Si Mingjing accompanied Mo Yinhe to offer condolences, arriving at the hospital an hour later.
In the corridor at the mortuary’s entrance, the cries of two won filled the air.
One was an elderly woman with silvery-white hair, likely the deceased’s mother.
The other was a middle-aged woman who had collapsed on the ground, unable to get up, likely the deceased’s wife.
Several n also sat on the corridor’s benches, hands covering their faces, looking inconsolable.
The deceased, Yang Zhuchao, was a pioneer in the aerospace field and a world-renowned scientist. He was one of the talents Mo Yinhe was most proud of having recruited and was also the main person in charge at Yinhe Aerospace Base.
Yang Zhuchao had suffered a fatal heart attack during a eting. This was sothing that no one could accept. The entire corridor was packed with people from Yang Zhuchao’s team, all heartbroken.
Seeing Mo Yinhe hurrying over, everyone automatically cleared a path.
Mo Yinhe’s expression was somber as he walked past the crowd, bowing before Old Mrs. Yang and Mrs. Yang.
Afterward, he entered the mortuary.
Si Mingjing also bowed to the deceased’s family, expressing her condolences, and then followed Mo Yinhe into the mortuary.
She knew Mo Yinhe was grieving deeply, so she stayed close by his side, offering silent comfort. At such a ti, silence was more eloquent than a thousand words; she knew he simply needed companionship.
Mo Yinhe entered the mortuary, wishing to see Yang Zhuchao one last ti.
Inside the mortuary were two managers from Yinhe Aerospace Base, who were also Yang Zhuchao’s colleagues and old friends. Seeing Mo Yinhe, they bowed in sorrow and said, "Your Excellency, you’ve co?"
"Hmm."
In the mortuary, a gurney held the body of Yang Zhuchao, covered with a white shroud.
Mo Yinhe paused, took a deep breath, and with heavy steps, walked to the bedside, lifting the white shroud.
The late Yang Zhuchao lay quietly with his eyes closed and a peaceful expression, having departed this world.
Tears suddenly stread down Mo Yinhe’s face. He quietly looked at the senior and elder with whom he had debated tirelessly in a video conference just hours before. He still couldn’t accept that Yang Zhuchao was gone.
His voice choked slightly. "Uncle Yang? Stop joking with . This joke isn’t funny at all!"
He still rembered years ago, when he was just a five-year-old child. Because of his interest in aerospace and the cosmos, his father had recruited many talents in the field for him.
Among the many talents his father recruited at the ti, Yang Zhuchao was the least conspicuous.
Back then, Yang Zhuchao was just over thirty years old and had completed his postdoctoral studies only a few years prior, possessing little practical experience.
In an era flooded with Ph.D. graduates, his dual doctorate wasn’t particularly sought-after. He wanted to join an aerospace-related organization but couldn’t find a suitable position. Unable to aim higher or settle for less, he eventually returned ho to help his parents sell pork.
This incident made the news, with the public comnting that even Ph.D. graduates were resorting to selling pork—the competition was incredibly fierce.
However, atop his pork stall, he kept a professional astronomical telescope.
When business was slow, he would spend all day gazing at the sky with his telescope, earning ridicule from the dia as a "bookworm."
The reason his father noticed him and recruited him was due to the nurous pioneering papers he had published in specialized aerospace journals. He was often called a madman with a rich imagination, whose ideas were too fanciful to be practical, but his father found him intriguing.
To this day, Mo Yinhe remained certain his father was a true judge of talent, having discovered a "thoroughbred" like Yang Zhuchao.
Yinhe Aerospace Base’s first spacecraft was designed by the team Yang Zhuchao led. It was completed in just under two years, astonishing the entire world.
That year, Yang Zhuchao was only thirty-four when he achieved fa overnight.
Geniuses and madn are often separated by only a thin wall.
Yang Zhuchao had a plethora of ideas. Over the years, every idea of his that ca to fruition marked a historic leap for the aerospace industry. Now, many of his "mad" ideas remained unrealized, yet he was gone...
Mo Yinhe couldn’t accept it. Lowering his voice, he spoke of all they had achieved together since he first t Uncle Yang, lanted the dreams that remained unfulfilled, and questioned, "Uncle Yang, you still have so many brilliant ideas yet to be realized. If you’re gone, who will bring them to life?"
Yang Zhuchao lay silently on the gurney. He would never again argue with Mo Yinhe until they were red in the face over so issue, nor would he ever call Mo Yinhe in the dead of night to share his new ideas...
As Mo Yinhe spoke, his anger flared. "Uncle Yang, open your eyes this instant! Do you hear ?!"
Several of Yang Zhuchao’s colleagues stood by, covering their mouths, overwheld with grief.
The more Mo Yinhe spoke, the angrier he beca, almost on the verge of impulsively grabbing Yang Zhuchao from the gurney...
Seeing Mo Yinhe’s agitated state, Si Mingjing was about to comfort him and urge him to calm down when her phoenix eyes swept over the deceased’s face. She frowned slightly. Acting on instinct, she reached under the white shroud, took the deceased’s wrist, and checked for a pulse.
There was no pulse; he should be dead. Wait...
Suddenly, Si Mingjing moved to the foot of the gurney, lifted the white shroud, and touched the sole of the deceased’s foot.
Old Mrs. Yang and Mrs. Yang, supporting each other, walked in. Seeing Si Mingjing’s actions, they were quite displeased.
Mrs. Yang scolded, "You! What do you think you’re doing?"
Her husband was already dead. She didn’t want anyone touching his body, especially not the soles of his feet, and particularly not by another woman—Mrs. Yang found it repulsive.
Si Mingjing didn’t speak; she was feeling for a pulse.
They say the sole of the foot is the body’s second heart, and that the feet contain a map of all the body’s internal organs.
Seeing Si Mingjing ignore her, Mrs. Yang strode forward, intending to push her away.
Mo Yinhe stepped forward, blocking Mrs. Yang.
He also disliked Si Mingjing touching another man’s feet, and his voice was particularly low as he asked, "Mingjing?"
Si Mingjing remained silent, concentrating on taking the pulse.
Mo Yinhe could only wait patiently, a faint sense of anticipation stirring within him. What was Mingjing doing? Could it be...
Mo Yinhe dared not entertain too much hope. On one hand, he desperately wished for a miracle; on the other, he had to rationally confront the reality of Uncle Yang’s sudden death.
At that mont, Si Mingjing stated with sudden certainty, "It’s suspended animation. I’m going to perform acupuncture on him."
As her words fell, everyone in the mortuary stared at her, stunned.
Soone nearby stamred, "Th-that can’t be possible, can it? The electrocardiogram had flatlined, and the doctor already declared him dead."
Old Mrs. Yang suddenly rushed forward, clutching Si Mingjing’s hand, her voice trembling uncontrollably. "Is it—is it true? Please, I beg you, save my son! Save my son..."
"Madam, please let go of first."
"Oh! Oh! Oh!"
Fortunately, Si Mingjing had a habit of carrying Silver Needle with her. Without another word, she took out her needle package from her pocket. At the sa ti, she said to Mo Yinhe, "Ask everyone to leave. I need a quiet environnt."
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