Chapter 2441: 2356 The Person Who Foresees the Future (Alliance Leader cj's Big Baozi Extra Chapter 4)

Maryland, Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University.

Inside the Life Science Research Institute, a bald-headed old man leaned on his cane, striking the floor hard. The thudding sound, like war drums booming.

Researchers in white coats stood honestly opposite him, heads lowered, not daring to breathe.

"Shameless! Hooligan! Robber!"

A slightly sharp voice echoed in the lab; the LED lights seemed to dim, flickering uncertainly amid the old man's anger.

"Mr. Edwards, you..." the old man's assistant whispered a reminder.

But before he could finish speaking, the old man smashed his cane onto the nearby reagent rack.

Clatter—clatter— a crisp sound rang out, and a set of reagents worth several hundred thousand dollars was shattered just like that.

The researchers didn't know what had happened; they could only lower their heads cautiously, at a loss.

This project team was researching a major project—altering the human immune environment at the genetic level to treat cancer. It was said the project had received a nomination for the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine, and the first-phase clinical trials had begun in grand fashion.

But when the first-phase clinical trials were declared a failure, Mr. Edwards wasn't even that angry—what on earth was wrong with him?

Time had taken the old man's healthy body; he could no longer bear the burning anger in his chest. Soon he was panting, leaning on his cane, his white beard trembling, red bloodshot veins appearing in his eyes.

He clutched his chest, and after being helped by his assistant into his room, the lab then heard faint conversation.

"What happened?"

"Is it because the first-phase trial failed that Mr. Edwards is unhappy?"

"Probably not. We just found the point of failure in the first-phase trial. Besides, failing once or twice is normal for this kind of research—let alone one or two times, even failing for ten years is possible."

The researchers discussed it, but in the end everyone was clueless—no one knew what had happened.

In Mr. Edwards's room, he sat in a chair, his hands trembling slightly. His assistant held a medicine bottle and asked anxiously, "Mr. Edwards, you need to take care of your health."

"That bunch of robbers—shameless! Vile!" Mr. Edwards muttered with his eyes closed.

The assistant also didn't know how to comfort him.

Although the project had been proceeding without saying it was very smooth, it hadn't encountered any major problems. It had already been six years—exactly the time to bear fruit. The project needed recognition; only when most people recognized it would investors be willing to pour in more funds.

Modern technology—each item requires substantial financial support. Yet an investment of hundreds of millions or even billions of cash could drag down a large multinational pharmaceutical company.

So they were all as cautious as crocodiles—without giving them enough confidence, without letting them smell the scent of raw meat, they would hardly wave checks and show up at the door.

The Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine is the perfect justification!

After receiving the nomination for the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine, Mr. Edwards immediately flew to Europe to launch an active lobbying campaign.

The work there was a matter of life and death for the research project. Although Johns Hopkins University is the world's earliest research university, its funding is limited.

Ultimately, achieving success still required investment from major pharmaceutical companies.

The lobbying went smoothly, although it faced some resistance—mainly pressure from European clinical medicine—but after all, the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine hasn't been awarded to a clinical procedure for several decades.

Even widely performed clinical procedures such as kidney transplants and in‑vitro fertilization can ultimately receive the Nobel Prize only under the banner of biology.

With victory in hand, Mr. Edwards returned to Baltimore, originally thinking he only needed to quietly wait for a certain early morning in October to receive a phone call from the Nobel Prize project team informing him that his project had won the Nobel Prize.

The assistant also knew that Mr. Edwards had even prepared his acceptance speech—a several‑thousand‑word manuscript that he had secretly rehearsed many times.

But it was all just a beautiful illusion.

A single phone call overturned all expectations, shattering the beautiful dream into countless fragments.

Mr. Edwards's assistant only knew it was a secret call; when Mr. Edwards answered, his hands trembled with excitement beyond words.

The assistant faintly heard some fragmented words.

It seemed to be a call from some arrogant big shot, telling Mr. Edwards to give up this year's Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine.

He knew this was not a negotiation but a notification.

So only after hanging up did Mr. Edwards become so furious.

After taking the medication to avoid a heart attack, a long time passed before Mr. Edwards murmured, "Contact Ma Li Si."

The assistant stared for a moment. Ma Li Si... that old witch who still uses a crystal ball to gaze at the future? It's said she bears a curse—each time she looks at the future, she pays with her life.

Why would Mr. Edwards contact that old witch? The assistant blanked out for a few seconds.

"Contact Ms. Ma Li Si, now!" Mr. Edwards's voice was hoarse and low.

The assistant quickly replied, rushing to find Ma Li Si's contact information.

She never left a phone number, only an email address. The assistant pondered for a long time, drafted an email, and showed it to Mr. Edwards.

After sending the email, Mr. Edwards did not leave the lab; he silently stared at the modern, high‑tech lab in a daze.

If no further funding came in, what awaited him was the lab's shutdown, and all research would end there.

All the earlier investments would go to waste, and the assistant knew Mr. Edwards was unwilling to accept that.

But what could be done? Even if he won the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine and got investment from multinational pharma companies, there was no guarantee they could develop a drug that treats cancer via the immune system.

But even with massive funding, success couldn't be guaranteed. This is merely a direction—just a direction.

"Doctor Zheng...? Ask the medical school side why he holds a tenured professorship." Mr. Edwards said again in a low voice.

This request was infinitely simpler than the previous one; the assistant immediately agreed. Is the medical school's tenured professor competing with Mr. Edwards for the Nobel Prize?

Or maybe just ask?

Soon, Dr. Jaxia of Johns Hopkins Hospital called. He and Mr. Edwards talked for a long time, and through the well‑soundproofed door the assistant could hear Mr. Edwards cursing Dr. Zheng far away across the ocean.

Only after Ma Li Si replied to the email did the assistant knock on the door, interrupting Mr. Àidéhuázī's chatter.