Manstein stood up and walked to the podium. He stood at the place where countless scientific giants had stood before, looking at the over two hundred faces in the audience. At that mont, he suddenly understood why Yang Ping didn’t co.
It wasn’t because Professor Yang was busy, but because he really didn’t like such lively scenes and felt it was a waste of ti.
"Good afternoon, everyone," Manstein began, his voice steady, with a hint of German-accented English echoing in the hall, "I am Manstein, and today, I am here to present this report on behalf of Professor Yang Ping. He’s not here, not because he doesn’t value this, but because he is indeed not fond of lively occasions."
Soone in the audience laughed, not a polite laugh, but a genuine, amused laugh.
Manstein clicked the slide remote, and the first page of the PPT appeared on the screen, with only one line:
"Spinal Cord Injury Repair: From Impossible to Possible!"
He clicked the slide remote again.
A photo of M7 standing appeared on the screen.
The hall was silent.
"This is M7, a rhesus monkey with a complete spinal cord injury. This photo was taken on the twentieth week after the surgery. Before that, the monkey’s hind limbs had no motor function at all. After that, it learned to walk. Not compensation, not dragging, but genuine, nerve-driven walking movents."
He clicked the slide remote again. A series of photos of M7 walking appeared on the screen, six photos, along with a video docunting every stage of a complete gait cycle.
"The results have been published in Nature dicine and the dical journal edited by Professor Yang Ping. The reviewers of both journals gave a nearly unanimous evaluation — this work may change the landscape of the spinal cord injury repair field."
Manstein paused and looked at the audience.
"However, I’m here today not to present results. The results are already written in the papers, anyone can go and read them. I’m here today to answer a question: why Yang Ping? Why can a Chinese surgeon achieve sothing the whole world couldn’t?"
Soone in the audience straightened their posture.
"The answer is simple," Manstein said, "because Professor Yang Ping approaches the problem differently. When most people think about ’how to repair the spinal cord,’ they think about what drugs to use, what materials to apply. Professor Yang Ping thought about whether cells themselves know how to repair. If not, which chanism is closed? Can it be reopened? During evolution, why can bone tissue be repaired by original cells, but not the spinal cord? What’s the reason? Is it not evolved enough? Or was it intentionally done for so purpose?"
He clicked the slide remote again.
The core schematic of the Three-Dinsional Directed Gene Theory appeared on the screen.
"When this theory was first proposed, it was deed pseudoscience by the mainstream academic community. Professor Yang Ping did not stop. Not because he was unafraid of failure, but because the purpose of his scientific research was just one: exploring the unknown. He enjoyed the process and had no other requirents for success."
Manstein’s voice beca sowhat low.
"Whether proposing the Three-Dinsional Directed Gene Theory or K Therapy, Professor Yang Ping faced all kinds of suppression, not just skepticism but suppression. Perhaps those tis are still fresh in everyone’s mory, and so among you may have been part of it, but he doesn’t care, he couldn’t care less about fa, profit, prejudice... Yet all the forces that oppressed him did it invariably for fa, profit, prejudice... I don’t know when science beca about these things?"
The audience was silent. Manstein hadn’t intended to say these things, but they had been bottled up inside, and today he seized the occasion to express them.
Manstein paused for a mont.
"Later, I achieved results based on his theory. I called him to offer him the naming rights. He said, ’Using Manstein is fine, my na is not important.’ I said his na must be included, he said, ’Do as you see fit.’ That was the second sentence he ever said."
"Professor Yang Ping’s theory is the entire foundation of my work. Without his theory, I would still be spinning in dead ends. Without his theory, M7 could not have stood up. Without his theory, I wouldn’t have anything to present today."
He clicked the slide remote, and the last page of the PPT appeared. No data, no charts, just one sentence:
"Professor Yang Ping, you showed the true nature of science and scientists, and made believe in science again!"
Manstein recited the sentence, his voice not loud, but every word was clear.
The hall was silent for a few seconds. Then applause started. It was genuine, touched, and heartfelt applause. So people stood up, others followed, and eventually, everyone stood up.
Manstein stood at the podium and bowed slightly.
He rembered what Yang Ping once said: "When you stand on the stage, you do not represent yourself, you represent science!" Now he understood what that ant.
The applause lasted for a long ti.
When Manstein returned to his seat, an elderly man with white hair stood up beside him and shook his hand.
"Professor Manstein," the elder said, "I am a mber of the committee, and I listened to your report. I want to say, Professor Yang Ping was right not to co."
Manstein was stunned for a mont.
"Why?"
"Because if he ca himself, he wouldn’t have said what you did. So things can only be said by a second person. You spoke about his theory, his perseverance, how he was subjected to prejudice, how he said, ’My na isn’t important’... These are things he could never articulate, but the world needs to hear them."
The elder released his hand and turned to leave.
Manstein stood there, watching the old man’s figure disappear at the hall’s door. He looked down at his hand—the one that had been shaken. It was a hand that had perford countless surgeries, written nurous papers, and held a Nobel Prize dal. But at this mont, it was just a hand, one grasped by another in gratitude.
He took out his phone and sent a ssage to Yang Ping: "The report is done, and it went well."
Yang Ping’s reply was a simple thumbs-up emoji.
Manstein looked up at the ceiling of the hall. The tall do was painted with ancient murals, angels, and saints looking down at everything below. Manstein was not a believer, but at this mont, he felt that maybe the people in those murals were watching M7 in Yang Ping’s laboratory, as it took step by step toward the freedom they could never imagine.
He stood up and walked out of the hall. The sky over Stockholm had already darkened, streetlights were shining, and snowflakes began to fall. He stood at the gate of the Karolinska Institute, watching the snowflakes dancing in the light, one after another, like countless tiny hopes descending.
His phone vibrated again, it wasn’t Yang Ping, it was August.
"How was the report?"
"Great! Many people stood up and clapped."
"What about Professor Yang? What is he doing?"
"Watching M7 walk, twenty-two steps."
August was silent for a few seconds, then said sothing that made Manstein’s nose sting: "Manstein, you know, Yang Ping is the most tedious scientist I’ve ever t."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because he makes greatness tedious. He turns greatness into doing the sa thing every day, watching a monkey, doing experints, writing papers, eating, sleeping. He doesn’t believe he’s great, nor does he let others think he’s great. He’s just soone who is doing his own thing."
Manstein didn’t respond.
He knew August was right; greatness in others is a posture, while in Yang Ping, it’s a routine. He doesn’t need to stand on the podium of Karolinska because he’s doing sothing more important than standing on that podium, watching a monkey walk toward twenty-two steps.
Manstein put his phone back in his pocket and walked into the snow.
The snow in Stockholm was heavy, falling on his hair, his shoulders, his coat. He didn’t use an umbrella, nor did he quicken his pace. He just walked slowly, letting the snow cover him completely.
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