Surgery Godfather

Chapter 2251: Chapter 1463: Coming to See You

On a Monday morning, as Yang Ping just pushed open the office door, his gaze was drawn to the light blue envelope on the desk.

On the envelope, a line of elegant handwriting read: "Professor Yang Ping, Confidential." He didn’t need to look at the signature to recognize the handwriting—it was Sisi’s.

He opened the envelope, which contained three pages of letter paper, and a photograph.

In the photograph, a girl stood at the gate of a top high school, wearing a white school uniform shirt, short hair at ear-length, a gold medal hanging around her neck. Her smile was so bright it seemed to gather sunshine in her eyes, which curved into crescent moons.

Yang Ping sat down and unfolded the letter paper.

"Professor Yang:

I hope this finds you well. I am Sisi. This year, I turned fifteen and have completed four years of the junior class in middle school. I have good news: I won a gold medal in the International Biology Olympiad and have been guaranteed admission to the eight-year clinical medicine program at Nandu Medical University, a direct path to master’s and doctorate. My goal has never changed, and now it is finally coming true.

...

I hope in a few years, I can formally become your student, following you in research, and clinical work.

...

Along with this letter is a photo of me with the gold medal from the Olympiad, not to boast, but to let you know your student has not been slacking off.

...

I will study hard and then come to see you.

Yours sincerely,

Your student, Sisi"

After reading the letter, Yang Ping didn’t immediately put it down. He read it again, word by word, as meticulously as he reviewed experimental data back then. Then he picked up the photograph, walked to the window, and gazed at it under the early summer sun for a long time.

The girl in the photograph overlapped with the memory of that nine-year-old child.

Back then, she lay in the hospital bed, her right thigh severely deformed by osteosarcoma, her face as pale as a crumpled and smoothed-out paper, yet her eyes were bright, bright like the candle flame that refused to go out on a winter night. She asked him, "Big brother, am I going to die?"

He said, "No."

Actually, at that time, he wasn’t at all sure. Though K Therapy performed well in animal experiments, this was the first application in humans. He was merely betting, betting on a probability, betting on hope. But he had to say "no." Not to deceive her, but because, at that moment, the words "no" themselves were part of the treatment. Hope, sometimes, is more important than any drug.

The phone buzzed—it was a message from Tang Shun: "Professor, Weber’s functionality verification experiment results are out, both versions of the recombinant protein are positive, and the paper framework can be finalized."

Yang Ping didn’t respond immediately. He carefully folded Sisi’s letter, placed it back in the envelope, and then took out a tin box from the deepest drawer. The box was neatly stuffed with a dozen or so letters, the edges of some paper slightly yellowed, as if gently brushed by time.

In one of the letters from a few years ago, she said she had skipped a grade to join the junior class, becoming the youngest student in the class, but her biology grades were always the top. At twelve, she participated in a biology competition for the first time and won the province’s first prize. At thirteen, she won the national gold medal and entered the national team. At fifteen, she won the world gold medal, standing on the international podium, delivering her acceptance speech in fluent English...

Every letter was the sound of a seed sprouting.

Yang Ping put this year’s letter into the tin box too, locked it, then replied to Tang Shun: "We’ll discuss the paper in the afternoon, I’m going out this morning."

He walked out of the office, through the institute’s corridor, to the clinical department. The corridor was very quiet, a few nurses were whispering at the nurse station. Seeing him, the nurses immediately looked up: "Hello, Professor Yang!"

"Just looking around," Yang Ping said, "Did Sisi come by last month?"

The nurse smiled: "She came for a re-examination, all her indicators were normal. She really wanted to see you, but hearing you were busy, she sensibly left. Before leaving, she asked us if Professor Yang would be publishing new research results soon."

Yang Ping nodded, not saying much more. He returned to the office in the clinical ward, stood by the window for a while.

"That child," the nurse followed, her tone filled with emotion, "during treatment, you would come every afternoon to chat with her, explaining how cells work, how the immune system fights, and how K Therapy tricks tumor cells into ’suicide.’ Other kids listened to stories and fell asleep, she listened and took notes. When she was discharged, she had filled three big notebooks, all densely written, we were amazed when we saw it."

Yang Ping recalled those afternoons.

At that time, he had just started clinical research on K Therapy, under immense pressure, unable to sleep night after night, staring at the experimental data, afraid of missing any abnormal indicator. The most relaxing moments each day were sitting by Sisi’s hospital bed, breaking down those complex medical concepts into little stories she could understand. He didn’t expect, those casual chats would be recorded so seriously by her, even less, that those notes would become the keystones of her future study.

"Her mother told us later," the nurse continued, "after discharge, every night Sisi would listen to your ’lectures’ on tape, until she memorized the content. Sometimes, her room light was still on in the middle of the night, her mom would open the door to find her reciting to her notebook, like a little teacher preparing lessons."

Yang Ping fell silent.

He had never thought that his offhand words would be so cherished, so repeatedly savored and absorbed. This made him feel a heavy responsibility, realizing that the words you casually spoke could become the coordinates of someone else’s life; it also brought a warmth, like a brazier on a winter night, you don’t know whom it illuminated, but it surely burned, transmitted, emitting a faint yet determined light amidst the darkness.

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