Surgery Godfather

Chapter 2190: Chapter 1435: This Feeling Is Quite Remarkable (2)

This kind of posture, Weber had never shown in Germany.

In the Laboratory, Weber was facing a Microscope, holding a tiny file in his hand, modifying the structure of a heatsink. His fingers were huge, but his movements were exquisitely precise; every stroke landed exactly where it needed to.

"Carl." Alina put a slice of apple pie by his hand. "Eat first."

"Later." Weber didn’t even look up. "I still have three faces to fix."

"Professor Yang asked you to finish it in one day?"

"Yes!"

"Back in Germany, when you ran into this kind of deadline, what would you do?"

Weber stopped what he was doing and thought for a moment.

He said, "In Germany, I would tell the person setting that deadline that it’s impossible. If it needs three days, then it needs three days."

"And here?"

"Here," Weber picked up the apple pie and took a bite, "if I say one day, it’ll be one day. Because if Yang Ping says one day, then it has to be one day. It’s not that he’s pushing me; it’s that there really is only one day."

Alina looked at him, at the man who had walked through forty‑seven years of life by her side. His hair was completely white now, the age spots on his hands were multiplying, but his eyes were still bright—bright the way a young man’s eyes are.

"You’ve changed," she said.

"Changed?"

"In Germany, you were a king," Alina said. "Here, you’re a Student. But you look... happier."

Weber’s chewing slowed. He looked at the heatsink under the Microscope, at those intricate grooves, and suddenly smiled.

"Because here," he said, "I don’t need to be a king. I just need to get this one thing right."

He pointed at the heatsink. "Fix this, keep the LED running stably, and stop M7 from hurting. That’s all."

"That’s all?"

"Yes, that’s all," Weber said. "In Germany, I have to think about funding, Professional Titles, journal rankings, academic politics. Here, Yang Ping only asks me one thing: can you do it well or not. If yes, do it. If no, say so. There’s nothing in between."

"And you like this kind of ’that’s all’?"

"I love this ’that’s all.’ The key is that something this simple is in fact something great." Weber spoke, then went on gnawing the apple pie and filing the heatsink.

Alina didn’t say anything more. She lightly patted Weber on the back, just like she had forty‑seven years ago at Heidelberg University, when she patted that young Researcher who had just finished organizing his data and collapsed, exhausted, into a chair.

At seven in the evening, Tang Shun knocked on Yang Ping’s office door.

"Come in," Yang Ping’s voice came from inside.

Tang Shun pushed the door open and saw Yang Ping standing in front of the whiteboard, a marker in his hand, drawing a complex timeline. The whiteboard was already covered; lines in various colors were woven together like a giant web.

"Professor," Tang Shun said, "Eva’s data is out."

"Talk."

"After we initiated the photostimulation in advance, the firing rate in the dorsal horn of M7 dropped from twelve hertz per second to four hertz per second and stabilized within the normal range. The tactile threshold rose from 0.2 grams of force back up to 0.6 grams, and the pain threshold recovered from 10 grams to 13 grams."

"The direction is right," Yang Ping said without turning around, "but it’s still not enough. 0.6 grams is still below normal, which means sensitization is still there."

"Eva suggests increasing the frequency of photostimulation, from once every hour to once every half hour."

"No," Yang Ping shook his head. "Too high a frequency and NpHR will desensitize. Just like the GABA_A receptor—continuous activation leads to diminishing effect."

"Then what’s your idea?"

Yang Ping put down the marker and turned around. There were deep shadows under his eyes, but his gaze was still clear, like two lamps burning in the middle of the night.

"My idea is," he said, "don’t increase the frequency—raise the precision."

"Precision?"

"Yes." Yang Ping walked back to his desk and took a manuscript out of a drawer. "I had someone write this up yesterday, a new closed‑loop algorithm. It’s not a simple threshold trigger; it’s predictive triggering. Based on M7’s electrical activity patterns over the last ten minutes, it predicts the firing trend for the next five minutes, and intervenes ahead of time, instead of waiting for abnormalities to appear and then trying to fix them."

Tang Shun took the manuscript and skimmed through it quickly. His brow furrowed deeper and deeper, until he stopped on a certain page.

"This algorithm..." He looked up. "The volume of data that needs to be processed in real time is enormous. Our current equipment may not be able to handle it."

"That’s why I need you," Yang Ping said. "You’re the Laboratory director. Equipment is your problem to solve."

"I can apply to purchase a new GPU cluster, but the approval process will take at least two weeks..."

"We can’t wait two weeks," Yang Ping said. "Use the resources we have and optimize. Compress the data dimensions, simplify the model. Sacrifice a bit of precision in exchange for real‑time performance."

"How much precision can we sacrifice?"

"No more than five percent," Yang Ping said. "If we lose more than five percent, the prediction becomes meaningless."

Tang Shun fell silent for a while. A five‑percent loss in precision is an extremely harsh requirement from an Engineering standpoint. It meant he would be walking a tightrope between algorithm and hardware, and the whole thing would collapse with the slightest misstep.

"Is it too hard?" Yang Ping asked.

"It is," Tang Shun said honestly. "But it’s doable."

"How long?"

"Forty‑eight hours," Tang Shun said. "Give me forty‑eight hours and I’ll have a runnable version."

"Then forty‑eight hours it is!"

"I’ll get started," he said, his voice a little tight.

"Go," Yang Ping said. "I’ll be here. Come to me anytime if you need something."

Weber finished modifying the heatsink.

He mounted the LED module onto the test bench, connected the power, and set it to run continuously for six hours. For the first four hours the temperature stayed steady at thirty‑five degrees and did not rise. In the fifth hour, the temperature climbed to thirty‑six degrees but remained within the safe range. By the sixth hour, the temperature dropped back to thirty‑five point five; the heat capacity of the heatsink kicked in and carried it through the peak period.

Weber recorded the data and sent it to Yang Ping’s email. Then he leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.

Manstein walked in from the doorway, holding two cups of tea.

"All done?" He handed one cup to Weber.

"All done." Weber took the tea, took a sip, and frowned. "This tastes weird."

"Tea in China is all like this. It’s pretty good," Manstein said. "You’re just not used to it yet?"

"I’ll get used to it," Weber took another sip. "It’s... acceptable."

Manstein sat down next to Weber and looked at the tiny LED module on the test bench. The little yellow indicator light blinked in the dark like a distant star.

"Professor Weber, I didn’t expect you to be good at this kind of thing too."

"Of course. A Researcher’s knowledge can’t be confined to a single point. That way it’s very hard to spark imagination."

"You came to China and moved your Laboratory here. Working for Yang Ping... do you regret it?"

Weber turned his head and looked at Manstein.

"Manstein, do you know what people called me in Germany?"

"Professor Weber," Manstein said. "Or, Nobel Prize laureate Weber."

"Yes." Weber nodded. "When they called me that, there was distance in their eyes. They respected me, but they didn’t dare come close."

"Here, Yang Ping calls me Professor Weber, Tang Shun calls me Teacher Weber, Fritz calls me Mr. Weber, but no one calls me Nobel Prize laureate."

"Does that bother you?"

"It does," Weber said. "But what I care about more is that when they call me, there isn’t that far‑off distance in their eyes. They look at me as someone they can actually work with, not a statue they have to look up to. Here I’ve found a real ease, something genuinely pure."

"Yeah, me too. Sometimes that feeling is very strange. Maybe it’s because Professor Yang is just too strong, and everyone else—everyone—is just ordinary folk."

"Maybe so!"

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