Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

"Fifth—" He paused, then looked up, "we can designate a piece of land near the port to establish a 'China-Kazakhstan Cross-border Economic and Trade Cooperation Zone.' Within the zone, we will implement Da Yang's business rules and some of its tax policies. Business registration, employment, settlement, and dispute resolution—all will follow the standards of the Da Yang Free Trade Zone. For Da Yang companies, entering the zone is equivalent to not leaving the country."

The atmosphere in the meeting room changed.

The finance minister slowly picked up the enamel teacup in front of him, brought it to his lips, and this time he actually took a sip.

"Da Yang will agree to this plan," he said.

“That’s not enough,” the deputy foreign minister said again.

All eyes turned to him.

“Whether it’s the economic and trade cooperation zone, the Da Yang standard, or the exclusive sales rights—these are all things that are ‘given away.’ Of course, Da Yang will want what’s given away, but they won’t feel like they owe us anything because of it.” He turned his phone over, glanced at the screen, and then closed it again.

“We need to make Da Yang feel that we are not asking them for help, but that we are doing something together—something that is strategically important to them.”

"For example?" Nurlan asked.

"For example, we can position this passage as the western hub of the 'New Silk Road Canal Corridor.' It's not just about Kazakhstan's highways and railways, but the gateway for the entire Central Asia to enter this canal. The trade volume between China and the five Central Asian countries was $70 billion last year, with an annual growth rate of 8% to 10%. If this canal can increase the growth rate by another 3 to 5 percentage points, it will be an increase of hundreds of billions of dollars in ten years."

“What Da Yang wants is not just a road, but a systemic channel that can continuously export production capacity, standards, currency, and rules. We will make the western gateway of this channel well-developed, large-scale, and a model—Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan, and Tajikistan will all have to follow this model if they want to connect to this canal in the future. This value is much greater than four billion US dollars.”

The meeting room remained quiet for a long time.

“Following this line of thinking, produce a complete plan by today,” Nurlan stood up. “I’m going to see the president. You—”

He glanced at the Finance Minister, then at the Director General of Investment.

"Get ready, you guys get flying to Yangzhou with me no later than the day after tomorrow."

"Where to?" the finance minister asked.

Nurlan glanced down at the map.

On the map, the red rift valley stretches from the westernmost point to the easternmost point, a distance of 4,800 kilometers, like an incredibly smooth sword stroke.

At the very tip of the rift valley, the China-Kazakhstan border line, like a small clasp, connects the rift valley to Kazakhstan.

“City Y,” he said.

The meeting has ended.

As the finance minister stood up, the chair leg scraped against the floor with a creak.

He stood there, looking down at the crumpled estimate report on the table. After a few seconds, he reached out, picked it up, folded it, and stuffed it into his suit pocket.

He paused when he reached the door.

"Nurlan".

The Minister of Transport turned around.

“Four billion,” the Finance Minister said. “Four billion US dollars, a fifty-year loan, with a ten-year grace period. Even if Emperor Taiyang agrees to this plan, it will be difficult to get it through the parliament.”

“Those Russian traitors?” Nurlan opened the conference room door, and the light from the corridor shone through the crack in the door, illuminating his graying temples. “I only need to say one sentence.”

The finance minister looked at him.

"Their good days were over the moment the canal was connected to Kazakhstan!"

134 The Road to Medical Treatment

When train G1728 pulled into Y City West Station, it was already completely dark.

Old Wu took his phone out of his pocket, glanced at the time, and then put it back in.

The platform lights outside the train window swept past, falling on his face in streaks before moving away.

He turned his head and looked at his father, who was leaning on his shoulder. The old man's eyes were closed, his breathing was shallow, and his lips were a little dry. When he was asleep, his face was thinner than when he was awake, with prominent cheekbones and sunken eye sockets, as if something had hollowed it out from inside.

Two weeks ago, the old man said he felt tightness in his chest.

The county hospital took X-rays, and the doctor called Lao Wu into his office. After closing the door, he pointed to a small, blurry shadow on the edge of the lung lobe on the X-ray and said, "It's late stage."

Old Wu asked: Is surgery possible?

The doctor said: The county hospital is definitely not suitable.

Old Wu asked: What about the provincial capital?

The doctor said: It's probably not going to be good; it was discovered too late...

The doctor took the X-ray film off the lightbox, put it in a brown paper bag, and handed it to him: "If you really want to take a chance, go to Y City."

The train slowed down, and an announcement was made in the carriage.

Old Wu gently nudged his father's shoulder. The old man opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping around the carriage as if he had forgotten where he was. Then, he slowly remembered, rubbed the corner of his eye with the back of his hand, and straightened up from his son's shoulder.

"arrive?"

"arrive."

Old Wu stood up and took two bags down from the luggage rack.

One was his backpack, stuffed with a change of clothes; the other was the old man's canvas bag, containing his medical records, medical insurance card, and a brown paper bag he brought from the county hospital.

There was a wind on the platform, blowing from one end to the other. Old Wu helped the old man zip up his coat, carrying two bags in one hand and supporting his father with the other. His elbow was as thin as a dried-up piece of firewood in his palm.

The exit lights were on.

There were many people, and the wheels of suitcases made a buzzing sound as they rolled on the ground, mixed with the signs held up by people picking up passengers and the sound of cell phones playing on speakerphone.

Old Wu helped his father as they were pushed forward by the crowd.

There are many signs at the entrance of the passage.

One of the signs, with blue background and white lettering, reads in neat, square print: "Green Channel for Critically Ill Patients".

The arrow points to the right, and there's a medical station nearby with several staff members in light blue uniforms standing outside.

Old Wu slowed his pace. The staff had already seen him, or rather, they had already seen the old man he was supporting, who had to stop and catch his breath after taking only a few steps.

A wheelchair was pushed over: "Uncle, please sit down."

The old man looked at the wheelchair, then at Old Wu. Old Wu nodded, and the old man slowly sat down.

The staff member squatted down, opened the footrests of the wheelchair, and placed the old man's feet on them one by one. The old man's feet were a little swollen and his shoelaces were loose, so the staff member gently pushed his heels to the innermost part of the footrests.

“Take the elevator to the left after exiting the station. The ride-hailing pick-up point is at P2, and the taxi pick-up point is at P1. There are also buses on the roadside, which are shuttle buses from the hub station. It costs three yuan per person.”

After saying that, the staff member straightened up and released the brakes on the wheelchair.

Old Wu pushed the wheelchair forward.

The lights at the exit were very bright, making the fine marks on the ground worn white by the wheels of countless suitcases.

The wheelchair wheels rolled over those fine marks without making a sound.

Old Wu watched his father's back – his gray hair on the back of his head peeked out from above the back of his wheelchair, swaying slightly in the wind at the exit.

He suddenly realized that it had been a long time since he had looked at his father from this perspective.

The last time was probably when I was a child, sitting on the back of a bicycle, with my father riding it, his back like a wall.

Now, the wall is thinner, so thin that you can see the outline of the shoulder blades protruding from under the coat.

There was a queue at the boarding point.

Next to it stands a floor-standing notice board: The station is crowded with passengers and drivers have difficulty queuing. All orders will be charged an additional dispatch service fee of 8 yuan. The basis for the fee and the complaint hotline are marked in small print below.

Old Wu looked around, and someone next to him spoke up.

"Eight yuan?" A man in a gray polo shirt turned his phone screen over to show his companion. "The fare is 37 yuan, plus 8 yuan, so it's 45 yuan now."

"Eight yuan it is," the person in the group shook his head, "Now they definitely won't refuse orders or give you attitude."

At this moment, Lao Wu had already seen the shuttle bus that the staff had mentioned, and there was a sign next to it that read: 3 yuan per person.

Old Wu didn't lack a few dozen yuan; he waved his hand.

A taxi turned in from the ramp and stopped next to the wheelchair.

The driver, a man in his early fifties, got out of the driver's seat, went around to the back of the car, opened the trunk, helped Old Wu put his luggage in, helped the old man from the wheelchair to the back seat, and then skillfully pushed the wheelchair to the designated storage area.

The air conditioning was on in the car, and the temperature was just right.

"Cancer Hospital?" The driver started the car.

"Correct."

The car exited the ramp and merged into the traffic on Zhanqian Road. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror, and the orange light shone in through the car window, gliding across the old man's face.

“Uncle, you look quite well,” he said. “The last passenger I picked up from the West Station to the Cancer Hospital lay down in the back seat the whole way and didn’t say a word.”

The old man made a sound from the back seat, which sounded like laughter, but also like breathing.

How old are you?

Sixty-eight.

"Sixty-eight, oh my, no wonder you look so young," the driver turned the steering wheel to the left and onto a less busy road. "I once picked up someone who was eighty-three, also going to the cancer hospital... He came alone; his son lives in another city and couldn't come back."

"Then, more than half a month later, he rode in my car again, from the Cancer Hospital back to the West Railway Station, still all by himself... Hey, his bag was half the weight it was when he came! My car is really lucky!"

The car was quiet for a while.

The amulet swayed gently beneath the rearview mirror, and on the dashboard, a girl in a school uniform smiled broadly.

"Uncle, don't worry." The driver turned the steering wheel again and slowed down a bit. "Once you reach Y City, you've arrived at your destination... Right now, in all of Da Yang, there's no place better for treatment than here."

The old man looked out the window from the back seat.

Outside the car window, the nightscape of Y City unfolded.

The residential buildings on both sides of the overpass were lit up with countless lights, like countless quiet heartbeats suspended in mid-air.

When the car turned into the south gate of the cancer hospital, what Lao Wu saw first was not the building, but the lights.

Old Wu had visited patients at the hospital several times after 8 p.m. - After 8 p.m., the outpatient building of the county hospital was dark, with only a few floors of the inpatient department lit up, and footsteps echoing in the corridor.

This place is different. Here, the whole building... no, all the buildings are lit up, from the first floor to the top, every window is shining.

The driver parked the car in front of the outpatient building.

The automatic doors of the outpatient building were bustling with people. Several uniformed security guards stood at the entrance, giving directions. The one on the left was bent over, talking to an elderly man in a wheelchair and pointing in the direction inside the door. The one on the right was a woman carrying a CT scan bag. The door was already open, but the security guard pushed it open again.

"Uncle, we've arrived." The old man was helped out of the back seat.

"Don't worry," the driver said, his voice softer than when he was in the car, after finding the old man another wheelchair. "Now that we're here, you've arrived at your destination."

The outpatient hall was packed with people.

Old Wu pushed his wheelchair, searching for direction in the crowd.

The old man sat in his wheelchair, his head tilted slightly back, looking at the huge electronic display screen directly above the lobby—which scrolled through the names of departments, specialists, and the number of people waiting for their appointments.

Respiratory Department: 127 people waiting for their appointment.

Department of Medical Oncology: 203 people waiting for their appointment.

Thoracic Surgery: 89 people waiting for their appointment.

Palliative Care Department: 0 people (Level 1 lottery channel).

The old man's gaze lingered on the words "Hospice and Palliative Care Department" for a second before shifting away.

Although there were many people in the hall, it was not chaotic.

Old Wu noticed that at the very front of each line stood several young people in white coats.

They wore intern badges on their chests and held tablets in their hands, talking to each person in line while swiping something on the screen.

Old Wu pushed the wheelchair over.

Before we even reached the end of the line, a young woman with a ponytail came from the very front to greet us.

The name tag on her chest read "Zhou Min, Intern Physician, Tongji Medical College, Huazhong University of Science and Technology".

"Uncle, what's wrong with the old man?"

Old Wu took out a brown paper bag from his canvas bag.

Zhou Min took it, pulled out the film, and looked at it under the lights of the hall for a few seconds. Her brows furrowed briefly, then relaxed.

When was it filmed?

"Two weeks ago."

"Half a month..." Zhou Min put the films back into the paper bag and quickly tapped a few times on the tablet. "Uncle, I have a general idea of ​​the old man's condition. I'll take you through the fast track to do some basic tests first. After the test results come out, you can see the specialist shortly."