Chapter 976: 955 Heart Attack Almost Happened

The splenic transection resection was very slow—at least, in Zheng Ren's view—and he constantly controlled his hand speed.

Where small arteries would be encountered, after a hundred or so surgery trainings, it was clear in his mind. Capillaries were coagulated with electrocautery; small arteries were cut, separated, clamped, and ligated—step by step, he handled them with ease.

Numerous looks of astonishment appeared not only on the faces of those nearby on the observation platform, but also on the doctors watching Xinglin Yuan's surgery livestream.

The surgery was clean, which is important, because the operating field indicates whether abnormal tissue structure will be noticed. With the eyes on it, the chance of an abnormal situation appearing is greatly reduced.

But this operating field is too clean, isn't it?

On stage, counting the instrument nurses, there were three people in total, and their coordination was flawless.

The instrument nurse, with one hand resting on the large curve, could still accurately pass instruments. The assistant exposed the operating field, so idle that even the smoke from the electrocautery was sucked up cleanly.

And the surgeon…… how did he manage that? Transecting the spleen, the operating field actually remained this clean?

Thirty-three hours before the surgery began, after Xinglin Yuan received official approval from 912, it started running advertisements.

Many people were dismissive, thinking it was just hype, a necessary commercial move before Xinglin Yuan's IPO.

They were contemptuous of doctors using surgical success and patients' lives to cooperate with Xinglin Yuan's hype.

Some people came just to watch the surgery fail.

No matter what thoughts they had, the ending was the same—they witnessed a peerless splenic transection resection.

Regardless of whether the surgery succeeded or failed, merely being able to transect the spleen to this extent qualifies one as a top‑tier surgeon.

Almost every person watching the surgery imagined themselves in the surgeon's place, wondering what would happen if they stood there.

All were veteran doctors with rich clinical and surgical experience; after putting themselves in the surgeon's shoes, each found his own level truly lacking compared to the surgeon in the livestream.

If it were me up there, I'd guess the abdomen would already be flooded with blood before reaching this step; the operating field—if any remained—would just be pools of blood, and I wouldn't even know which vessel was bleeding.

At Xinglin Yuan headquarters, Peng Jia sat solemnly in the front row of the large conference room, where the projection showed the live‑broadcast surgery.

He was nervous, very nervous. Before watching the surgery livestream, he even took oral blood‑pressure medication and had nitroglycerin on hand, just in case.

This is a precarious path: on one side, venture capitalists might make more concessions; on the other, the surgery livestream room and Xinglin Yuan could suffer heavy blows, delaying or causing the IPO to fail.

Zheng Lao Ban succeeded in the porcelain‑gallbladder surgery, but that doesn't necessarily mean the massive spleen in Ge Xie disease can be removed successfully.

The bets were placed, the die was cast; Peng Jia had no other choice but to sit quietly and watch.

He specially invited a general‑surgery academician from Modu to watch the surgery livestream together. Peng Jia feared he wouldn't understand the surgery, and even at the moment of failure he was still thinking about success.

If that happened, he'd probably suffer a massive heart attack and wouldn't even know how he died.

At first, Academician Lin Lao of the Engineering Academy refused, thinking the surgery livestream was too unreliable. But Xinglin Yuan still had connections, so they eventually persuaded Lin Lao to come watch the surgery.

Lin Lao was dismissive, but as the surgery progressed, his expression gradually changed.

Peng Jia couldn't understand the surgery; although he knew a lot of medical knowledge, never having performed surgery himself, he couldn't gauge how the seemingly smooth operation was actually done.

Perhaps the surgery was simply meant to go this smoothly.

Yet from Lin Lao's expression he could sense a hint of the trick.

Lin Lao was old; before the surgery he started dozing off. But once the surgery began, he opened his eyes, and his cloudy gaze never closed again—he barely blinked, as if he feared missing a single frame.

The surgery proceeded step by step, and Peng Jia suddenly noticed Lin Lao's fingers trembling slightly.

It wasn't Parkinson's; although Lin Lao was old, his hands were still steady—at eighty years old he still personally performed two liver‑cancer resections each week.

He was……

Peng Jia had a thought but didn't voice it—Lin Lao was simulating the surgeon's surgery.

From Lin Lao's expression he sensed a hint of calm—not Lin Lao's calm, but his own inner calm.

Even Lin Lao couldn't help but become immersed in the surgical process; the procedure ought to have nothing to criticize.

Just then, Lin Lao suddenly sighed.

Peng Jia's heart leapt to his throat; three coronary arteries instantly constricted, myocardial oxygen supply fell short, and he felt a stabbing pain in his chest and back.

Was this…… a heart attack? Peng Jia quickly closed his eyes, not daring to steal a glance at Lin Lao's expression, let alone the surgery livestream; instead, he steadied his mind and calmed his anxious feelings.

After a few seconds, he felt somewhat better.

"Academician Lin, are you tired?" Peng Jia asked softly.

Lin Lao shook his head; his hand had stopped trembling, he was no longer simulating the surgery, and he leaned back into the chair, relaxing completely.

"What do you think of this surgery?" Peng Jia asked anxiously.

"The surgery is already finished." Lin Lao's eyes half‑closed, his aged voice carrying a hint of relief.

"Um…" Peng Jia turned to the screen; the surgery livestream was still ongoing, and the surgeon appeared to be trimming the yellowish great omentum.

The surgery is still going on—how could Lin Lao say it's already done?

Peng Jia had a thought: Lin Lao meant that the hardest part of the surgery was over, and the remaining steps posed no difficulty for the surgeon.

But he dared only to keep that thought deep in his heart.

He feared that if he voiced it, the beautiful dream would shatter.

"Little Peng, is the surgeon an Intervention Department doctor?" Lin Lao, a bit weary, asked slowly.

"He's a doctor who started in general surgery, but now he's doing the Intervention Department's TIPS procedure and has received a Nobel Prize nomination," Peng Jia replied.

Lin Lao stopped speaking, closed his eyes to rest, and only occasionally opened them to glance at the surgery's progress.

Thirty‑two minutes after Lin Lao said the surgery had ended, Peng Jia saw the surgery livestream begin flushing the abdominal cavity with warm saline.

After two flushes, the fluid sucked up by the suction device showed only faint reddish streaks; without close inspection, it would go unnoticed.

The surgery, was it successful?

"Academician Lin, do you think the surgery succeeded?" Only now did Peng Jia dare to ask.

"It's long been successful; the rest is just finishing work." Lin Lao said lightly, then stood up, gave Peng Jia a firm pat on the shoulder, and sighed: "How great the livestream is—if we'd had this thirty years ago, clinicians wouldn't have kept groping in the dark, and some mistakes wouldn't have recurred over and over."