Surgery Godfather

Chapter 2252: Chapter 1463: Coming to See You (2)

Leaving the Clinical Department, Yang Ping didn’t go back to the Laboratory right away.

He walked out of the Institute’s main entrance, passed the Experimental Animal Center, passed the newly completed research building, and passed the Outpatient Department where a long line stretched out at the gate. He had seen these scenes for so many years that they were as familiar as the lines on his own palm, but today, they seemed to carry a new meaning.

Every Patient who walks through here has a story behind them. Some are brief interludes, some are long battles, some have already drawn to a close, some are still ongoing. And a Doctor is merely one of the characters in these stories, a character who tries to reverse the course of the plot at a critical moment. Sometimes you can change it, sometimes you can’t, but you have to stand there, you have to try.

Sisi’s story is one of the few that were successfully turned around.

But Yang Ping knew this kind of success was not his alone. Behind K Therapy stood the team’s years of research, the countless late nights with lights still on in the Laboratory, the accumulation of innumerable failed experiments, the repeatedly validated data from animal models, the Ethics Committee’s cautious weighing, and the coordination of countless people in the Pharmacy, Nursing, and Imaging Departments. It was even, in part, Sisi herself—that unyielding vitality in that child’s body, that stubbornness that still chose to trust in the face of utter desperation.

He walked to a bench in the garden of Sanbo Hospital and sat down.

The ginkgo crowns spread like canopies, casting mottled shadows on the ground. The early summer breeze carried the scent of grass and leaves; blowing across his face, it had a kind of dreamlike gentleness. In the distance, children were laughing and chasing each other, their voices clear as wind chimes. He thought of his first Main Surgery as Chief Surgeon, an appendectomy so simple it could not be simpler. Yet he had already gone through it ten times in his head in advance, imagining every possible accident: what if the appendix perforated, what if there were adhesions, what if there was an Anesthesia accident, what if there was intraoperative bleeding. The Surgery went smoothly; the Patient was discharged the next day, and the family brought a basket of fruit. He couldn’t refuse and accepted it, then shared it with the Nurses in the department. Back then he was still young and thought every Surgery would go that smoothly.

He remembered his first failure: a Patient with severe trauma and a ruptured Spleen, with massive bleeding. He had done a splenectomy, but postoperatively the Patient developed a rare coagulation disorder and in the end could not be saved. That night, he sat in the corridor outside the Operating Room the whole night, until dawn. No one came to console him, because everyone knew there are some thresholds you have to cross on your own.

These memories were like pebbles sunk at the bottom of water, invisible most of the time, but when the current passed over them, they would gently tremble, reminding you of their existence. They made you humble, and they made you resilient.

When the sunlight, filtered through the gaps between the ginkgo leaves, had shifted to his feet, he finally stood up, dusted off his pants, and walked back to his office.

By the time he returned to his office, it was already Noon. He grabbed a casual bite in the cafeteria, then called Tang Shun, Manstein, Weber, and Xiao Lu for a meeting to discuss the paper.

Weber reported, "Both versions of the recombinant protein are positive, and interestingly, the activity of the mammalian cell version is about forty percent higher than the Escherichia coli version. I suspect the difference in glycosylation modifications is affecting the stability of the protein and its receptor-binding capacity."

"Then the focus of the paper should be on functional validation," Manstein said, "and at the same time we discuss the impact of glycosylation on activity. This isn’t just our own finding; it also has implications for the whole field. In future recombinant protein therapies, the choice of expression system may be more important than we thought."

Tang Shun took notes in his notebook: "Paper structure: (1) Discovery of the unknown factor and validation by mass spectrometry; (2) Expression and purification of the recombinant protein; (3) Functional validation: Stem Cells differentiation, neuron survival, axonal growth; (4) Impact of glycosylation modifications on activity; (5) Mechanistic exploration and prospects for Clinical translation."

"What Journal are we targeting?" Yang Ping asked.

"Nature Medicine?" Weber ventured.

"The main Cell journal," Yang Ping said. "The significance of this discovery goes beyond nerve regeneration. If the unknown factor really is an endogenous repair signaling molecule, then its regulatory mechanism might apply to multiple types of tissue injury—Heart, Liver, skeletal muscle... the conceptual space is huge."

Lu Xiaolu reminded him, "Cell’s review cycle is very long, and the competition is fierce. Should we first submit a short communication to secure priority?"

Yang Ping pondered for a moment. "We can prepare in parallel: submit the short communication to Nature or Science, and the main paper to Cell. But the content of the short communication has to be controlled—only report the core findings without elaborating on mechanisms. The main paper is the complete story."

The discussion lasted two hours, during which they finalized the division of labor and the timeline. Weber would be responsible for supplementing glycosylation-related experiments, Manstein would organize the mass spectrometry and proteomics data, and Tang Shun would draft the paper framework and establish the mathematical model, while coordinating the overall progress and handling communication with the Journal editors.

When the meeting ended, everyone packed their things and left. Only Yang Ping remained in the Meeting Room. He glanced at the time—four in the afternoon, still a while before the end of the workday.

He turned on his computer and began drafting his reply to Sisi.

"Sisi:

I’ve received your letter and seen the photo. You’ve grown so much taller, I almost didn’t recognize you.

Congratulations on winning the prize and being recommended for admission to your dream University.

You want to officially become my Student—very welcome. I’m a doctoral advisor at Nandu Medical University, and every year I’m assigned to mentor eight-year Doctoral students from Nandu Medical University. I’m very glad to accept an International Biology Olympiad gold medalist as my Student. But I must solemnly remind you: a Doctor needs not only excellent skills, but also outstanding medical ethics, a calm mind, and strong psychological resilience under pressure. But I think you already possess these. You will certainly become an excellent Doctor in the future.

I’ll be waiting for you to report in wearing a White Gown.

... "

After finishing the letter, he read it through once and felt the tone was a bit stern. But after a moment’s thought, he didn’t revise it.

The sternness came from caring, from seeing in her that same kind of obstinacy he had himself—the kind of stubborn resolve that, once it fixes on something, refuses to turn back. He knew that if this obstinacy wasn’t kept in check by rationality, it could veer toward dangerous directions. Medicine is a long road; passion alone is not enough. It also requires a clear head and resilient Nerves. He had seen too many gifted young people fall by the wayside under the pressure of Clinical work; he didn’t want Sisi to become one of them.

Yang Ping leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, letting the afternoon sunlight slant in through the blinds and cast alternating bands of light and shadow across the Desktop. His fingers drummed unconsciously on the Desktop—that was his habitual gesture when he was thinking.

His phone vibrated again. It was Xiao Su: "Are you coming home for dinner tonight?"

"Yes."

"Dabao says he wants to eat your cooking—and the iterated version."

Yang Ping smiled and replied, "Alright, I won’t let you down."

He shut down the computer and walked out of the Meeting Room.

Yang Ping walked down the corridor and out of the Institute building. The setting sun was dyeing the sky a honeyed color, clouds unfurling across the horizon like burning cotton. He slowed his steps, thinking of that day many years ago when Sisi was discharged for the first time; it had been just such an evening.

As she passed the ginkgo tree at the Institute entrance, she suddenly stopped, turned her head, and said to him very seriously, "Professor Yang, you must remember this—I’m your Student. I really mean it."

He had just smiled then and said, "I’ll remember."

He had thought it was nothing more than a child’s joking remark; he hadn’t expected her to take it seriously.

And not only that—she actually did it. From nine to fifteen, from the hospital bed to the Olympiad podium, from "Will I die?" to "I’ll study hard and then come see you." In six years, she turned a promise into reality, turned a chance encounter into a lasting bond between mentor and Student.

Yang Ping quickened his pace. He wanted to get home early, to see Dabao charging toward him brandishing an Ultraman figure, to smell the aroma of Xiao Su stir-frying in the kitchen, to sit at that dining table that had been drawn over with blue battle armor, and have a dinner warm enough to be called home.

Life is like this, made up of countless ordinary moments. And those extraordinary moments are often hidden within the ordinary—a letter, a photograph, a meal, a promise, a child who stands up from a hospital bed.

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