There were no dical records inside, only a few outdated dical journals.
He trembled as he brushed aside those magazines, his fingers searching along the inner wall of the drawer, his nails scraping against a tiny protrusion almost fused with the wooden surface.
Pressing hard, a subtle "click" sounded as a thin board at the bottom of the drawer sprang open.
Below was a secret compartnt.
Lying inside it was a small, transparent glass ampoule.
The glass was smooth and cold, containing about 10 milliliters of liquid. The liquid was as clear as water, without any color or sll.
10% concentration potassium chloride injection solution.
As a surgeon, he was all too aware of the terrifying potency of this seemingly harmless liquid.
Potassium ions are crucial for maintaining the normal electrophysiological activities of myocardial cells.
In heart surgery or ergency care, it is routine to slowly infuse a diluted potassium chloride solution via a central venous catheter under strict ECG monitoring to correct hypokalemia.
However, undiluted high-concentration potassium chloride (like the 10% solution) if injected rapidly into a peripheral vein, or worse—directly into the bloodstream—would have devastating consequences.
The high concentration of potassium ions would instantly disrupt the resting potential of myocardial cells, leaving them in a constant state of depolarization, unable to generate effective action potentials.
The result would be cardiac arrest—usually as rapid, pulseless electrical activity (PEA) or ventricular standstill.
This process can happen so fast that one is caught completely off guard.
Theoretically, only 10 milliliters of a 10% potassium chloride solution injected directly and rapidly intravenously would be sufficient to cause a healthy heart to completely cease operation within minutes.
The death report would read: sudden cardiac death, cause unknown.
Especially on a "patient" who has just suffered trauma and is already in an unstable condition, such a death would almost not arouse deep suspicion.
It is swift, lethal, difficult to directly pinpoint as poison in a post-mortem examination unless serum potassium ion concentration is specifically tested.
The cold touch of the ampoule seeped through his fingertips, chilling his very marrow.
He picked it up, holding it up to the light.
The clear liquid swayed slightly within the glass wall, refracting a faint light, like the purest form of death.
"The electrolyte of life... the scythe of death..."
He murmured to the cold liquid.
"I'm a doctor... I swore to... do no harm..."
The echoes of the oath collided emptily against the walls of his mind, so pale and powerless.
The clear eyes of his daughter reappeared, full of longing for life.
He quickly closed his eyes, took a deep breath, suppressing his conscience, the scent of disinfectant had never pierced his senses this sharply.
He clutched the ampoule tightly in his palm, the cold glass biting pain into his hand, then swiftly and covertly slipped it into the chest pocket of his white coat.
The pocket liner was thick, the bottle completely enveloped, not a trace visible.
He stood up, the hem of his white coat brushing the edge of the table.
He needed a "legitimate" reason.
His gaze swept over the desktop, landing on a few blank intravenous infusion labels. He picked up a pen, his fingers whitened with pressure as he wrote on the label:
Patient: Song Heping, VIP-3
dication: 0.9% Sodium Chloride Injection 500ml
Usage: Intravenous drip, maintenance
The handwriting was, as always, neat and clear, carrying the calm authority of a doctor.
Nothing was out of the ordinary.
He tore off the label and took it along with a few innocuous rounds sheets pinned to the clipboard.
The hard edge of the clipboard beca his only point of support at the mont.
He opened the door, and the pervasive stark white light of the corridor instantly stabbed his eyes.
The corridor was so empty it was disquieting.
The air felt like solidified plaster, pressing heavily on him.
The sll of disinfectant was even more intense here, mixed with a faint trace of tal and old blood, a unique scent belonging to war wounds surgery.
The sound of footsteps echoed on the pristine marble floor, hollow as if striking a colossal coffin.
Each step was piercingly clear, as if announcing his arrival to the entire floor.
The two fixed guards at each end of the corridor turned slightly as he moved, locking onto him like searchlights.
Their hands rested casually on the assault rifles slung across their chests, knuckles slightly protruding, ready to exert force at any mont.
Closer still, outside the VIP-3 ward, two guards stood like sentinel gods, as Mahadi approached, one of them raised a hand, signaling him to stop for a check.
Mahadi halted, straightened his back, and slightly raised the clipboard and infusion label in his hand to show them.
His throat tightened, almost hearing the roar of blood rushing through his temples.
"Routine fluid replacent."
His voice struggled to maintain its usual calm and professionalism, but the tail end inevitably carried a barely noticeable tremor.
He pointed to the ward door.
The guard in front said nothing, rely swept him with a cold glance, eyes lingering a mont longer on the pocket over his chest, then gestured for Dr. Mahadi to raise his hands.
Dr. Mahadi complied.
Dr. Mahadi felt his heart constrict sharply, almost leaping out of his chest cavity.
He held his breath, waiting.
Ti seed to stretch endlessly.
The guard inspected him up and down, confirming no assault weapons were present, then nodded ever so slightly, stepping aside to clear the path, body remaining tense and vigilant.
The guard by the door extended a hand wearing a tactical glove and silently twisted open the heavy ward door handle.
The door slid open noiselessly, revealing a crack.
The light inside the ward was dimr than the corridor.
The monotonous "beep—beep—" from the monitoring devices beat against Dr. Mahadi's eardrums.
He took a deep, secret breath, as if to suck the last bit of oxygen from the murky air to steady himself, then stepped inside.
The door closed quietly behind him, shutting out the corridor's light and air, sealing off his last retreat.
At the mont he entered, Kafvan's sharp gaze cut through like a searchlight, pinning him in place from head to toe.
That gaze held no trust, only pure, unadulterated scrutiny and relentless vigilance.
Dr. Mahadi felt a chill crawl up his spine.
He forced himself not to look at Kafvan and turned his gaze to the hospital bed.
Song Heping lay there.
The bedside lamp was deliberately adjusted to its lowest setting, its dim halo barely sketching out the contours of his face.
The bandages wrapped around his arms and legs stood out stark white in the gloom.
His eyes were closed, his face paler than paper in the dim light, yet his expression was unusually serene.
The wires from the monitoring devices entangled him like snakes, with the screen showing green waveforms and numbers as the only active elents in this dark space.
"Dr. Mahadi."
Song Heping's voice suddenly erged, breaking the equipnt's reign over silence with stark clarity.
He opened his eyes, gaze landing on Dr. Mahadi's na badge.
"The heart rate seems a bit unstable."
His tone was as bland as if discussing the weather.
Dr. Mahadi's heart sank suddenly, like a cold hand gripping it tightly.
On the monitor, the heart rate numbers jumped steadily between 75-80, the green waveform regular as a textbook.
He instantly understood, it was a test, a trap!
Song Heping hadn't specified whose heart rate!
If the doctor with a guilty conscience would instinctively assu it was his own heart rate that was abnormal...
Cold sweat surged forth from his pores, soaking the back of his lab coat.
Trapped!
Steady!
Steady!
He forcibly suppressed the blockage sensation in his throat, trying to make his voice sound professional and normal.
"Mr. Song, the instrunt shows the heart rate is currently within the normal range."
He spoke while quickly moving to the IV stand, his actions appearing overly eager, as if wishing to end it all swiftly.
He reached out his hand, targeting the nearly depleted bag of clear fluid—0.9% saline solution.
His actions were smooth, imbued with professional skill, yet his fingertips uncontrollably trembled slightly.
As long as he pulled out this connection, he could legitimately switch to "new saline."
And hidden inside the pocket of his lab coat, that lethal 10% potassium chloride, would in the mont he feigned connecting the new IV bag, be swiftly and clandestinely injected into the IV line using the pre-prepared disposable syringe.
High concentration potassium ions will rush directly into the target's vein with the saline solution, reaching the heart within minutes.
The mission would be complete.
His daughter would be saved.
He kept repeating this thought in his mind, as though chanting the sole mantra of salvation.
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