Surgery Godfather

Chapter 2177: Chapter 1429: Turning a Blind Eye (Part 3)

Manstein walked up to the podium. No small talk, no pleasantries. He opened the first page of the PPT.

"Today, the content I want to discuss can be summarized in one sentence. Spinal cord injury can be repaired. Not possibly, not maybe, not ’observed in animal models,’ but it can! I have clinical data from human patients."

There was some murmuring among the audience.

Manstein pressed the page-turning pen. A photograph of Chen Jianguo standing in the middle of parallel bars appeared on the screen, his two legs firmly planted on the ground, both hands holding the bars, eyes looking forward.

"This patient, complete injury of the fifth thoracic segment, injured for eleven years. In the fortieth week post-surgery, he stood independently for the first time. Now, in the fiftieth week post-surgery, he can stand for more than five minutes. Not relying on external exoskeletons, not relying on electrical stimulation, but because the damaged nerves have been repaired."

The room fell silent.

Manstein presented all the data. Electrophysiological recordings of M7, histological tissue sections of M8, single-cell sequencing results of M21, Chen Jianguo’s cerebrospinal fluid test report, the curve of sensory plane descent, muscle strength recovery timeline, changes in standing duration. He flipped through each PPT slide in just a few seconds, not perfunctorily, but because all the key data were on the slides, black and white, requiring no further explanation.

After the presentation, during the Q&A session, someone raised a hand.

"Professor Manstein, what is your sample size? Can conclusions on ’spinal cord injury being repairable’ be drawn from data on just one human trial?"

Manstein looked at the questioner: "No! One case cannot. But a single case can prove that this matter is worth continuing to pursue. Without one case, there would be no many cases. This is just the beginning."

Another person raised a hand: "Your mechanism research is incomplete. The causal relationship has not been rigorously proven. Before the causality is proven, how can you be sure that your intervention led to functional recovery and not spontaneous recovery?"

Manstein said: "We’re not sure. But this patient has been injured for eleven years. Do you know how many recorded cases exist in human spinal cord injury literature of significant spontaneous recovery after a complete injury of eleven years?"

The questioner did not answer.

"Zero! No one has spontaneously recovered any meaningful neurological function after eleven years of complete injury. This is the medical community’s consensus. So, when our patient stood up after eleven years, saying ’this is not the outcome of intervention’ is what’s anti-scientific."

The whole room was silent; not an awkward silence, but one moved by the discourse. Manstein could feel the atmosphere in the air change, from scrutiny to listening.

After the report ended, Manstein was surrounded by over a dozen people. Some requested collaboration, some asked for data, and some invited him to give a presentation at another school. A professor from Switzerland approached him, asking if he wanted to jointly apply for EU funding. A young researcher from Japan squeezed forward, saying he had seen similar electrophysiological phenomena three years ago but thought it was a recording error at the time and didn’t save the original data, and now wanted to re-examine it.

Back at the hotel, Manstein called Yang Ping.

"Professor, the presentation is done."

"How did it go?"

"Some questioned the sample size, others questioned the causal relationship. Everything that needed to be asked was asked, and everything that needed answering was answered."

"We don’t need them to believe."

Manstein thought for a moment: "Right! We don’t need their belief; they should replicate it themselves. Whether they believe or not doesn’t matter—it’s the replication that counts."

Two evenings later, Manstein returned to Nandu. Tang Shun was waiting at the airport arrival gate, holding a sign for him. Manstein only had a small carry-on suitcase and a bulging document bag.

"Professor Manstein, going straight to the Institute?"

"Yes!"

Back at the Institute, when Manstein pushed the door open, it was already past seven in the evening.

Chen Jianguo was no longer there. The training room was empty, the parallel bars casting two parallel shadows under the light, extending all the way to the far wall. But there was a new note on the wall, bright yellow, in Sister Li’s handwriting:

"Professor Manstein, Jianguo stood for six minutes today. He wanted me to tell you he’s waiting for your return."

Manstein stared at that line for a long time. He had been away for three days; before he left, Jianguo had stood for five minutes, and upon his return, it was six minutes. Three days, and a minute’s progress.

He took out his phone and snapped a photo. Then he walked out of the Institute’s doors, looked up at the sky.

There were stars tonight, not many, but distinct. He remembered what Yang Ping had said, "The stars in Nandu stubbornly twinkle through the light pollution," and felt this sentence should be written down, not in a paper, but in a personal notebook. One that you come across sitting by a window deep in the night, reflecting on life’s journey, seeing this line.

The stars in Nandu stubbornly twinkle through the light pollution.

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