After being separated from my family, I became a darling of the military region thanks to my medical

The mornings in West Berlin have a cold, rusty smell.

The hotel curtains were drawn tightly, leaving only a very narrow gap.

Gu Zheng stood by the window, his slender fingers gently parting the crack, like a cheetah lurking in the shadows, his gaze sweeping heavily across the street below.

"This is the third wave."

Gu Zheng loosened his grip, and the curtains closed again. He turned around, casually picked up the military dagger from the table, twirled it between his fingers, and said in an unreadable tone, "The newspaper vendor on the street corner has changed. And the guy in sunglasses sitting in the coffee shop across the street hasn't turned a single page in two hours."

The atmosphere in the room was oppressive and suffocating.

Xu Wenqiang walked in, his face even more ashen than the sky outside. He had just hung up the phone from the embassy.

"Dr. Ye, Commander Gu... we're in big trouble."

Xu Wenqiang's voice trembled as he pushed up his glasses, which had slipped off his nose: "The comrades at the embassy just said that the United States has activated 'Plan B.' They're putting pressure on the West German government, using 'alleged transfer of NATO military technology' as a pretext to keep a close eye on us."

"And..." Xu Wenqiang swallowed hard, even more desperate, "Hans just secretly called and said that although Siemens' goods are ready, they... can't be shipped out."

"The major shipping companies in the ports of Hamburg and Bremen have all received warning letters. Anyone who dares to take our shipment can forget about operating on the Atlantic shipping route in the future."

Dean Zhang Guohua slammed his teacup heavily on the table, splashing water everywhere. "This is outrageous! The contract was already signed; this is blatant robbery! This is thuggish behavior!"

"That's power." Ye Zhen sat in the corner of the sofa, flipping through a German medical journal. Hearing this, she didn't look up, but her fingers paused for a moment as she turned the page. "In the face of absolute self-interest, the spirit of contracts is a joke."

She closed the magazine, looked up, and frowned: "This is troublesome."

"boom!"

A deep engine roar suddenly came from outside the window, interrupting Ye Zhen's words.

That wasn't just one or two cars, but an entire convoy.

Gu Zheng's expression changed drastically. He grabbed a dagger, rushed to the door, and said in a deep voice, "Wife, step back! Zhang Yuan, lie down!"

Downstairs, seven or eight black Rolls-Royces, like a group of silent steel behemoths, rudely blocked the hotel entrance.

The car door opened, and dozens of burly men in black trench coats and wearing headsets quickly got out, their movements perfectly synchronized, instantly taking control of all the entrances and exits around the hotel.

That aura wasn't that of a policeman; it was more like that of some kind of private army.

"Damn it, are they after the blueprints?" Gu Zheng narrowed his eyes, his muscles tense like a fully drawn bow.

He glanced back at Ye Zhen, his eyes fierce and resolute: "I'll hold them off for a bit. Xu Wenqiang, you take Ye Zhen and Zhang Yuan and run to the kitchen! As long as I'm breathing, no one will lay a finger on her!"

"take it easy."

Ye Zhen stood up, walked to the window, and looked down through the crack.

"If they're here to arrest someone, they won't bring a wheelchair."

Gu Zheng was taken aback and followed the gaze.

The rear door of the lead Rolls-Royce opened, and an elderly man pushed a wheelchair out.

A little girl sat in a wheelchair, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, with only her tiny face, no bigger than the palm of a hand, showing.

And the person pushing the cart...

Gu Zheng's pupils contracted slightly.

The silver-haired old man who stepped out of the car, though leaning on a cane and hunched over, exuded an air of nobility that transcended the law, with his impeccably tailored handmade suit and the sapphire brooch on his chest that symbolized his family crest.

"That's..." Xu Wenqiang leaned closer for a peek, "Schroder... Schroeder?!"

"Who?" Gu Zheng frowned.

"Karl Heinz Schroeder!" Xu Wenqiang's voice cracked. "The shipping magnate of Europe! He controls a third of Europe's ocean shipping! If this old man stomped his foot, half the ports on Earth would shake!"

Upon hearing this, Ye Zhen's lips curled into a slightly amused smile.

She straightened her sleeves, turned and walked calmly toward the door.

"Let's go take a look."

……

Five minutes later.

The hotel lobby has been cleared out.

The manager and waiters huddled behind the counter, trembling with fear, not daring to utter a sound.

Mr. Schroeder sat on the leather sofa in the center of the lobby, his blue eyes, which had seen much of life, now bloodshot. He gripped the dragon head of his cane tightly with both hands, revealing his extreme anxiety.

In the wheelchair beside him, the little girl named Alice was struggling to breathe.

She looked only seven or eight years old, but she was as thin as a kitten that hadn't been weaned. What was most alarming was her lips and nails, which were a horrifying deep purple—a sign of long-term extreme oxygen deprivation, like a violet about to wither.

"Ms. Ye."

Seeing Ye Zhen come downstairs, Schroeder stood up. This shipping magnate, who was ruthless and decisive in the business world, seemed somewhat flustered and humble at this moment.

He pulled a crumpled newspaper from his pocket—it was Bild.

"The newspapers say...you are the Hand of God." Schroeder's voice was hoarse and trembling slightly. "I know this is abrupt. But I have no other choice. My granddaughter, Alice, has a congenital heart defect—tricuspid atresia. The best doctors in the world have given her a death sentence. They told her...to go home and wait for God's call."

Gu Zheng stood in front of Ye Zhen, his tall figure like a wall, his eyes warily fixed on the bodyguards behind Schroeder: "Sir, go to the hospital if you need medical treatment. Bringing so many people to block the door doesn't seem like the attitude of someone seeking medical help."

Schroeder waved his hand, and the bodyguards immediately retreated outside the door.

"I'm sorry, it's a habit." Schroeder gave a bitter smile, looking at his granddaughter in the wheelchair, tears welling up instantly. "I own the most ships and the most money in the world, but I can't buy back my granddaughter's last breath."

Ye Zhen gently patted Gu Zheng's arm, signaling him to move aside.

She walked to the wheelchair and knelt down.

The little girl opened her eyes; they were large and empty, like a stagnant pool of water.

Ye Zhen didn't speak, but simply reached out and took the little girl's hand.

Ye Zhen frowned slightly, her brain working at a rapid pace.

Tricuspid atresia with pulmonary artery stenosis.

In the 80s, this was indeed a terminal illness. The Fontan procedure is still in its early stages of development, with an extremely high mortality rate. Given the complexity of the anatomical structure, no one dares to operate on it.

But in cardiac surgery decades later, this is not a dead end.

There's still hope.

The three words, spoken in German, were as light as a feather, but to Schröder they sounded like thunder.

The old man's cane fell to the ground with a "thud": "What did you say? Really? You're not lying to an old man like me?"

"Mr. Schroeder," Ye Zhen said calmly, almost coldly, "I'm a doctor, I don't lie. But this surgery is extremely risky."

"I know, Ms. Ye, as long as you do your best, even if the surgery fails, I won't blame you. It's God calling her."

"I want absolute control."

"Give it to me! I'll give you whatever you want!" Schroeder said, tears streaming down his face. "How much money do you want? Ten million marks? Twenty million?"

"I don't want money."

Ye Zhen stood up and looked at the European shipping magnate.

Her gaze swept across the black cars outside the window, finally settling on Schroeder's face.

"I heard that the seas in Hamburg have been very rough lately, and some cargo ships are unable to set sail?"

Schroeder was taken aback. He was a shrewd man and instantly understood the hidden meaning in Ye Zhen's words.

The so-called shipping blockade was nothing more than a trivial matter that could be resolved with a single phone call. Americans could intimidate ordinary shipping companies, but they couldn't intimidate Schroeder.

"As long as Alice can get off the operating table alive."

Schroeder picked up his cane, his previously hunched back straightening instantly, and the domineering aura of a shipping magnate returned to him.

"I'll personally open up a shipping route from Hamburg to China. Don't even mention a few pieces of medical equipment; even if you wanted to move the entire Siemens factory, I'd ship it back for you! Let's see who dares to stop my ship!"

Ye Zhen smiled slightly and extended her slender, fair hand.

"make a deal."

Gu Zheng watched from the side and couldn't help but whistle in his heart.

Good guy.

Just when I was about to go to sleep, someone brought me a pillow.

One surgery, one new path.

This deal was worthwhile.

……

Two hours later.

Charité Hospital in Berlin.

This 300-year-old European medical sanctuary is now in complete chaos.

Schroeder used his financial power to directly requisition the best operating room on the top floor.

However, at that moment, a group of people rushed over aggressively and blocked their way.

The leader was an old man with gray hair, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, and a bunch of medals hanging on his chest.

He is Professor Müller, President of the European Association of Thoracic and Cardiovascular Surgery.

"Nonsense! Absolutely nonsense!"

Muller pointed at Ye Zhen's nose, spitting everywhere: "Mr. Schroeder has been bewitched by you, this oriental witch! That child's body simply cannot withstand extracorporeal circulation! You are committing murder! This Chinese woman must not be allowed to wreak havoc on European soil!"

"This is Charité! A sacred temple of medicine! Not a place for your witchcraft!"

Several other German experts echoed, their eyes filled with disdain and hostility: "Where's security? Throw her out! If the child dies on the operating table, Charité's century-old reputation will be ruined!"

In the corridor, doctors and nurses gathered in a circle, pointing and whispering.

Schroeder was besieged by several senior experts, and for a moment he hesitated. After all, these were authorities, and their words shook the old man's confidence.

Ye Zhen stood at the door of the operating room, looking at the group of excited authorities before her, her eyes colder than a scalpel.

"Are you done talking?"

Ye Zhen spoke calmly.

Muller was taken aback: "What did you say?"

"Get out of the way once you've finished speaking."

Ye Zhen took a step forward, and her aura suddenly erupted. It was the murderous aura she had developed in the emergency department of a top-tier hospital in her previous life, a aura that controlled life and death.

She looked at Mueller, a mocking sneer playing on her lips: "As for murder? Watching a patient die without daring to make a cut, that's murder."