Chapter 2160: Chapter 1422: I Think This Is More Poetic_2
Manstein lowered his head, looking at his hands. Those hands had performed countless surgeries, held the Nobel Prize medal, and written numerous papers. But at this moment, they were just a pair of hands, a pair that was about to perform surgery on Chen Jianguo.
"Professor, accompany me in the surgery."
Yang Ping was taken aback.
"What did you say?"
"On the day of the surgery, accompany me. I need you there."
Yang Ping looked at Manstein for a long time.
"Alright! I’ll be there."
In the following days, the entire team entered the final sprint before the surgery.
Manstein reviewed the surgical plan more than ten times. Every step, every unexpected possibility, every emergency plan. He drew a huge flow chart on a whiteboard, marking every node with different colored pens from patient admission to anesthesia induction to incision to gene editing to post-operative recovery, indicating risk levels and response measures.
August was in charge of preparing the instruments. He made a list of one hundred and forty-seven items, from the core gene editing reagents to the most inconspicuous hemostatic cotton swabs, checking each item twice. He posted this list on the operating room wall, ticking off each item as it came in and out.
Clara was responsible for intraoperative electrophysiological monitoring. Three days before the surgery, she began debugging the equipment, testing all electrodes, amplifiers, and filters repeatedly. She told Manstein, "Rest assured to perform the surgery, leave the signals to me. As long as one axon grows across, I can tell you."
Hans was responsible for the post-operative rehabilitation plan. He reviewed over a hundred papers on spinal cord injury post-operative rehabilitation and, combining with Chen Jianguo’s specific situation, developed a personalized rehabilitation plan lasting fifty-two weeks. From passive activities on the first post-operative day to community walking training in week fifty-two, each week’s goals, methods, and assessment criteria were clearly written.
Fritz had one duty—to inform M7.
That afternoon, Fritz crouched in front of M7’s cage, speaking softly in German for a long time. Yang Ping couldn’t understand what he was saying, but judging from M7’s expression, with its head tilted, eyes blinking, and occasionally reaching out to touch Fritz’s fingers, it seemed to understand.
"What did Fritz tell it?" Yang Ping asked August.
August translated: "He said, ’M7, your mission is accomplished. Next week, someone like you, who has been in a wheelchair for a long time, will come. You must give him strength. Let him see how you stand up and walk. You are his example.’"
"Can M7 understand? It seems to be able to," Manstein asked Yang Ping.
Yang Ping thought for a moment and said, "It can’t understand; it’s just a monkey. Its intelligence hasn’t developed to understand such complex language, but perhaps it can sense something."
"Professor, you are truly rational. Actually, I also know it doesn’t understand, but I just wanted to hear your response to be—it can understand. I think it’s more poetic that way."
Yang Ping smiled: "Alright, I’ll correct myself—it can understand!"
"You’re quite humorous, but not many people can appreciate this kind of humor."
"Didn’t you appreciate it?"
A few days before the surgery, Chen Jianguo and his wife arrived early in Nandu.
This time, Manstein personally went to pick them up, taking a doctoral student with him as a driver to the train station.
He waited at the exit for twenty minutes. In the crowd, Sister Li walked out pushing a wheelchair. Chen Jianguo was wearing a clean dark blue coat, had his hair trimmed and beard shaved, and looked much more spirited than the last time.
"Professor Manstein!" Chen Jianguo’s eyes lit up when he saw him, "Why did you come personally?"
Manstein walked over, crouched down, and looked Chen Jianguo in the eye.
"Mr. Chen, you will be on the operating table in a few days. I came to pick you up today because I want to ask you one last question face-to-face."
Chen Jianguo looked at him: "Go ahead and ask!"
"Are you sure? This is the last chance. If you say no now, no one will call you cowardly. You can go back and keep waiting until our techniques are more mature and less risky. No one will blame you. You’ve already waited so long; you don’t have to be the first to take such a big risk."
Chen Jianguo didn’t hesitate.
"Professor Manstein!"
"Follow the Chinese habit; you can call me Professor Man or Dr. Man."
"Professor... Man... I’m sure. I’ve been in a wheelchair for eleven years, waiting for this day. I know the risks; I’ve thought about failure. But I’m even more afraid that one day you’ll succeed, and I didn’t sign up."
Manstein looked at him for a long time. Then he stood up, pushed the wheelchair, and started walking toward the parking lot.
Sister Li followed beside them, carrying that old bag in her hand. The three of them walked slowly through the train station square.
In a few days, Chen Jianguo was wheeled into the operating room.
Sister Li walked beside the cart until they reached the operating room door. Above the door, it read "Surgery Area, Family Stop." She stopped and placed her hand on Chen Jianguo’s shoulder.
"Jianguo, I’ll wait for you outside."
Chen Jianguo reached out his hand and held hers.
"Alright."
The two hands held each other for a long time before Sister Li released her grip and stepped back. The operating room door closed.
Chen Jianguo was moved to the operating table. The anesthesiologist came over and injected him in the arm. He turned his head and glanced at Yang Ping standing in a corner.
"Professor Yang, you came."
"I’m here to check in."
Chen Jianguo smiled, and then the anesthesia took effect. His eyes closed slowly, his breathing becoming calm and deep.
Manstein stood at the operating table, taking a deep breath.
"Let’s begin!" he said.
The surgical knife was handed to him.
Yang Ping stood in the corner, watching Manstein’s hands. Those hands were steady, each cut accurate as if measured with a ruler. From the skin to the subcutaneous layer, from the subcutaneous layer to the muscle, from the muscle to the vertebrae plate, layer by layer like opening a thick book.
August stood beside him, handing instruments, Clara monitored the electrophysiological signals, and Hans recorded the time for each step. The only sounds in the operating room were the clinking of instruments and the rhythmic beeping of the monitors.
The surgery lasted three hours, aiming to remove all scarring at the original spinal cord injury site and create a fresh "injury interface."
When the last stitch was finished, Manstein set down the needle holder, stepped back, and looked at Chen Jianguo on the operating table. There was no smile on his face, no sense of relief, only a deep, almost devout calm.
"Professor," he said, "it’s done."
Yang Ping walked to the operating table, looking at Chen Jianguo’s face. He hadn’t woken from the anesthesia and was sleeping deeply, as if he hadn’t slept like this in a long time.
"Manstein, do you know what he’s doing right now?"
"Sleeping."
"No, he’s dreaming. In his dream, he’s walking."
Manstein said, "Professor, do you think when he wakes up, he’ll already be able to walk?"
"No! Nerve regeneration takes time. Days, weeks, months, it’s impossible to walk immediately upon waking."
"I know, but I want him to see hope as soon as he wakes up."
Yang Ping stood next to Manstein.
"He will see it, not because his legs moved, but because you are standing here, a Nobel Prize winner, personally performing surgery on him, waiting for him to wake up. That is hope."
The operating room door opened.
Sister Li got up from the chair in the hallway, quickly walking over.
"Thank you for your hard work. How did it go?"
"The surgery was very successful. The anesthesia hasn’t worn off yet, but he’ll be able to return to the ward once he wakes up."
Tears immediately welled up in Sister Li’s eyes. She didn’t cry out loud but stood there, tears silently streaming down her face.
"Can I see him?"
"When he wakes up. He’s still in the recovery room."
Sister Li nodded and sat back down on the chair. She sat there with her hands on her knees, her back straight, like a soldier standing guard.
