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

Brown, carrying a white enamel mug with a red Double Happiness symbol, walked up to Ye Zhen and stopped. The mug was filled with Arctic Ocean soda, and white frost had formed on the glass. He coughed.

"Dr. Ye," Brown said in a hoarse voice, speaking slowly, "I questioned you when we were in London. And here, I objected to your decisions because of my personal biases."

He paused and looked up.

"It turns out I was terribly wrong. You have surgical skills I can't match, and clinical judgment that surpasses Western textbooks. You saved these twenty-three children and shattered the rigid perceptions of us Western doctors."

Brown straightened his back and raised the enamel mug in his hand.

"This cup is my apology to you for my past ignorance."

He tilted his head back and gulped down the entire tank of ice-cold, throat-sting Arctic Ocean soda. The carbonation bubbles surged up his esophagus, making him cough repeatedly, but he gripped the tank handle and didn't stop.

Ye Zhen leaned against the Jeep door. Without refusing, she picked up the half-empty soda bottle in her hand, raised it a few steps away from Brown, and took a small sip.

Brown understood what she meant, his shoulders relaxed, and he grinned.

The atmosphere around them became lively.

The tall, British father in bed number two had borrowed an old wooden guitar from the hospital union. The lacquer was peeling and the tone was off. He sat on a small stool, his rough fingers strumming the strings, and began to sing English country folk songs.

"Country roads, take me home..."

"To the place I belong..."

The singing was a little off-key, and even a little choked up. The courtyard fell silent.

After the song was finished, everyone applauded.

Several Chinese medical students shoved each other, pushing Lin Yi to the front.

"Don't just listen to others sing, let's do one too!"

"Lin Yi, you have a loud voice, start it!"

Lin Yi's face flushed red. He took a step forward, straightened his back, and shouted at the top of his lungs, "One, two, three, four!"

As soon as those four words were uttered, the Chinese students below all perked up.

"The sun sets in the west, its glow a fiery red; the soldiers return to camp after target practice, return to camp—"

Lin Yi roared out the first line, and immediately, more than twenty students burst into a deafening chorus. The resounding singing instantly drowned out the crackling of the burning firewood, brimming with the unique vigor and fearless vitality of young people in the 1980s.

"A red flower adorns her chest, reflecting the rosy clouds; joyful songs fill the sky!"

"mi sao la mi sao, la sao mi dao ruai!"

"They're praising our marksmanship as number one, one, two, three, four!"

Gu Zheng stood outside the crowd, a cigarette dangling from his lips, tapping his toes to the beat. Several guards joined in the singing, their rendition of "Returning from Target Practice" evoking the grandeur of a million-strong army crossing the Yangtze River.

The British couldn't understand the lyrics, but they were stunned by the sheer force of the chorus.

In the corner, British Health Secretary Clark nudged BBC director George with his elbow.

"George, did you film it all? This is much more interesting than the official talks," Clark said in a low voice. "His energy is truly admirable."

George nodded. He stared at the camera; the previously chosen title for the documentary, "The Stagnant Eastern Ward," had to be changed.

On the other side of the campfire, Mrs. Taylor pulled Li Hong, who was clearing away the dishes.

She took off an intricately woven linen bracelet from her wrist and put it on Li Hong. The bracelet was strung with a few wooden beads and smelled of chamomile.

"Good child, this is something I made myself for protection." Mrs. Taylor held Li Hong's hand. "I've heard you're a top student at one of China's top medical schools. If you'd like, I can fully fund your studies in England under the family name. Oxford or Cambridge, you're sure to achieve great things."

The Chinese students around who understood English gasped in surprise.

In 1980s China, government-sponsored overseas study was extremely rare. Getting a full scholarship to Oxford or Cambridge was like achieving instant success.

Everyone stared at Li Hong.

Li Hong blushed as she looked at the knot on her wrist. She then looked at Mrs. Taylor.

"Thank you, madam. I'll accept this bracelet; I really like it." Li Hong's English pronunciation was clear and standard.

She laughed.

"But I don't need to go to England for further studies; I want to stay here."

Mrs. Taylor looked bewildered: "Why? They have the best laboratories there."

Li Hong stepped through the crowd and looked into the distance. Gu Zheng was stuffing a piece of pork belly into Ye Zhen's mouth, and Ye Zhen frowned.

"Because the world's most advanced technology is already in our country." Li Hong turned to Mrs. Taylor and said, "Being by Professor Ye's side is the place I, as a medical student, should be in for the rest of my life."

Mrs. Taylor stood there, stunned. She followed Li Hong's gaze and looked at the Eastern female doctor whose features were softly outlined by the firelight, lost in thought.

"Ring ring ring!"

The phone rang in the duty room. It was a satellite phone set up specifically for the BBC team.

Hearing the noise, George handed the camera to his assistant and strode into the duty room.

He picked up the receiver and said "feed." After the operator transferred the call, Parker, the head of Gore's European operations, came through the other end.

George gripped the receiver tightly, kicked the door to the duty room with his heel, and locked himself inside.

The door to the duty room was closed, shutting out the laughter and chatter outside.

George picked up the receiver, and John's furious roar immediately came through.

"George! What are you doing? Why haven't I seen you mention that clinical risk report in any of the reports? Have you forgotten our agreement?!"

John's voice was distorted with anger.

"I sent you to China to expose that Chinese woman's scam, not to attend a bonfire party!"

George held the receiver, remaining silent.

His mind was filled with images he had seen over the past few days.

The female doctor who bypassed the ministers at the airport and went straight to the stretcher; the group of young students who slept in the cold corridor just to be the first to respond; and the simple and honest alleyway aunties who carried steaming dumplings.

"John, the time is not right." That was all he said in the end.

"Timing?" John sneered. "Once her surgery is a complete success and the whole world treats her like a god, our chance will be gone! You must immediately produce that report and question her in front of the media about the long-term calcification risk of autologous pericardium in complex congenital heart disease repair! This is our last chance!"

Hearing the urging from the other end of the phone, George was caught in a fierce internal struggle.

He glanced out the window and saw Mrs. Taylor clumsily trying to pick up a slippery noodle with chopsticks, mimicking Li Hong's movements by the campfire.

He took a deep breath and made his decision.

"John, the signal is bad here."

After he finished speaking, he hung up the phone without waiting for a response.