VESSEL - Extinction Countdown 993: Eternal Hell

Lin Changrong, senior director of Xiehe Medical Group and heir to a medical dynasty, was a prodigy dubbed the “golden touch” of surgery for his youth—rumored to perform intricate brain operations with mere observation, a feat so extraordinary that peers could scarcely believe it, yet he consistently proved it true.

Despite Lin Changrong’s uncanny talent, human hands are bound by limits—muscles, bones, and nerves, fueled by blood oxygen, impose a ceiling. Ordinary hands might hold steady for mere minutes, while an elite surgeon could endure for hours, a testament to raw biological differences.

For precision surgeries, hands as steady as granite and sharp as lasers were priceless, dubbed the Hand of God, for only a deity could operate free of time, space, or mental strain, every movement flawlessly precise.

Lin Changrong witnessed it firsthand at the crash site, where a cramped, mangled car—fresh from a rollover and a harrowing cliff plunge—would have shattered any sane person’s nerves. Yet Ye Shisan’s hands remained unflinchingly steady, and guided by Lin’s precise instructions, he executed an emergency surgery under nightmarish conditions with eerie perfection.

In all his years, Lin had never encountered another like him.

Now, the task was a forbidden operation for Dragon Gate’s boss, You Dragon King: a perilous brain-and-body transplant, outlawed worldwide yet coveted by the ultra-rich in their quest for immortality. It required extracting not just the brain but the entire spine—its thirty-one nerve segments and thousands of neurons—a critical extension that had to be carved out intact.

A single tremor could irreparably ruin You Dragon King’s mind. Lin dared to take on this job precisely because of Ye Shisan.

The surgery was set at a Dragon Gate stronghold, codenamed Dragon Gate Inn. No quaint guesthouse, but a private island for elite guests, its security ironclad—one of Dragon Gate’s safest havens.

The plane touched down. Lin Changrong and Ye Shisan, led by You Hailong, breezed into a state-of-the-art operating theater, built at steep cost. Over thirty veteran surgeons, assistants, anesthesiologists, and nurses stood ready.

Leading the team was a striking young woman in a tube top, white blazer, and bold red lantern pants, her flame-red hair blazing like a beacon. She rushed to You Hailong, exclaiming, “Big Bro, you’re late! Did you get Mr. Lin? …Oh, Mr. Lin! You’re here. With you in charge, I’m at ease!”

Lin stepped up. “Miss You Long’er, I’m not leading. He is.”

You Long’er shot Ye Shisan a look, then turned to her brother. “Who’s this guy?”

You Hailong’s face darkened. Despite Lin’s backing, he didn’t trust Ye Shisan but bit his tongue in Lin’s presence. “Long’er, this is Ye Shisan, the lead surgeon.”

“What?!” You Long’er glared at Ye Shisan, her face souring. “I’ve studied every top surgeon’s file. This guy’s a nobody!”

Lin deflected. “Miss You Long’er, if Ye Shisan can’t do this, no one can.”

She didn’t dare snap at Lin. Instead, she jabbed a finger at Ye Shisan’s nose. “Listen, Ye, if my dad’s surgery fails, you won’t walk out of here alive!”

She whipped out a custom tungsten-steel Makarov (9×18mm), waving it at Ye Shisan, who loomed a head taller.

You Hailong’s brow twitched. “Long’er! Stow that gun! Show some damn respect in front of Mr. Lin!”

You Long’er huffed, hoisted the pistol overhead, tossed her fiery hair, and stormed off.

You Hailong gestured apologetically. “Mr. Lin, my sister’s fiery temper is my fault for not reining her in—sorry for the spectacle.”

At eighteen, You Long’er, thirty years You Hailong’s junior, was You Dragon King’s daughter by his ninth mistress, born on his sixtieth birthday, and spoiled rotten.

Lin gave a faint smile. “No issue. Let’s start.”

“This way, please.”

Ye Shisan, with nurses’ help, donned surgical gear, scrubbed his arms, and raised his elbows, ushered into the theater by a swarm of black-market pros.

He caught their sharp whispers: “Waited all day for a greenhorn?”

“Can’t even scrub right. Operating? What a laugh!”

“Let’s see him fumble the scalpel. Thinks he’s slicing steak?”

Ye Shisan let it slide. They weren’t wrong—he was no doctor. These were surgical elites, the best in the underworld’s medical trade.

Under the shadowless lamp, a bony old man lay face-down, bare on the table. A two-way glass wall showed a control room where You Hailong and Lin Changrong watched.

Lin’s voice crackled. “Ye Shisan, we’re in this together again. Do exactly as I say.”

Ye Shisan nodded. At this point, there was no turning back.

“Alright, folks, I’m Lin Changrong. Surgery begins!”

Lin’s name made the pros snap to attention. Unlike Ye Shisan, he was the real deal.

“Anesthesiologist, administer TCI with IA!”

“Propofol at 1.5–2.0 mg/kg… CNS suppression active!”

“Activate ECMO!”

“ECMO online, respiration 67–80!”

“Start CPB!”

“CPB active, blood oxygen normal! Heart rate 86!”

At Lin’s orders, the team buzzed into action. Ye Shisan, facing the withered body, wrestled the beast inside. Each slice—skin, fat, vessels, muscle—sent a lethal thrill coursing through him.

His hands, stiff at first, grew fluid, soon outpacing Lin’s commands. The pros around him froze, stunned by his godlike precision.

Only Ye Shisan knew the monstrous grin spreading across his face.

Everything hummed along, Ye Shisan lost in the cut’s dark joy, when a muffled boom rocked the ceiling. The lights died.

They flickered, emergency lamps snapping on.

Fierce gunfire and shouts echoed from the corridor.

You Long’er, dual-wielding AKs, kicked open the theater door, yelling at You Hailong in the control room: “Big Bro! It’s the Hong Gang!”