Surgery Godfather

Chapter 2180: Chapter 1431: Handshake

The next morning, Professor Weber showed up at the meeting room punctually, even wearing a tie—a deep gray one that matched his dark blue windbreaker, creating a mismatched look, but he seemed quite satisfied with it. Manstein sat across from him, spreading out the data he had organized the previous night once again. Weber put on his reading glasses and looked at each page slowly, occasionally writing a few German words on the margins with a pencil.

"This," he pointed to a photo of immunofluorescence, "is this a spinal cord section of M7?"

"Yes, eight weeks after injury."

"The markers of the original cells?"

"Double positive for Nestin and Sox2, and here," Manstein handed over another sheet, "this is a three-dimensional reconstruction. See, they are concentrated from the injury center to the caudal transition zone, forming a gradient."

Weber placed the two images side by side, looked at them against the light for a moment, then put them down, and removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

"Manstein, we have been doing stem cells research for fifty years, always looking for the ’seeds.’ Transplanting seeds, cultivating seeds, protecting seeds. Now you are telling me the seeds were in the soil all along, just needing a rain."

"Not rain," Yang Ping walked in from the doorway, holding a cup of tea, "it’s awakening. The original cells have always existed in the ependymal zone of the adult spinal cord. After injury, they are activated, but the microenvironment is wrong, leading them astray into astrocytes, becoming part of the scar. What we need to do is not sow new seeds, but let the existing seeds sprout. Actually, seeds are everywhere; I merely awaken them to become the cells we want."

Weber remained silent for a long time, then nodded: "So your work is as gardeners, not planters."

"You could say that."

"I like this analogy." Weber put his glasses back on, "So, what can my team do? In stem cell research, we are world-class."

Yang Ping sat down, placing the teacup on the table: "Professor Weber, no one can match your experience in stem cell directed differentiation. What we face now is: How to guide the activated original cells towards neuronal differentiation instead of into glial cells. Your three-dimensional culture systems, your induction protocols, could be exactly what we need."

"You want me to combine exogenous stem cells with original cell activation?"

"Yes! Exogenous stem cells provide immediate structural support and a nutritional microenvironment, while original cell activation provides endogenous long-term repair, walking on two legs to see if it works better."

Weber’s eyes lit up. He picked up a pencil and sketched a diagram in the blank space on the paper, showing a cross-section of the damaged spinal cord, with a scar in the middle, surrounded by labels "exogenous stem cells transplantation area" and "original cell activation area."

"Here," he pointed the pencil tip at the junction of the two areas, "this is key. How do the two systems communicate? Would the exogenous cells inhibit the endogenous activation? Or vice versa?"

"We don’t know," Yang Ping admitted honestly, "which is why we need you, and need research specifically on this problem."

Weber put down the pencil and looked at Yang Ping for a long time, then suddenly smiled, a smile that brought all the wrinkles on his face together like a crumpled and then smoothed paper.

"Professor Yang, you know, before coming here, I thought about working for you. My friends advised me not to come. They said, a Nobel Prize winner, going to China to work for a young man—even though this young man is also a Nobel Prize winner—would not sound good. I said, you don’t understand; science has no age, no borders, no face, only right and wrong."

He extended his hand, and Yang Ping shook it.

"Pleasure to cooperate."

"Pleasure to work," Manstein corrected from the side, "Professor Weber insists on this saying."

The filming ended on the third day. The producer showed Yang Ping a rough-cut segment, asking if there was anything that needed to be deleted. Yang Ping watched it through; the footage was restrained, with no sentimentality, no embellishment, only data, experiments, backs, and a monkey reaching out its hand.

"It’s fine."

"Thank you for your trust," the producer said, "this film is expected to air next spring on Germany’s ZDF, and we will send you the final version for confirmation in advance."

Before Weber left, he went to see Chen Jianguo for the last time in the rehabilitation training room. Chen Jianguo was doing gait training, holding onto a walker, moving step by step. Weber stood at the doorway, not entering.

"How far has he walked?"

"From the door to the window, about fifteen meters," Sister Li said beside him, "it took twenty minutes."

Weber nodded, turned, and walked away. At the end of the corridor, he looked back once more. Chen Jianguo was still moving, one step, two steps, three steps, his back firm.

Soon, Weber sent an email to Yang Ping, attaching a draft memorandum of cooperation, bilingual in Chinese and English. Yang Ping printed it out, placed it on the table, and looked at it for a long time.

The title of the memorandum was simple: "Cooperative Research Plan for Joint Activation of Original Cells and Collaboration with Exogenous Stem Cells for Spinal Cord Injury Repair."

He handed the memorandum to Manstein: "See if there are any issues."

Manstein took it, read it from beginning to end, then flipped to the last page, looking at Weber’s signature.

"No issues," he said, "it’s very Weber."

"What do you mean?"

"Very rigorous, very pragmatic."

Yang Ping picked up the pen, signing his own name next to Weber’s.

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