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

London Heathrow Airport, International Arrivals Hall.

The arrivals area was already so crowded that there wasn't even a place to stand. Tall Westerners stood on tiptoe, Londoners holding signs, and newspaper reporters with their cameras and microphones blocked both sides of the passageway. The air was filled with the smells of coffee, perfume, and anxious anticipation.

Lin, the counselor of the Chinese Embassy in the UK, has been exceptionally placed at the very front of the cordon.

He was accompanied by seven or eight Chinese students, who were holding bright red banners with the words "Welcome home safely, children" written in both Chinese and English.

In normal circumstances, at such diplomatic events where Westerners gather, these few Chinese people with black hair and yellow skin would most likely be squeezed into the outermost corner, not even able to show their faces.

But today, everything has changed.

"Here, take it! Good children, take it!" A slightly plump blonde woman pushed her way through the crowd to the front and forcefully stuffed a large bunch of tulips, still glistening with water droplets, into the arms of Zhang Xiao, an international student.

Zhang Xiao was stunned when she was surrounded by the fragrance of flowers.

The woman's eyes were red-rimmed, and she shouted in broken Chinese, "Thank you!"

Before Zhang Xiao could react, the two British men in expensive leather jackets next to him turned around, faced Counselor Lin, and solemnly gave him a thumbs-up.

Consul Lin took a deep breath of London air and straightened the hem of his impeccably tailored suit. He had endured countless cold stares throughout his life when he argued with the British in diplomatic settings, banging on tables, trying to reason with them.

But today, in this country that once held arrogance and prejudice against Eastern medicine, he felt an unprecedented and heartfelt respect.

This respect cannot be earned through cannons and negotiating tables.

It was Dr. Ye Zhen from the Beicheng Military Region General Hospital who, with twenty-three flawless high-difficulty surgeries, snatched the nation's dignity back from the jaws of death!

"It's out! It's out!"

Someone in the crowd shouted, and the hall instantly erupted in cheers. Flashbulbs from the cameras blared like lightning in broad daylight.

The automatic glass doors at the end of the passageway open smoothly to both sides.

Sir Williams walked at the front. He slung his suit jacket over his arm, carried his briefcase, and strode forward.

Following behind him were twenty-three British families.

"Good heavens..." The editor-in-chief of The Times, who was standing by the cordon, gasped when he saw the scene before him, and almost dropped his notebook.

Before setting off, he personally visited the children at the Royal Hospital. At that time, they lay weakly in oxygen masks, their lips were purple, their fingers were like dry matchsticks, and every breath they took felt like torture.

But now?

Seven-year-old Emily wore a red floral-patterned polyester short-sleeved shirt with a strong oriental flair. She wasn't in a wheelchair or being carried; instead, she pulled a small suitcase, skipping and hopping along beside Mrs. Taylor like a light, nimble deer. Although her cheeks still bore the pallor of her long illness, her once bluish-purple lips had clearly regained a healthy, vibrant pink.

Beside her, a ten-year-old boy, still clutching a half-eaten Chinese apple, stared with wide blue eyes, curiously observing the flashes of light around him.

There was no stretcher, no ambulance, and no oxygen cylinder.

This isn't a trip to the East seeking medical help or a cure; this is a group of healthy kids who just went on a long vacation in the East and came back!

After a brief two-second silence, a burst of cheers and applause erupted, nearly lifting the roof off the terminal building.

British doctor Brown followed behind the group, his back ramrod straight like a javelin.

Several experts from the Royal London Hospital who had previously mocked him for "seeking treatment in desperation by going to the backward East" were now crowding in the airport to greet him, their jaws nearly dropping to their chests in astonishment.

Brown ignored his colleagues and walked straight to the microphone that the reporter was practically poking at his face.

"Don't film me." Brown reached out to block the camera, turned to the side, and respectfully pointed to the families behind him. "The miracle was created by Dr. Ye from China. I'm just an observer who went to broaden my horizons. I'm not even qualified to be an assistant."

At the front of the crowd, Mrs. Taylor led Emily around, looking at the surroundings.

When she saw the bright red Chinese banner in front of her, her eyes lit up, and without hesitation, she left the swarming reporters and strode over.

Zhang Xiao was still holding tulips in his arms when Mrs. Taylor grabbed his hand tightly before he could react.

"Thank you. China is the greatest place."

Emily looked up at Counselor Lin with her big eyes, tugged at his sleeve, and greeted him in crisp, slightly Beijing-accented Chinese, "Hello, Uncle!"

Lin, the counselor, felt a sudden pang of sadness and quickly knelt down, his hands trembling slightly as he stroked the little girl's soft hair: "Good, good child, it's good that you're back."

This heartwarming scene was captured forever on film by the surrounding media with their cameras and microphones.

More and more British parents spontaneously came over and surrounded the Chinese students and embassy staff. Some parents, who were not good with words, simply bent down, put their hands on their trouser seams, and solemnly bowed deeply to them.

Zhang Xiao's eyes were completely red.

He recalled that last month in the Cambridge University canteen, several local medical students had openly mocked China for not even having a decent hematopoietic stem cell cold storage facility. He had argued vehemently, but they hadn't bothered to listen.

But now, these high-ranking British doctors and the wealthy are crowding around them, expressing their respect in the most humble and sincere way.

Zhang Xiao sniffed, his back straight as a steel nail.

This back straightening was achieved by Dr. Ye from China, who forcefully split and supported them!

……

Thousands of miles away. Beijing.

It was just past noon, and the sun was scorching. Cicadas clung to the old willow tree in the yard, chirping at the top of their lungs.

In the Beicheng Military Region General Hospital, the green ceiling fans overhead whirred, cutting through the sweltering heat. On Ye Zhen's desk, a large enamel mug bearing the words "Serve the People" held a richly brewed cup of tea, steaming gently.

After the twenty-three British children were transferred out, the ward for international patients was completely emptied.

Logically, after so many tense days, we should finally be able to take a breather, but the backlog of surgeries for critically ill children with congenital heart disease in China has immediately been put back on the agenda.

She was looking down, the nib of her pen scratching across the rough prescription paper, intently revising the medical orders for the next surgery.

The doorknob suddenly clicked, and someone pushed it open.

Gu Zheng strode in, his military boots clicking.

He was holding a thin sheet of fax paper in his hand.

"An urgent telegram just sent back from the embassy." Gu Zheng walked to the table and gently placed the paper next to Ye Zhen's medical record. Then, he casually pulled over a chair, straddled it, and sat down, his broad shoulders relaxed and his two strong arms casually draped over the back of the chair.

Ye Zhen didn't stop writing with her pen; she just glanced at it from the side.

The paper was filled with descriptions of the grand welcome at London Airport, and even included a public telegram of thanks from British Health Secretary Clark through diplomatic channels.

She calmly withdrew her gaze, casually tossed the fax paper aside, tucked it under the ink bottle, and continued writing down a line of medicinal dosage.

"Is that all the reaction you're going to get?" Gu Zheng raised his stiff eyebrows, a smile playing in his eyes.

"Otherwise what?" Ye Zhen didn't even look up, her voice calm and undisturbed. "The surgeries were all successful, which was expected. If they don't get off the plane healthy and lively, then all my work these past few days has been for nothing."

Gu Zheng chuckled softly. His chest vibrated, letting out a deep, warm laugh.

This woman has this infuriatingly self-righteous "taken-for-granted" attitude. What others would beg and plead for to embellish their resumes with major diplomatic achievements, she describes as nothing more than ordinary work for a craftsman.

"Alright, Mr. Ye, you've saved all of humanity. Now, can't you show a little compassion for your man and have lunch with me?"