right and turned directly to a new page in the black notebook.

A European official in the entourage sat in the back row, frowning and muttering in a low voice to the person next to him in French. The gist of his statement was: It's utterly rude to interrupt such a solemn diplomatic ceremony for an ordinary civilian.

Gu Zheng was leaning against the doorframe of the observation room with an air of superiority. He couldn't understand the few words of gibberish, but he could clearly see the foreigner's condescending impatience on his face.

He slowly turned his head, and a dangerous gaze, as if tempered by gunfire, pierced straight at the European official.

Before the translator could even open his mouth, the official's next complaint was abruptly cut off. The official felt a chill run down his spine from that gaze, and unconsciously shrank back in his chair, not daring to utter another sound.

Ye Zhen was rushing towards the operating room when Director Gao of the anesthesiology department jogged alongside her, sweating profusely, and urgently reported, "Dr. Ye, the child's pulmonary artery pressure is alarmingly high. Induction anesthesia is too risky. If we go even one step deeper, the right ventricle will stop beating immediately!"

Ye Zhen moved with lightning speed, only stopping abruptly at the corner of the corridor: "Then let's not do general anesthesia induction."

Director Gao was stunned and stood there dumbfounded.

"Preserve spontaneous breathing, light anesthesia, open chest." Ye Zhen pulled a pen from the transport box on the wall, snatched the anesthesia form from Director Gao's hand, and scribbled down three lines.

"Add 5% sodium bicarbonate to the extracorporeal circulation pre-filling solution, according to body weight, and add fresh frozen plasma at the same time." She slapped the form back onto Director Gao's chest. "First, use medication to reduce pulmonary resistance. Once the pulmonary artery pressure drops a step, then apply the pulmonary artery bypass graft."

Director Gao stared at the wildly scrawled handwriting on the anesthesia form, his lips trembled a few times, but he couldn't utter a single word of rebuttal.

Having worked in anesthesia for over twenty years, it took him a full five seconds to fully grasp this extremely audacious, tightrope-walking logic. Yet Ye Zhen, from taking auscultation to issuing this crucial, decisive treatment plan, completed the entire process in less than a minute!

The operating room lights suddenly turned on.

Ye Zhen stood in front of the sink, scrubbing her hands, rinsing them, and putting on sterile gloves. Her movements were completely calm and steady, like a flawless, precise machine, no different from any routine surgery she performed.

But the blood oxygen level on the monitor plummeted dramatically.

Fifty-three.

Fifty-one.

Forty-nine.

Suddenly, a distorted scream from the loudspeaker on the wall blared out—

"Dr. Ye, the child can't hold on any longer!"