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

Bonn, Germany.

At six o'clock in the morning, the heavy oak doors of the Federal Prime Minister's Office were pushed open from the outside.

Thomas, CEO of Siemens Healthineers, carrying a black briefcase, strode into the Prime Minister's office. The television in the corner was still replaying the BBC documentary "Heart of the East," its screen flickering dimly.

Prime Minister Kohl sat behind a large desk, his hands clasped in front of his chin.

"Oh, Thomas, you'd better have a good reason for this midnight call," Cole said, his voice hoarse.

Thomas walked straight to the table.

"Mr. Chancellor, I swear to God, this is a war without gunfire. That Eastern doctor named Ye Zhen only has twenty-four hours in a day. You must know, politicians all over Europe are frantically fighting for those precious twenty-four hours. Whoever can get the medical records to her desk first will have their country's children escape from the clutches of death. Listen, Siemens can ensure that the Federal Republic of Germany is number one."

Cole looked up at him and asked three questions.

"Can it really be cured? How many marks will it cost? Will Greater Germany lose face because of this?"

Thomas slammed a hardcover document down on the table.

"Absolutely true! Twenty-three young British men and women are currently enjoying fish and chips on the streets of London—that's irrefutable proof! As for the money, for God's sake, Siemens will cover all charter flights, transportation, and medical expenses for the first batch of children. All the government needs to do is stamp the document. As for the shame—"

Thomas tapped the document with the back of his hand, his tone resolute. "Even Margaret of 10 Downing Street in England personally signed the telegram. If even that Iron Lady isn't afraid of losing face, then the Greater German Confederation has no reason to back down, does it?"

The office fell silent.

The second hand of the clock has completed half a revolution.

Cole reached out, pulled the document in front of him, removed the pen cap, and signed his name.

"Go through this under the official name of Sino-German medical technology cooperation." Cole closed his pen and threw it on the table. "Be quick, don't let the French beat us to it."

Thomas picked up the documents, turned around, and strode away.

Less than two hours later, the German Ministry of Health convened an emergency meeting. The directors of all six of Germany's largest children's hospitals were dragged out of bed and forced to sit in the air-conditioned conference room.

The Minister of Health slammed his fist on the table and issued a death order: "Within 24 hours, compile all the medical records of children in your hospital who meet the criteria for interventional treatment for congenital heart disease! Send someone to translate them into Chinese! Execute immediately!"

Meanwhile.

Paris, France. Senior politicians from the Ministry of Health are arguing fiercely around a long table about which letters to use for the abbreviation of the "Feasibility Assessment Committee for Sino-French Medical Cooperation".

Rome, Italy. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs' application documents are stuck on the desks of seven different departments, awaiting signatures.

Madrid, Spain. The ambassador to China is frantically dialing the Foreign Affairs Department of the Chinese Ministry of Health, waiting in line for a meeting.

Germany, only.

Frankfurt International Airport tarmac. Siemens technical director Hans clutched a temperature-controlled suitcase tightly in his arms. Inside the suitcase was the RF wire prototype that Ye Zhen had specifically requested.

Beside him lay a half-meter-tall aluminum alloy combination lock box. Inside were the first batch of twenty medical records of German children, translated overnight.

The gangway was retracted and the cabin door was closed.

Hans is already on a chartered plane bound for Beijing, China.

……

Beijing, Beicheng Military Region General Hospital.

The scorching sunlight cast the shadows of the plane trees onto the frosted glass of the intervention building.

Inside the catheterization lab, the monitor emitted a monotonous, steady "beep-beep" sound.

Ye Zhen stood on the operating table.

A lead apron weighing 20 pounds pressed down on her shoulders, and a sterile surgical gown wrapped her up tightly and breathably.

Lying on the platform is a four-year-old girl named Ya Ya, from a remote mountainous area in Gansu. Ya Ya's ventricular septal defect has progressed to an advanced stage, and her pulmonary hypertension is nearing its critical point.

The scrub nurse handed over the puncture needle.

Ye Zhen took the needle and fixed her gaze on the X-ray imaging screen in front of her.

"Right femoral vein puncture. Insert sheath. Advance guidewire."

"Heart rate 110, blood pressure 960, stable," the anesthesiologist immediately reported.

Ye Zhen slightly turned her wrist, and the catheter slid along the blood vessel into the right atrium, passed through the tricuspid valve, and reached the right ventricle.

The imaging image lit up on the screen. The fatal defect in the ventricular septum was clearly visible.

"Release the plug."

An umbrella-shaped nickel-titanium alloy occluder is opened at the tip of the catheter. The metal mesh is firmly locked in place at the defect.

"Drag and drop test".

Ye Zhen took half a step back and pulled the steel cable back. The sealing device remained motionless.

"Angiography"

After the contrast agent was injected, the abnormal shunt completely disappeared.

"Reel in the cable."

Click. The steel cable detached.

Ye Zhen put down the instruments and removed her hands from the sterile table. "Apply pressure to stop the bleeding, return to the intensive care unit."

Ye Zhen pulled off her mask and unfastened her lead apron. The heavy clothes fell to the ground, and the stray hairs on her forehead were already soaked with sweat, clinging tightly to her skin.

She walked to the sink and turned on the tap. The cool water washed over her fingertips.

I pushed open the heavy outer door of the catheterization lab. A draft blew through the corridor.

Gu Zheng, dressed in a crisp military uniform, leaned against the white wall. He held a large, chipped enamel mug in his hand. Seeing Ye Zhen come out, he strode forward and handed her the mug.

The temperature is just right, lukewarm water.

Ye Zhen took it, tilted her head back, and gulped down half the vat. Her parched, burning throat finally felt a little better.

Gu Zheng raised his hand, his rough thumb wiping away a bead of sweat from her cheek.

"Drink slowly, no one's going to take it from you."

Ye Zhen, holding her teacup, asked, "How's the situation outside?"

"Everything's in chaos." Gu Zheng reached into his pocket, pulled out a pack of Daqianmen cigarettes, took one out and held it between his fingers without lighting it. "The French ambassador called the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Italians are trying to cut in line through their connections at the Red Cross. Vice Minister Li's phone line is practically burning hot."

Ye Zhen remained calm and handed the teacup back to him. "The medical records are acceptable."

She paused for a moment, her gaze passing over Gu Zheng's shoulder and looking towards the end of the corridor.

"But the rules can't be broken. No nationality, no status. Whoever is closest to death gets to the top first."

Gu Zheng chuckled softly.

He knew it. No matter how fierce the winds outside, everyone had to obediently kneel down and follow her rules when they got to this woman.

"Okay." Gu Zheng put the cigarette back in the cigarette case.

A series of hurried, heavy footsteps echoed from the stairwell.

Lin Yi ran up, panting, his military shirt soaked through the back.

"Teacher Ye! Instructor Gu!"

Lin Yi ran up to him, hands on his knees, panting heavily. "The airport just called! Hans from Siemens has landed! He's hired a jeep and is heading towards the main hospital!"

Lin Yi straightened up and swallowed hard. "He said the RF wire prototype you requested has been manufactured!"

Ye Zhen turned around.

Her gaze fell directly on the whiteboard displaying the work schedule on the wall.

Tom, the seven-year-old British boy with severe and complex deformities who was sentenced to death.

His name was written in bright red pen at the very top of the whiteboard.

The weapons have arrived.

This is a deadlock; it's time to break it.