At Yang Qi's request, Sun Hang followed the standard procedure, disinfecting himself three times before changing into sterile surgical scrubs. Only then was he allowed into the operating room.
A group of researchers had long been ready. Song Yarong, her silver-gray high ponytail coiled into a bun, sat before a computer, typing rapidly on the keyboard—while her prosthetic eye had been fitted into a recess in the Shadowless Lamp directly above the operating table, watching the "patient" on the table closely.
Lying on the operating table amid a sea of equipment was an emaciated woman. Her face and lips were pale and bloodless, while a transparent surgical cap wrapped around her sparse hair—low-dose maintenance chemotherapy could also damage hair follicle cells, not to mention that she had long been severely malnourished.
"The patient has been fully anesthetized." A white-coated doctor Sun Hang did not recognize turned to Yang Qi. His gaze lingered on Sun Hang for a moment before he continued, "If this were the hospital where I work, I would never administer this kind of anesthesia... The patient's condition is simply too terrible. Even if the operation succeeds, it'll be difficult for her to wake up again."
"Don't worry. What we're doing isn't an ordinary operation." Yang Qi nodded and looked at Sun Hang. "Sun Hang, I'll leave the rest to you."
"Got it." Sun Hang took off his gloves, squeezed some disinfectant gel from a bottle beside him, and quickly rubbed his hands clean.
He could not help but complain inwardly about having put on the gloves according to procedure just now. It had been completely unnecessary.
"Sun Hang." Song Yarong, one of only two people Sun Hang knew in the operating room, stood up and handed him several scans. "These are Jiang Yu's CT scan images. Aside