Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

A few months... I'm sure I can get through this...

I must pull through!

I haven't even seen my granddaughter yet!

"Old Wu." Old Zhou's voice suddenly changed a little.

"Ah."

"Tell me, will that medicine be expensive?"

Old Wu thought about it.

"Ming-ge won't make it expensive."

138 Books are the reflection of the heart

After bed number 13, Zhang Qiliang methodically cured all the patients in the subsequent wards.

Among them, the patients in beds 16, 17, and 22 are also lung cancer patients.

For these three, Zhang Qiliang's treatment method was no longer to extract the pathogenic energy, but rather to use the sword light that shone from his fingertips.

The sword energy enters the body and is instantly withdrawn.

It was clearly visible in the live stream:

“It takes half a minute to extract pathogenic energy, but less than 0.1 seconds to heal with sword energy.”

"Ming-ge's new treatment seems to only work on lung cancer?"

"Isn't it obvious? Ming has been treating the most lung cancer patients lately."

Someone posted data in the comments: According to the latest report from the National Cancer Center, lung cancer is the leading cause of cancer incidence and mortality in Taiwan. There are approximately 730,000 deaths annually, meaning that on average, one in four Taiwanese people who die from cancer has lung cancer.

……

The door to the last ward closed.

Zhang Qiliang did not leave immediately as usual.

"Which floor is the respiratory department on?" Zhang Qiliang asked.

"The seventh and eighth floors."

Zhang Qi nodded, raised his right hand, his fingertips lit up, and with a light flick, the light transformed into dozens of tiny sword beams that scattered from the corridor, crossed the floor tiles, and disappeared.

The seventh floor.

A patient was intently looking at his phone when the sword silently pierced his chest.

He paused for a moment, then tried to take a breath—the breath landed smoothly at the bottom, like a long-blocked river channel suddenly being dredged up.

He paused for a few seconds, then slowly raised his hand and pressed it to his chest. The tightness that had been lingering in his palm since the diagnosis was gradually dissipating.

In the next bed, just as the sword's edge descended, another patient took a breath, which flowed from his throat down into his stomach without getting stuck anywhere.

He hadn't taken a full breath like this in a long time. He stood there blankly for a few seconds, then took another breath, and another, each time deeper and smoother.

Eighth floor.

The old man was seventy-four years old and rarely spoke anymore. After the sword light fell, a dozen seconds later, the old man's hand suddenly emerged from under the blanket, clenched into a fist, and then relaxed.

He turned over, facing the ceiling, glanced at the carton of milk on the bedside table, reached out and took it, inserted the straw, and took a sip.

……

On the 13th floor, Zhang Qiliang sensed something briefly and then raised his hand again.

This time, the light from his fingertips was even fainter, and with a gentle flick, it scattered into hundreds of finer sword beams, like an invisible rain falling on the entire hospital building.

Sixth floor, Department of Oncology.

A family member who had been sitting on a folding chair with her child all day suddenly felt that her knees were not so sore anymore. She didn't pay attention to it, straightened her legs, and continued to look at her phone while leaning against the wall.

In the next bed, a woman who had been vomiting for two days after chemotherapy suddenly felt the nausea in her stomach subside. She went from "unable to hold back" to "able to bear it." She slowly sat up, tried to drink some water, swallowed it, and then stood there for a moment, holding the cup, before taking another sip.

At the end of the corridor, a middle-aged man who had just undergone a bone marrow aspiration lay on his side. The dull pain at the puncture site that had lasted all afternoon had somehow become less intense. He turned over and put a pillow behind his back to support his lower back.

Fifth floor, radiotherapy department.

The nurse pushing the treatment cart in the corridor suddenly felt a slight relief in the aching area between her shoulder blades.

In the ward, an elderly man whose oral mucosa was half-eroded and who hadn't eaten much for three days felt a slight reduction in the burning pain on the tip of his tongue, though it still hurt a lot. His tongue could now touch the roof of his mouth. He tried swallowing, and his throat felt less tight. A half-bowl of cold porridge remained on the bedside table. He glanced at it, didn't touch it, but that glance lingered longer than before.

Fourth floor.

A patient who had just finished his examination and was wheeled back suddenly pulled the blanket up a little, tucked his chin into the edge of the blanket, and his breathing gradually became even.

Lobby.

A caregiver walking towards the outpatient building paused. His 20-year-old lumbar disc herniation suddenly eased a little. He stepped into the elevator, leaned against the car wall, and shifted his weight from his left leg to his right.

Throughout the entire hospital building, the varying depths of breathing suddenly became a little more even.

Zhang Qiliang withdrew his hand.

"Show me the reports from the seventh and eighth floors tomorrow."

The doctors and nurses present nodded quickly.

“The sample size is still a bit small,” Zhang Qiliang continued. “If it’s appropriate, let’s schedule more respiratory patients tomorrow.”

"How much?" the head nurse quickly asked.

"300 cases first."

--------

"300 cases first?"

When Zhang Wensheng heard this number, he felt that something terrible was about to happen.

300 cases is too many! Compared to the previous 22 beds per day, where all types of cancer were mixed together and drawn by lottery, 300 cases is a number that makes anyone think, "This time it's my turn." Hopefully, once there is a certain scale, it will no longer be about praying to gods and Buddhas. Those who can't wait will ask why, they will ask why, and they will dissect every step and examine it under the sun.

300 cases is far too few! More than 750,000 people die from lung cancer every year in China; 300 is merely 0.04% of that number. Any unusual procedure will be scrutinized frame by frame. Who got in, who didn't, what made them get in, and what made them not get in—every name is a story, and every name could be the subject of someone's investigation.

"Everyone, turn off your phones."

More than a dozen people in the conference room looked up at the same time.

Zhang Wensheng had already taken his cell phone out of his pocket, placed it face down on the table, and casually unplugged the cord from the dedicated phone line behind him.

"Send text messages to all registered respiratory patients to inquire about their preferences." Dean Zhang spoke faster than usual. "The lottery will be held tomorrow morning at 10 a.m.

Xiao Chen from the medical affairs department had his pen hovering over the paper: "Soliciting opinions on participating in the lottery?"

"You're a bit unethical!" Zhang Wensheng glanced at Xiao Chen in surprise: "Do you think everyone is glued to their phone 24/7? Of course, participation is by default, and only those who explicitly state they will not participate are removed from the list... Hmm, if they change their minds later, they should be allowed to rejoin."

“If we get selected,” said Old Fang, the head of the nursing department, “someone can’t be contacted, or can’t make it, or something unexpected happens…”

Old Fang didn't finish speaking, but everyone knew what "something went wrong" meant.

"I didn't mean anything by it, it's just... it would be such a waste to let such a valuable opportunity slip by."

"If there aren't enough people, we'll fill the vacancies," Zhang Wensheng had already thought of this: "We'll proceed in order of the draw, setting aside 20% of the vacancies. There shouldn't be any technical difficulties, right?"

The personnel dispatched by the Cyberspace Administration of China immediately nodded.

"Report—"

The door was pushed open.

Xiao Lin from the dean's office stood at the door, one hand gripping the doorknob, her chest heaving as if she had run there.

"Dean," Xiaolin said, catching his breath, "there's been a problem in the first inpatient building."

The First Inpatient Building—the building Ming just left.

Zhang Wensheng couldn't help but stand up: "What's going on?"

"As per your instructions, except for the respiratory ward, patients from other departments will be temporarily relocated to Buildings 2 and 3, or transferred to the Municipal Cancer Hospital nearby." Xiao Lin swallowed hard. "Some patients are not very cooperative... well, there are quite a few of them, and there is a possibility of a mass incident."

"Didn't you explain properly, give a reason?"

“I’ve explained it. Everyone has received the explanatory document,” Xiaolin’s voice was a little bitter. “This is to better support Mr. Ma’s research on the mechanism of cancer cell killing.”

"and then?"

"Then they meant that they were much more comfortable now and didn't want to move."

Zhang Wensheng frowned: "Where's the test report? Didn't you show it to them?"

"That explains it... Mr. Ma's last spell only served to calm his emotions and provide mild pain relief. We can provide similar services in the new ward."

"and then?"

“Then…” Xiaolin’s expression became even more troubled. “One patient said this: Ming’s pain relief is much more comfortable, and he doesn’t want to get an injection.”

The meeting room fell silent for a second.

“Let me explain again,” Zhang Wensheng said, lifting his hand from the table. “Make it clear to them that they must give up the beds they are currently occupying.”

"If they still don't move after the explanation, bring in security and ask them to leave! Tell them: put them on a blacklist and never admit them again!"

"To save someone else's life by not giving them one more injection?" Zhang Wensheng slammed his hand heavily on the table: "Damn it, that's utterly despicable!!!"

End of the meeting.

The meeting minutes were quickly sent to the provincial government, with a copy sent to the municipal government at the same time.

The next day.

The provincial government approved the request, granting special permission for 200 garrison soldiers to assist.

City government opinion: Approved. Additionally: Successful applicants must handwrite "I have never done anything immoral or harmful" and "I am willing to donate all my personal assets to my medical insurance account."

"Wow, a fourth-rank official is a fourth-rank official!" Looking at the municipal government's opinion that had been rushed to the table, Dean Zhang exclaimed in admiration, "With this, who would dare to say there's any shady dealings?"

"Is this... even meaningful?" When the document was delivered, the head nurse of the hospice ward happened to come over to ask for instructions on a few matters, and she was slightly doubtful: "Just writing a note can prevent any backroom deals?"

“Of course,” Dean Zhang glanced at the head nurse, “A life-saving opportunity obtained through underhanded means, isn’t that heinous enough?”

“What I mean is,” the head nurse said, still frowning, “is just writing a note… Ming can’t possibly ask each of the 300 patients one by one, can he?”

"Books are the reflection of the heart."

Dean Zhang had full confidence in Zhang Qiliang.

"Report—"

Xiao Lin from the hospital office rushed to the door: "Dean, the test reports from the 7th and 8th floors of the respiratory department are out."

Dean Zhang quickly took it and examined it, and the head nurse also came over; that was her main reason for coming.

There were dozens of reports, each page filled with densely packed data.

Zhang Wensheng flipped directly to the last page, his gaze lingering on only one set of numbers:

A total of 72 lung cancer patients were infected by sword energy yesterday.

Among them, 70 people showed comprehensive improvement in all indicators, with tumor marker concentrations dropping sharply, circulating apoptotic cell counts soaring and then falling back to the normal range, and the lesion area shown on imaging shrinking by 30% to 50%.

The situation remains unchanged for the other two.

Zhang Wensheng's fingertip hovered over the two lines of data: name, age, medical record number, diagnosis, and comparison before and after treatment—the two sets of data lay side by side, like two sections of a bridge broken by the river.

These two women have something in common, though not exactly the same: the first woman's mother was from Ethiopia, and the second woman's father was French.

139 The time has come

The release of the test report inevitably sparked public debate.

The domestic situation was naturally one of jubilation:

"We're saved!!!"

"Ming-ge is awesome!"

"Prioritizing lung cancer, could it be because Ming-ge smokes? Just kidding."

"Just entered the live stream? Lung cancer is a top-tier disease, one in four cancer deaths is lung cancer. With such a large number of cases, it's strange that Ming-ge has treated the most and was the first to find the target."

The barrage of comments was so thick you couldn't see faces, and the number of likes jumped in the tens of thousands.

Some people posted the latest data from the National Cancer Center in the comments section, some analyzed the time difference between the sword energy entering the body and the pathogenic energy being extracted frame by frame, and some made a comparison chart of the key indicators of the 72 test reports from the seventh and eighth floors, with red and green arrows densely marked.

International opinion is not so uniform.