Surgery Godfather

Chapter 2191: Chapter 1436: Intuition

At seven o’clock sharp, Yang Ping pushed the door open and entered.

He did not ask, "Did you finish?" Instead, he walked behind Tang Shun and looked at the screen. Tang Shun’s fingers tapped the last line of command on the keyboard, then pressed Enter.

A green prompt popped up on the screen: "Prediction accuracy 94.7%, real-time delay 12ms, passed."

"Accuracy loss 5.3%," Tang Shun’s voice was hoarse, "0.3% more than your requirement."

Yang Ping didn’t speak, just reached out his hand and pressed it on Tang Shun’s shoulder.

"It’s enough," Yang Ping said, "0.3% doesn’t count as an error for me."

Tang Shun’s spine relaxed, like a bowstring that had been taut for too long finally letting go. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and his Adam’s apple moved slightly.

Yang Ping chatted with Tang Shun for a while, then went to the animal room, where Fritz was performing morning care on M7. Seeing Yang Ping, Fritz did not stand up, only nodded and continued with his work. After three months, he was accustomed to Yang Ping’s coming and going; this man did not need small talk or courtesy. Wherever he appeared, that place was a continuation of work.

"How was last night?" Yang Ping asked.

"Woke up once at three," Fritz said, "I turned on the night light, it looked at me once, then went back to sleep."

"No abnormal behavior?"

"None," Fritz paused, "but it dreamed."

"Dreamed?"

"Its back legs were moving," Fritz gestured, "like running. I recorded a video and placed it in your shared folder."

Yang Ping squatted down; M7’s eyes were half-open, his shadow reflected in its pupils. It saw Yang Ping, ears moved slightly, but did not extend its hand, it was still between dreaming and waking, unable to distinguish reality from dreams.

"What did it dream about?" Yang Ping asked softly, as if asking M7, yet also asking himself.

"The forest," Fritz said, "the place it used to live. I read its file; it was born in the Yunnan reserve, captured at age three to be a laboratory animal. It remembers the trees, remembers the wind, remembers how the sunlight filtered through the leaves."

Yang Ping was silent for a while, then he reached out and gently touched M7’s forehead. M7’s fur was soft, carrying the unique warmth of an animal.

"We will let it return one day," he said, "not now, but someday."

Fritz looked at him, something flickering in his eyes. He wanted to say "thank you," but Yang Ping had already stood up, the edge of his White Gown brushed against the cage’s bars, making a faint rubbing sound.

"Where is Professor Weber?" Yang Ping asked.

"In the laboratory," Fritz said, "he came at six, said he needed to test a new cooling solution."

"Let him rest," Yang Ping said, "no rush today."

"I told him," Fritz lowered his head, "he said ’Professor Yang said a day, that means a day.’"

Yang Ping’s footsteps paused. He did not turn back, only said, "Got it," then continued walking forward.

Weber now is not rushing work. He is waiting for Yang Ping to arrive, waiting for that moment to report. In Germany, he never needed to wait for anyone. But here, he learned to wait. Waiting not out of meekness, but out of respect. Yang Ping’s time is more precious than he imagined, every minute and every second is cut into fragments, distributed to different people, different matters.

"Professor Weber," Yang Ping pushed the door open, "how’s the heat sink?"

"Continuous operation for eight hours, temperature fluctuation less than one degree," Weber stood up, handing over the test records, "better than expected."

Yang Ping received the records without looking, directly placed them on the table.

"How long did you sleep last night?" he asked.

Weber was momentarily stunned; this question was not within his prepared scope. He prepared technical parameters, comparative data, and next steps, but did not prepare for "how long did you sleep?"

Weber said, "Four hours, enough."

Yang Ping said, "Not enough; you’re seventy-eight, not twenty-eight. Go home and catch up on sleep today, come back tomorrow."

"But..."

"This is an order," Yang Ping’s tone was mild but undeniable, "not a negotiation."

Weber looked at him, looked for a long time, a smile tracing his lips.

"Professor Yang," he said, "do you know that in Germany, no one ever dared to command me?"

"I know," Yang Ping said.

He walked to the test bench, picked up the heat sink, holding it up to the light to look at it. The intricate patterns shimmered under the light, like a work of art.

"It was done very well, better than I imagined."

Yang Ping didn’t expect that this almost eighty-year-old Weber, a top expert in the Stem Cell Field, would still work on such things.

Weber’s eyes slightly reddened. He recalled when he was in Germany; his assistants also produced great things, but he rarely said "very good." He was accustomed to being critical, accustomed to finding faults, accustomed to using high standards to pressure others, and also pressure himself.

Weber was silent for a long time; then he reached out and shook hands with Yang Ping.

At three in the afternoon, Tang Shun appeared on time in Yang Ping’s office.

He held a printed report in his hand, the cover read "Predictive Closed-Loop Algorithm V1.0—Test Report."

Yang Ping sat behind his office desk, papers spread out in front of him, and a cup of tea that had long gone cold.

"Sit!"

Tang Shun did not sit; he stood in front of the whiteboard, affixing the report pages onto it, securing them with magnets. This was a habit he learned from Yang Ping; reporting was not reading aloud, but drawing, turning logic into a visual structure.

He said, "The core idea is using an LSTM network for time series prediction, inputting M7’s past ten minutes of electrical activity features, outputting the probability distribution of future five-minute discharges. When predicting abnormal discharge probability exceeding the threshold, initiate optical stimulation thirty seconds in advance, rather than remedying after the anomaly appears."

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