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

Gao Haiping was taken aback by the question, and the fervor on his face froze. He looked at Liu Jianmin, then at the several senior directors in the back row, seemingly unable to understand why Ye Zhen would be so stubborn on such a crucial matter.

"Dr. Ye, domestic medical journals are of course being published normally." Gao Haiping swallowed, trying to explain in simpler terms, "But it's different. You're still young, so you may not be very aware of the international academic barriers. Our domestic journal, the *Chinese Journal of Surgery*, has extremely limited influence not only outside Asia, but even in the medical communities of Japan and the Soviet Union. It's basically an internal exchange booklet."

Director Wang from Harbin Medical University also stepped forward and took over the conversation.

"Dr. Ye, Lao Gao is right. In the eyes of the Western academic community, journals like The Lancet and The New England Journal of Medicine are the only legitimate ones. If our articles are only published domestically, those arrogant Western professors won't even give them a second glance."

"We've developed such a world-shaking technology, but if we don't plant our flag on their home turf, they won't recognize it at all! Only when it's approved and published in The Lancet can our technology be officially recognized and recognized by the world."

"That's right, we've worked so hard to create this, just to prove ourselves on the international stage!" The other experts chimed in.

In the early 1980s, when China was just opening its doors to the world, all sectors were eagerly looking up at the backs of developed Western countries. The long-standing inferiority complex caused by technological backwardness was like a thorn stuck in the marrow of all domestic researchers.

In the minds of these older generation medical giants, the success of a technology depended on approval and awards from authoritative Western institutions before it could be considered a complete success.

Ye Zhen listened quietly. She looked at the mixture of eagerness, grievance, and ingratiation on the faces of these people.

"Recognize. Stamp. Approval." Ye Zhen tossed these three words into the air, her clear, cold voice like a knife covered in ice shards, directly cleaving through the heated atmosphere inside the tent.

She stood up, placed her hands on the table, and glanced at the group of powerful officials in front of her, who held sway over various provinces.

"Distinguished directors, I've spent half my life working in the surgical field. Let me ask you a very basic question: What does it mean to be recognized?" Ye Zhen's voice wasn't loud, but every word was firm and resolute.

"Recognition is a favor that subordinates beg for from superiors! It's about those who follow behind others, picking up scraps, and begging those in front to turn around and say, 'You did a good job!'"

The air inside the tent seemed to have been suddenly sucked out; even the sparks from the coal stove dared not leap out. Gao Haiping's hand, holding the manuscript, froze in mid-air; his lips trembled, but no sound came out.

Ye Zhen ruthlessly tore away this veil of self-deprecation.

"Before today, before our technology was perfected, Western cardiovascular surgery was indeed ahead of us. You looked up to them and sought their approval, which is called being backward and getting beaten. I won't stop you."

Ye Zhen's slender fingers pointed directly at the stack of manuscripts in Gao Haiping's arms.

"But now, as you hold these fifty-odd pages in your arms, don't you understand that the situation has reversed?" Ye Zhen's voice rose, carrying an absolute sense of oppression.

"By combining autologous pericardium with glutaraldehyde tanning technology, we have completely abandoned expensive imported materials! We have pulled the success rate of Tetralogy of Fallot surgery out of the quagmire of extreme reliance on Western instruments, and raised it to over 95%!"

"This is a groundbreaking surgical technique that is at least a decade ahead of the rest of the world! In the specific field of cardiovascular outflow tract reconstruction, this tent and these tables represent the pinnacle of technology globally!"

"With world-leading technology in hand, why do they have to humbly translate the original manuscript into English, going overseas to beg for the approval of a British magazine editor? Do they understand the tension distribution of parachute sutures on tanned pericardium? How many cases of survival data do they have, like the Shanghai boy with extreme outflow tract atresia?"

A barrage of questions rained down on the heads of these veteran experts like hammer blows. Liu Jianmin's face began to burn, not from the furnace fire, but from an indescribable sense of shame.

"We don't need Western approval." Ye Zhen withdrew her hand, her posture as upright as a javelin. "Because from the moment this data was created, we have the power to redefine the rules of this surgery."

Ye Zhen turned around, her back to the tent door, and looked at the blackboard covered with various derivation formulas.

"The Chinese characters created by our ancestors are in no way inferior to the English alphabet. Vice Dean Gao, take this manuscript and publish it domestically. Publishing it in a national-level journal is something you should discuss with the publishing bureau."

"I want this academic masterpiece of 50,000 words to be published in China's core journals without changing a single Chinese character."

Ye Zhen turned her head, her eyes flashing with an ambition that sent shivers down the spines of all the veteran experts present.

"I want those so-called cardiothoracic surgery authorities in London, New York, and Berlin to buy plane tickets to China and ask for a copy after hearing about this miracle that could change the landscape of world medicine!"

"I want them to pay for their own translators, to study our characters word by word, poring over thick dictionaries, and to decipher the 'medical record' of our Chinese language!"

"They are the ones who need to come to us asking to teach them this technology, not the other way around!"

As Ye Zhen's resounding words fell, the huge, frigid tent was so quiet that even the cracking of burning coals could be heard clearly.

Thirty-seven top medical experts who wield immense influence in the domestic medical field were all stunned by these earth-shattering remarks, forgetting even to breathe.

Over the years, they have gone abroad for further studies, faced disdain, been shut out of core laboratories, and been unable to afford even a latest English medical journal with their meager foreign exchange quotas. Deep in their bones, they have long been accustomed to worshipping Western medicine as an insurmountable deity.

However, today, in the dilapidated backyard of this general hospital where even the leaky windows need to be patched up with military supplies.

A young female doctor personally ripped the so-called god off the altar and smashed it to pieces. Then, pointing to the fruits of their labor that they had worked on for three days and three nights, she told them—you are the ones who stand at the summit!

Liu Jianmin was the first to come to his senses. This Shanghai man in his fifties suddenly wiped his face vigorously, his rough palms wiping away the moisture from the corners of his eyes.

He turned around and kicked over the stool at his feet.

"Dr. Ye is right! To hell with The Lancet!" Liu Jianmin cursed, his face turning purplish-red. "We have a golden rice bowl, why should we have to beg from foreigners? This technology is meant to save the lives of ordinary Chinese people, why should we give it to them first and let them set the tone in English?"

That curse word seemed to have flipped a switch. The pent-up frustration that had been building up in the hearts of the veteran experts for decades finally exploded at that moment.

"That's right! No translation! Not a single foreign word!" Director Wang of Harbin Medical University slammed his enamel mug heavily onto the wooden table.

"The entire article is in Chinese! Even the chemical formula for glutaraldehyde has to be accompanied by the most authentic Chinese explanation! Take it or leave it! If they don't, it's their loss!"

"If they want to learn our technology, let them start by learning Chinese characters from the Xinhua Dictionary!"

"We'll stick our data to top domestic publications; that's keeping the profits within the family!"

The veteran experts, whose energy had been completely depleted, were instantly rejuvenated. Dozens of old men in the tent were as excited as a group of greenhorns who had just won a great victory, patting each other on the shoulder and talking animatedly.

Gao Haiping stood at the front of the crowd, his chest heaving. He looked down at the stack of hard-earned manuscripts in his hand. His mind, which had been somewhat dazed from working day and night on the drafts, was now clearer than ever before.

He suddenly walked to the table and grabbed the red and blue pencil.

On the blank space of the title page, the words "To the Translation Project of The Lancet's Reviewing Editorial Department," which were originally written lightly in pencil, were crossed out with two huge red lines. The force was so great that it even tore the manuscript paper underneath.

Gao Haiping threw down his pen, looked up, and his face shone with an extremely dazzling light.

"No need to look for foreign language institutes anymore. First release in China." Gao Haiping's voice was so loud it could blow the tent roof off.

"I'll revise it tonight! After that, tomorrow morning, each of us thirty-seven people will take a copy of the distribution briefing and make long-distance calls to the domestic magazine publishers we know!"

"Since we're going to publish it domestically, we need to publish it with a bang! Let all our colleagues in China see that our country's surgical field has truly made a splash!"