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

As dawn broke in London, the fog still clung to the surface of the Thames. The secretary pulled open the blinds on the top floor of Gore Medical's European headquarters, letting in the morning light that fell on the medical report that Parker had just taken from the typewriter on his desk.

When there was a knock at the door, Parker didn't answer immediately. He simply pressed his cigar against the edge of the ashtray and waited for the ash to settle before saying, "Come in."

A middle-aged man in a trench coat pushed open the door and came in. He had a BBC badge around his neck, and his shoes were damp with the London morning air. He glanced at the cigarette in the room, frowned, and said, "Mr. Parker, I have to catch a flight this afternoon. You'd better tell me this isn't just a casual business chat."

Parker pushed the report onto the table, his hand still pressed against the cover: "John, you've been making documentaries for twenty years, you know better than me that sometimes the camera can move faster than a court judgment."

John didn't sit down; he just reached for the report. "What do you want me to photograph?"

Parker released his grip, gesturing for him to open it: "This is a clinical risk report about the long-term calcification risk of autologous pericardium in the repair of complex congenital heart disease."

John flipped through a few pages, the papers rustling between his fingers. He looked up and asked, "But the Chinese female doctor is going to perform an interventional procedure this time, so she might not need this."

Parker picked up his cigar again, the butt flashing in the air: "Her center is promoting this idea—low cost, homemade materials, open to all of China, and even wants to push it into international aid projects."

John chuckled. "It sounds like charity."

Parker looked at him, his tone not harsher, but his secretary's hand, holding the coffee, stopped at the door, not daring to come in: "If charity destroys Gore's patch order, that's war."

John closed the report, tracing the cover with his fingertips: "You want me to deliver this from Beijing?"

"You chartered a plane to Beijing, twenty-three kids, and the whole world's cameras were watching you." Parker picked up another cigar from the ashtray. "You know when to offer it, and you know who to offer it to."

John folded the paper, stuffed it into the inside pocket of his trench coat, and patted the spot as he stood up.

"Understood."

Parker opened a drawer, took out a brown paper bag, and pushed it over: "Inside is a written opinion from a German materials scientist, and a formal statement from Gore that they are willing to provide standard patches free of charge."

John's hand rested on the paper bag; he didn't immediately take it. "Free?"

Parker said, "For the first 23 British children, Gore is willing to cover all material costs for any patch repairs required."

John stared at him: "You guys are really generous."

Parker calmly looked out the window at the gray river: "John, business has its own dignity."

John glanced at the brown paper bag, where a corner of a thick stack of US dollars peeked out. Satisfied, he stuffed the bag into his pocket.

After the door closed, Parker leaned back in his chair, slowly exhaled a puff of smoke, and stared motionlessly at the Thames River outside the window, which was bathed in the golden light of the morning sun.

Gore cannot afford to lose its Asia-Pacific market this year.

---

London, Heathrow International Airport.

On the tarmac, a Boeing 747 painted with the Union Jack is undergoing its final takeoff checks. The low hum of its engines carries far on the cold wind, and the smell of kerosene wafts into people's noses.

Ambulances arrived one after another, and twenty-three sick children were carefully lifted onto the specially modified cabin. Sir Williams stood by the gangway, checking the list page by page, taking a second look at each child as they were wheeled in.

Health Secretary Clark stood at the foot of the gangway, briefcase in hand, his face pale from the wind. He watched as stretchers were carried up one after another, then turned to his secretary and asked, "Has the Treasury confirmed the foreign exchange quota?"

The secretary opened the folder: "It's confirmed. The initial treatment costs, charter flight fees, and expenses for the accompanying medical team will all be paid by the national treasury."

Clark gritted his teeth: "The council will tear me apart."

The secretary whispered, "The Prime Minister said that living children are more important than debate records."

Clark didn't reply, but simply switched the briefcase to his other hand: "Have the BBC people arrived yet?"

As soon as he finished speaking, several staff members carrying large camera equipment crossed the security line. George, who was in the lead, took off his gloves and reached out to Clark: "Mr. Minister, the wind in London has saved us the trouble of an opening speech. The children's faces will tell the audience how arduous this journey has been."

Clark didn't shake his hand: "George, I don't care how many wars and famines you've filmed before, this time you're following twenty-three sick children, not material to win you awards."

George withdrew his hand, smiling lazily: "Of course I know. They are patients, and they are also patients sent to China by taxpayers using the national treasury. The public has the right to know where the money went."

Clark stared at him: "The public also has the right to see respect."

George patted the camera: "Respect doesn't mean covering up for anyone. I will film the wards, the equipment, how the nurses operate it, and how the Chinese doctors answer questions."

Williams walked over from the stretcher, his face grim: "If you stick the camera in the children's faces and scare them, I'll have the captain lock your equipment in the cargo hold."

George turned to him: "Sir, you've become the gatekeeper of the Chinese hospital."

Williams handed the list to the head nurse, then reached up and put his pen into his breast pocket: "What I care about is the children's lives."

George said, "I heard that Dr. Ye doesn't like people interfering with his surgeries."

Williams said coldly, "No qualified doctor would like that."

George took the filming outline from his assistant and handed it to Clark: "We will adhere to basic medical boundaries. We will only film permitted areas in the catheterization lab. The Chinese side can decide the camera positions for the intraoperative details, but the ward environment, preoperative consultations, and postoperative results must be fully recorded."

Clark took the book and flipped through it: "You're also going to interview family members?"

George said, "Of course, the mother's fear, the father's hesitation, the British government's decision, and the Chinese hospital's acceptance of the case—that's the complete story."

Williams turned to look at the last stretcher, where the child's mother was bending down to kiss her daughter's forehead. His voice was weary, but unyielding: "Once you see a child turn pink again after surgery, you'll say less nonsense."

The boarding announcement came over the loudspeaker, and ground staff began to retract the gangway. Clark straightened his tie and extended his hand to Williams: "Sir, once we arrive in Beijing, you and the Chinese side will handle the medical arrangements, and I will take care of the diplomatic matters."

Williams grasped his hand: "Then please bear with me. The Chinese will not act with the arrogance of the British."

Clark gave a wry smile: "I already figured it out."

George told the cameraman to start the camera, the lens aimed at the last glimpse of London's dark clouds in front of the cabin door. He stood at the edge of the frame and whispered to the sound engineer, "Write down the opening narration: The British Empire takes the children halfway around the world to knock on the door of an Eastern hospital."