344: Chapter 344 God will bless us.

The hospital, 2:20 PM.

Su Mingyuan was peeling an apple in the hallway outside the ICU.

The apples had been delivered from the military unit that morning, a whole crate of them, and were kept in the temporary office.

Su Mingyuan took out two; one for his father, and one he intended to place by his mother's bedside.

He knew his mother couldn't eat yet, but it was a habit—back home, when his mother was too busy with housework, Su Mingyuan would always peel one and leave it on the stove for her. When his mother turned around and saw it, she would pick it up and take a bite.

Now his mother lay in the ICU, and even if the apple was peeled, no one would eat it.

But he finished peeling it anyway.

Seeing Su Mingyuan, Security Chief Zhao Ming walked over from the other end of the hallway.

He stopped in front of Su Mingyuan and spoke in a low voice.

"Group Leader Su."

"Mm."

"At ten o'clock tomorrow morning, Sun Liang will arrive with the Medicinal Pill."

"Good."

"Dr. Tao's video conferencing System has been set up. He will observe the entire process when the medicine is administered tomorrow."

"Mm."

Security Chief Zhao Ming stood there for a moment, not leaving.

Su Mingyuan looked up at him.

"Something else?"

"It's nothing," Security Chief Zhao Ming said. "Would you like to go to the temporary office to rest for a while? Me and two other colleagues are watching the hallway here. If anything happens with your mother, we'll notify you immediately."

"No need," Su Mingyuan said. "I'll sit here for a bit."

"Alright."

Security Chief Zhao Ming stepped back and returned to his post at the end of the hallway.

Su Mingyuan continued to sit.

He placed the plastic bowl containing the apple slices on the chair beside him. Sunlight slanted in through the hallway window, shining on the plastic bowl. The cut surfaces of the apple were exposed to the air, and the edges were beginning to turn slightly yellow.

At 3:10 PM, a doctor emerged from the ICU.

He was a deputy director of neurosurgery, surnamed Zheng, in his forties and wearing glasses.

Dr. Zheng walked up to Su Mingyuan.

"Mr. Su."

Su Mingyuan stood up.

"How is my mother's condition?"

"Her blood pressure and oxygen levels are stable," Dr. Zheng said. "However, there are still no signs of consciousness returning. We just performed an EEG on her, and the waveform is basically the same as it was last night."

"What is your assessment?"

Dr. Zheng thought for a moment about how to phrase it.

"Mr. Su, I'll be honest with you. From the perspective of modern medicine, your mother's condition is at a 'boundary.' If there is any sign of consciousness recovery within the seventy-two-hour window, even the slightest, then we can strive for a relatively good recovery space later on. If not—"

He didn't finish the sentence.

"I understand," Su Mingyuan said.

"It has been fifty-two hours since the onset. There are twenty hours left in the window."

"I know."

Dr. Zheng looked at him.

"Mr. Su, I heard that you have a 'special treatment plan' starting tomorrow."

"Mm."

"As the attending physician, I want to ask you a question."

"Go ahead."

"This plan," Dr. Zheng said, "is it approved by the National Health Commission?"

Su Mingyuan paused.

"It is approved by a level higher than the Health Commission."

Dr. Zheng nodded.

"Then I won't ask any more questions," he said. "I only want to remind you of one thing—no matter what this plan involves, after the medication is administered tomorrow, please let our medical team continue to monitor her. Your mother's physical condition is quite complex, and any external intervention could cause reactions we haven't anticipated."

"I will cooperate," Su Mingyuan said. "After Mr. Sun arrives tomorrow morning, he will communicate the specifics with you. How you cooperate and monitor will all be according to Mr. Sun's instructions."

"Alright."

Dr. Zheng turned to leave.

Su Mingyuan called out to him.

"Dr. Zheng."

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Dr. Zheng smiled slightly.

"Mr. Su, you don't need to thank me for that. Saving lives and helping the injured is what we doctors are supposed to do."

Watching the other man leave, Su Mingyuan sat down again.

At the same time, in Washington, in the Situation Room.

Davis threw the report onto the long table, the pages fluttering and creating a gust of wind as they landed.

"It can now be 100% confirmed. This person is Su Mingyuan. Moreover, for the past eight hours, the Eye of Satan has been fixed on him. He hasn't left that hospital."

Michael Chen added: "We've checked all possible identity records for him within Great Xia. In public archives, this person does not exist. No birth certificate, no school records, no employment records, and no kinship chains whatsoever."

"It's as if he grew out of the ground."

The Secretary of Defense leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping the tabletop. "Or rather, someone plucked him from somewhere and 'deleted' him."

The conference room fell silent for a few seconds.

The CIA Director spoke, his voice not loud, but every word carried weight: "Capture him. We must capture him."

"No matter who he is, as long as we get him to Washington, we'll be able to grasp at least half of Great Xia's secrets from the past year."

The Secretary of Defense frowned. "What about the risks? Have you estimated Great Xia's reaction?"

"I have," the CIA Director pushed a thin document to the center of the table. "Three contingency plans. Diplomatic protests, economic countermeasures, and localized military friction. We have response plans for all three. They won't use nukes—no country would go nuclear for a single citizen, even a key one. It doesn't fit game theory."

The Secretary of State shook his head. "I object. Great Xia is not Venezuela, nor is it Iraq. Over the past three years, their industrial capacity has tripled, and their military spending has quintupled. For a country of this scale, you cannot apply the logic used for small nations."

"What if they really turn hostile?"

"They won't," the CIA Director said with certainty. "All their reactions over the last twenty years have been within predictable ranges. They will protest, they will sanction, they will issue solemn statements at the UN, and they will recall their ambassador. And then? Then there is no 'then.' We'll keep making the money we're supposed to make, and keep selling the weapons we're supposed to sell."

The tone of the argument began to rise. There were three people on the Secretary of Defense's side, two on the Secretary of State's side, and four on the CIA's side.

Each held their ground, interrupting one another; someone slammed a coffee cup on the table, splashing brown liquid everywhere.

The President leaned back in the head seat and had remained silent the whole time.

It wasn't until the gray-haired hawkish congressman in the corner spoke up slowly.

"Everyone."

His Southern accent was heavy, drawing out his words.

"Have you all forgotten Venezuela?"

The bickering in the room paused for a beat.

"Before that operation, you people were arguing here too. Talking about international law, talking about sovereign immunity, talking about how it would provoke all of Latin America. And the result?"

He picked up the whiskey on the table and took a sip.

"The result is that their president is now in Guantanamo, eating government-issued breakfast every day. The international community protested for two weeks, and then? Then everyone forgot."

"The international community's memory only lasts fourteen days."

The Secretary of State wanted to retort, but the man raised a hand to silence him.

"Great Xia is a major power, I know. But major powers are also divided into hard bones and paper tigers. Tell me, in the last fifty years, has Great Xia ever initiated a fight with us?"

"No."

"The trade war, they endured it. The technology blockade, they endured it. Those close-range reconnaissance missions in the South China Sea, they just issued statements. Every time a red line is drawn on paper, every time we step over it, they just take a step back and draw it again."

"That is the pattern."

The congressman set down his glass.

"Besides, this Su Mingyuan—what status does he have? He doesn't even have a proper public title. For someone whose existence even the officials don't acknowledge, would a country risk its life for him?"

"Impossible. It doesn't fit any nation's interest calculations."

"As for Great Xia's reaction, I bet on diplomatic protests plus economic countermeasures. However, we can withstand both."

"As long as we capture him and pry his mouth open, Great Xia's trump cards for the next ten years will all be in our hands."

"If you miss this time, you'll have to wait another ten years before such an opportunity might come again."

The President finally moved. He set down the fountain pen in his hand and leaned forward slightly.

"Let's vote."

Ten people; the electronic voting devices beside everyone lit up.

Seven green lights, three red lights.

Passed.

The CIA Director immediately stood up: "The preliminary framework for the operation is already in place. We can launch from both the Yokosuka and Osan directions simultaneously. I will report the specific details of the plan before dawn."

The President nodded.

"Go and do it. God will bless us."