frightfiction Chapter 1417 Cheers to the Desire to Explore
Chapter 1417 Cheers to the Desire to Explore
Chapter 1417 Cheers to the Desire to Explore
The paper in Nature Medicine was published first.
Mannstein chose to publish the paper online on a Thursday evening, which is standard practice for academic journals. It's published Thursday night, news media follow up Friday morning, it gains traction over the weekend, and by Monday morning the whole world knows. He was perfectly aware of this rhythm; after all, it wasn't his first time publishing in a top-tier journal.
Yang Ping was woken up by his phone vibrating at 2 a.m.
The incessant message notifications dragged him from a deep sleep. He groggily reached for his phone, squinted at the screen, and saw forty-seven unread WeChat messages, twenty-three emails, and three missed calls.
"What's going on?" He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and clicked on the top message.
It was Tang Shunfa's message: "Professor Yang, Mannstein's paper is online! In *Nature Medicine*! Take a look!"
Yang Ping was taken aback. He knew the paper would be published, but he didn't expect it to be so soon. He opened his email, found the system notification from *Nature Medicine*, and clicked on the paper's page.
The familiar title, the familiar author list, the familiar data charts. The only difference is the addition of a logo in the upper left corner of the page: "Publish Online First." Below that, in smaller print, is: "Accelerate Article Preview."
Accelerated preview is a special privilege that Nature Medicine gives to its most important papers.
Yang Ping scrolled down to the acknowledgments section. The first sentence of Mainstein's acknowledgments was: "The author thanks Professor Yang Ping for his foundational three-dimensional guided gene theory; without this theory, this work would not have been possible."
Yang Ping read the line of text twice, then put down his phone and lay back down on his pillow.
He now understands how significant an original theory is; it can derive many other significant theories and technologies. With new theories, things that seemed impossible before can now be done with ease.
Less than twelve hours after the paper was published in Nature Medicine, the academic community's reaction was much stronger than he had anticipated.
Mainstein's inbox was overflowing with dozens of emails. Some were congratulatory, some sought collaboration, some requested raw data, and some questioned the results—the last type being the most numerous. Mainstein read them one by one, without replying, silently categorizing them in his mind.
The most noteworthy email came from a neuroscience professor at a top American university, and it contained only three sentences:
"Congratulations on publishing your paper in Nature Medicine. The results are impressive, almost too good to be true. I look forward to seeing independent replication."
After reading the email, Mannstein replied instantly: "We're already designing a replication scheme. It's not about having others replicate it; it's about us replicating it first. The same batch of monkeys, the same method, the same conditions."
Three days after the paper was published in Nature Medicine, something unexpected happened to Yang Ping.
That afternoon, he was revising a grant application in his office when Tang Shun knocked on the door and came in with a strange expression.
"Professor Yang, there's a phone call for you."
"Who?"
“She said her name was…” Tang Shun glanced down at the note in his hand, ““She said her name was Emily Chen. She’s a reporter for Science magazine.”
Yang Ping raised his head.
A reporter from *Science* magazine. Not *Nature*, but *Science*.
"She said she saw Professor Mainstein's paper in Nature Medicine and wanted to do an in-depth report on the 'three-dimensional guided gene theory.' She hopes to interview you, privately."
Yang Ping remained silent for a moment.
It's unusual for *Science* magazine to publish an in-depth report on a theory. Typically, *Science* and *Nature* each handle their own news separately, without interfering with each other. It's standard practice and an unspoken understanding that *Science* won't specifically report on a paper published in *Nature*. But the fact that a *Science* reporter has proactively approached them indicates that they don't see this paper as just another *Nature* story, but rather as a larger scientific narrative that transcends a single paper.
“I’m no longer interested in these things,” Yang Ping said.
“Okay, I’ll reply to her,” Tang Shun said.
After the revised manuscript of the paper in the journal *Medicine* was submitted back, the reviewers' feedback came much faster than expected.
It only took two weeks.
When Mannstein opened the email, he wasn't particularly moved. He had done what needed to be done, made up for what needed to be made, and said what needed to be said. The rest was beyond his control.
The email body contains only one line of text:
"We are pleased to inform you that your manuscript has been accepted by The Medicine."
Mannstein stared at the line of text for a full five seconds, then continued working.
When Yang Ping arrived at the animal room, Mainstein was squatting in front of M7's cage, recording behavioral data. As Yang Ping pushed open the door, Fritz put a finger to his lips and said: "M7 is trying to walk, don't disturb it."
Yang Ping stood at the door, looking at M7.
It stood in the middle of the cage, its forelimbs not holding onto anything, its hind legs trembling slightly. Then it stepped forward with its right hind leg, landing steadily; its left hind leg followed, shifting its weight; then its right hind leg stepped forward again, followed by its left hind leg. One step, two steps, three steps, four steps.
On the fifth step, it stopped, not because it was tired or had lost its balance, but because it saw Yang Ping. It turned its head and looked at the doorway, its eyes filled with that familiar expression Yang Ping had—not fear, not expectation, but a quiet, composed curiosity.
It's as if it's saying: Oh, you've come.
"How many steps did it take?" Yang Ping asked Fritz in a low voice.
"Seven steps," Fritz said softly. "My best run today was seven steps. Two more than last week."
Yang Ping squatted down to be at eye level with M7.
M7 tilted its head, then stretched out a hand, its fingers spread, through the gap in the cage.
This time, Yang Ping didn't hesitate. He reached out and grasped M7's fingers. A monkey's fingers are thinner than a human's, its palms rougher, and its temperature slightly lower, but its grip is quite strong. It held Yang Ping's fingers and shook them, as if shaking hands, or perhaps greeting him.
Fritz watched from the side without saying a word, but the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.
Yang Ping released his grip, stood up, and turned to Mainstein.
"The paper has been accepted?" he said.
Mannstein nodded: "Accepted!"
“Professor,” Mainstein said, “this paper should be yours, it’s your theory, I just did the experiments.”
“Without your experiments, the theory is just theory,” Yang Ping said.
"Without your theory, my experiment would have been nothing more than a blind cat stumbling upon a dead mouse."
The two held hands, neither willing to let go first.
A doctoral student appeared at the entrance of the animal room at some point, holding a mobile phone, and took a picture of this scene.
"I'm going to keep this photo for when we win the Lasker Award."
Mannstein said.
Yang Ping laughed and said, "We'll use it when we win the Nobel Prize."
Yang Ping deliberately chose Friday morning to publish his paper in the journal *Medicine*.
It wasn't because he wanted to create any news buzz, but because Friday mornings are the busiest time for the editorial office of "Medicine," and everyone is there so any problems can be dealt with immediately.
Einstein sat in Yang Ping's office, two computers placed side by side on the desk. Yang Ping's computer was the editing backend of the submission system, while Einstein's was the online page for the papers.
"Ready?" Yang Ping asked.
“Okay,” Mainstein said.
Yang Ping clicked the "Publish" button.
Refresh!
The paper's page appeared: a white background, black text, and blue links. In the upper left corner was the journal's logo—a simple design derived from the Chinese character for "medicine." Below the title was the author list, with Einstein's name at the very beginning. Below the author list was a line of smaller print:
"This paper is dedicated to all spinal cord injury patients, and to the scientists who refuse to give up on them." Mainstein stared at these words, remaining silent for a long time.
The person next to me asked, "When did you add it?"
Yang Ping leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling.
"Maninstein, I have a question for you."
"ask!"
"Why are you doing all this? Give me the honest answer."
Mannstein opened his mouth, as if to say "for science," but he didn't, because he knew it wasn't true. Science was merely a means, not an end.
"Are you really telling the truth?"
"Of course!"
Mannstein said, "It wasn't for science, nor for patients who longed to stand up. Not just one study, but all of my studies were actually to satisfy my own curiosity. I wanted to figure out what was going on and whether it could be changed. If I did, I would be very happy and feel a great sense of accomplishment. It's that simple. To put it another way, this thing is my interest. It's the same feeling as winning a game. I never thought about it for science or for patients. Never!"
"Then you write this sentence?" Yang Ping asked.
Einstein said embarrassedly, "Everyone writes like this, isn't it to express ideals and justice, and to guide the values of young researchers?"
Many researchers around him looked at Mannstein; he was truly frank.
Yang Ping couldn't help but laugh. In fact, this was the truth. Before achieving results, many scientists simply enjoyed exploring the unknown world. They never thought about such grand things as contributing to the advancement of world science. They just liked it and simply enjoyed exploring the unknown.
Over the weekend, Yang Ping kept his promise to treat everyone to a meal.
This time it wasn't Cantonese cuisine, nor Hunan cuisine, but the result of a vote by the entire Mannstein team—hot pot.
August, who arrived at the last minute, won the votes of Clara and Hans by offering three baskets of shrimp dumplings. Combined with his own vote, they narrowly defeated Fritz's proposed German pork knuckle 3-2. Mainstein, as the team leader, had the final say, but he cleverly chose to abstain. The others, unsure of the outcome of their choices, also abstained.
“I don’t participate in this kind of political struggle,” he said.
“This is called a democratic vote, not a political struggle,” August retorted.
"They're all the same to me."
The hot pot restaurant was recommended by Tang Shun; it was an old establishment hidden in an alley in the old city of Nandu, said to be a 30-year-old brand. Yang Ping had booked a private room in advance, with two round tables and a large copper pot on each table.
When Mannstein entered the private room, he appeared relatively calm. But his composure vanished when the waiter brought out the hot pot broth.
A pot, divided in two. One side contains a milky white broth, floating with goji berries and red dates; the other side contains a bright red broth, topped with chili peppers and Sichuan peppercorns. As the red broth boils, the bursting bubbles release a rich, aggressive aroma, like some ancient warning.
"A hot pot with two broths!" Yang Ping introduced. "The clear broth is yours, and the spicy broth is ours."
Mainstein pointed to the red soup: "How spicy is that?"
"Not spicy!" August answered quickly. He had eaten hot pot at least ten times and considered himself a China expert.
"You said last time that Mapo Tofu wasn't spicy, but I almost ended up in the hospital after eating it."
"That's Mapo Tofu, this is hot pot, they're different."
"What's different?"
"The spiciness of Mapo Tofu is hidden inside the tofu; you only realize it when you bite into it. The spiciness of hot pot is in the broth, which you can see."
Mannstein thought about it and felt that although the logic was absurd, it seemed to have some kind of irrefutable power. He picked up his chopsticks and took a piece of tripe from the red soup.
Everyone was looking at him.
After chewing the tripe three times, Mainstein's expression changed from "caution" to "confusion," from "confusion" to "shock," and then from "shock" to a complex expression that Yang Ping had never seen before, as if pain, surprise, regret, and addiction appeared on one face at the same time.
"How is it?" August asked.
Mannstein did not answer. He picked up the beer in front of him and drank half of it in one gulp.
"Give me another one," he said.
The whole table burst into laughter, with Yang Ping laughing the loudest until tears were almost streaming down his face.
After the laughter subsided, Mainstein put down his chopsticks and looked at Yang Ping.
"Professor, there's something I want to tell you."
"Say!"
"I would like to ask you to be there when the first batch of volunteers join the human trials."
Yang Ping paused for a moment while picking up food with his chopsticks.
"why?"
“Because you are the starting point of this theory,” Mainstein said. “That day you received my message. You said the name didn’t matter. You said ‘Mainstein spinal cord progenitor cell repair’ would be fine, your name didn’t matter. But do you know what you mean to me?”
Yang Ping looked at him without saying a word.
“You are the only person who has never given up on me on this path,” Mainstein said. “All these years, Professor. When everyone said I was crazy, you said ‘keep going.’ When everyone said I was going in the wrong direction, you said ‘try again.’”
His voice trembled slightly.
"So I want you to be there on the day of the human trials."
The private room fell silent.
Even the sound of the hot pot boiling seemed a little quieter.
Yang Ping put down his chopsticks, picked up his beer glass, and clinked it against Mainstein's glass.
“Okay!” he said. “I’m here.”
The two finished their drinks.
Then Mainstein picked up another piece of tripe.
This time he didn't ask for water or beer. He finished chewing, swallowed, and then said something that made everyone at the table burst into laughter again:
"August is right, this really isn't spicy."
“Didn’t you just say it was spicy?” August said.
"That's the first bite. The first bite is spicy, the second bite is fragrant, and the third bite is addictive. Science works the same way."
Yang Ping raised his glass: "Cheers to science!"
"Cheers to science!" the eight people shouted in unison.
“Cheers to my thirst for exploration!” Mainstein said.
The ten cups clinked together, making a crisp sound.
The hot pot was still boiling, with the spicy broth and clear broth in the same pot, clearly distinct yet sharing the same temperature.