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

In early autumn in London, the morning mist had not yet dissipated.

The Prime Minister's office at 10 Downing Street is filled with the rich aroma of roasted coffee.

The secretary used a silver paper cutter to cut open a heavy brown paper bag, and two videotapes and a letter slid onto the large oak table.

Chief of Staff Harrison stepped forward.

"Madam, this is an anonymous private package."

Mrs. Thatcher, seated at the head of the table, put down her pen and took the letter: "What did you write?"

Harrison pointed to the handwritten English: "Please let the British people see the real East."

Mrs. Thatcher folded the letter and placed it under the ink bottle.

"Go arrange the screening room."

"Madam, we will be discussing the Scottish regional budget this morning," Harrison reminded her.

Mrs. Thatcher walked straight out.

"Delay by half an hour. Someone went to so much trouble to deliver this to Downing Street; I have to see it myself."

The lights in the screening room went completely dark.

The image quality on the screen was slightly rough, even with some static, but it still struck the eyes of everyone present.

Contrary to their stereotypical image of a dirty and chaotic medical environment, there were simple yet spotless ward corridors; twenty-three top Chinese medical students slept directly on the cold cement floor, just to overcome the language barrier and provide immediate rescue.

The scene then shifts to the auditorium.

Parker, a Gore executive, argued vehemently while holding up the fabricated report, but the young Eastern female doctor stood up and, with just three highly professional logical flaws, completely exposed the hypocrisy of Western capitalism.

Then, a Chinese man in a green military uniform stepped forward and publicly ripped away the veil of pretense.

Seven-year-old Emily opened her eyes in the hospital bed and said "thank you" to the female doctor in broken Chinese with a Beijing accent.

Then, the screen suddenly flashed.

The background changed to a simple storage room in the North City Military Region General Hospital. Reporter George himself appeared in front of the camera, with a stubble beard and bloodshot eyes, holding a secret document stamped with the Gore Corporation seal.

"I'm George, a BBC reporter." He looked directly into the camera, his voice hoarse but firm. "During filming, Mr. Parker, the head of Gore's European operations, promised me £10,000 in cash and a promotion. There was only one condition—that I smear Dr. Ye Zhen's low-cost solutions on camera and clear the way for their expensive equipment."

George shook the document, making a rustling sound.

"As a journalist, I almost took money to keep quiet. But faced with twenty-three lives snatched from the jaws of death, I cannot become an accomplice to profit. Now, I present this true account uncut, and I ask the people of Britain to judge for themselves what truly constitutes healing and saving lives, and what constitutes profiteering!"

The projector stopped rotating.

The screen turned into static.

Harrison's back was damp with a thin layer of sweat, and he quickly went forward to pull back the curtains. Morning light streamed into the room.

Mrs. Thatcher took off her reading glasses and placed them heavily on the small round table.

"Has the reporter George, who was filming this, been suspended by BBC headquarters?"

Harrison pulled a document from his briefcase: "Yes, the official reason given by Director John is that he violated internal reporting procedures. Madam, Director John has the entire medical lobby behind him."

"Treating citizens' right to know as a plaything in their hands?" Mrs. Thatcher sneered, stood up, and said, "Call the BBC board."

Harrison was taken aback: "What did you say?"

"Tell them this documentary is crucial to the British Empire's international medical cooperation! Demand it air immediately during prime time on Channel One!"

“But Madam…” Harrison lowered his voice, “it involves serious allegations of commercial bribery, which will thoroughly enrage Gore and their political allies in Congress. Next year’s election…”

Harrison.

Mrs. Thatcher interrupted him, straightening the lapel of her velvet coat. "The British Empire can lose to superior medical skills, but it must never lose to a few checks tainted with the stench of money! Falling behind is not terrible; what's shameful is not daring to admit it!"

She walked to the door.

"Notify the Ministry of Health in the name of the Prime Minister's Office to immediately launch an official investigation into Gore. Give Sir Williams free rein to fully advance the technical cooperation with the China Huaxia Zhixin team."

Harrison straightened his back: "Understood."

Three days later, on a London night.

Millions of British households watched the special documentary "Heart of the East" airing on Channel 1 after dinner.

The Taylors sat on a fabric sofa in their living room.

When he saw on TV those unrelated Chinese neighborhood committee aunties handing steaming hot chicken noodle soup and steamed buns to the families of British patients, tears welled up in his eyes.

Mrs. Smith, the neighbor, stood at the doorway with a plate of freshly baked cookies, completely mesmerized.

"My God, it's unbelievable!" Mrs. Smith walked in, her eyes still glued to the screen. "They're treating complete foreign patients like family. And that young Asian doctor's surgical skills are even better than the white-haired professor at the Royal Hospital!"

Mrs. Taylor came out of the kitchen with a cup of hot black tea, and pulled Emily, who was wearing a floral polyester short-sleeved shirt, into her arms, her eyes red-rimmed.

"Yes, Mrs. Smith. Look at Emily's face now, like a ripe apple. If it weren't for Dr. Ye, our family would have fallen apart long ago."

Emily nestled in her mother's arms, pointed at Ye Zhen on the television, and called out in her newly learned Chinese, "Dr. Ye, what a good person!"

Mrs. Taylor said, "When we were in China, those Chinese aunties even exchanged their precious food ration coupons for wheat flour, just to cook us a hot meal! These are truly great and selfless doctors and people!"

The scene then cuts to George's public denunciation on camera, followed by a scene at the auditorium where Gore's Parker is publicly exposed and flees in disgrace.

Mr. Taylor slammed his fist heavily on the coffee table.

"These bloodsucking capitalists! They actually want to destroy such excellent Eastern technology! Do they want to watch our children die just to sell those expensive junk?!"

It wasn't just the Taylor family.

In just ten minutes, the anger of the common people at being deceived and exploited completely set the streets and alleys of London ablaze.

In the dead of night, the headquarters of Gore Corporation in the financial district was in complete chaos.

The old-fashioned rotary telephone on the desk rang incessantly with a sharp sound.

In the office, Parker irritably loosened his silk tie and kicked over the chair next to him.

John rushed forward, grabbed Parker by the collar, and roared, "Didn't you assure me that everything was under control?!"

Parker slapped his hand away forcefully, his eyes bloodshot.

"I told you George was unreliable! He even added a confession at the end! Now the whole world knows we're fabricating a false report!" Parker haphazardly straightened his wrinkled shirt, grabbed his jacket, and said, "Those politicians will never defy an enraged prime minister and public opinion to protect us. We're finished, completely finished!"

The phone rang shrilly again.

Parker took the call with trembling hands.

The cold voice of the chairman of the board at the New York headquarters came through the receiver: "Parker, you must get out of the company building before sunrise tomorrow morning."

"Mr. Chairman, please give me a chance to make amends!"

"Your actions constitute serious commercial fraud! The Ministry of Justice is cooperating with the London police investigation."

The phone call was unilaterally cut off.

Parker, his face ashen, slumped onto the leather sofa, trembling uncontrollably.

"Not only are we being fired, but we also face lawsuits..."

The London Stock Exchange opened the following day.

Gore's European stock price plummeted. That afternoon, Gore issued an emergency statement announcing that Parker had been dismissed from all positions and handed over to judicial authorities for serious violations of business compliance guidelines. Meanwhile, under pressure from public opinion, the BBC's news director, John, was suspended pending investigation.

A cramped studio apartment in London.

George was squatting on the ground, silently packing his few belongings.

The old-fashioned rotary telephone on the table suddenly rang.

He sighed and lazily picked up the receiver: "This is George."

"George, thank God, you can come back to work tomorrow!" The voice of the new head of the news department on the other end of the phone was laced with undisguised flattery. "Just now, the Prime Minister's Office called the station personally to praise you! They said your public exposé upheld the conscience of the British press!"

George, holding the microphone, froze on the spot.

"Where's John?"

"Him? He's been taken away by the London police for questioning!" the manager replied crisply. "The station has decided to award you the Best News Report of the Year. Your report achieved the highest ratings in history! Remember to report to the top-floor office at nine o'clock tomorrow morning!"

The phone hangs up.

George turned his head and looked out the window at the dim light of London, remaining lost in thought for a long time.

The East is truly a magical land.