Surgery Godfather

Chapter 2249: Chapter 1462: Who Washes the Dishes

Actually, it’s no big deal; when someone has been in a job for a long time, they naturally get influenced by it, especially their thinking.

Teachers, over time, develop a tendency to preach, wanting to summarize a core idea from everything they see; doctors start viewing everything from a health perspective, and when they see strangers coughing, they want to inquire about their medical history; police officers grow suspicious of risks and traps everywhere in society, even suspecting if the person across the street is surveying for a crime.

Yang Ping probably feels the same way. When doing something, if he doesn’t approach it from a rigorous scientific angle, he feels uncomfortable, as if the task is not done well and is a form of perfunctoriness. Therefore, cooking naturally becomes such an activity.

Even though he hadn’t cooked in a long time, Yang Ping’s earnest breakfast was outstanding in both taste and nutrition, and Xiao Su and Dabao loved it, evidenced by the empty plates at the end.

Yang Ping spent the entire Sunday with his family, peaceful, harmonious, and happy.

He didn’t turn on his computer to check papers, didn’t call to inquire about the lab progress, and even put his phone on silent. He helped Dabao with his Lego assembly and watched a drama with Xiao Su. Although he didn’t understand a bit of the drama, it didn’t matter; seeing Xiao Su laugh heartily was more nourishing than any literature.

In the evening, standing on the balcony, as he watched the sunset clouds, he suddenly recalled a sentence he read in some unknown book: The best state of life is not doing everything perfectly but knowing that some things don’t need to be done so perfectly.

He thought about it and found it made a lot of sense.

Then he thought again and felt the statement was "logically unsound."

Forget it, don’t think about these things on Sunday.

On Monday morning, as soon as Yang Ping arrived at the institute, he was drawn by the sound of a heated argument.

The voices came from the lab at the end of the corridor, a mix of German and English, interspersed with some Chinese. As Yang Ping got closer, he realized it was Manstein and Weber arguing.

To be honest, these two arguing is nothing new. Manstein and Weber, the institute’s main pillars, are top experts in their respective fields, but with utterly different personalities. Manstein is like a volcano ready to erupt at any moment, while Weber is like an iceberg that will never melt. Bringing a volcano and an iceberg together is quite amusing.

Today, the situation was noticeably grander than usual.

"You’re wasting cells! Wasting reagents! Wasting electricity!" Manstein’s voice was as sharp as a cat having its tail stepped on, sharp enough to cut through glass, "Third time! Third repeated failure! Your theory about exposure time at temperature is utterly wrong!"

Yang Ping could imagine Manstein’s expression now, eyebrows knit tightly, nostrils flaring, lips trembling slightly with anger, the whole person like a furious lion. Frankly, if anger could generate electricity, Manstein alone could light up the entire institute.

"It’s not the theory that’s wrong," Weber’s voice was low but firm, like a blunt knife slowly being scraped against a whetstone, "it’s that not all variables are accounted for. The first two failures pointed to room temperature fluctuations. This time..."

"This time what? This time you even changed the incubator!"

"I suspect it’s the CO₂ concentration."

Manstein let out a cold laugh, "CO₂ concentration? The monitor shows five percent, with an error margin of plus or minus 0.2!"

"The monitor tracks the tank temperature, not the actual concentration in the petri dish," Weber said, his tone unperturbed, as if Manstein’s rage was as transparent as air to him, "I placed an independent sensor next to the petri dish and found that each time the door is opened, the CO₂ concentration drops to 3.5 percent and takes twenty minutes to recover. During these twenty minutes, the medium’s pH rises from 7.4 to 7.6, enough to alter cell states."

Manstein fell silent.

Yang Ping pushed open the door; in the lab, the two German old men stood facing each other, separated by an incubator, like two fighting roosters. Seeing Yang Ping, both turned their heads simultaneously.

"Professor!" Manstein spoke first, his pace quick as a machine gun, "Weber is crazy! He wants to equip each petri dish with an individual CO₂ monitor, each one! Do you know how much that would cost? Do you know how much work that involves? Do you know..."

"Great idea!" Yang Ping said.

Manstein was stunned, his mouth still shaped in the form of saying "know," the whole person seemingly on pause. After a while, he responded, "What?"

"The monitor in the incubator is at the box level, not the dish level," Yang Ping walked to the incubator, opened the glass door, and looked at the layout inside, "Box level only ensures the average environment inside, but for each petri dish, specific parameters might vary because of different placements, distances from the door, and surrounding heat sources. Weber, where’s your sensor data?"

Weber pulled a USB flash drive from his pocket. Yang Ping noticed his dark circles had faded compared to last time, indicating that he had paid attention to his sleep schedule, no longer staying up late arbitrarily.

The data curves unfolded on the screen.

The blue line represented the incubator settings, stabilizing at five percent, straight as if drawn by a ruler. The red line was the measured value beside the petri dish, fluctuating like an electrocardiogram, each door opening creating a deep valley, with the lowest point dropping to three percent, and then slowly rising back up.

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