Zhu Zhixiang’s heart gave a sudden lurch, and the hospital leaders who had crowded around him froze in place.

Working in the hospital, they understood precisely what it meant when the lead surgeon walked out, especially when Director Ma’s face was so grim, as if his own father had just died.

This was precisely why Director Zhao’s eyes had welled up with unstoppable tears upon seeing them; anyone would feel a knot of dread witnessing such a scene.

Vice President Li Jiu hurried forward, urgently inquiring, “Director Ma, what exactly is the situation?”

As Li Jiu spoke, the hospital director and the others stared fixedly at Director Ma, their heartbeats accelerating uncontrollably. A few people even instinctively shuffled a step backward.

If the hospital had cured or successfully resuscitated Director Zhao’s father, it would have been cause for celebration and a massive feather in their cap.

But conversely, if they had failed and something dire had befallen Director Zhao’s father under their care, good fortune would instantly sour into disaster. To be seen by Director Zhao in such a moment meant risking his lasting resentment, which they dared not invite.

Everyone knew Director Zhao was exceptionally devoted to his father. If his father died at the Third Hospital, no one would believe Director Zhao would harbor no ill feelings toward the institution.

Director Ma shook his head, speaking slowly, “The situation is very poor. This time, the patient’s episode wasn't a simple cerebral thrombosis; it’s complicated by acute cerebral embolism. There are numerous clots currently lodged in the vessels. We performed emergency thrombolysis and managed to clear some, but several critical locations remain inaccessible, particularly the pons and the cerebellum. We currently have absolutely no recourse for those areas!”

Director Zhao, who had been bowing his head wiping tears, snapped his head up upon hearing their words and strode forward, gripping Director Ma’s arm.

“Doctor, you—you mean my father is still alive?”

“Yes, Director Zhao. We have stabilized the condition for now, but he is not yet out of the critical period. Dr. Yang and I came out specifically to inform you of this fact!”

Director Ma nodded quickly, and the doctor from the Provincial People’s Hospital accompanying him added, “Director Zhao, although the condition is controlled, it is only temporarily so. We have a maximum of twelve hours. Within these precious twelve hours, a solution must be found, or the patient will remain in grave danger!”

This Dr. Yang from the Provincial Hospital was not as deferential toward Director Zhao as Director Ma had been.

The Provincial Hospital was the most renowned medical facility in Changjing, and more importantly, it answered directly to the Provincial Health Department, placing it outside the jurisdiction of the local Health Bureau. Their assistance was purely a matter of inter-system courtesy.

Therefore, unlike the doctors from the Third Hospital, he displayed no discernible tension or flattering anxiety toward Director Zhao.

“Dr. Yang, can we transfer him? Could your hospital save him!”

Having confirmed that the worst outcome for his father had not yet materialized, a new hope ignited in Director Zhao’s heart. As soon as Dr. Yang finished speaking, he immediately approached him and asked directly.

His words caused the faces of many doctors from the Third Hospital to cloud over slightly. Director Zhao’s question was tantamount to a direct expression of distrust in their hospital. Normally, Director Zhao might have phrased it differently, but sheer desperation today overruled polite discourse.

“No. Our hospital’s very best cardiovascular specialists are all here. If we can’t treat it here, we can’t treat it there either. Even across the country, I estimate the success rate wouldn't exceed thirty percent?”

Dr. Yang shook his head, and Director Zhao’s spirits immediately plummeted again. He understood the implication of Dr. Yang’s statement.

In fact, Dr. Yang had previously advised him that Elder Zhao’s condition was precarious and suggested a thorough examination at a hospital in Kyoto or Hong Kong. Director Zhao had considered it, intending to take his elderly father once his current work frenzy subsided, perhaps combining the trip with a short vacation.

Tragically, the accident had occurred before he could make those arrangements.

“Thirty percent? That low? Is there nowhere else suitable in the country?”

Director Zhao stood motionless, his heart growing colder. This Dr. Yang was the top cardiovascular specialist at the Provincial Hospital, possessing no small reputation nationally. For him to state such a figure implied that no one else in the country could claim a better than thirty percent chance for his father’s ailment.

Thirty percent—that hope was agonizingly slim; many doctors wouldn't even consent to take on patients with such a low prognosis.

Furthermore, while in Changjing, he held sway as the Bureau Chief, and even hospitals under the direct authority of the Provincial Health Department would offer him deference. But outside Changjing, who would pay heed to him? His influence and connections did not stretch that far. With such a severe illness, any delay could have unimaginable consequences.

Dr. Yang shook his head again. “No. If Mr. Zhao had only acute cerebral thrombosis, our Provincial Hospital would have at least a sixty to seventy percent chance of rescuing him. But this time, it is accompanied by cardiogenic cerebral embolism, meaning a simultaneous heart and brain complication, which drastically complicates matters. For this condition, only one hospital in the United States has reported multiple successful cures. They might have a seventy percent chance, but that hospital is simply too far; the patient is not in a condition for such long-distance transfer right now.”

After speaking, Dr. Yang let out a quiet sigh.

Cerebral thrombosis and cerebral embolism are both forms of cerebral vascular occlusion, often confused in casual talk, but they are distinct conditions. The chance of them co-occurring is low, but when they erupt together, the consequences are devastating.

This was also why Dr. Yang rejected Director Zhao’s request for a transfer. Their own success rate was less than thirty percent, so it was better to remain at the Third Hospital. At least this way, the Provincial Hospital wouldn’t be implicated. Even if the patient didn't survive, Director Zhao couldn't fault the Provincial Hospital; their doctors had done their utmost.

A flicker of despair crossed Director Zhao’s face. The dignified Bureau Chief couldn't help but cover his face and sink onto a nearby surface.

America offered a sliver of hope, but Dr. Yang had confirmed his father was unfit for prolonged travel. Besides, even if a transfer were viable, he couldn't conjure a plane immediately to send his father there.

He was merely a Bureau Chief, without the authority or the personal wealth to charter such transport. This hope was effectively non-existent for him.

“Director Zhao, please don’t worry. Your father is a good man; heaven helps those who help themselves. We will immediately organize a consultation with all our best doctors. We will not abandon even the slightest possibility!”

Zhu Zhixiang rushed over and murmured words of comfort. He understood the difficulty of this disease intimately, but he felt compelled to speak.

In his mind, he was cursing his own terrible luck. Why did Director Zhao’s father have to fall ill near their hospital? If it had happened elsewhere, this misfortune wouldn't have fallen upon them. The thought of his superior’s father dying under his watch made his head throb.

“A consultation—is that still useful?”

Director Zhao slowly looked up, a trace of hesitation in his expression. Traveling to America was impossible, as Dr. Yang noted his father couldn't handle the journey, yet he wouldn't relinquish even a thread of hope. Zhu Zhixiang’s words had struck a chord.

“We must try before we know for sure. I will arrange it immediately!”

Zhu Zhixiang said softly, stepping forward and signaling for the hospital’s entire roster of cardiovascular physicians to be summoned. Director Zhao’s father’s condition could not wait; time was running out. Finding a viable treatment method as soon as possible was the paramount concern.

The office adjacent to the operating theater was hastily repurposed by Zhu Zhixiang, and soon a dozen doctors in white coats were assembled. Wu Youdao was also invited by Zhu Zhixiang.

Sometimes, what Western medicine could not achieve, Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) could. Wu Youdao was a truly skilled, elderly TCM practitioner, famous within the province and known to many across the country. Inviting him to assist was a way to add another potential resource.

The dozen or so doctors swiftly began discussing the specifics of Director Zhao’s father’s condition, each voicing their professional opinion.

Early in the discussion, someone proposed prioritizing the removal of clots flowing from the heart. The rationale was that these varying-sized emboli posed a massive threat regardless of where they lodged; clearing them first would allow them to focus solely on the clots originating within the brain.

Unfortunately, this suggestion was immediately vetoed by Dr. Yang.

If it were that simple, they wouldn't have emerged to deliver such news to Director Zhao. The current locations of these clots were highly problematic. There were two small clots originating from the heart stuck in the cerebellum; the vessel supplying that area was small, and the clot was lodged precisely in the center of the cerebellum, making any surgical intervention impossible.

Subsequently, other doctors offered their varied insights and recommendations. In the end, all these proposals shared a common outcome: not a single viable plan emerged.

It stood to reason; if a workable solution existed, Dr. Yang would not have offered his bleak prognosis. He would have already considered everything they were suggesting.

The discussion dragged on for two full hours. During this time, Director Zhao’s father suffered another crisis, which Dr. Yang and Director Ma managed to overcome through joint effort. However, they realized that the previously estimated survival window had shortened considerably. Director Zhao’s father could likely only hold on for another four or five hours at most.

This estimate assumed no further unexpected complications; another crisis could end things immediately.

“Old Wu, do you have any counsel?”

Zhu Zhixiang was entirely out of ideas. He glanced toward Wu Youdao and asked directly. He wasn't necessarily pinning all his hopes on Wu Youdao, but held onto a sliver of desperate chance that TCM might possess a method for this situation.

“I cannot help,” Wu Youdao replied softly, shaking his head. He had spent the duration of the discussion considering whether TCM could offer relief for the patient’s condition. To that end, he had specifically gone to examine the patient.

The final result left him disheartened. He had no remedy for this type of sudden, acute illness, which was truly the domain of Western medicine. As the saying went: ‘For acute illness, see a Western doctor; for chronic illness, take Chinese medicine.’ Western medicine was undeniably superior in treating sudden, acute crises.

Zhu Zhixiang’s expression dimmed. He could already foresee the scenario where Director Zhao’s rage, stemming from his father’s death, would inevitably engulf him.

“However, there is one point I wish to raise. Whatever the specific diagnosis—thrombosis or embolism—both involve occlusion of the cerebral blood vessels. And everyone here should be clear about what kind of disease cerebral infarction truly is, shouldn't they?”

Wu Youdao looked at the dozen people before him and slowly continued, but many just stroked their heads in confusion. They certainly knew the basic definitions; that was fundamental knowledge. What they didn't grasp was the point Wu Youdao was trying to make.

“Let me offer another reminder: everyone here should recall the misdiagnosis at our hospital a few days ago. That patient suffered from acute myocardial ischemia.”

Having said this, Wu Youdao gently closed his eyes, and in his mind’s eye, a certain young face reappeared.

………… Chapter Two yesterday. Thanks to friend A_for_Andrew for the tip, and thanks again to Yan Hui Man for the 1888 Qidian coins tip. Xiao Yu appreciates your support!