Surgery Godfather

Chapter 2250: Chapter 1462: Who Washes the Dishes_2

"Look here," Weber pointed at the screen, his finger sliding along the curve, "That nice data from last week was done on Saturday morning. On Saturdays, nobody’s in the lab; no one opens doors, no one goes in and out, no one takes reagents, puts samples, chats, or makes calls. In short, the CO₂ concentration was stable for four hours. These three repetitions were done on weekdays. People from the lab next door frequently open doors, and the concentration is always fluctuating, like riding a roller coaster."

Yang Ping stared at the red curve for a full minute.

He slowly said, "So, your temperature exposure time might just be superficial. The real reason is the synergistic effect of CO₂ concentration fluctuations and temperature fluctuations. A single variable has limited impact; when both variables fluctuate simultaneously, they interact, producing an effect where 1+1 is greater than 2."

Weber’s gray-blue eyes seemed to light up like two lamps, "Right! It’s like... like making soup. If the heat is too high, you can add water; if there’s too much water, you can turn up the heat to reduce it, but if the heat is high and there’s still too much water, the soup will be ruined."

Yang Ping raised an eyebrow, his mouth involuntarily curling up, "Your metaphor is very down-to-earth."

Manstein rolled his eyes beside them but said nothing. He knew that when Yang Ping uttered the words "good idea," the discussion was already over.

"Weber, what’s your validation plan?"

"Two controls!" Weber spoke quickly, "First, fix the temperature, only change the CO₂ concentration and observe its standalone effect. Second, fix the CO₂ concentration, only change the temperature and observe its standalone effect. Third, change both simultaneously to see interactive effects. If the interactive effect is significant, we can confirm the hypothesis."

"Sample size?"

"At least six repetitions per group, conduct three independent experiments. Total..." Weber calculated, "fifty-four groups."

"Duration?"

"Two weeks."

Yang Ping nodded, handed the USB back to Weber, "Alright, keep it up!"

Weber took the USB and headed toward the laminar flow hood, his steps twice as light as when he came in. Manstein stood in place, looked at Weber’s back, then at Yang Ping, and finally sighed, muttering something in German that Yang Ping didn’t hear clearly.

At noon, Yang Ping had a simple meal at the institute’s restaurant.

The restaurant wasn’t crowded. He carried his tray to a corner to sit down—it’s his habit to eat quietly. After taking a couple of bites, someone took a seat across from him.

"Professor Yang."

It was Lu Xiaolu, holding a bowl of beef noodles, steaming hot with a layer of red oil floating on top that looked spicy enough to make one doubt life. Yang Ping never understood how a southerner could eat something so spicy.

"What’s up?" Yang Ping asked.

Lu Xiaolu slurped a mouthful of noodles, breathed in as the spice hit, then said, "First, the drug for K Therapy has arrived; I left the quality inspection report on your desk. Second..." he paused, lowered his voice as if discussing something illicit, "Dean Xia found me this morning, saying there was a problem with the new institute’s renovation."

"What kind of problem?"

"Fire safety compliance; the width of the evacuation passage is short by ten millimeters, the fire bureau won’t approve it."

Yang Ping furrowed his brows, "Ten millimeters?"

"Yes, ten millimeters." Lu Xiaolu said with his head lowered, "Dean Xia said that now all departments are keeping a close watch on the new institute’s construction, fearing any issues. But that’s good; the quality should definitely be solid."

"Hmm, being meticulous is good," Yang Ping said.

"Also," Yang Ping put down his chopsticks, "You’ve got to personally oversee Lin Xiaoyu’s treatment. Follow procedures strictly, and halt immediately if there’s any anomaly."

Lu Xiaolu said seriously, "Understood."

After finishing his noodles, Lu Xiaolu wiped his mouth and said, "Professor, lately... are you too tired?"

Yang Ping looked up at him.

"I’ve seen you rub your neck three times while eating today," Lu Xiaolu said.

He chuckled, "Good observation, but I’m not tired, just..."

"Just what?"

Yang Ping seriously said, "Just thinking about what to cook tonight."

Lu Xiaolu opened his mouth, his expression seeming like he’d heard something unbelievable. In his impression, Professor Yang’s brain should be filled with all sorts of high-level medical theories; how could there be space to think about such mundane issues as ’what to cook tonight’?

Lu Xiaolu left with a smile.

In the evening, Yang Ping clocked off work on time.

He first went to the supermarket to buy ribs, rice vinegar, rock sugar, and the "super sour dried plums" Xiao Su specifically requested. Pregnant women’s tastes are always strangely unpredictable; one moment craving something sweet, the next wanting something sour; you can never guess what their taste buds will demand next. Passing by the fruit stand, he saw watermelons big and round, recalled Dabao’s last comment that "watermelon is sweeter than ribs," chose the roundest one, had the seller weigh it, and it came out to twelve pounds and eight ounces—enough for the family to enjoy for two meals.

When he got home, Xiao Su was lying on the sofa, her belly quite prominent now, like a round overturned pot. Dabao was beside her, drawing something with colored pencils on paper.

"Daddy!" Dabao sprang up and hugged his leg, looking up to say, "You bought watermelon!"

"And ribs," Yang Ping raised the bag, "We’re making sweet and sour ribs tonight."

"Yay!" Dabao ran two circles in the living room like a happy little puppy.

In the kitchen, Yang Ping put on an apron. Xiao Su bought it, blue with the words "god of cooking" printed on it, crafted by Dabao.

He began to prepare the ribs.

Washing, cutting, blanching, frying sugar—all done strictly according to the procedure, but Lu Xiaolu’s words echoed in his mind: "Add more sugar, less vinegar."

The fire for the sugar is crucial; the rock sugar slowly melts in the pot, changing from white to golden yellow, then to amber—like watching a chemical reaction in slow motion. Yang Ping watched the bubbling syrup, suddenly remembering Weber’s incubator—temperature, CO₂ concentration, time—three variables working together to determine the final product.

And what about home cooking?

Sugar, vinegar, cooking time, plus a... emotional weighting factor.

He thought it over and added an extra spoonful of sugar.

The ribs went into the pan, sizzling loudly, the aroma exploding instantly like a small detonation. Dabao peeked out from the living room, sniffing: "Daddy, it smells great!"

"Go wash your hands, it’s time to eat."

Xiao Su smelled it too. She supported her waist as she walked into the kitchen, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind—a bit tricky now because her belly was in the way like a round obstacle, resting her chin on his shoulder: "Why are you being so good today? On time from work and cooking voluntarily?"

Yang Ping said, "The institute’s efficiency is high lately. Weber found the reason for the experimental failures, Manstein’s unknown factor data is being replenished, and Lu Xiaolu is overseeing K Therapy... I can afford to slack off."

"Slacking off?" Xiao Su laughed, "You’re calling it ’dynamic priority adjustment,’ right?"

Yang Ping was taken aback, "Did you peek at my flowchart?"

"More than just the flowchart," Xiao Su let go, took out a piece of paper, showing off the forty-eight node flowchart proudly.

When the sweet and sour ribs were ready, their color was bright red, aroma enticing, every rib coated with translucent sweet-and-sour sauce, as if plated with amber. Dabao couldn’t wait to grab one, biting into it; his eyes narrowed with delight, his expression looked as if he’d just tasted the best thing in the world.

"Daddy, this is sweeter than last time!"

"Is it good?"

"Delicious! Better than watermelon!"

Yang Ping glanced at Xiao Su, who took a piece and chewed it carefully, nodding: "It’s really good. More sugar?"

"An extra spoonful."

"Why?"

Yang Ping thought about it and seriously said, "Because pregnant women want something sweet; it’s... emotional weighting."

Xiao Su froze for a moment, she reached to smooth Yang Ping’s hair made frizzy by the steam: "Professor Yang, I accept your emotional weighting."

"Thank you!" Yang Ping served her a bowl of rice, then remembered something, "The forty-ninth node, still haven’t figured it out."

"No need," Xiao Su said, her eyes reflecting the light, sparkling, "The best node is no node at all. Do as you wish, add as much sugar as you want, it’s okay if it’s wrong. After all..."

"After all what?"

"After all, whatever you make, we love to eat."

Yang Ping looked at her, looked at her gentle eyes under the lights, looked at Dabao beside her with his face covered in oil from the ribs.

He suddenly felt that the world was truly beautiful.

He said, "Alright, the fiftieth node: No node."

Dabao looked up, still chewing a piece of rib, his face greasy like he’d just come out of the oil pot, "Daddy, what does no node mean?"

Yang Ping wiped the grease from his mouth: "It means that in the future, when Daddy cooks, no more checking papers."

"Then check what?"

"Check..." Yang Ping thought for a moment, and seriously said, "Check what Dabao wants to eat, check what Mommy wants to eat."

Dabao nodded in satisfaction, then made a request that made Yang Ping fall into thought: "Then I want Ultraman-shaped ribs!"

"...That will need some research."

Xiao Su laughed so hard beside him that she couldn’t straighten up, the "little pot" on her belly trembling, "Progress is evident, awarding you not having to wash the dishes tonight."

"Then who will?"

"I will!"

Dabao raised his hand.

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