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Chapter 680 The Living Dead Connection! (Please Subscribe)
August 3, morning.

In October, autumn deepens in Enshi. The morning breeze carries the rustling of falling leaves, gently tapping on the tips of the ginkgo trees in the courtyard of the Traditional Chinese Medicine sanatorium. Sunlight filtering through the leaves weaves a dappled pattern of light and shadow on the bluestone path.

Chen Song, who got up early, completed a slow set of Tai Chi in the courtyard.

At this moment, he was sitting upright on a bamboo chair in the pavilion, with a blue stone table in front of him.

He gently pressed the pad of his index finger on the radial artery of his left wrist, his eyes slightly narrowed, as if he were listening intently to something.

Three gray sparrows darted across the treetops, their fluttering wings stirring the morning light. Ginkgo leaves swayed in the wind, morning dew slowly sliding down their veins, refracting a crystalline brilliance in the sunlight.

Chen Song's linen cuffs were soaked with morning dew, leaving winding watermarks on his aged wrists.

The old man's eyelids, covered with age spots, suddenly twitched—the pulse under his fingers was beating with a strange rhythm, like the gears of an old, worn-out clock, missing half a beat every seven beats.

“Staircase tremor,” he muttered to himself, then quickly left the courtyard and returned to the consultation table in the clinic area.

The dull thud of the copper lock opening in the examination room startled the white doves under the eaves. Chen Song staggered towards the sandalwood pulse pillow, his old-fashioned cloth shoes leaving two muddy tracks on the blue brick floor.

Chen Song's right hand reached for the sandalwood pulse pillow hidden in the secret compartment of the examination table.

This movement caused a sharp, needle-like pain below my collarbone...

The clinic door was wide open, and the morning breeze swept in, lifting the hem of the doctor's coat to reveal the worn stitches on old-fashioned cloth shoes with multiple layers of soles.

Three golden ginkgo leaves drifted down onto the rosewood examination table, landing precisely at the positions corresponding to the cun, guan, and chi pulses.

Chen Song's withered bamboo-like fingers suddenly increased the pressure—capturing the most subtle changes in the pulse through the 'shockwaves of the bombardment'.

"Grandpa!" Chen Xiqian's exclamation shattered the silence of the consultation room.

As she rushed up carrying the gilded thermos, it struck the iron handrail with a crisp, bell-like sound. The morning light made the old woman's graying temples appear translucent.

"Go and fetch the third volume of the Pulse Classic, a woodblock print from the Guangxu era." Chen Song's voice had the texture of sandpaper polishing metal, his right hand still pressed firmly against the right subclavian artery.

Chen Xiqian noticed that the sandalwood pulse pillow had deviated from its fixed position—it was the "life and death ruler" that his grandfather used to mark critical pulse cases, and it was now pressing on the illustration of the "death pulse" chapter.

When the yellowed ancient book was placed on the consultation table, the wave pattern drawn by the cinnabar brush tip on the rice paper suddenly distorted.

Crimson ink splattered like blood and tears next to the words "Fish Soaring," mingling with the cold sweat trickling down the old man's forehead, blurring the annotation "Fish Soaring in seven days"...

"Grandpa, you rest first, don't move, I'll go get someone right away!"

"I'll go get someone right away." Chen Xixian's voice was urgent but she didn't completely lose her composure. She quickly glanced around at Chen Song, and after confirming that Chen Song was now sitting steadily in the chair and no longer needed her help, she hurriedly turned around.

She wasn't particularly talented, and her learning traditional Chinese medicine and herbs from Chen Song was purely to amuse her grandfather. She knew herself to be a cute 'parasite' who was just coasting along, and she was always clear about her own position.

So she never went to work, never started a business, and never got involved in her father's company; she simply fulfilled her role as a 'golden canary'.

In fact, Chen Song chose to stay in the courtyard of the sanatorium, where there were always people waiting to see him.

Chen Xixian's cry had already alerted Associate Professor Lin Gongwei, who was on duty at the clinic, and he quickly came to investigate.

Wearing a blue long coat, he strode into the consultation room and immediately noticed that Chen Song was not in a good state. Just as he was about to scold Chen Xixian and tell her to make a phone call, Chen Xixian was more composed than him, her sobbing voice as precise as a chess move: "Dr. Lin, I have already made the call."

“My father and Dr. Wang both hung up. I had made an agreement with them beforehand that if I called them, it meant something had happened and they were on their way here…”

"Please come and see my grandfather."

"I...I'll go prepare the tea." Miss Chen was flustered but not completely lost her composure.

Chen Xixian is Chen Song's only granddaughter. At this moment, her eyes were red and swollen with tears in them, which made Chen Song feel particularly distressed. He sat upright at the consultation table and calmly comforted her, "Xixian, don't worry. This is just the beginning. There's no need to rush as you think."

Lin Gongwei hurriedly picked up his phone and immediately dialed the number of his superior, Professor Deng Huai.

He went to Chen Song's side to take his pulse. After the call was connected, Lin Gongwei quickly said, "Teacher Deng, Dean Chen suddenly feels unwell."

After hearing the call, Deng Huai did not respond and immediately hung up the phone.

At the same time, the male nurses in charge of the sanatorium filed in and carefully approached Chen Song's side, saying, "Dean Chen, Dr. Fang from the surgical team instructed that if you feel unwell, you should first inhale some oxygen and then lie down to rest."

"These do not interfere with the diagnosis and treatment in traditional Chinese medicine."

Chen Song had already stated that if any health issues arose, the first priority should be given to the TCM team for diagnosis and treatment, with appropriate use of a combination of TCM and Western medicine.

Chen Song was not stubborn and obediently listened to advice.

Although Lin Gongwei was a practitioner of traditional Chinese medicine, he couldn't find a reason why Chen Song didn't need oxygen or ECG monitoring. He responded and followed Chen Song to the rest area in the courtyard.

This operating room is the closest to the operating room, and you can get into the operating room in as little as two minutes.

Chen Song himself is a doctor and the director of the sanatorium, so within his authority, he enjoys the best and highest quality resources.

……

07:35, inside the sanatorium, in the imaging examination room.

Fang Ziye turned his head and took off his anti-radiation glasses, leaving a bluish-purple afterimage of the angiography on his retina.

He habitually rubbed the callus on his index finger joint with his thumb—a medal he had earned from years of using bone forceps as a doctor, and it was now slightly warm.

Amid the monitor's regular low beeping, he suddenly caught a metallic scraping sound, like surgical forceps scraping across a stainless steel tray.

Professor Tan Mengbai, who was in charge of anesthesia for Chen Song, came from West China Hospital. He was one of the top anesthesiologists in the country, whom Chen Song had found through his connections. He was a leading figure in the field of anesthesiology.

Tan Mengbai stared at the monitor without moving, making no sound. Luo Tingzhu stood three meters away beside the anesthesia cart, adjusting the laryngoscope blades, her specially tied ponytail swaying gently with the movement.

Chen Song is only undergoing an imaging examination, so he does not need general anesthesia, but Luo Tingzhu is ready to switch to general anesthesia at any time.

“Elastic imaging of Chen’s radial artery,” Luo Tingzhu turned the tablet to Fang Ziye.

As Fang Ziye leaned closer for a closer look, the door was suddenly flung open. Nie Mingxian rushed in, holding a blood angiography film, his curly sideburns stained with iodine: "The old man has a small blood clot in his leg vein!"

His sterile cap was askew.

"The preoperative CT scan didn't show anything!" Fang Ziye took the film and held it up to the reading light. The cool touch of the medical film reminded him of the stainless steel tabletop in the autopsy room.

Fang Ziye felt inexplicably irritable.

Fang Ziye picked up the CT scan again, but even with his skill in reading images, he still couldn't decipher the key information.

However, angiography is still angiography, while CTA is one of the gold standards for diagnosing thrombosis, and its precision far surpasses that of CT plain films.

Within the spiderweb-like shadows of the gastrocnemius venous plexus, there is a barely perceptible density anomaly—like dandelion fluff blown by the wind, or a speck of dust on an X-ray.

The anesthesia recorder that Luo Tingzhu was in charge of suddenly emitted a long string of data...

As she tore off the corrugated paper, the medical gloves made a soft rustling sound as they rubbed against the thermal paper: "From 6 a.m. to now, Mr. Chen's pulse rate has increased by 12%."

The rolled-up paper fell to the ground, winding like a white snake across the epoxy resin floor...

Fang Ziye and Nie Mingxian exchanged a glance, and then Nie Mingxian looked at his teacher Li Yongjun: "The current test results are insufficient to diagnose Elder Chen's current symptoms."

Professor Yang Fenggen, the group leader in the cardiology department, had been closely monitoring Chen Song's Holter monitoring.

The pulse diagnosis by the TCM team has been completed for over an hour. The diagnosis has already been finalized, and appropriate prescriptions have been written for treatment based on the symptoms.

In the middle of decocting the medicine, Chen Guangbai invited Fang Ziye and others to come over, hoping to provide Chen Song with "secondary insurance"!
Chen Guangbai may have shared Chen Song's obsession with the revival of traditional Chinese medicine, but Chen Guangbai also had another identity as Chen Song's son, so he also hoped that Chen Song could save his life through modern medical means.

Li Yongjun shook his head, his face contorted in a grimace, his lips moving with great difficulty as he uttered the words in a slurred voice: "The coronary angiography did not reveal any discomfort."

"Dean Chen still feels a dull pain in his chest..."

Li Yongjun's expression also showed a deep sense of existential doubt.

He knew Chen Song well, so he dared not disregard some of Chen Song's decisions. In modern medicine, if Chen Song were a patient, with the current examinations available, he could determine that the other party was healthy and would only need to be observed in the hospital for a period of time at most!
But at this moment, Li Yongjun dared not make any statement.

Knowing Li Yongjun's current state of mind, Fang Ziye slowly put down the film in his hand and said, "Dean Chen, Professor Li and I agree that you should prioritize traditional Chinese medicine for recuperation."

"Based on our understanding, you still do not require any special treatment at this time!"

Traditional Chinese medicine emphasizes treatment based on syndrome differentiation, while modern medicine emphasizes treatment based on disease differentiation. If there is no disease, Chen Song's blood count is not unusual at present, so there is no indication for preventative use of anticoagulants.

If prophylactic anticoagulation is administered without indication, and a stroke occurs due to cerebrovascular hemorrhage, no one can bear the responsibility.

Chen Song was only under local anesthesia. Hearing this, he nodded slightly and did not speak. Instead, he calmly experienced the pathogenesis of his illness.

After a while, he slowly said: "The sparrow pecks three or five times in a row, the roof leaks and a drop falls every half day, the stone is plucked and the string is pressed down, the rope is loose and scattered, the fish swims seemingly there and not there, the fish swims slowly and suddenly leaps, the boiling pot and the bubbling soup all stop..."

Seeing the confused looks on Fang Ziye and the others' faces, Wang Qishan, the acting leader of the TCM team accompanying them, explained in a low voice: "This is one of the seven unique pulse patterns in TCM."

"The pulse is floating and weak, seemingly there but not there, like a fish swimming in shallow water, its head still and its tail swaying."

Fang Ziye, still somewhat clueless, asked, "What is the meaning?"

“When the heart’s energy is exhausted, the yang energy escapes outwards,” Wang Qishan said.

Li Yongjun promptly took over the conversation: "I've heard this kind of pulse before when I was at the Kyoto Hospital, but that patient's condition corresponds to bradycardia in the near-death stage in modern medicine. Dean Chen's heart rhythm is currently normal..."

Li Yongjun then looked at Chen Guangbai, who was also wearing a traditional Chinese medicine robe: "Did Dean Chen take some kind of life-saving secret medicine? Is that why his pulse and physical signs don't match up?"

Li Yongjun had worked at a hospital in Kyoto, so he was very knowledgeable.

In particular, as the head of vascular surgery, he also has some understanding of some traditional Chinese medicine methods.

"Every medicine has its side effects, and my father did not take any medication." Chen Guangbai remained calm, seemingly unaffected by his sudden retirement after years of navigating the business world...

"Then we can only continue to observe. I'll have to trouble Dr. Wang and Dr. Chen to put in more effort." Li Yongjun said, then looked at Professor Tan Mengbai.

Tan Mengbai is a professor in the Department of Anesthesiology, and he is extremely meticulous in his control over vital signs.

At this moment, Tan Mengbai nodded to everyone: "To be on the safe side, I suggest adding prophylactic anticoagulants as appropriate. The specific prescription, whether it is subcutaneous heparin injection or traditional Chinese medicine decoction, is up to you, Professor Wang, to decide."

Tan Mengbai couldn't come up with a suitable solution either...

Fang Ziye and others began to remove the instruments from Chen Song's body one after another and slowly pushed him to the intensive care unit.

Each courtyard in the sanatorium can be a private intensive care unit!
Traditional Chinese medicine pharmacy.

Chen Xiqian's hand trembled as she held the copper mortar and pestle, the 37-gram pills cracking into irregular fragments in the mortar. She stared at the meridian clock on the wall, each jump of the brass hands feeling like a knife cutting into her nerves.

When the second hand pointed to the mark for "Hand Shaoyin Heart Meridian", the medicine grinder suddenly slipped, scraping against the bluestone surface with a sharp, grating sound.

"The ginger charcoal needs to be simmered for a full six hours." Lan Minong appeared silently beside the medicine cabinet, the charcoal furnace in his hands emitting a burnt aroma mixed with the smell of blood.

The old Chinese medicine doctor gently tapped the furnace wall with a long-handled medicine spoon, and the crackled glaze emitted a clear sound like a chime: "Just like when your grandfather was calcining blood charcoal in the hospital back then."

Chen Xiqian suddenly gripped the brass handle of the medicine cabinet, his knuckles turning white from the force: "If...if the pulse really..."

She couldn't continue, a burning, hard lump stuck in her throat. The powder from the mortar and pestle was scattered by the morning breeze, spreading out a star-like pattern on the blue brick floor, vaguely overlapping with the ashes of the "Treatise on Febrile Diseases" that her grandfather had burned the night before.

Lan Minong bent down to pick up the scattered medical records, and a black-and-white photograph fell out from between the yellowed pages. Young Chen Song, dressed in faded coarse cloth, was administering acupuncture to a wounded soldier in a trench. On the back of the photograph, written in vermilion, was the inscription: "The pulse appears both intermittently and intermittently, a near miss than shaving one's head."

"Your grandfather burned half of the 'Treatise on Febrile Diseases'," Lan Minong suddenly said, the firelight from the furnace dancing on her glasses, "saying he wanted to make room for future generations to write new prescriptions." "Professor Dong Zhi was so angry he didn't sleep all night, and he was just nagging me about it." The sound of the carbides cracking was crisp like bones breaking, and the freshly calcined ginger charcoal gleamed with a bluish luster on the bamboo tray.

Lan Minong was a member of the spleen and stomach school. Although he felt sorry that Chen Song burned his treasured half of the Treatise on Febrile Diseases, he was not as heartbroken as Dong Zhi of the Febrile Diseases school.

Chen Xixian was just a young lady from a wealthy family; she didn't know how to answer questions. All she wanted to do was do something for her grandfather. She clapped her hands, stood up, and said, "Professor Lan, I'm going to give Professor Dong some gifts. I hope he won't be angry for now."

Lan Minong's eyes showed affection: "You'd better not go. Although Dong Zhi usually has a good temper, when he gets stubborn, he'll even spout nonsense like your grandfather. He's the most stubborn person I've ever met."

“He’s in a bad mood right now, and I’m afraid you’ll get hurt if you go.”

"Let him be angry, just ignore him. He won't stop doing his job," Lan Minong said, patting Chen Xixian on the shoulder to comfort him.

“Xiao Chen, those who come to the sanatorium are all people with sentiments. They may scold and have tempers, but their feelings are genuine.”

Lan Minong and Chen Song did not have a direct master-disciple relationship, but they were both among the leading figures in the traditional Chinese medicine group at the sanatorium. These people were like-minded and had been together for many years. They had thoroughly understood each other's personalities and got along very well.

"I wonder if Professor Li and the others will be able to discover anything!" Chen Xixian calmed down.

She rarely came to the sanatorium and wasn't particularly familiar with many of the professors in the Traditional Chinese Medicine group; they mostly met privately.

"Do you want Professor Li and the others to discover the problem or not?" Lan Minong pressed, his crow's feet furrowing deeply, the fleshy mole at the end of his wrinkles trembling.

"I…"

Chen Xixian shook her head: "Professor Lan, I don't know either."

Now, she somewhat hopes that Li Yongjun and his team can discover the problem, so that once they do, it can be resolved directly, and then she won't have to live in fear anymore.

However, from the perspective of family tradition, she had also studied traditional Chinese medicine and knew how to process some common Chinese herbs, so she naturally identified herself as a practitioner of traditional Chinese medicine.

"I hope my grandfather is alright, completely fine. Any pulse diagnosis or meridian correction can be done by someone else..." After saying that, Miss Chen Xixian went back to grinding the Panax notoginseng.

……

11:20, a secret room on the top floor of the sanatorium!
The moment Chen Song locked the door, a sharp pain in his left wrist caused him to crash into the sandalwood medicine cabinet. Seven blue-and-white porcelain jars shook simultaneously, the topmost rhinoceros horn jar held in place by the old man's knee—a trophy from sixty years ago, now containing arsenic for preparing pulse diagnosis reagents. In the hum of the exhaust fan in the sealed room, he heard his own panting overlapping with the sounds of gunfire from his youth.

As the cipher wheel spins, the cinnabar from the fingertip leaves a blood trail on the metal surface.

Deep inside the safe lay seven leather-bound notebooks, the latest one still wet with ink: "On the day of Frost's Descent in the year of Gui Mao, the roof leaks and the pulse appears; the deadline is seven days."

When he opened the medical record from 1956, the yellowed pages exuded the smell of ink and sighed. At that time, he had just turned twenty and wrote in the Kunming Military Hospital: "When intermittent pulse and knotted pulse appear at the same time, a large dose of aconite should be used."

And at this moment, the trembling pen tip filled in the blank space: "Thirty years of misdiagnosis, only now do we know it is a heart vessel malformation."

The moment the silver needle pouch slipped out, the tip of the three-edged needle flashed coldly in the darkness. As the needle pressed against the Tanzhong acupoint, Chen Xiqian's tearful, defiant voice suddenly came through the ventilation duct: "Grandpa! If you don't open the door, I'll bang my head against it!"

Chen and Song did not respond.

The subsequent "bang" made the old man's fingers freeze in mid-air, the needle tip pressing a crescent-shaped white mark into his skin...

"Xi Xian!~" Chen Song hurriedly unlocked the door bolt, and Chen Xi Xian's forehead was indeed chapped and red.

"How could you be so foolish?" Chen Song asked, looking at Chen Xixian with heartache as she was being tied up.

Throughout the entire Chen family, from top to bottom, only Chen Xixian held his heart. Chen Xixian had a very accurate grasp of Chen Song's limits because Chen Xixian was 'unruly' enough and never hesitated to punish himself!
nursing home.

The morning light streamed in through the window, but a thin mist rose from the mountains, bypassing the white walls outside the courtyard and encroaching on the pavilions outside. It appeared and disappeared outside the sealed laminar flow room of the sanatorium, separating the two worlds.

12: 30!

Fang Ziye pressed the ultrasound probe onto the rabbit vascular model, and the coupling gel dripped down the edge of the table, forming pale blue tear stains.

The blood flow image on the monitor displayed a bizarre double-helix structure, reminding him of the tremor waveform in Chen Song's radial artery. For a fleeting moment, he seemed to see blood particles waltzing at the bifurcation point…

"Asymmetric dimethylarginine (ADMA) 0.68 μmol/L".

At the same time, the monitoring device for the rabbit suddenly beeped, and the display screen showed a warning of "abnormal calcification." The red light in the numerical bar was flashing wildly, like a rescue signal in an emergency room.

Nie Mingxian suddenly rushed in, his sterile shoe covers scraping against the floor with a sharp, grating sound: "Dean Chen's oxygen saturation has suddenly dropped to 88%!"

"The anesthesiology department is preparing for intubation."

As Fang Ziye rushed out the door, the rubber tube connected to the ultrasound probe lashed out behind him, leaving a black whip-like shadow.

"What happened?" Fang Ziye asked.

Why did Chen Song's blood oxygen level suddenly start to drop when he was perfectly fine?
“We don’t know what happened either. Dean Chen left the courtyard for a while, saying he wanted to relax, so we didn’t pay attention to it.”

"Then, after Dean Chen went to the top floor of the administrative area and came out, his electrolytes started to become disordered."

"I heard from another doctor, Dr. Chen, that Director Chen may have used some kind of stimulating method to put himself on the verge of death, thus sensing the signs and pulse of impending death!"

"Are you crazy?" Fang Ziye's steps froze.

Nie Mingxian said irritably, "How many normal people do you think are in this sanatorium?"

"If things go wrong, no one can pull you back from the brink!"

Nie Mingxian wanted to say that if Fang Ziye really got stubborn, his level of madness would not be less than that of Chen Song.

"Dean Chen Song hopes we can record the pulse simultaneously using both modern medical and traditional Chinese medicine methods!"

"He gave himself acupuncture before, saying his pulse would change several times!"

"He wouldn't dare gamble like that unless he was facing certain death!"

"Madman!" Fang Ziye cursed, quickening his pace.

"Let's go quickly, don't let Dean Chen's good intentions go to waste. He has already done the first half himself."

The moment the automatic door to the intensive care unit opened, he saw Chen Song's withered fingers clenching in mid-air—the classic posture for holding a needle…

12: 42!

"Professors, I will now analyze Dean Chen's current situation from my perspective."

"After Dr. Lan from our team digitized and organized the relevant test data, it can be seen as shown in the figure."

Fang Ziye projected the ultrasound elastography image onto the screen, where red markers formed a steep staircase: "Radial artery media thickness 0.85mm, but local stiffness is abnormal."

His laser pointer stopped at a certain waveform gap, "which corresponds to the stepped vibration that Mr. Chen mentioned."

Chen Guangbai suddenly stood up, his white coat knocking over a celadon teacup.

He held up the pulse imaging report, the blue light from the LCD screen flowing across the lens: "The 16 Hz abnormal harmonic is exactly the resonant frequency of vascular endothelial cells."

The tea spilled across the table, staining Nie Mingxian's imaging film with a brownish halo, making the spiderweb-like images of blood clots appear even more grotesque in the tea stains.

“We detected microthrombus activity synchronized with the respiratory cycle.” Luo Tingzhu pulled up the spectral analysis chart, where a 40 Hz peak resembled a scalpel suspended in mid-air. “Prophylactic anticoagulation therapy is recommended.”

Her fingertips swiped across the tablet, projecting a stream of data onto the holographic screen. The digital waterfall was interspersed with the meridian flow time parameters provided by the Traditional Chinese Medicine team.

Upon seeing the image, Wang Qishan immediately asked, "How was this image created? Could you send it to our Traditional Chinese Medicine group?"

Upon hearing this, Fang Ziye's heart fibromus almost experienced ventricular fibrillation; he was just short of cursing!

What time is it now? You're still thinking about looking at pictures?

"Currently, Dean Chen's blood oxygen level has returned to normal, and Professor Tan recommends continuing prophylactic anticoagulation therapy!"

"We will strive to treat the thrombus with heparinized anticoagulants as soon as possible."

"Professor Wang, what do you think?" Fang Ziye asked Wang Qishan for his opinion.

Dean Chen Song had previously stated that the Chinese medicine treatment plan for the TCM group should be selected first!
"Dean Chen has already taken the medicine, but his condition is difficult to determine at present and may change at any time, so the effect will not be very obvious."

"Otherwise, the Fish Soaring Pulse would not have been recorded in ancient books."

"Dr. Chen Guangbai, what do you think?" Wang Qishan himself did not dare to act on his own initiative.

Let's continue with the dialectical discussion!

“Let’s record the data first. I don’t want my father’s sacrifice to be in vain. What about him now?” Chen Guangbai’s voice was suddenly interrupted as he said this.

Chen Song's voice came from inside the door, carrying the texture of sandpaper polishing metal: "'Living Dead Connections'... Back in Changjin, there was one."

The elderly man's voice was suddenly cut off by the monitoring alarm, and all the displays turned red at the same time.

Upon hearing the alarm, everyone stopped talking at the same time. As Fang Ziye rushed out the door, he heard the old man's last conscious whisper: "Remember, the end of the stairs is the Yin-Yang Bridge."

The emergency lights in the corridor stretched the shadow of Chen Song's raised hand, casting a huge black question mark on the glass curtain wall.

"Emergency blood test to check electrolytes!"

"Watch your blood pressure and heart rate!" Fang Ziye subconsciously looked at the nurse to give the order.

"Sinus heart rate".

"Blood oxygen saturation 96.5%!"

"Blood pressure 98/65 mmHg!"

The electrocardiogram monitor showed sinus rhythm, but Fang Ziye could still feel the stepwise thrill of Chen Song's radial artery when he palpated it.

Luo Tingzhu's anesthesia recorder printed out a three-meter-long waveform paper. On the frequency spectrum analysis graph at the very end, an abnormal harmonic of 16Hz was continuously increasing.

“Dr. Fang,” Chen Song’s eyelids suddenly twitched, his amber pupils gleaming metallically under the ceiling light, “Have you touched my ‘stepping stone to life and death’?”

The old man's right hand was suspended in the air, making a needle-twisting motion, and the trajectory of his fingertips coincided with the abnormal band on the spectrum.

Nie Mingxian chewed the tenth mint and entered new parameters on the ECMO control screen.

The humming sound of the centrifugal pump suddenly changed frequency.

At the same time, when Chen Xiqian rushed into the intensive care unit with the "Pulse Classic" in her arms, she happened to see her grandfather's monitoring waveform forming strange symbols on the screen, resembling a guqin score. Her eyes reddened even more...

"Dr. Fang,"

"Have you touched my 'steps to life and death'?" Chen Song's unconscious voice rang out again.

Fang Ziye's eyes suddenly reddened, and for a moment he didn't know how to answer Chen Song's question.

How should he touch it?
He doesn't even know how to touch it, how is he supposed to touch it?
But at this moment, Chen Song seemed to be in a state of inexplicable 'coma', still unconsciously murmuring softly...

"Dean Chen, I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry... I don't know how..." Fang Ziye said, his face full of self-reproach.

Chen Guangbai and Wang Qishan took Chen Song's pulse with both hands, their eyes lingering on Fang Ziye, but they did not blame Fang Ziye.

(End of this chapter)