Surgery Godfather-Chapter 1961 - 1339: Flipping the Table When You Can’t Play
The World Health Organization headquarters building.
In the meeting room, representatives from national health departments, top medical schools, and pharmaceutical giants were conversing in low voices. The atmosphere was subtle and tense.
Tang Shun sat by the window, looking at the agenda booklet labeled "International System Medicine Transformation Alliance Preparatory Meeting". The booklet was thick, with a cover featuring the signature blue and white coloring of the WHO, and pages densely filled with the schedule for the two-day event.
To his right was Professor Manstein. Over thirty people were seated around the oval table, representing the world’s landscape of medical power and knowledge: the National Institutes of Health, USA, the European Medicines Agency, the African Disease Prevention and Control Center, multiple leading medical research centers in Asia, and the chief scientists of pharmaceutical giants like Pfizer, Novartis, and Roche.
In front of everyone were simultaneous interpretation devices, with headphone wires neatly coiled on the desktop. The meeting room walls were mounted with six high-definition displays, currently showing the WHO’s logo and the meeting’s name.
"Everyone is here." The meeting chair, WHO Deputy Director-General Dr. Anderson, tapped the microphone. His voice spread to every corner of the room through a high-quality sound system. He was a man in his sixties from Sweden, with meticulously groomed grey-white hair and eyes observing the room from behind gold-rimmed glasses. "Let’s begin."
The first two hours of the meeting proceeded surprisingly smoothly. Tang Shun introduced the core framework of the system modulation theory, his presentation clear and logical. Complemented by carefully crafted slides, he transformed complex theories into comprehensible concepts. The screen displayed dynamic models of human systems, with lines of different colors representing the interactions of the immune, metabolic, nervous, and microbiome systems, resembling a symphony orchestra needing a conductor rather than a soloist.
Professor Manstein then supplemented with validity data from Europe, presenting clinical trial results conducted at three medical centers in Berlin, Paris, and Zurich. Data indicated that in 12 out of 17 chronic diseases where traditional treatments failed, patients’ quality of life significantly improved with the adoption of system modulation methods. Dr. Engozi from Africa shared initial application cases in resource-limited areas, particularly emphasizing the unique value of this method in the absence of expensive targeted drugs.
Participants nodded frequently, and the questions focused on technical details: data collection frequency, algorithm optimization, adaptive adjustments for different populations. The Japanese representative asked about the application prospects of system modulation in an aging society; the Indian representative was concerned about the cost issues of large-scale implementation; the Brazilian representative proposed the possibility of specific regulation for tropical diseases. The discussion was fervent and professional, akin to a purely academic exchange.
Until the break was over.
"I have a fundamental question." An elderly man sitting directly opposite Tang Shun spoke up. He was Dr. James Horton, former director of the National Institutes of Health, USA, now the chief scientific advisor of a multinational pharmaceutical company. His voice was calm yet powerful, immediately catching everyone’s attention.
The atmosphere in the meeting room subtly changed. The previously relaxed professional discussion ambience gradually solidified, replaced by a more serious, even slightly confrontational tone. Several representatives adjusted their postures, some removing their glasses to wipe them, others unscrewing bottled water to sip slowly.
Horton pushed his glasses, a move he’d done countless times, almost becoming his signature gesture. "Professor Yang’s theory is undoubtedly inspiring," his wording was cautious and precise, "but it is built on the premise of ’system modulatability’. My question is: how do we define the boundary between ’modulation’ and ’interference’? When you adjust multiple systems like the immune, metabolic, nerve, and microbiome simultaneously, how do you prove this is not a dangerous, uncontrollable systemic interference?"
The question was highly professional, striking at the theoretical core of system medicine. Everyone held their breath, waiting for Tang Shun’s response.
Tang Shun did not answer immediately. He picked up his water glass and took a slow sip.
"Dr. Horton has raised a question that is both philosophical and technical in nature." Tang Shun’s voice was calm, forming a stark contrast with Horton, "Before answering, I’d like to tell a story."
He recounted the treatment process of a nine-year-old boy named Lele. The boy suffered from a complex autoimmune disease, and traditional treatment plans—including three immunosuppressants and a biologic—had consecutively failed over six months. The child’s weight had dropped by 30%, and he needed to take 17 different medications daily to control symptoms, severely affecting his quality of life.
"When we first saw Lele, he could barely walk, his joints swelling like balloons." Tang Shun pulled up an illustration, not of Lele himself but a hand-drawn depiction to respect the patient’s privacy, "We discontinued all medications and started anew."
He displayed data charts, but not those smooth, perfect healing curves; rather, they were raw records—filled with ups and downs, setbacks, and unpredictable reactions. "Look here," Tang Shun pointed to a data trough in the third week of treatment, "Lele’s inflammation markers rose instead of falling. Traditional thinking would suggest this is failure. But further analysis found it was the immunocytes ’re-learning’ to recognize normal signals."
He showed a dynamic simulation: "It’s like tuning a musical instrument; the strings first give off harsh sounds before finding the correct pitch. Lele’s body is recalibrating, a process that requires time, as well as our endurance for temporary ’worsening’."
