I made the last incision, cut the sutures, and watched the waveform on the monitor become stable again. The ten-hour heart transplant operation was finally successful. Fatigue came over me like a mountain, and I collapsed in the lounge.
When I opened my eyes again, I saw bright yellow curtains and an anxious eunuch: "Your Highness, you are finally awake! Empress Ma's wind disease has relapsed, and the imperial doctor is at a loss. Your Majesty, please go quickly!"
I, a chief surgeon who just died of exhaustion, became Zhu Di, the King of Yan in the Ming Dynasty? The history I am most familiar with is unfolding in front of me in the most cruel way - the life of my "mother" is hanging by a thread.
In this life, I don't want to be just a reader of history. I want to pick up my "scalpel" and perform the most difficult, grandest, and least understood operation on this great dynasty.
