Surgery Godfather

Chapter 2202: Chapter 1441: Only Affecting Yourself

Three days after the video call ended, Chen Jianguo received an official email from the United States.

The sender was the executive director of the International Spinal Cord Injury Research Society. The email was meticulously worded and included a twelve-page appointment document and an even longer statement of responsibilities. The society formally invited Chen Jianguo to serve as the "Global Ambassador of Hope for Spinal Cord Injury Rehabilitation" for a two-year term. His responsibilities would involve participating in academic conferences worldwide, visiting rehabilitation institutions, and sharing his recovery experiences with patients. All expenses would be covered by the society’s charitable fund, and he would also receive a substantial remuneration.

Chen Jianguo looked at the numbers in the email and remained silent for a long time.

"Professor," he looked up at Yang Ping, who was sitting opposite him, "can I accept this money?"

"Why can’t you?" Yang Ping responded with a question.

"It was you, Professor Yang, who healed me, and M7 that gave me confidence. I feel that this money shouldn’t be mine to take."

Yang Ping put down the teacup in his hand and looked at Chen Jianguo.

"Jianguo, do you know what you’re doing? You’re about to go around the world, stand in front of those most desperate patients, and tell them ’You can stand up.’ You will be watched by countless people, expected by countless people, and countless people will place their last hope on you. If you don’t have remuneration, how can you do this work? Will you do it on an empty stomach? Or would you give it up and not go? Why do you always think that taking money means not doing good deeds, and that good deeds must not be associated with money? What kind of logic is that? Is there a need to carry such a moral shackle? I suggest you take the money openly and do the work seriously."

Chen Jianguo was stunned by Yang Ping’s words and found them very reasonable.

"Professor," he asked again, "can I send some to my mother? She is in her hometown, her legs aren’t well, and she has been reluctant to visit the hospital."

"That’s your money, it’s up to you."

Chen Jianguo looked down at his legs, those once completely numb legs now firmly supported him, his life, and the thoughts of an elderly person far away.

April 15th, San Francisco.

The annual meeting of the International Spinal Cord Injury Research Society was held at a hotel downtown, marking the forty-first session this year. More than two thousand researchers from over fifty countries gathered here, with the scale larger and the atmosphere more enthusiastic than last year.

The reason was simple—the cover article of Cell.

In the four months since its publication, the paper had been cited over three hundred times, and its Altmetric attention score ranked first among all papers published during that period. More than two hundred media outlets worldwide covered the story of M7, from the BBC to CNN, from the New York Times to the Süddeutsche Zeitung, and M7’s photos appeared on screens all over the world.

But today, people’s focus was not on M7; it was on Chen Jianguo.

Richardson’s keynote speech began at nine in the morning. He stood at the podium, and behind him, the large screen displayed rolling epidemiological data on spinal cord injury and advancements in basic research. He spoke for forty minutes, the data detailed, the logic rigorous, but it was evident that the audience was waiting for another person.

Richardson, of course, knew this. In the last five minutes of his talk, he shifted tone.

"Colleagues, this past year, our field has witnessed a major event. It’s not the cover article in Cell, not the data from the seven monkeys, nor the cross-center blind verification. These are science, very important, but not the biggest event."

He pressed a button on the remote, and a photo appeared on the screen.

It was Chen Jianguo, in a wheelchair, the moment he was admitted into the Sanbo Research Institute. The photo was taken casually, like a surveillance camera snapshot, grainy, dimly lit. Chen Jianguo sat in the wheelchair, head down, his hands on his knees, like a person abandoned by the world.

"This is what Chen Jianguo looked like when he first arrived at Professor Yang Ping’s institute. His diagnosis was a complete T5 spinal cord injury, graded A, which means no motor or sensory function below the level of the injury. He had been paralyzed for eleven years, and according to medical consensus, he was never going to stand again in this lifetime."

The hall fell silent.

Richardson pressed the remote again to switch to the next photo. The same corridor, the same angle, but the person was standing. Chen Jianguo was wearing a faded blue T-shirt, standing at the door of the rehabilitation training room, one hand holding the door frame, the other hand hanging at his side. His legs were still slightly trembling, but his back was straight, and his chin was slightly raised, as if to say to the world, "I’m standing."

"This is Chen Jianguo, a few weeks ago. He stood up and can now walk independently for thirty meters."

Applause erupted from the audience, not polite, not ceremonial, but genuine, heartfelt, filled with shock and admiration. Richardson waited for over ten seconds, for the applause to gradually subside, then uttered the words that quieted everyone down.

"Now, let us welcome Mr. Chen Jianguo to the stage to say a few words."

Chen Jianguo walked out from the side stage.

He walked slowly, as if measuring something with each step. From the side stage to the center podium was about twenty meters; it took him nearly two minutes. Over two thousand people watched him take each step, no one urging, no one whispering, everyone watching his legs.

He reached the center of the podium, turned around, and faced the audience. His hands were shaking slightly, unsure if from anxiety or fatigue.

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